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sunnysviolin · 3 years

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Omotober Day Five- Photograph

“That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.” ― Hope Collier,

Aubrey was almost out the door when her mother dropped the bombshell on her. Usually her mom wasn’t even awake when she was leaving for school, she was still sleeping off whatever bender she had gone on the night before. She was up today, in a stained robe with unkempt hair, but she was up.

“We’re going to visit Flora for dinner tonight. Go home on Basil’s bus, I don’t want you trying to skip out on this,” Past Aubrey would have been elated. Not only was her mom up, but they were going to see her best friend for dinner. Now she growled in irritation and rolled her eyes.

“Mom-”

“Aubrey, don’t even think about starting up,” Her mother cut her off with a warning look. Aubrey shut her mouth but hot anger lit up in her veins. She bit her tongue to stop from screaming as her mother continued her lecturing, “That woman is old and her time is coming soon. Respect thy elders, it’s the godly thing to do,”

The hypocrisy of it filled Aubrey’s mouth with poison, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her mom loved to spout religious crap like this all the time, acting like saying scripture somehow equated to being a good person. Aubrey would have loved to ask her what part of her oh so precious book told her that getting drunk every night was godly, but if she started that fight again she would never make it to school on time.

“Whatever,” Aubrey muttered in lieu of her actual thoughts, pushing past her mother and out the front door. Her mother’s little lecture had taken long enough that the bus stop was completely empty, and that only made Aubrey’s mood even worse. She seized her scooter and whipped it around, putting all of her mental frustration into the physical act of riding to school and away from her house as fast as possible.

The ride did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s anger and a dark storm cloud hung around her through every period. Students gave her a wide berth and teachers looked at her with distrustful eyes. They were all expecting something to happen, and she hated them for it. They always expected the worst of her. Kel had tried approaching her during their shared study hall, and she ignored him till he left. He wasn’t a true friend, he didn’t really care about her. Aubrey had to remember that, or she would fall for his tricks again.

By the end of the day, Aubrey was exhausted. To the rest of the world, she seemed just as bitter and angry as she was when she got to school, but it was just an easy front that she put out to keep them all away. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, climb the stairs to her room, and curl up with her bunny (). She wanted to block out the world and all of the fake people in it, forget about false friends and the never ending loneliness that threatened to crush her at any point.

She couldn’t. She had to go to Basil’s.

She found Basil waiting outside, off in a corner. He was standing slightly hunched over, like he was trying to disappear right where he stood. Absolutely pathetic, but that was Basil. A weakling who had used Aubrey. Kel was with him, clearly talking at Basil and not to him. Basil wasn’t even paying attention, just staring off at the trees and playing with his fingers the way Aubrey hated. She walked over in long purposeful strides, putting herself in the middle between the two boys.

“Get lost,” Aubrey snapped, hoping that Kel would argue right back with her. It would be a good outlet, something that would get rid of the storm cloud. Basil was no fun to fight with, he just cried and apologized. At least Kel would do it properly.

But luck was not on her side. Kel didn’t fire back with a harsh retort or even give her a glare. He just sighed and rolled his eyes, something that instantly set alarm bells of resentment ringing in her head. She hated when he acted higher and mightier, rising above her like he was too good to fight with her. It was the same as her mother’s religious rambling, just another hypocrite who thought they were better than they were and judged Aubrey for not playing their game.

“I’ll see you later, Basil ,” Kel said, deliberately putting emphasis on ignoring that Aubrey even existed. The urge to kick out his legs and pound him into the dirt was overwhelming, but the sound of the buses starting to rumble cut off that train before it left the station. She growled and yanked Basil along with her by the wrist, walking over to his bus and climbing the high steps. Aubrey practically threw him into an open three seater and launched her bag in after, sitting as close to the aisle as she could and as far away from him as possible.

She didn’t want them, but as she sat on the bus with her former oldest friend, memories of all the times they had done this before came to her one by one. They had always chosen a two seater before, they hadn’t needed the room of three. They would cram close together and read the same book, or chat about all the things they could do when they got to his house. They had almost missed their stop multiple times because they were so lost in their conversation, and oftentimes they had to shout for the bus driver to hold on so they could get off. It was funny, sweet to the point of saccharine.

The thoughts made Aubrey sick now. She tried to pretend it was just the righteous fury she obviously should have felt at their betrayal, but there was something else in there. A thing with dark claws that dug into her chest and made itself known with pain. The word for it sat heavy in her mind, there but unspoken, pushed to some long forgotten corner that she never looked at and never wanted to. Aubrey had enough trouble grieving the dead, she had no need for grieving the living too. The bus reached their stop and she hopped off without looking back. Basil would follow or he wouldn’t, she didn’t care either way.

“Aubrey!” Flora tottered towards them down the sidewalk, her cane clutched firmly in her right hand. Her white hair was pulled up in her signature bun, and her dress was a pretty floral blue that matched her eyes.

She pulled Aubrey into a hug once the young girl was close enough, holding her in a tight squeeze. Aubrey put her hands around Flora, but she didn’t hug her back. Flora was fragile, her bones easily felt through paper dry skin. Aubrey hoped she never got old enough to feel this breakable, but the hug was still warm and comforting. Flora smelled like old lady soap and dried flowers and clean laundry, a smell that Aubrey loved for how safe it made her feel, and hated for how fleetingly often she got to experience it.

When Flora pulled back she kept her hands on Aubrey’s upper arms, looking the girl up and down. Aubrey resisted the urge to squirm, holding her breath as the old woman appraised her. She hadn’t seen Basil’s grandmother since the funeral almost two years ago, and she knew Flora hadn’t seen her shocking pink hair yet, or the new styles she liked to wear. Aubrey began to steel herself for a long winded speech about respecting her body like a temple, the kind her mom liked to preach after her second bottle of wine.

“You got taller,” Flora commented, turning around and leading the way back to the house, “Come inside, I made some snacks for you two,”

Aubrey slowly let out the breath she had been keeping, letting Basil walk in front of her and towards his house. Flora had never been a mean spirited woman or purposefully judgemental, but Aubrey’s threshold for trust was a lot lower than it used to be. Her anger began to bleed out and shame took its place. Aubrey usually thought the worst of people, and that didn’t bother her because she was usually proven right in the end, but there were exceptions. Flora had never done anything to earn her ire, even if her grandson had.

Aubrey followed them into their home, taking her shoes off at the entrance and looking around. Nothing had changed really, flowers and plants still hung in pots all around and the bookshelf was still packed to the brim. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and vegetables half cut on a board next to it. Flora gestured towards the table and slowly made her way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and two oranges. She made quick work of the fruits and was soon putting a platter of cut up pieces of fruit between the two children.

“You two can finish your homework here while I finish up the grub. Dinner is going to be in an hour and a half. I know five o’clock is a little early for you youngins, but I like to be in bed by six!” The old woman laughed at her own nonexistent joke, the sound creaky and roughened with age. She had to stop to cough halfway through, but she waved away Basil’s worried gaze and reaching arms, “Please dear I’m fine. Aubrey you have to teach my grandbaby here how to relax more and just enjoy life,”

Aubrey didn’t respond, using digging through her backpack as an excuse to not have to acknowledge what Basil’s grandmother had said. It was less of a hassle to pretend that she hadn’t heard then to lie and act like she cared if Basil was uptight or not. Basil also didn’t say anything, he just started his work in silence. Flora’s genial mood faltered ever so slightly, but she took their dampened mood in stride.

“Okay then, while you two mope, I’ll keep working on dinner,”

Flora went over to the kitchen proper and turned on the radio, listening to some talk show that Aubrey’s mom also liked. The girl settled into her seat and began to flip through her work, picking and choosing which assignments she would do and which ones she would blow off. There was no point to doing some of them, the teacher was going to fail her anyway, so why should she try? At least if she put all her efforts into one or two classes with cool teachers, she might pass. It was almost dinner time when her peace was broken without her permission

“Did you understand the earth science homework?”

Aubrey looked up, shooting Basil a derisive look for even bothering to speak. He flinched away from her, but held firm, waiting for an answer. She didn’t even want to bother, but she knew Flora was nearby and probably listening, and she would have questions if Aubrey ignored her grandson, or worse, told him to shut up.

“It was easy,” Aubrey tersely replied, putting her anger into her pen. Her words started to come out jagged and uneven, but she didn’t care. It felt good, “It’s just identifying minerals,”

“I don’t get it,” Basil murmured, more to himself than to her. He scratched something out on his worksheet and fisted a hand in his hair, “She explained this over and over, I don’t understand why I don’t get it,”

Aubrey watched the display of his anxiety for a few moments before letting out an exaggerated sigh, letting her head flop back against the chair. It wasn’t even fun to watch him get upset, it just made her feel bad, which only made her angrier. She pushed her chair away from the table, enjoying the loud screech it gave and how uncomfortable it made Basil. Then she stood and walked around the table, leaning over him and getting in his space.

“Which one are you confused on?” She demanded, and he pointed to the question with a shaking finger. She looked at the problem and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even one of the difficult ones. Their teacher had given them a table of potential minerals and then a series of questions with specific properties. They had to correctly pick which mineral went to which list of properties.

“Okay so you already got half of them, so you just have diamond, muscovite, talc, and gypsum left,” Aubrey stated, going over the options, “The mineral cleaves into thin sheets, has a white streak, and a pearly luster. Which out of those ones has those traits?”

Basil didn’t respond, still shaking from their proximity. He stammered out some unintelligible words, his hands clasping together around his middle. Before he could devolve into an entire anxiety attack, and more importantly before Flora noticed what was going on, Aubrey would have to deal with this

“Would you quit that? I’m not gonna bite,” She barked, and he flinched further away. Great. Aubrey forced herself to take a breath and count to ten, the thing that the annoying school counselor had showed her that almost never worked. Aubrey tried again.

“Okay instead of thinking about it that way. Let’s go with which ones don’t have those features. Does diamond have a streak?”

“No it’s harder than the streak plate,” Basil responded, which was what their teacher had said word for word. Aubrey had started off with a question she knew he would know the answer to, because Mrs. Tommen had made Basil repeat her when she thought he wasn’t paying attention earlier that day.

“So then obviously it can’t be diamond.” Aubrey said, unable to take all of the snottiness in her tone. It had to be good enough, besides he should know it was stupid that he needed help with this.

“The rest have a white streak though,” Basil said after a quick check of his notes, “It could be any of them,”

Aubrey briefly considered banging her head against the wall. Anything to get her away from rocks and this idiot. She walked around to her side of the table and went back to her own work, putting her head close to the paper.

“Look at the rest of the traits. They don’t all have the same traits. Just do it that way, and quit bugging me,” She hissed. Basil wilted, but he focused back on his work.

“Thanks for the help,” It came out quiet and timid, but it was there. Aubrey jerked her head in a nod, and the two of them lapsed back into silent solo work until Aubrey’s mother knocked on the door. She was dressed in a purple dress that had seen better days and came bearing store bought cookies that still had a sale sticker on them. Her hair was done, but flyaways surrounded her head like a dust cloud, and her smile was entirely fake.

Flora came over and greeted Aubrey’s mom with enthusiasm, thanking her for her generosity and guiding her to the table. They made small talk as Basil and Aubrey gathered their things and Basil set the table. How her mom’s job was going, how was Flora’s health, all the usual things Aubrey couldn’t care less about.

The conversation only got more boring when dinner started. When they had done this in the past, Basil and Aubrey easily entertained one another with jokes and teasing jabs and barely noticed the time passing. Now each minute was an hour and Aubrey had achieved levels of boredom previously never reached. Aubrey caught Basil’s eye and nodded towards the doorway to the bedrooms, hoping he caught her hint.

“Um G-Granny?” Basil stuttered, grabbing her attention, “May Aubrey and I be excused?”

Flora looked at both of their plates and nodded, patting Basil on the arm. They gathered up their plates and put them in the sink. As she was about to finally escape, Aubrey’s mother crooked a finger in her direction. She walked to her mom and was pulled down roughly by the arm. It was nothing like the gentle pats that Flora gave Basil, but a clear warning.

“Behave,” Her mother said in a harsh whisper, and Aubrey gritted her teeth.

She hated that word. She hated her mother. She hated this whole stupid dinner. Aubrey didn’t bother to answer as she pulled away from her mom. Her mom didn’t want an answer, she wanted a doll for a daughter. A pretty perfect doll that made small talk and smiled at jokes that weren’t funny and did whatever she asked. Aubrey stole away from the kitchen table, walking into Basil’s room and shutting the door. She didn’t like spending time with him anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, but anything was better than being reminded just how much her own mother didn’t like her.

Basil’s room was also in a stasis, unchanged and unevolved from when she last saw it. The only difference was a blooming white orchid, the petals spread around the stem like angel wings. An orchid that was cared for meticulously, surrounded in the dying light of the day with a golden halo. An orchid that stopped Aubrey in her tracks when her eyes landed on it.

Aubrey had only seen orchids like this in one place. She had assumed that the Pastor did it, or some of the church ladies. She knew that the auxiliary had a circulating list of volunteers that went to tend to the graveyard. Aubrey had even considered that the strange man who always seemed to be in the cemetery might put them there next to her.

She knew Hero didn’t visit. He never went anywhere near the church, hadn’t in years. She didn’t know or care what Kel did, and Sunny didn’t even leave the house anymore. Aubrey had thought she was the only one that visited, the last person that even cared. For some reason her brain had completely blocked out the logical idea that Basil, who loved flowers more than anything, would be the one to carefully tend to a difficult to grow bloom.

“You put these by her?” Aubrey asked quietly, tracing a finger over the delicate petals. Neither of them needed Aubrey to say who “her” was, there was only one person left that connected them. Basil nodded, keeping his eyes down and away from his former friend. Aubrey continued to stare down at the flower, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.

“It’s a white egret,” Basil said, sitting on his bed near her and looking at the flower, “It means my thoughts will follow you into your dreams. I thought it was...I thought she might like it,”

She would have. Mari would have thought it was incredibly sweet, and she would have been able to tell Basil so. She wasn’t like Aubrey who spewed hate without a care in the world but who could never manage to say something kind without stuttering. She would have been able to bring them all together so effortlessly, there would have been no issue. None of this would have ever happened in the first place.

Aubrey was adrift, alone in a sea of confusion that sent wave after wave to try and drown her. She wanted to sit on the bed next to Basil, wanted to finally crack open and let everything out. She could trust him to listen, trust him to care. He was the only one besides her who still cared enough to visit. She should do that. That would be good. But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“Aubrey?” Basil said, hesitant but still reaching out. She pulled away from the orchid, stumbling back and looking around. A thick leather bound book in the middle of his bookshelf caught her eye, and she wandered over to it. She knew this book.

“Aubrey, don’t.” Basil ordered, his words meaning nothing to her. She could hear him say it, she could even be mildly shocked that he even dared to talk to her like that, when he had been so timid before, but none of it really reached her. Aubrey pulled his photo album out from the shelf, holding it in her hands and opening it.

Instead of the soft faded colors of their childhood, there was black. There was black over Sunny’s birthday, black over her pink raincoat. She could barely make out Hero and Kel arm wrestling, and she only knew which pictures were from the beach based on the small bits of yellow that peaked through the marker staining the memory.

He had scribbled over Mari’s picture.

Aubrey had never had an out of body experience like this. She was always solid, always grounded. Even when she had heard what Mari did, there was no part of her that was able to check out of the situation. Now she was high in the sky, somewhere distant and far where she could only watch as her heart was broken all over again.

A rough tug jerked her back into her body. Basil had snatched the album back from her, his eyes wild and blown wide open. She couldn’t even respond, she had no idea what to do first- steal the album back, or kill him.

“Get out!” Basil shrieked, holding the book against his chest and falling to his knees. She didn’t want to. She wanted to hit him, to feel his bones breaking under her fists and hear him crying out in pain. She could hurt him worse than he hurt her, make it so she wasn’t the only one suffering. He did this. He was the one who did this, and she wouldn’t be to blame for that. She wanted to wring his neck, to break down and start sobbing.

She wanted to run.

Aubrey shouted in rage, beyond words and beyond any outward expression of the emotions roiling within. She bodily threw the door open, running past the table and out the door. She heard her mother and Flora calling for her, but she ignored them, slamming the door and continuing to sprint away. She got back to her house in record time, not bothering to close the front door as she climbed up the ladder to her room as quickly as possible.

Aubrey locked the trap door to her room, finally letting out the scream that had been building up within her. No one was there to hear it but her bunny, and she was currently hiding in her hut from Aubrey’s meltdown. Aubrey flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillows, screaming again. She could hear her mother coming into the house now, screeching in rage at Aubrey’s dramatic exit, catapulting insults left and right about Aubrey. The girl wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. She would get that album back from Basil, whatever it took to do so, and she would never, never, trust him again.

#omotober #omori #omori fic #omori basil #omori kel #omori aubrey #I FORGOT TO POST YESTERDAY #I mean i did on ao3 but NOT HERE #ANYWAYS #so tired

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cowsparsley · 3 years

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It’s funny how much I got used to not doing all the reproductive work that comes with living alone... and how limiting it can be having to commit so much time and energy to it. Wish I had more support lol

ID below!

[ID: A four panel diary comic drawn in a teal blue palette. Each panel has its own caption.

Panel 1: The caption reads “In my absence, my flat seemingly got even dustier...” Below a hallway is drawn in perspective. At the end of it is an ajar door, and beyond it is another room and a distant window. The hallway is carpeted in a deep blue green colour, but the walls and ceilings are almost white. Many motes of dust hang in the air. They are greyish and textured with a pencil tool.

Panel 2: “Which triggered my asthma pretty badly”. Pictured below is the cartoonist from the shoulders up, her head resting on a pillow. Her hair is long and dishevelled and her expression is pained. Her shoulders are bare but she wears an eye mask around her neck. Two speech bubbles read “COUGH” and “WHEEZE”.

Panel 3: “So this week I took time off to do a deep clean”. Pictured is an opaque spray bottle with a blank label. To its left is a neatly folded pile of microfibre cloths. The items sit against a plain blue background.

Panel 4: “Especially in my bedroom, where I found mountains of dust under the bed!” Pictured are two mounds of dust, of the same greyish colour as in Panel 1. They are once again textured with the pencil brush, with lots of crosshatching where they sit in shadow. To the right, a slight breeze blows and motes of dust are pulled up into the air. End ID]

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pasteljeon · 4 years

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Blood Bound (m)

Summary: Tragedy brought you home. Love made you stay. Despite all odds, Namjoon has always been yours.

Werewolf!AU

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: werewolf au, fluff, mild angst, heat sex, breeding kink, namjoon has a big cock ana oop, size kink, mating, brief mention of death

Length: 7.1k

Notes: after almost a year in the making, it’s finally here!! i worked really hard on it so sdjskd please let me know what you think !! <3

There’s a wolf staring at you.

It’s misty. Wisps of fog curl around your wrist, skin pricking as the tendrils dissolve, droplets sliding from your fingertips to soak into the underlay of moss coating the ground.

There is no path here, only one worn through years of treading and the same footsteps sinking into rich soil. Only its eyes are visible, a deep amber hue peering from the thick smog, its body veiled by the equivalent shade.

Its gaze is unyielding, intense yet soft. Unmoving.

“Momma! Mommy, he’s hurting!”

The bundle of fur cradled in your small arms lay in silence, chest barely rising and falling unsteadily as rivets of crimson liquid stained his smoky coat alarmingly fast.

You waddled your way clumsily to the house, your mother stumbling out to the backyard in a panic at your yell with a first aid kit.

“Bring him here,” she beckoned. You placed him down gently, trying your best to keep from jostling him too much, lest the wounds were irritated. Your mother set to work immediately, clearing a work station on the patio tables.

You sniffled, watching as she cleans his injuries. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s hard to say, sweetheart. His cuts aren’t too deep, but there is still a chance for infection. We must act quickly.”

You ran to find your father, who’d been napping on the couch. It was a Sunday, the clinic closed and void of any patients.

“Dad! Daddy, come help! There’s a doggy and he’s really hurt! Mommy says she needs the – the t-tweasers?” You fumbled with the word, tentatively testing it out. He groaned, rolling from the sofa as he rubbed his neck. “A dog?” He yawned as he dug around the medical cabinet. He ruffled your hair as he passed, smiling fondly at the anxious look on your face.

“Your mom and I are going to help him, so don’t worry that little head of yours too much, okay?” You nodded, hot on his heels as he stepped out.

You clutched your skirt nervously, restless as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The pictures failed to cheer you up as they usually did, and you closed it to take another look at the creature sleeping on the counter. Your father had carefully set him into a basket padded with cushioning and pulled a thin blanket of linen over his body. It was summer, warm enough so he wouldn’t need much more to keep comfortable.

It had been hours since they cleaned and dressed his wounds. A particularly long gash ran down his tummy, and your lips had quivered at the sight. The long rays of evening sun casted shadows, your stubborn insistence to take vigil over the puppy lasting until your mother came out again with some lemonade and sandwiches.

“Come inside, sweetie,” she said sympathetically. “He’s not going to get better just by you staring at him. The worst has passed. He’ll need a few weeks to heal fully.”

“Can he sleep with me?” You asked. She chuckled. It was against their policy to allow patients in their own rooms, but she could see how troubled you were. “Sure, baby.”

It took months before the puppy was strong enough to walk. Even then, he limped awkwardly, the abrasion on his calf closing slowly. Half a year passed swiftly, and he grew strong enough to run and jump. Your attachment to him was growing by the day. He seemed just as enamoured by you, never straying too far from your side, pulling at your leg to play with him or snoozing on your lap. He liked licking your cheek, and barked softly whenever he saw a mouse scurrying in the overgrowth.

“Ghost!” His ears perked, tail wagging as he trotted to you. You laughed as he leapt into your arms, sending the two of you sprawling onto the grass.

Just as a year slipped by, so did he.

“Ghost? Ghost!” Your sobs bubbled up, tears clouding your vision as you searched for him, knees scraped and dirty. Your mother put a hand over your shoulder, coaxing you up.

You turned around, giving the yard one last sweep as she led you back in. You wept.

He was gone.

You blink, and the memory fades. Your return your attention to the pair of golden eyes, but they’ve already disappeared.

The cottage is cold. A delicate layer of dust has already collected over the furniture. Picture frames litter the mantle, a family portrait over the centre top. Setting your luggage aside, you shrug off your coat and rummage for cleaning materials underneath the sink. Tossing wood into the fireplace, you start with the timber figurines lining the living room. Your father’s handiwork, for your mother. For every anniversary.

It’s dark when you finish. You think you’ve cried at least thrice as you pack away your mother’s jewellery.

Scrubbing the remains of grime from your body, you settle into your childhood room for the first time in fifteen years. Staring out the window, it’s hard to find sleep. There’s much grief swirling within you, and little means of coping. But you like it here, and you’ve missed it. Your friends had offered to accompany you, to which you declined. This was something you needed to do alone.

Saying goodbye has always been the hardest part, after all.

You dream of him. Ghost, darting through the forest. He’s bigger, now twice your size. You’re older, too. 13, maybe.

He’s as playful as you remember, stopping to sniff every undergrowth and occasionally scratch at a tree. You follow him, tugged by something inexplicable. He leads you to a meadow, a quiet space privy to nothing but your breathing and the gentle whispers of wind. The tiny glen is moonlight dappled, with fireflies flickering like stars.

He pads to the centre of the field, waiting for you patiently, tail flicking slowly. He blinks up at you, head cocked, and then lays down, resting his head on his forearms. Come here, he seems to say. So you do.

Tentatively approaching him, he only watches you with sleepy eyes as you gingerly recline on top of his back. He promptly curls around you, tail coming around to rest protectively over your stomach.

Combing through his fur, you smile as he nudges your hand. His tail thumps happily the moment your nails scratch behind his ears, nearly knocking you breathless. He whines softly as an apology, nosing your palm as he peers up at you sorrowfully.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. A content rumble erupts from his muzzle and he ducks his head under your arm so both are now wrapped firmly around his neck.

You don’t say anything after, cheek pressed against his thick pelt, skin warm as you feel his chest rise and fall rhythmically. The two of you watch the stars twinkle in companionable silence for the remainder of the night.

The fire burns strongly as you wake, though the last time you touched it was hours ago. You feel disoriented, nostalgia aching in your heart. Yet, you’re also oddly comforted by the memory of something sweet.

Grabbing your drawstring bag, you pour some silver coins into it, enough for a quick trip to the market for groceries and some material for the dress you’ve been working on the past week.

A hoarse whimper startles you as you step out of the lodge, and you fall to your knees instantly at the sight of the bloodstained bundle of fur strewn next to your entrance, crawling to it quickly. Upon closer inspection, you realize with a sharp exhale that it’s a wolf—male, the very one that you’d glimpsed at your arrival. He’s massive, out shadowing you easily and in obvious pain by the way it’s panting, barely able to lift its head.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “It’s going to be okay. Let me help you.” He seems eager to trust you, the way he closes his eyes and slumps, like he’s tired of having to guard its six. Hauling a pail of cool water and the med kit, it’s history remade once more as you wash his wounds and stitch them up. He watches you work, quiet even as you disinfect the deep claw marks.

“Got into a fight, didn’t you?” You say absently as you begin rolling the bandages on his torso. He huffs, warm air ruffling your tied locks as he blinks those gold-rimmed orbs forlornly at you.

“I wonder if Ghost is as big as you.” Running a hand lightly over his unmarred neck, he allows you to stroke him gently. Your palm practically sinks into his fur, thick and soft; his silvery pelt a shockingly gossamer sheen. With difficulty, he shifts, nearly toppling you over in the process, but you steady yourself on your knees as he reveals his stomach.

“No,” you breathe. Your blood runs cold, paling as you reach with shaky fingers to touch the thin scar stretching across the soft line of his tummy. “Ghost?” You say, stunned. He whines faintly, ears flattening as if expecting resentment. “You’re a wolf.”

He lowers his head, expression rather doleful as he puffs out another breath. “You’ve grown so much,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He rolls over, concealing the old wound once more, and paws at the ground at your knees.

“Don’t move so much,” you warn immediately, swiping at your cheeks. You touch his jaw delicately. “I’m not mad, I promise. Just … surprised. In a good way.”

“Can you walk?” Normally you would feel a bit awkward speaking to an entirely different species incapable of similar speech, but the intelligence and wisdom glowing in those tender tawny irises suggest otherwise. He feels familiar, and warm.

He heaves himself up, limping slowly as he shoulders his way through the narrow doorway and staggers onto the centerpiece rug. “Sleep baby,” you murmur, dragging over a thin sheet over him. He watches you with half-lidded eyes, tail swishing leisurely as you move around. “I have to go to the market,” you say as you pour water into a hefty bowl you hauled from the lower cabinets.

Ghost wrinkles his nose at the basin, looking fairly offended as he scowls at the object. “You lost a lot of blood. I know it’s not ideal, but bear with me here,” you say, amused.

He stares at you stubbornly, the thumping against the muffed boards increasing in volume. It takes one glance at those pleading honey-coloured orbs of his for you to cave.

“It’s okay,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t really want to go anyway.” If wolves could grin, you imagine that’s what it would look like. Ghost’s lips pull back, sharp canines glinting in the firelight as his tongue rolls out excitedly. “You really are just like a dog,” you giggle. “But bigger.”

He barks, just once, in defiance. You laugh again, lugging a spare coverlet next to him for a makeshift bed. You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose gently. “Rest up, baby.”

His every exhale ruffles your locks, and his tail stills as you close your eyes.

The first rays of light peek from the horizon just as you rouse at dawn, having slept unexpectedly peacefully. Your nightmares seem to have ceased momentarily, and your mind is clearer than it has been for a long time now. You muse it likely has something to do with Ghost’s presence being a wordless comfort.

Ghost heals much quicker than you’d thought possible. When you peel away the gauze, fully prepared to clean and rebind his wounds, med kit sprawled at your side, you find the cut is no more than a fresh layer of skin.

“How …?” You stroke the tender patch cautiously, testing the depth of damage, but Ghost nuzzles your arm, seemingly unbothered. Examining the area, you realize his fur has also grown back to full. It’s disorienting, like the injury never occurred in the first place.

“Are you well enough to join me?” You ask as you rise to your feet and pull on a clean shirt. The wolf follows, shaking himself out before padding toward the door and taking a seat at the entrance, golden eyes patient as he waits silently.

With a giggle, you scratch under his chin in appreciation, his tail nearly dislodging the flooring beneath him in its intensity. He leans against you heavily when you reach the spot behind his ear, tongue loose as he pants.

“Found your weak spot, huh,” you tease. Ghost lets out a faint whine but remains lifeless against you save for the furious wagging of his tail. “So cute.”

He whimpers when you release him reluctantly. “I’ve gotta change and eat something quickly, and then we can go, okay?”

He huffs and straightens again, struggling to cast the drowsiness from his pelt, managing to look much more alert when he sits up once more.

When the sun is at its peak and you’ve showered, feeling a little more refreshed, and finished the small snack of grapes and apples you’d brought along for your journey, you sling your bag over your shoulder and the two of you set out to the market.

This village is home.

And you’re reminded of it with every step you take into the crowded streets, the cheerful calls of merchandise and a wide assortment of edible goods from foreign lands set up in colourful arrays of stalls, the kind smiles flashed in every direction. You breathe in the familiar scents of traded spice and homemade concoctions alike.

Their gazes are strangely intimate, and you know it is because of the label you wear with the shape of your lips and structure of your cheekbones. You’d left so young, but your family had stayed. For them, this village was everything.

And they remember.

It’s not as painful as you thought it would be. The recognition and quiet sympathy don’t suffocate you like you anticipated. Instead, you feel warm. Ghost is pressed tightly by your side, and the sight of a Grey wolf should both alarm and frighten, but this is no ordinary town. Hidden in the mountains and protected by fog and legend, magic is whispered through generations of bloodlines.

“Hello, dear,” a merchant says. “Interested in some silk threads?” She’s old, deep crinkles at the edge of her eyes as she beams up at you. Still so lively, despite her age and deteriorating body. You like her.

“Hello,” you say shyly. “Would you have any spider silk on hand, by any chance?”

The trader brightens. “Of course! One moment.” Disappearing behind artistically beaded curtains, you wait patiently at the side, one hand absently scratching Ghost behind his ears as you peruse the charms and accessories on display.

“Princess. It’s so very good to see you again.” Startled, your fingers still, head raising slowly. Your companion seems to sense your uneasiness and nuzzles your palm as if to reassure you the newcomer is of no immediate threat.

“I’m sorry,” you say, puzzled. “Do I know you?”

He grins. “You don’t remember? I’m hurt. I thought we’d be friends forever. Granted, I was 6 at the time, but we had so much fun.”

Ebony-dark hair, plush lips, eyes that slit into crescent moons when he smiled. A silver chain rests at the dip of the dangerously low v of his cotton tee. Wrists adorned with more silver, as well as several rings.

“J-Jimin?” You blink, stunned. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” He pulls you into him the instant you’re on your feet.

“I know. You look as beautiful as ever,” he says fondly when you pull back. “We’ve missed you. Why didn’t you ever write?”

You avoid the thinly veiled curiosity in his look, hands sliding down his arms to grip his elbows. Ghost presses himself closer, pushing his head onto your upper thigh as he lets out a quiet huff. “You’re so handsome now, Chimmy. You’ve grown up so well. I see you’ve been running with the pack. Beta, right? Mother told me.”

Jimin takes your hands gently. “Noona, it’s just me.”

You stare at his chest, tracing the dark ink that flaring across his ivory skin absently.

“Princess, please.” He tips your chin up, amber orbs soft and unguarded as he pleads. They can’t. They can’t.

“I can’t.” You close your eyes. “Please, Jimin. Don’t ask.”

“It’s safe here. You know that, right? We would never let anything happen to you,” he says tightly.

“I know,” you draw away, resting your hand on Ghost’s massive head lightly. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jiminie. No one wants to talk about it because they trust you, but the treaty needs to be renegotiated before the blood moon rises.”

“Then come back,” Jimin insists, stepping closer. Your companion rumbles, though remains immobile.

You take a breath. “It’s not that easy.”

“He’s your mate.”

“Not by choice. He doesn’t really want me. I’m a means to an end, Jimin,” you exhale tiredly. “I always have been. It’s why I left. At least for a little while, I could pretend my life could be something more than just destiny.”

“___, please. You know what happens if the full moon comes and goes and you don’t bond with him. The treaty will end. The bloodline … it’s what keeps this place alive.” He’s imploring you, sympathetic but resolute.

“I don’t want this,” you say in a small voice. “He deserves to be happy, too.”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t make him?” It makes you pause for a moment, surprise flickering, and Jimin smiles wryly.

“Give this a chance, noona,” he says. “You are more suited for each other than you think. Fate is not a fool. You were chosen for a reason.”

From his pocket, he opens your palm, dropping the item and closing your fingers over it firmly. “Give him a chance. He might just be everything you never knew you needed.”

“Sorry for the delay, dear!” You jerk at the sound, slipping the object in your bag before turning on your heel. The merchant makes her way over, waving a roll of thin silk in her hand.

“It was in the back shelves. My assistant being mischievous again,” she explains, chuckling. You manage a polite smile. If she catches your sudden change of mood, she doesn’t comment, simply going about wrapping your goods cheerfully.

When you glance back, Jimin’s gone.

Ghost whines. You nod. “Thank you. How much?”

It’s quiet.

A cool breeze ruffles your locks, the lawn freshly mowed. Morning dew sparkles from the afternoon glow, the sound of grass and the odd leaf crumpling beneath your shoes.

Ghost is silent as he pads next to you, steps light despite the sheer mass of his body. He’s keeping close to you, the extraordinary heat emanating from him a wordless comfort against the chill settling deep in your bones.

You stop.

You exhale shakily, bending to gently set the bouquet at the foot of the grave.

Ghost sweeps the area behind you with his tail, brushing away debris and droplets. You crack a tiny smile at the very humanlike gesture, rubbing his ears in gratitude before taking a seat.

He wraps himself around you, circling twice before settling, resting his chin on his forepaws.

You lean into him, and Ghost whimpers lowly, nudging you.

With a watery sigh, you bury your face in his fur, sobs muffled by the density and his tail curls around your stomach, a reassuring weight.

You cry until you’re empty and all that’s left is you and him.

The skies are pink when you leave.

The sun peeks from over the horizon, dipping low. Your gait is slow, the mental exhaustion pulling on your physical form heavily.

Ghost trots beside you, echoing your steps, but pushes before you to stop at the foot of the entrance.

His head cocks to the side, golden eyes impossibly wise yet tender.

You scratch under his chin lightly, cracking a smile. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The wolf licks a long stripe up your cheek, nosing your jaw. You kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you.”

Ghost weaves himself effortlessly back into your life.

He stays with you, guards you. Sleeps at the foot of your bed, keeping you grounded on nights sleep escaped you.

He’s there when the nightmares threaten to consume you, gently pawing at you, barking quietly. Your anguish was powerful, but Ghost never baulked.

Eventually the dreams faded. Your grief, like a storm, passed. The sorrow lessened, and breathing became easier.

Princess, still whispered but less so. With the White Wolf guarding your back, they wonder why you’re trying to run. No one prods, but you know they wonder.

The days continue to slip by peacefully. Despite this, you know time is ticking. The deadline is drawing near and you’re terrified.

You know they’re going to try to find you.

He’s going to try to find you.

And you have no idea what to do.

Your next trip to the market, the sweet farmer you’ve been building a steady friendship with is absent.

“He’s out sick,” her replacement explains. She’s youthful, likely around your age. She’s beautiful, with long cerulean hair and cold green eyes, an uncommon set of characteristics found in your village. She’s not from here.

Ghost is tense beside you, ears flattened. She leers at him subtly. Your skin prickles at her smile.

Your lips quirk and you buy one bushel of strawberries from her.

“Meat?” You ask instead, glancing down at him. Ghost blinks.

Idly, you wonder if her presence here means any threat.

It’s not your place for concern, you remind yourself. Because it isn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

The season is turning when he comes.

You wake to a warm, hard body pressed against you.

He’s gorgeous, with silky silver hair and a chiselled jaw line. Asleep, the broad expanse of his bare chest rises and falls rhythmically, an arm resting over your stomach.

In one swift maneuver, you flip him over, pressing the blade against his neck. “Where. Is. Ghost.”

He doesn’t flinch, eyes fluttering open to reveal beautiful molten gold irises. “Namjoon,” he says. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” His voice is deep, rumbly. Like velvet.

He shifts, hands up placidly when you push the blade harder in warning. You let him pull the sheets down to reveal his naked abdomen, where a long, healed laceration sits.

You falter, knife slipping from your grasp. He catches it easily, setting it to the side. His piercing gaze never drifts.

You get off him, move to your wardrobe. Throw him some old clothes. Your father’s, likely to be a bit loose on him. You hear him fumbling with them, mattress creaking as he stands.

You remain silent as you pull a shawl over yourself.

“You’re angry.”

He’s behind you, that supernatural heat radiating off him warming you despite your inner turmoil. Worry seeps into his tone.

He reaches for your hand, but you step away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” you say. Hiding your trembling fingers buried in your elbows.

“Please don’t push me away. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know how else to—to approach you. To see beyond the labels.” Desperation. Frustration. “Please, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you say automatically. Your feet lead you to the kitchen. To start your morning routine. Pulling out ingredients, striking a match to start the stove.

“Princ—___. Please. I—I was wrong, I know. I just—I wanted to be here for you. This was the only way you would ever let me in.” He follows you. Like a puppy, like he’s always done. All his life.

“When I was gone—did you ever—did you ever try with anyone else?” You ask bluntly, turning around to meet his gauge his reaction.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Yes—yes, I tried. That’s what you wanted all along, right? But it doesn’t work. All I could think about was you. Even—even with my ruts. Nothing worked, nothing helped. I suffered, ___. It was torture being without you, all these years.”

“Not for me,” you say matter-of-factly before returning to your task. You concentrate on chopping onions to avoid the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. You’re a fucking sadist, you tell yourself grimly. All you’ve ever done is hurt him. Even though he deserves the world.

“And … and you? Did you … did you—try?” He’s hesitant. He doesn’t really want an answer, but he wants to know. He wants to pretend the knowledge of his won’t kill him.

“Yes, and it works for me. I can’t feel the bond,” you say. “I’m not one of you, remember? All human, one hundred percent of the time.”

He thinks he’s going to kneel over with how powerful the pain crashing over him feels. It almost cripples him, but he also knows—

“You’re lying.”

You stop. “No, I’m not.” The cutting resumes.

“You’re cooking for me. Historically, females have accepted the mating bond through a demonstration of food,” he says casually.

You stare at the plates.

The table is set for two.

The atmosphere is tense, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

“___—”

“Namjoon, please.” You drop the fork you’re holding. “I don’t want to talk about this. There’s no discussion. I never wanted this, and I never will. End of story. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.”

“There is no one else. I don’t think you understand. We can only choose once. That’s it. And my wolf chose you. I chose you.” He sounds like he’s choking up, voice caught in his throat. “I’m not asking for a definite answer. I just want you to try. I know you can feel the bond between us. I can hear your heart. It’s fluttering.” Like a hummingbird in your rib cage, eager to take flight, he wants to say. He is not good at wooing, has never needed to before. He has wanted, before, despite his position, personality, looks, everything. Despite all that he is, he has never wanted anything more than what he is, and yet here he sits, begging you to take all that he can be for a mere chance.

“Have you ever thought maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn’t your choice? That we’re simply meant to be because of destiny?” You say bitterly. The bigger part of you wants to say yes, yes, all I’ve ever wanted to say is yes, but what if all of this is a mistake, what if I can’t be the one you need, what if—

“I don’t care,” he says fiercely. “I want you. I know I want you. Every fibre of my being needs you. Close to me, always. You spirit, your soul. It calls to mine.”

“You don’t even know me,” you shoot back. Weaker. His eyes gleam.

“But I want to,” he insists. “I want to know everything about you. I already know your heart. It is gentle and kind and giving and that is enough for me. Please. I can be good for you, I promise.”

Your chair screeches loudly as you stand, half-finished plate in hand. Your hunger eludes you again.

He watches you warily.

You take a breath.

“The first time—why did you go?” Voice timid. Scared. –Because you’re nothing, you were never anything, can never be anything and—

“To keep you safe.” He’s firm. You risk a glance. His eyes are honest. He’s never lied to you before. Until now.

You cover your forgotten meal with a cloth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He perks up, disbelief and excitement sparkling. He can hardly dare to believe. Finally, finally—

“Yes. But slow. I don’t know—I still don’t know if I’m ready for this,” you say, leaning against the counter as you turn.

He rushes over, nearly tripping over the leg of the table, exhilarated and ecstatic.

“Yes—yes. Of course.” He skids to a stop, hands hovering near you, remembering the lines as he begins to withdraw, looking embarrassed at his childish enthusiasm.

“Kiss me.” You dare. He flushes. “I—I do not think that’s slow, exactly—”

“Namjoon.”

He cups your cheek gingerly, palms so large they engulf your entire face, dipping his head. You say his name again, breath sweet as it ghosts across his lips.

Kisses you softly.

You grip his shirt, swallowing his moan when his lips crash over yours again, dragging his tongue over your seam.

He parts your mouth easily, devours you, one hand braced around your waist where he crowds you against the marble counter.

Then you make a noise.

Namjoon groans, reluctantly tearing himself away, the movement sluggish and impossibly difficult given the way his body refuses to unglue itself from you.

He buries his face in your neck, suckling your skin tenderly.

“Slowly,” he rasps.

Your breathing is laboured and you nod against his chest, dazed. “Yeah.”

“I see you took my advice.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling tonight?” You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to throw him a look as you continue patting in the soil. You know he’s sporting his signature smug grin.

“This is patrolling. It’s part of my route.” You hum, determined to engage in as little talk as possible. It’s already enough mortification to walk through the village with the tall, handsome leader by your side, with the knowing smiles and fond congratulations. You know they mean well, and this is a big deal, but—it’s a lot to take in. You’ve never enjoyed being the centre of attention. And now you’re exactly that.

“Jimin, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Namjoon’s voice cuts in, annoyed.

The Beta pouts. “Way to ruin my fun, Joonie.”

“Jimin.” The warning tone has him sighing.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you lovebirds be, but remember! I get to name your first pup,” he calls as he jogs off.

“I hate him,” Namjoon says flatly, watching him leave with his arms crossed.

“No, you love him. He’s just being nosy because he cares about you,” you correct, smiling as you stretch. Dropping a kiss on his cheek, you tug him inside. “It’s time for dinner.”

Namjoon trails after you, glowing.

He never discusses pack business with you.

He knows this relationship you’ve been building together is still preliminary, still just a trial run. It’s going well—so well, in fact, that he’s terrified something will happen that’ll flip all of it on its head. Things usually do, because he attracts disaster. He always has.

He’s never been happier. He feels at peace with you, content and bursting at the seams with every word, every smile, every touch.

His wolf is quiet, tamed at your very presence. Basking in your attention.

He’s just—so whole.

So it’s only natural, he supposes, that he’s the one that destroys it.

It’s ironic that it’s raining.

You can hardly tell if it’s your tears or the rain that blurs your vision.

It doesn’t matter much, you think, as you stare at the scene of Namjoon kissing someone else.

Not just someone else—the girl from the stall. The one with blue hair and bright eyes.

Prettier. Smarter. Everything. Liar.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Your basket is dropped, somewhere, lost. Where should you go?

“___, please! I didn’t kiss her, she’s set this up so you’d reject me—so I’d have no choice but to go to her, but I won’t!” He’s loud, frantic, following you again.

A door, a door, your door. You fumble with the key.

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you chant, teeth chattering. Cold. You’re soaked to the bone.

“I love you,” he breaks, a sob catching. His voice is strangled, throaty. “I love you. Please believe me. I don’t—I can’t do this life without you. Please. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

“Leave, Namjoon. I never want to see your face again. I hate you,” you say hollowly.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that. Say you don’t mean that. Please. Please,” he repeats, crying earnestly now. He looks so small, clothes clinging to him, expression fearful and miserable. Hunched into himself. Reaching out for you.

“Stay away from me,” you grit. The lock clicks. His eyes widen, panicked. “No—no, no, no, no! Don’t—don’t shut me out, don’t do this, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You slide to the ground, shivers wracking your body as you listen to him sob on the other side of the door.

Time loses meaning, the water from your clothes creating a puddle as you sit there, huddled.

He doesn’t stop whispering apologies until Jimin comes to collect him an hour later, dragging him away as he fights. You can hear him shouting and struggling, but Jimin’s firm, hauling him away.

When all that’s left is the quiet patter of rain on your rooftop, their voices fading into silence, you get up and draw yourself a bath.

He’s so weak. You make him weak. His role as the pack leader, his senses, rationale, everything flies out the window when it comes to you. Everything he’s built the past decade, the person he’s become.

“Jimin, I fucked up,” he says wretchedly. The empty crater is growing, expanding each second he’s away from you. His wolf howls, the anguish too raw for him to bear much longer.

“You need to prep for your rut,” his Beta says instead. Jimin paces restlessly, rubbing his temples as he watches Namjoon bury his face in his hands. He’s never seen their leader so broken, it terrifies him.

“I—I need to see her,” Namjoon says suddenly, standing abruptly. Jimin rushes to the door, blocking the entrance.

“Now is not the time,” Jimin warns. “You’re entering your pre-rut. You could hurt her. She’s not ready.”

Namjoon sucks in a shuddery sigh. And then, “Jungkook.”

A beat.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Set up the chains. And have Yoongi stand guard. Make sure I don’t get out,” Namjoon orders.

Jungkook meets Jimin’s gaze briefly. The Beta nods and he disappears from the room.

Namjoon collapses back in his seat, staring down at his hands silently.

The group looks at him worriedly. Jimin merely shakes his head, lips pursed. They’ve never seen their leader look so defeated before.

“It’s fine. It’ll be fine. They’ll talk it out and she’ll understand. She’s just hurting right now,” Jimin says.

But his tone wavers, uncertainty seeping in. He doesn’t know.

You wake to the sounds of someone pounding at your door.

The moon is high, your camisole thin and your exhaustion wearing thin.

“Jimin, why are you—” Rubbing your eyes, you pull it open, only to be shoved into an overheating body. You let out a surprised gasp, stumbling back as you struggle to support the weight.

“Wha—Namjoon? What are you—what are you doing here? Why are you so warm?” He’s burning up, feverish. Your palm meets bare skin, sweat coating his chest. Half-naked and delirious, Namjoon slurs, “I—I have to … apologize. Can’t lose you, not like—like this, she did this, I don’t want her, I don’t care about her. I need you. I need you. Princess … Princess, come home.”

“Are you—are you sick?” You nearly topple over as he crumples on your bed, silver locks plastered to his forehead. Something tinkles, and you pale at the sight of broken chains around his wrists.

“You’re ignoring … ignoring me. Don’t, please,” he pants, sitting up with difficulty. He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes bright but hazy, golden irises a mere thin ring. It’s so hard to … to talk, to think with this heat running through his veins.

“Namjoon …”

“I know—I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true! I didn’t kiss her back, I pushed her away, I—I—I—” he’s babbling, he’s losing it and you grab his face.

“I know,” you say simply. Namjoon closes his eyes, sagging in your hold as relief floods through him, the deliria fading momentarily.

“I know. I just … it hurt. I thought—maybe I was right. That your feelings for me aren’t real, that you’re just … settling.” He frowns, shaking his head rapidly as he takes your hands. “No, no that’s not true. I’ve always loved you, since we met, since we were kids.”

“As Ghost, I … I saw your compassion, your humanity,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. I didn’t even know what my feelings for you would entail back then.”

“No … I was being stupid. I was scared,” your gaze drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to hear you out. I was just afraid that you’d only wanted me out of convenience.”

“___. I love you. I want to know you, if you’d let me,” he says shyly. He’s flushed, the heat bleeding back, but he can’t lose focus.

“Complete the treaty, then,” you say breathlessly. You don’t want to run anymore. For once, you want to face your fate head-on. You step back, pulling your top off in one fluid motion.

Namjoon freezes, wide-eyed. “You … you don’t know what you’re saying. What that means,” he croaks. He leans back, struggling to breathe.

Your core clenches at the sight of him, silver hair raked back, muscles taut and rippling beneath smooth caramel skin. He’s beautiful.

“Are you sure? You know what happens after, right? You’ll become my Luna, the Pack’s Princess … are you sure you want this?” He’s still holding himself back, likely by his sheer will at this point. Ruts are powerful, even more so when he’s the Alpha.

“Yes,” you say, straddling him. His hands feel so large where they come to rest at your hips, squeezing gently.

With him, you feel safe.

“I want you … I’ve been waiting for you, all this time. I want you to be my mate. To be mine.” You can feel his length, hard and throbbing, beneath his slacks. His kind has always been well-endowed, and you can feel his tip nudging at your centre.

“Take me, then,” you whisper, nosing his jaw. Namjoon groans, hold tightening before he slams you against the mattress.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls, ripping your panties off impatiently with his teeth. Shoving down his jeans, he wastes no time aligning himself. You’re already so wet, and he preps you easily, sliding two fingers in and scissoring you gingerly. Your spine locks, the pleasure flooding your system like a forgotten drug.

You gasp his name and he nips at your throat, violet flowers blooming with every touch.

“Wanna breed you, make you mine, fill you to the brim with my seed,” he moans, hips jerking as he enters you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him sends his head spinning.

“N-Namjoon,” you mewl, clawing at his back helplessly as he punctures every word with a thrust. He sets a punishing pace, already edged and desperate. Having you splayed out like this, so ethereal and so wholly his, awakens something primal, darker. His wolf demands to be unchained.

“I can’t think, can’t focus on anything but fucking you senseless and knocking you up with a litter of my pup,” his voice is guttural, so deep you know it’s not quite the man you’ve gotten to know the past few weeks.

“Hello, Luna,” he drawls. His eyes are flecked with silver, lips curled into a lazy smirk. The other side of the same coin.

“Ghost,” you murmur, smiling. You reach up to stroke his cheek, and he nuzzles your palm, turning to kiss it gently.

His touch is sweeter, loving. The frenzy is lost for the moment, the heat and the need dissipating as he licks into your mouth eagerly. He exhales, cock twitching inside of you as he fucks into you slowly.

“With this vow, we are bound. In sickness and in health, to protect and to cherish. Let the moon be our witness,” he breathes, dragging his fangs over the delicate skin of your neck.

You hold him close as he marks you, lapping at your blood as you cry out softly.

Forevermore, he wants to say, but he refrains because though it’s part of the vow, it’s still too early, too much.

For now, this is enough.

You lose track of time after that. They switch periodically, taking turns fucking you into oblivion before waking you with their mouth on your breast, suckling hard as their fingers tease your clit. Between the sheets, they learn to worship every crevice of your body, how to make you sing and sigh and moan so beautifully.

You take breaks only to drink water and to feed each other pieces of fruit and bread. Showers become pointless after he takes you against the wall twice before falling back onto the bed for a third and fourth.

It’s dawn when he’s finally burned through most of his rut.

“Who was that girl?” Namjoon hums, fingers sliding through your locks as you trace figures on his bare chest absently.

You’re exhausted but glowing, and he can’t stop smiling.

“From a neighbouring pack. They wanted me to choose her instead, to solidify an alliance. We already had one, they were just being greedy. She knew about you and tried to sabotage me. Don’t worry, I had Jin take care of it,” he kisses your nose. “You know I only want you, right?”

You nod, cheeks colouring.

“It’s only ever been you.”

“And the bell?”

Jimin grins, twirling the spatula in his hand. “It’s the one Joon gave to you the first night he met you. He didn’t just pick it up out of nowhere, you know. It’s like a family heirloom. Only his mate can wield it and only he can hear it.”

“Where’d you find it? I thought I lost it when I moved.” The bell sways silently where it dangles from the red string.

“You didn’t,” he says simply, flipping the pancake.

“Huh.”

“___! Princess, are you okay?” Namjoon comes barrelling through the door, skidding to a stop in front of you with wide, panicked eyes.

“Jimin,” you say slowly. “Just how sensitive is this bell?”

“I wouldn’t use it. Like, ever, unless you’re about to die or you want those flaming hot cheetos when you’re carrying,” Jimin answers matter-of-factly.

Namjoon’s still fussing over you and you sigh.

“I fucking hate you, Park.”

#bangtansmutcentral #ksmutclub #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon imagines #btsguild #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #werewolf au #werewolf!namjoon

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pocketramblr · 3 years

Text

how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

--------

When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

--------

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

--------

“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

--------

Stinky dumpster boy

--------

“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

--------

Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

--------

“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

--------

Old news

--------

“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

#kjhgfghjk #this really is just me making fun of the hair thing #brought on by me and my sister giggling over possibilities #from 'do he wash' to 'wait... hair bleach doesnt work like that it'd be yellowy first'#my fic #my writing #ok i think thats enough tags #bnha manga spoilers #bnha #wish tumblr would give me my line break rights back #crackfic

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goeymoey · 3 years

Text

What if you fixed me?

just a simple what if this time :) Tyler being a nurse for the guys and this and that

Yeah

———-

“ What’s the best course of action?”

Tyler looks up from his papers with a tired expression. “ To cut it off. There’s no use trying to save a bunch of fried nerves and dead meat.” He stands up with a sigh, hands shaking by his sides.

“ I know that’s not the news you wanted to hear, but-“

Evan cuts him off. “ No…no, you gave me something…that’s all I wanted.” His good hand clasps Tyler in a soft grip. “ Thank you.”

Their skin tones conflict each other greatly beneath the bright hospital lights, but the cause of Tyler’s tears are not just from the fluorescent shines sting.

His watery blue eyes bravely examine the blackened appendage hanging off Evan’s shoulder. Once an arm, useful, now nothing but an annoyance for his friend.

Dead weight.

Tyler let’s a cold tear roll down his flush cheeks, savoring the moment of silence, before readying himself to wield his bone cutting saw.

“ Okay…let’s get this over with.”

Evan weakly squeezes his friends hand. “ Let’s do it.”

—————

It was horrific. The smell of burning flesh still encases the inside of his nose and he can’t stop scrubbing the non existent blood from his hands.

He’s failed. He failed. The arms gone.

Human hands, one robotic, all dark…ripping at his shirt. Poking his sides. Their heads are screaming, screaming, voices hoarse.

There are tears. Streaming down their faces- oh the horror of it all.

It hurt. It hurts. He can’t tell wants real and wants not. It’s all coming at once.

Faces, hands, tears and voices. Holding onto him with their smudged finger tips and vice grip.

He can’t sleep anymore. He can’t-

“ Breathe.”

—————

Evan’s arm is replaced with one kick ass robotic one, courtesy of Brian, and he couldn’t be happier.

Of course, Evan misses his original arm. He still has nightmares of the day it was flayed like a fish…and sometimes the pain comes back on not so sunny days but, he’s good, he’s good…

The metal is tough, injury proof, and even matches the color of his suit. Black and gold.

So, it’s good. It’s all good.

No problems here…

—————

Tyler can’t bring himself to enter the hospital room. He’s still wearing his blue scrubs, stained with blood and…other fluids and just smelling like death on legs.

His hands are sweaty and shake underneath his gloves. He can’t open the door with them on so, why not come back tomorrow?

A soft hand claps his shoulder.

“ Let me help you.” Evan. His eyes are a mess of irritated veins and teary pupils.

Tyler bites his lip. “ I can’t…I couldn’t help him…he’s…” the more he talks, the harder it is for him to think, so he just shuts up.

Evan gives him a look, and it is just…so so sad, then uses his robotic arm to slip Tyler’s gloves off. He doesn’t dispose of them instantly. Rather, Evan stares at the gloves, stained with his friends blood, before tossing them into the waste bucket beside the door.

It will be burned later.

“ Tell him the truth.”

Tyler forces himself to meet Evan’s hard gaze. It’s tough for Tyler when he towers over Evan a foot, but he manages to hold himself still and digs his finger nails into his palms.

“ But what if-“

“ There’s no if.” Evan states plainly. “ You gave me the truth…do the same for him…He’s my friend as much as he is yours and-“ A sob chokes Evan mid speech and the shorter man is the first one to break their eye contact. He hides his trembling lips behind a black and gold arm as tears streak down his soft cheeks.

Tyler stays still, not fully comfortable with trusting himself to comfort his friend at the moment, and just watches as the other man collects himself slowly.

Evan sniffs and then regains eye contact. “ He was my friend first…don’t break him more than he already is…keep it straightforward, like you did me…”

The taller man looks down, avoiding the stained scrubs. “ He’s not like you Evan…Brock’s more-“

“ Fucking stop it with that shit. He’s not a god damn doll, Tyler…you’ve seen him…you’ve fought with him…He’s not some fucking flower.” Evan points at the closed, ominous, hospital door. “ He’s a god damn bad ass…just like me, just like you!” Tyler receives a harsh poke to the chest. “ And just like everyone else!”

Evan takes a step back, holding his head still, and crosses his arms.

“ Just give him the truth…that’s all I want.”

Tyler opens his mouth, but nothing comes to mind, so he closes it.

Evan nods sternly and then turns his back to the taller man. “ Just do it…I’ll be back soon.”

He waits for Evan’s form to disappear around the corner, holds his hand on the doorknob as the footsteps fade and then enters the room as the elevator doors close.

Tyler closes his eyes. “ Just Tell the truth…”

Brock, from his place on the bed, looks up at the sound of Tyler entering the room and smiles…well, partly.

The left side of his face is a puckered and leathery mess…and no matter how hard he frowns, the left corner of his lip will never fall…In fact, it barley moves at all now.

Tyler holds back the sting in his eyes and swallows harshly.

Brock seems to sense his depressed atmosphere and let’s his smile fall. “ Give it to me straight…is it worth the trouble?”

‘It’ being Brock’s left eye. The honey brown color is gone, drained and dead, with a haunting grey fog covering the scarred pupil. The eye was not injured at the same time Brock’s skin was, but since the traumas happened within minutes of each other, Tyler considers is a “two birds with one stone” injury.

No one laughed in the debriefing room when he was describing Brock’s damage, but Evan still put the world play in their file.

Hopefully someone higher up would find it funny and give him a good star.

Brock coughs harshly, Tyler blinks out of his day dreaming, and points to his heavily bandaged eye with a lightly bandaged hand.

“ Can we save it?”

Tyler instantly thinks about convincing Brock to under go another surgery, but all he sees is a tired man- his friend- with one less eye to see with, and his aspirations fall flat.

A sigh escapes him. He pulls up a chair to Brock’s good side and clasps their hands together.

He squeezes for comfort, and Brock squeezes back.

A deep breath. “ We can’t save your eye…”

Brock doesn’t react the way Tyler thought he would. His shoulders deflate, and heads sinks closer to his chest with the one good eye closed shut.

“ That’s what I thought…bummer.” Brock sighs sadly.

Tyler stares at him silently, hand still tightly gripping Brock’s. “ I’m sorry…I know it’s-“

Brock gives him the same look Evan did just months ago. “ No…Thanks for giving it to me straight…I don’t think I would be able to handle another…”miracle surgery” that doesn’t work.”

Tyler flinched at that, but tightened his lips.

“…I’m just glad it’s not anything worse…Yeah, losing an eye sucks ass but…at least I still have one.” The same soft smile creeps it’s way on Brock’s lips, and Tyler thinks his heart might stop.

The taller man has to lick his lips before speaking. “ Yeah…Yeah…at least it’s not two…” He smiles back, softly.

Brock hums. “ Definitely.”

—————

He can’t see. His eyes are gone, the hands tear at his face.

It’s disappointing. The fog disorients him and sinks into his skin. Bubbling beneath it like hot lava. Stretching and pulling like a current.

The smell of flesh is faint, but very present. Hands clean but tainted with the feel of spider webs that never seem to come off.

He’s failed. He failed, again. But it’s only one eye.

Something scratches at his ankles, nail bitten fingers, threatening to pull him more into the fog.

It hurts. It hurt.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t-

“ Wake up.”

—————

Brian, like he had done with Evan, manages to fit Brock with a prosthetic eye. It’s similar to the man’s own eye, but more slender and it glows yellow instead of red.

It’s perfect.

But, sometimes, Tyler finds Brock looking at himself in reflective surfaces. His scarred hand skimming over the damaged part of his face. Fingers lingering a little too long on the part where skin becomes metal.

Its…sad.

Brock never brings it up, and Tyler never asks…because, as far as anyone else knows, Brock loves his robot eye! He can see farther, scan stuff, tell time without looking at a clock and know when or if it’s gonna rain that day.

He loves it!

Well, it itches every now and then, but no more problems here!

…not yet, anyway.

—————

In the following months, Tyler gives Marcel a new hand, preforms life saving surgery on Anthony, reattaches Scotty’s left foot, diagnosis’s Nogla with severe hearing loss, reconstructs Jonathan’s whole face, removes one of John’s fingers, puts Jaren in a full body cast and replaces Brian’s heart with a mechanical enhancement.

It’s…it’s not good. They’re not good. Everyone’s suffering and Tyler….Tyler doesn’t know what to do.

His hands haven’t stopped shaking since the day Nogla and Evan brought Jonathan to the emergency room, and he nearly collapsed from exhaustion trying to safely reattach Brian’s new heart.

It’s too much- it’s all too much…He can’t…He…

Tyler doesn’t know why “he can’t”…because, he has. He’s saved them all, his friends are alive, but he still says he can’t.

Maybe it’s because when he first dug his saw into Evan’s arm, he held his breath. Or maybe it’s because he slept for days after Scotty’s surgery and couldn’t wake up unless it was to the smell of blood from his night terrors…

He doesn’t know.

He probably doesn’t want to.

—————

They learn to talk about it.

Evan brought it up first. “ I still have…nightmares about the day I lost my arm…and I hate it.”

He’s told them all after dinner- while they were watching some rando movie Nogla had picked out.

And then, from there on, everyone opened up about their own insecurities.

“ I look so different from what I used to look like…It’s as if I’m wearing an itchy suit. Everything always feels tight and uncomfortable.” Brock.

“ Sometimes I feel like my hands still there. It’s a weird feeling, and sometimes it gets too much and I have to take off the prosthetic before I throw it in the trash.” Marcel.

“ I look at life so different than what I used too. Everything’s bright, but also not…It can be dizzy or stable and sometimes things aren’t there when you see them…” Anthony.

“ I haven’t walked the same since I’ve gotten it reattached. Every time I’m out of my wheel chair, I feel like my whole legs gonna fall off, and it scares the shit out of me.” Scotty.

“ I miss being aware. My hearing aids help, yeah, but they also…hurt? Not physically, but mentally…I don’t really know how to explain it.” Nogla.

“ Sometimes I look in the mirror and…I’m scared of myself…Because, I have no idea who I’m looking at. That persons a total stranger to me, even though I know I’m looking at myself.” Jonathan.

“ At first, it was just really weird…Like, a phantom finger on my hand. A few times I’ve had to catch myself from using my hand because I still thought my finger was there…it’s kinda…fucked, I guess.” John.

“ I don’t even know how I’m still alive. I don’t think I’ve moved more than a few feet since I got my torso and arm casts removed. I’m scared that if I do anything, even breath, that I’ll hurt myself again.” Jaren.

“ The heart is what makes someone human…and now, mines just not…I feel inhuman with it, but I don’t know what to do…it’s all confusing and it hurts…” Brian.

Tyler listens to them all open up, and it surprisingly makes him feel better. His shoulders relax as the same insecurities he’s shared about his work come from his own patients mouths.

They know the pain of living with it, but they also share a deeper meaning.

It’s…it’s nice to know.

Yeah.

#fanfiction bbs fanfiction #iamwildcat #moo snuckel #vanossgaming #jigglypanda #the gaming terroriser #basicallyidowrk #fourzer0seven #h20delirious #dathi de nogla #kryozgaming #smii7y

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whitexwingedxdoves · 3 years

Text

Scream part 4

Scream. Part Four: Help Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Swearing, fighting, little fluffy. Summary: Scream pleas with Venom to help her, when he refuses you strike a deal with her. A/N: Gets a little heated in this one. I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but im excited with what I have planned for this. I barley had time to proof read this one so, sorry if theres any mistakes; Ive been editing my podcast at the same time ha. If you want to be tagged, just ask <3 Master list of chapters

When you finally woke up, you found yourself in what you could only presume was a cell. Though it wasn’t bars and a metal bed, no. It looked comfortable and the walls almost seemed invisible if it wasn’t for the blue hue. What the hell happened.

You stopped panicking long enough to notice Bucky was sat in a chair just outside your cell. You allowed your eyes pan over him for a moment. His body seemed calm but the look on his face screamed worry. “You’re awake” he words were soft and despite your current situation, they made a part of you melt like butter. He pushed himself off the chair taking a few steps closer to your cell. “what-what happened?” you stumbled over your words as they seemed to crack in your throat. You listened to every word that spilt from his lips, explaining how Venom knocked you out, that Venom’s host was called Eddie Brock and despite them both being arseholes, Eddie seemed much more rational. He ended his little speech claiming that they had come up with an agreement, You were to stay with the Avengers, try to control the Symbiote or completely get rid but Tony argued his point of how it had to be your choice and despite Venom’s obvious opposition, Eddie managed to get him on board. You sat with the information you were given for a moment, allowing it to sink in. You clearly had a big choice to make. I want to talk to him. It sounded like she was crying and instantly broke your heart. “She want’s to talk to him! I want to talk to him” your words seemed a little too stern but you stood your ground. Bucky nodded before leaving the room without another word.

You were only alone for a couple of seconds until a large framed man walked through the sliding doors. You watched the way he carried himself and already you could tell that Bucky was telling the truth, he was an arsehole. He stopped in front of you cell, a smirk etched onto his face which caused your eyes to roll. “She wants to talk to Venom” you demanded, in which he cockily shrugged and instantly morphed into the large Symbiote, it didn’t take long until Scream made her appearance. She was silent for a moment, you could feel your eyes welling up at the emotion she held. “You have to help me” though she stood confidently, her words showed weakness, even more so when he laughed at her. “You have to help me!” she repeated, her words louder now, causing Venom to growl slightly at her. “Help you? Look at you, no amount of help would stop you from being so pathetic” he spat at her, you could feel the anger bubble through your blood as his words cut through you. “You can’t just leave me here like this. We’re suppose to be family!” anyone with ears could hear the pain in her words. “You have to help me understand” she pleaded but you couldn’t take it anymore.

For the first time since she bonded with you, you took control. Forcing yourself to appear, your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Venom. “Let me talk to Eddie!” you spat at him, your face showing nothing but disgust at the actions of the Klyntar. He laughed before his form shifted back to Eddie. “Can’t you talk to him” you so hoped that he would agree, that he would be the middle man, Scream needed so bad but alas, he just shook his head, a small laugh left his lips. “Look, it’s not my problem, I’ve got better things to do. I can’t babysit yet another Symbiote” he shrugged. Your eyes narrowed at the man as he turned on his heels to leave the room. “You’re both cowards.” You whispered, as he waved you off.

You sat back slight on the bed that was provided in the cell, trying to figure out what to do. You thoughts rushing from one scenario to another. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them pull her from you. We can do this together. Despite her silence, you felt her gratitude towards you. If you can promise me, you wont try and kill everyone. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure it all out! She promised and with that you called to Friday and asked to see Tony.

When you told Tony your plan of helping Scream, he was a little unsure but soon came around. You got him to agree to let the part he extracted from you, back into your body so that she could fully bond with you. Once you rested after you felt the rest of Scream find its place in you, you headed towards the gym. You saw Peter go in there not long ago and you figured he would probably be the best bet to help you with these new powers. With each step you could feel Scream getting stronger, it scared you a little, considering how much of a loose cannon she had been but you chose to trust your instinct.

Pushing the door open to the gym, you looked around to spot Peter, sitting on the edge of a boxing ring swinging his legs, listening to Happy drone on about the importance of understanding his strength. The bored expression on the teens face wasn’t lost on you causing you to giggle a little. Both their head snapping towards you before you started taking steps towards them. “Sorry to interrupt the pep talk” you giggled finally reaching them, you hand settled on Happy’s shoulder for a second. “You mind if I steal the kid for a moment?” you questioned he seemed reluctant at first but nodded, realising himself from your touch and throwing a look Peter’s way as if to say their conversation was yet but over.

You waited until the man left the room before turning to boy. Giving him a small smile before propping yourself next to him. “How you feeling?” he questioned, his voice a little shaky. You almost forgot how terrified he looked at you after he first met you. You nodded slowly pressing your lips into a thin line. “Actually, I feel great!” you admitted, placing your palms on your thighs. “I actually came here to ask you a favour!” you’re face scrunched up a little as you awaited his response. “Yeah- yeah sure. What is it?” you allowed a small smile to grace your face as he stumbled over his words. Assuming the boy had been fully informed of the decision you made, you sighed a little. “Well, considering you and Scream seem to share the same sort of... powers, I was hoping you could help me- help her figure them out” your words were slightly unsure of asking him to do such a thing. He took a moment, figuring out his decision before finally nodding, a little too aggressively.

You had probably been in the gym with the boy for hours at this point, constantly morphing in and out of your natural form as Peter taught you how to use your powers, the ones he shared with you anyway, despite being completely taken back by the webs that shot from her skin compared to the device he wore to make it happen. You on the other hand experienced scaling the celling for the first time, you couldn’t deny the fear that spread through your entire body, despite not having any control over it. Finally you had completely exhausted yourself but the boy barley broke a sweat, your head snapped at the sound of the door swinging open. Now standing in place of the door was Bucky, laughing slightly at how the two of you contrasted each other. You looked up at him like a saving grace for a moment, thankful to be done with this training experience. You noticed he was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“I think i’ve taken up too much of your time, Kid!” your words were breathless as you peeled yourself off the canvas you once sat on and patted him on the shoulder. Making your way over to the taller man, with a grateful smile on your face. He greeted you with a sly laugh, slightly mocking the way you obviously couldn’t match Peter’s stamina. Without a word, he held up a DVD case and displayed it on his chest. You’re eyes glossed over it for a moment before returning to his gaze with a rather large smile. “Fight Club?!” mixing you confusion with excitement as he escorted you out of the room. “Yeah, figure you’ve had a long day and you seemed almost offended knowing I haven’t seen it yet” a light chuckle left his lips as you both made your way towards your rooms. You didn’t say much of anything else before you reached your room, you told him you just needed to shower and signalled to the beads of sweat rolling across your body, he nodded and made his way to his room leaving you to do just that.

After you felt sufficiently clean and swapped your clothes for some that laid spare in one of the dressers, you made your way to Bucky’s room, lightly brushing your knuckles over the door. It took a couple of seconds before he answered with that forced smile of his. Though you knew it was genuine you couldn’t help but wonder if after all this time he’d simply forgotten how to smile. He lead you towards the bed before handing you a beer. You took in the sight of his dark room for a second before pressing the bottle on your lips, allowing the cold liquid run down your throat. You watched him fumble around with the DVD case attempting to figure out how his TV even worked. You didn’t offer any help, it was far too entertaining to get involved.

Finally he conquered the TV and sat back on his bed, holding onto the remote. He patted the mattress beside him, signalling you to climb on and you did just that. You allowed your body to curl up as you rested your back on the headrest of the bed, slightly turned in Bucky’s direction, resting the cold bottle on your thigh. When he noticed you had gotten comfortable, he pressed play and relaxed himself. You couldn’t help yourself looking at him every time something good was about to happen, needing to take in his reaction and never being disappointed. Every so often, he’d catch your gaze but instead of commenting on it, he’d ask about the plot line or one of the actor’s. You where taken back a little as he reacted the same way you did when Brad Pitt appeared on screen with nothing on but washing up gloves but it only made you laugh.

With your beer’s finished and the room now filled with the sound of Where is my mind by the pixies, you allowed yourself to stretch out a little. “So...” you pestered the older man, nudging him slightly with your knee. He just nodded in response, looking up at you. “Good, hu?” you giggled slightly placing the empty bottle on his night stand. You listened to the song for a moment, unintentionally singing along as you seemed distracted. You snapped back to reality as you felt eyes on you, looking up at Bucky, you couldn’t help but note how incredibly handsome he was in this moment. The way his eyes seemed to soak you up, the smile that got a little more natural every time he allowed one to pass. “Thank you” you whispered softly, slightly taken back by the way he looked at you. You’re eyes now filled with admiration for the man, you admired how he took the time out of his own busy day to make yours a little easier. He just shook his head at your words, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. The air suddenly feeling far to thick for your lungs as he got closer and closer to your face. The heat radiated off your cheeks as you felt his breath blow on you hair gently, each strand slightly tickling your face. Before you could even register what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first, taken back by the sudden gesture but as soon as you managed to wrap your head around it, you leaned into his lips kissing him back a little more hungrily than it started. You felt his arm wrap around your waist pushing you on your back gently as he hovered over you. Your hands explored his hair, grasping at it a little as he laid you down so delicately. Your breathing became short and restless as his hands explored the rest of your body, tickling slightly as he allowed his finger tips to tease the hem of your shirt. Oh, that’s hot!

Startled by the voice in your head, you pulled away from a moment only to receive a confused look from Bucky, attempting to ignore it, you pulled him back to your lips, easily falling back into his grasp. I wonder what he does with the metal arm. You groaned slightly at the voice in your head, praying and begging she would just leave, let you have your moment. Of course she didn’t, every so often she would say something to pull you from the moment until you had, had enough. Finally you pushed away from Bucky completely. “Go away!” you shouted, your hands resting on your temples. Bucky seemed a little taken back by your sudden out burst, sitting up right on the bed. “I thought you wanted to –“ he started before you turned your attention to him, a defeated look on your face. “No, I do – I really do but” now turning away from him, you could feel your face getting slightly flushed. “She keeps talking to me” you admitted only to be met with his laugh. You felt the weight of the mattress shift as he made his way closer to you, you felt the strap of your shirt fall onto your forearm before the sensation of the cold kisses he planted in it place, slowly making his way to your ear. “I know how we can shut her up”

tag list : @sadbutradbarnes @sweetdayme4427

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel symbiotes #peter parker x y/n #platonic peter parker x reader

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lets-get-kraken-boys · 4 years

Text

Fantasy AU! Dragon Master! Katsuki Bakugou X Witch! Reader: Hot Damn, Dragon Man~!

(Description: I don’t think anyone has written a story like this before with this particular backstory, but if someone has please let me know right away! With that out of the way, this was just a fun little idea I had that I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Also, I aged up both Bakugou and Kirishima in this story to around their early 20s, though this isn’t really important or relevant to the fic, an adult, hunky Bakugou and Kirishima is a treat I think we should all indulge in~! I might make a Part 2 to continue the story depending on how you all like it, but we’ll see! I hope you enjoy and thank you for your time. // PS: Quirks still exist in my version of the Fantasy AU! //)

Fanfiction Lingo

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(H/C) - Hair Color

(E/C) - Eye Color

(F/C) - Favorite Color

“Normal speech.”

‘Inner thoughts.’

Requester: No One!

Reader Gender: Female (She/Her)

Style of Story: Aiming for a multiparter, but who knows! // Fantasy AU! Hope you’re as excited as I am!

Word Count: 6.4K Words

WARNING(s) / NOTE(s): Aged up characters but this story is NOT NSFW, Quirks still exist, cursing (it’s Bakugou in a fantasy world, he’s going to call you some offensive stuff), and a little bit of blood but no real harm is done to (Y/N)!

“Man, I have got to work on my cardio! Ughh…,” you huffed out as you took the last few steps to be on top of the hill you had just hiked up. Stopping for the air you desperately needed, you sat down on the mossy ground below and leaned against a nearby tree, taking deep breaths. As your previously foggy brain became clear again, you noticed the purples and pinks of the dawning sky peaking through the tree’s leaves and smiled, springtime weather had always been your favorite kind. The dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, and clear nights were always a welcome change to the drab winter days. Though, being a Green Witch did make you favor specific seasons more than others.

“Sorry, my lord Hades, but I must admit that I’m a little happy your lovely wife is back with her mother again. Nothing can compare to the plants and herbs that grow back in the Spring. Though, do not fret, my lady Persephone will be back with you sooner than you think.” you spoke to the stillness of the forest, but you felt their presence and knew your gods heard your message.

Looking in your wooden basket, you inventoried the goods you had collected near your secret cove to harvest ingredients. You found the cove three summer’s ago while looking for shelter from a storm that rolled in quicker than expected. You were lost and couldn’t find your way home but the kind nymphs that lived in the area offered you a place to stay that night. In exchange for them sheltering you, you made them a few miscellaneous potions as payment (even though they hadn’t asked for any). Ever since that day, you have been friends with them and are allowed to freely take any of the resources that grow in the area with their permission and in turn you trade them any potions or spells they ask for. Of course you’ve found other places to harvest rarer ingredients for specific creations, but with such a bountiful place so close to your home it is your go-to spot.

“Wicker mushrooms, a bunch of Lavender, Yarrow, Thrumdells, could always use more mint sprigs, Merryquil, Heron’s feathers, I have the mermaid’s bubbles and crystals at home...I think that’ll about do it! Great haul today, (N/N)!” you praised as you set down your basket and stood up. You brushed off your flowy, (F/C) ankle-length skirt and smoothed out your poofy shirt and cloak, straightened the potion holder belt strapped to your hip, picked the basket back up, and continued on the path back to your cottage hidden deep within the forest.

“What should I make for dinner? Zeks enjoys sweet things but I don’t know if Zazel--!” Without warning, a booming roar shook the leaves off the trees, causing you to stumble back in shock. You shot your hand on the dagger strapped to your belt while your eyes darted back and forth through the surrounding terrain, trying to locate where the sound had come from and if there was any immediate danger near you. Shortly after the cry, a loud crash sounded like something smacked the ground hard and caused a tremor that knocked you clean off your feet with a yelp. The shaking lasted for only a moment before everything went still once more as if nothing out of the ordinary had even occurred.

Still in shock from the bizarre situation, you sat on the grass for a little longer, listening to the oddly quiet atmosphere, before another cry shot through the hush of the land and nearly scared you out of your boots. Though, instead of what you thought was ferocity in its tone, it seemed closer to a wail of pain than anything. You stood on shaky legs and took deep breaths while staring into the distance where the noise came from. You wanted to turn around and run to the safety of your home, to go back to the warmth of your cottage and just pretend that this whole instance never happened, but something was pulling you towards the creature. Maybe it was the whines and whimpers that it made, the curiosity caused by something that could make lands quake with the strength of its voice but instantly become like a meek puppy was truly intriguing, but that wasn’t quite it. Maybe you wanted to check if anyone had been hurt by the monstrosity but that didn’t seem right either.

You let out a quiet gasp as one thought in particular struck your mind...could it be...Fate? You cursed yourself, wishing you had brought your tarot cards to check for any possible signs, but you didn’t have time for that right now. You considered your options; be a coward and leave whatever the hell just fell out of the sky alone, abandoning it to most likely die, ignoring the call of Fate, and continuing about your day or appeasing that pesky gut feeling, finding the beast, and seeing what was the matter.

You growled as your legs began to move toward the epicenter of the sound, hating how you can never turn down someone in need of help.

~ Timeskip to a short while later ~

“Where in the fresh hell is that stupid beast?!” you cursed as you trudged through the spongy moss and bushes covering the forest floor. After running for a bit in the direction you had thought you heard the wail come from you had found no evidence of anything out of the ordinary which pissed you off to no end.

“You couldn’t shut your trap earlier, why are you having such a hard time now?” you mumbled to yourself, pushing past a few bushes in your way. Your next few sassy words became caught in your throat as you heard a low growl erupt a few yards away from you behind the bush directly to the right of you. Suppressing your urge to scream in surprise, you composed yourself and poked your head through the shrubbery, only for your jaw to drop at the sight before you.

An enormous creature was laying on its side in the middle of a small clearing of trees, peacefully sleeping in the early morning sunshine. Its horned head and long neck were stretched out while the rest of its body curled around itself in a cocoon like position. The beast took steady breaths, its lungs filling up and stretching its stomach to show off the breath-taking, fiery red scales that coated its entire body. The tail lay still wrapped around the body and reminded you fondly of a litter of kittens your old master cared for. But probably the most beautiful part of all were the magnificent wings that draped over the serpent’s body like a protective barrier from the outside world. You saw the muscles of the appendages and knew that this creature was not one to be messed with. Right there, such a short distance away, was what you could only describe as a humongous, red dragon!

You couldn’t believe it, you almost wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were really awake but you ignored the feeling in favor of watching the sleeping beast in awe. Sure, everyone around knew that dragons existed and heard the legends about them, but it wasn’t like you got to see them very often. The kingdom to the South was well known for its coexistence with dragons but rarely anyone except those in a higher position of power or people who lived in the tribes actually got to see and interact with them.

Judging by the diagrams you had seen drawn of dragons, you guessed that it wasn’t extremely old based on its size and bodily markings, making it less of a threat. As you examined more it led you to notice the reason for the creature’s moans of pain. A huge gash was carved on the right side of the dragon’s chest, dripping with fresh blood. It was so deep that you could actually see bits of the beast’s rib cage. Wincing at the sight, you inspected further and saw the scales surrounding the wound were a contrasting dark black to the shiny red ones all over the body, almost like they had been scorched by a tremendous flame. Either way, if the serpent did not receive some kind of immediate help with that large of a wound, it would surely bleed out within the next few hours or somehow be injured even more. After contemplating, you sent a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and shuffled your way out of the bushes and into the open for the creature to easily see you.

You expected that such a powerful beast in this state of physical distress would not let its guard down so easily, so when its golden eyes shot open to glare at you with its teeth bared in snarl you were not in the least bit startled. You smiled sweetly at the dragon, lowered yourself closer to the ground, set your things down, and averted your gaze as to not cause it anymore stress or let it think you were challenging it. You kept your hand visible as you reached for the knife on your waist, even as the beast hissed at your movements, and threw it far away from your reach to show respect.

“Hey there! I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help,” you spoke loud and clear so it could hear you, but even if it didn’t understand your language you still wanted to get your point across, “I heard you fall awhile ago, that must have hurt, huh? I came to check up on you, see if you were okay, but then I happened to notice that nasty gash in your side and figured you needed my help!” you gulped with the smile still on your face. You heard another growl before it was cut off by a sharp whimper of agony and that noise alone made your heart drop to your stomach. The smile on your face faded into a frown but you quickly perked back up and continued.

“I promise, I just want to check out that wound and get you healed up. Help you get back in the air again. Please, I don’t want to have to leave you to suffer like this.” you finished as you looked back at the dragon with a desperate look in your eye. The dragon wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, which was definitely a good sign, but as you looked deeper in its eyes it was almost like you could feel the pain radiating off of it. After a brief moment of hesitation, the beast lowered its head back down to the ground in defeat, a sign for you to come closer. You gratefully smiled and picked your things back up, got up, and scurried on over.

When you got close enough to where you could press your palm flat to the warm scales and feel its strong heartbeat, you kneeled and examined the bloodied gash. You first ran your fingers along the outskirts of the wound and the dark marks smudged onto your fingertips and palm, confirming that the dragon had been severely burned by something or someone. The actual slash was about five feet long and two feet wide that dug deep into the body, like something had pierced it rather than just nicked it. You looked closer at the blood dripping from the injury and noticed pine needles stuck in the dragon’s flesh, not just on the surface but deep in the wound as well.

You gasped and looked up at the beast who was already gazing down at it with you to ask, “Did you hit a tree during the fall?” The serpent nodded its head with discomfort and flopped it back down onto the soft grass. A pitiful sigh slipped from your mouth as you explained what you were going to do now knowing it could understand you.

“Okay, first off we need to get these pesky pine needles out of the wound. Then, I need to slow the bleeding and somehow dress it. I do have the right ingredients on me to make you a healing cream but I do not know how I can…,” you stopped and glanced at the cloak draped from your shoulders and smiled, “I know! I’ll use my cloak to soak up the blood!” The dragon shot its head up in alarm and looked at you with a gaze of what seemed to be guilt. You tilted your head in confusion before looking at the cloak now in your hand, back to the saddened serpent, and connected the two together with a laugh.

“Oh, are you worried about dirtying this old thing? Pssh, don’t even concern yourself! It's to help you survive, so it's being used for the greater good either way! Between you and me, I was planning on treating myself to a new one anyways, so who cares if a little blood gets on it!” you joked, trying to calm the dragon’s nerves. You washed your hands with the clean water from your canteen strapped to your hip and shook them dry.

“Let’s do this!” you cheered, readying yourself for the crazy afternoon ahead of you.

~ Another timeskip to later in the afternoon ~

“I must say, you are certainly one of the best patients I’ve ever had, my scaly friend! You’ve been so good letting me take out all those nasty needles and clean away the charcoal and blood from your pretty scales! Thank you for being so sweet.” you praised, scratching the dragon’s chin, behind his horns, and belly as he let out happy grumbles and chitters (Dragon Kiri LOVES belly scritches, and you cannot convince me otherwise) at your kind words. His head was now curled up next to you, watching you clean and disinfect his wound with the utmost care, with him enjoying the pets he got every time you hit a sensitive area or made him hiss from the pain.

You were diligently working at patting away the blood with your now sopping cloak, trying to cease the liquid dripping out of the dragon. As you worked, you made sure to give the creature lots of encouraging strokes and belly rubs to help ease the pain, but whether it was more to help it through this endeavor or to get to pet a living dragon was uncertain. Either way, the job was getting done, and so far no big issues from either party.

Yet.

“Awesome! It looks like the blood flow has slowed down a lot now. Thank the Gods, I don’t know how much more my poor coat could have taken,” you joked while setting the crimson-soaked material to the side, “Now, I’ve got the healing cream prepared for you but how the hell am I going to bandage--AH!” you shrieked as you were suddenly shoved away from the dragon and thrown further back into the field.

You heard the beast let out a concerned roar as your back met the dirt ground with a loud THUD that knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You closed your eyes in pain and gasped, desperate to get the lost air back in your system, but you were stopped as you felt a heavy weight slam on your chest, a hand grab your wrists and pin your arms to the ground above your head, and someone lean over you to block out the sun. Even though your head was spinning with confusion and adrenaline ran a marathon through your veins, your eyes shot open when you felt something sharp press into your neck.

“What the hell are you doing to my dragon, fucking maggot?!” the man on top of you yelled in your face, but you could hardly comprehend his words due to the abruptness of the situation. You wish you could say that you hated him from the moment your eyes landed on him, you wished you could have ignored the way your gut did cartwheels as if the Fate of a lifetime had been completed, but god was everything hard to ignore when he looked so fucking hot. His blonde, spiky hair exploded messily around his chiseled face to give him that ‘I didn’t even try to look good today’ natural beauty. From his striking jawline, cute button nose, strong neck, and those striking crimson eyes, he was just insanely good looking. Even as he glared at you with his eyebrows pulled down in a scowl, you couldn’t help but blush at the intense way he looked at you. Not even mentioning what you could see of his bare torso that was every bodybuilders’ dream, you inferred that he was around the middle of his twenties. His attire was composed of a few pieces of jewelry, colorful arm bands, a blood red cape completed with a fur-lined neck piece, and other things you couldn’t quite see from your position under his knee pressing hard onto your sternum. That pain was actually what brought you back from “(Y/N)’s Hot Guy Dreamland” to realize admiring his looks wasn’t exactly the main issue right now. To be honest, he’d be even more hot if he wasn't pressing that sharp scimitar threateningly to your neck, but sadly even that was sexy.

“I...I...well--,” you stuttered in shock, looking for the right words to spit out to appease the barbarian on top of you.

“EH? Out with it, whelp,” he growled, pressing his knee even harder into your chest to get his point across, “What were you doing to my dragon, dimwit?! Did you try to hurt him?”

“What? No, never!” you defended yourself while weakly struggling to free your arms from his vice grip.

“Did you plan to kill him and skin him for his hide! You sadistic monster!” he roared, pressing the blade closer to your neck, causing your skin to break and bleed. You yelped when you felt the burn of the slice but swore you could smell the scent of burning caramel drifting off of his body that hadn’t been there before.

“I would do no such thing, you creep! I was just--,” you were interrupted yet again by your own whimper as he leaned closer to your face. His frown deepened as you felt the blade press even further into your delicate flesh.

“You know what? I don’t even wanna hear your shitty ass excuses, I might just kill you right now and be done with you,” he smirked as your face significantly paled, “Unless you did something to my partner, then you’re gonna explain what you did, fix it, and then I can take my time slicing--,” the madman was cut off as another voice cut into the conversation.

“Bakugou, stop hurting her!” a masculine voice bellowed from a distance away. The sound of steam expelling filled the tense air as a hot gust of wind swiftly blew over the two of you. Shortly after you felt the man, who you now know his name is ‘Bakugou’, unlatch his grip on your hands and draw his sword away from you neck. You let out a sigh of relief and gawked as he completely abandoned from practically sitting on your chest to sprinting in the direction he had pushed you away from.

“Kirishima!” Bakugou shouted as he ran head first into the warm fog the steam had created. You sat up from the ground and pressed a hand to your neck to stop the light bleeding as deep gasps filled your lungs to contemplate what in the fresh fuck just happened in the time span of maybe a minute. You heard mumbling from the fog and, being the ever curious (N/N), decided to get up on wobbly feet and trek into the steam after the brute of a man.

“This is not how I planned to spend my Wednesday.” you murmured to yourself, walking blindly forward in the mist until you found your assaulter and your lizard patient except...not? No, instead of your new found scaly friend, you saw a red-headed man with horns and scales peppering his body leaning against the bully, Bakugou. His hair was spiked up to incredible heights and it blended seamlessly with his red curly horns hidden within. His face was scrunched up in pain but he still held a brave face as he grinned with teeth that were fit for a dragon. He, too, was around the same age as the blonde, and shirtless with the same body sculpted by the gods themselves, but on the right side of his torso was the same gash your dragon friend had. If the smaller, but still powerful, human sized wings on his back and thick scaly tail weren’t enough to convince you, then the wound confirmed that this indeed was the red dragon from before, now known as Kirishima. And, thankfully, he was nearly fully clothed too.

“Kirishima, don’t be an idiot, de-transform and get some rest, dammit.” Bakugou grunted at the man, causing the spikey haired fellow to laugh.

“Aw, I thought we weren’t partners, Bakugou! Now here you are, caring about some lowly warrior? You flatter me!” Kirishima joked as he coughed into his gloved hand while trying to sit up properly but utterly failing.

“Stupid! Just because I don’t want you to be fucking idiotic and die doesn’t mean we're partners!” he barked, his teeth growing sharper like he himself was a beast. Kirishima chortled and looked over to you. When he noticed your dropped jaw and wide eyes he coughed and looked you in the eye.

“What’s up, dudette? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” he joked.

“I...what...the HELL?! What even...I don’t understand…,” you paced in circles before looking at the two with (E/C) eyes full of confusion, “Who and what the heck are you two?!” Bakugou looks taken aback so he growls, reaching for his sword again, but Kirishima slaps his hand away from the weapon with a grin.

“I’m so sorry for not introducing myself to you earlier, I was in a lot of pain and plus I didn’t know you that well, so I hope there’s no hard feelings,” he smiled while pointing his thumb to himself, “I’m Eijirou Kirishima! And that is my friend, Katsuki Bakugou!”

“You lizard brain! Don’t just give random strangers our names!” Bakugou bared his teeth but Kirishima chose to ignore him.

“I never caught your name before, what was it?” he asked with a sweet head tilt that reminded you of a concerned puppy.

Suppressing the way your heart clenched at the adorable sight, you stopped nervously pacing and spoke, “My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

“Such a manly name! It’s nice to meet you too! Hey, I just wanted to thank you for all the help you provided me today. It’s totally not manly of me to ask for that much assistance, but even I knew that I needed it then more than ever! Who knew the perfect person for the job was just an acre away! Ha!” Kirishima laughed as he struggled to stand but fell back down again onto his tail with a groan of distress.

Bakugou had only barely caught him before you rushed over and kneeled down to check his tender wound. Kirishima flinched and flushed red at your fingers traced along his bare abdomen but you were too worried to care. Bakugou openly glared at the way Kirishima blushed at you, but stopped himself short when he realized what he was doing. Why did he do that? He had only just met you, you were a fucking nobody in his eyes! You hurt his friend! Who you choose touch and don't touch wasn’t his problem! Then again, he glanced at your concerned face and noticed the way your soft features shown in the light, how your (H/C) hair framed you like an elegant oil painting in a museum, how your eyes glistened with the rays of sun, how your lips moved with each word spoken. He blushed at that last thought and shook his head. What the fuck? No, he was too great to be dragged down by silly puppy love! But...you did seem nice and strong too...Wait, no! He looked away from the two of you and tried to compose himself as you and the redhead spoke back and forth.

“Woah! Kirishima, what are you doing? I haven’t finished treating your injury yet! Take it easy on your body.” you scolded like you were his own mother, placing a cloth you had fished out of your pocket onto the leaking wound.

“W-Wait...you’re not done?” he stuttered out, thankful the blush on his cheeks was slowly but surely melting away.

You looked up at him in shock, “You thought I was just gonna leave you like this? No way! You still need that healing cream, stitches, and bandages to cover it up so it won’t get infected!”

Bakugou interrupted Kirishima before he could even protest, “Hold on, you weren’t hurting him?” He looked over to the bloody cloak hastily tossed on the ground and scowled at the memories of his actions a few minutes prior.

“No! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, pinhead! I’ve been healing up your dragon while you were off picking flowers in the woods to make friendship crowns! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish treating him so that you two can head on your merry way and go back to wherever you popped out from, got it?” you shot at the brute, causing him to flinch at your harsh words.

“No way am I letting a weakling like you--,” cutting Bakugou off, Kirishima spoke over the next few words Katsuki said, which most likely saved him from a beating by your hands.

“Actually, he doesn’t get a say in this. I would love for you to finish, (Y/N)! Thank you again for great care!” he quickly said, shoving Bakugou a few feet away so he could lay flat on the ground. You balled up the fabric lining the bottom of your foraging basket and placed it under the dragon boy’s head so he could be more comfortable as you got to work again.

You carefully cleaned, sanitized, and tried to get Kirishima back to his peak performance and he took the pain like a champ, but Bakugou on the other hand was getting a little out of hand. He insisted that he keep a close eye on you to make sure you didn’t hurt his “not friend” in any way, shape, or form, and that was fair, but you didn’t like the fact that all he was doing was squatting next to the two of you and just...staring. Not saying anything, just scowling with those pretty eyes of his. What? Just because the man was a bit of a hard ass didn’t mean he wasn’t damn fine eye candy.

“Are you gonna sit there all day and just glare at me and my handy work or are you going to say something, Mr. Negative?” you snarked, watching from your peripheral vision as he jumped at the sudden intrusion of your voice. You smirked as Bakugou scoffed and leaned further in your line of sight to make you acknowledge him.

“Who are you?” he said with a stern tone.

You raised an eyebrow as you added more of the cream onto Kirishima’s wound, “I’ve already told you, my name is--,” Bakugou quickly hushed you.

“Not in that way, moron! I mean as in what are you? Some kind of mage or something dumb like that--,” you swiftly hit Bakugou on the shoulder for his rude remarks but before he could retaliate you flipped the question onto him.

“Don’t call people stuff like that, didn’t your mother ever teach you manners? I’ll tell you what I am after you tell me what you two are.” you countered.

“Bullshit! I’m the one asking the questions here! I ain’t saying--,”

“Bakugou and I are from a Southern Hemispheric tribe called the The Kin Born of Flame,” Kirishima explained as Bakugou’s jaw dropped, “He is actually the son of Chief Mistuki, leader of the Bakugou Clan! How cool is that? As for me I’m half dragon half human, but I’ve started to call my species Dragon Shifters.”

“Wow, not only a dragon but a Dragon Shifter too? This is incredible!” your eyes sparkled as you grinned down at Kirishima in delight.

“I know, right! If you think dragons are rare, try finding more than a dozen Shifters, we’re even harder to come by! Yeah, I’ve been Soul Bonded with Bakugou ever since we were fifteen. He may seem tough on the outside, but once you get to know him he’s really a huge softy!” he laughed as the barbarian cussed him out.

Your heart sank a little as you heard him speak so fondly of the man but the term he used confused you, so you just had to ask, “Soul Bonded? What’s that? Are you two in a romantic relationship?”

“What? Oh, no way! We’re just close buds is all,” Kirishima snickered, “I don’t think I could ever stand to be in a relationship with someone who's so hot headed! But he is still on the market and up for grabs, if you know what I mean~!” Kirishima wiggled his eyebrows at you while you blushed but played it off with a wave of your hand and a teasing giggle.

“What’s that supposed to mean, you hair-for-brains loser?!” Bakugou fumed, his hands twitching at the thought of grabbing the dragon boy’s face and blowing him to bits.

“So, what is Soul Bonding?” you redirected the conversation once again away from the agitated blonde and left him to stew in his frustration.

“Right! Soul Bonding is when a dragon and a human basically become partners, or friends, for life. Bakugou’s people have such a close relationship with my kind that every year a ceremony is held for all the unbonded individuals to try and find their other half. During this process, the human doesn’t get to choose the dragon and the dragon doesn’t get to choose the human, the feeling is sort of hard to describe but you’ll know when you’ve bonded when you see the other and think ‘They’re the only one I can ever fly with again’. Once you’re bonded, you cannot become bonded with another of the opposite species for the rest of your natural life, so if something unfortunate happens to your other half you don’t get a redo. That’s why the practice is so sacred. Some see it as romantic, others see it as a platonic engagement, so Bakugou and I have chosen the latter! Plus, I already have my eyes on a different person~,” Eijirou swooned with a flutter of his scaly wings.

Bakugou groaned, “Please spare us the two hour long declaration of love for another time, idiot. My question still stands, whelp, what are you?”

You huffed, “Well, since you asked so nicely, princess~, I’m a witch,” Kirishima and Bakugou gasped at the answer and glanced at each other nervously, but you raised your hand to stop them from jumping to conclusions, “but if you’re assuming I’m one of the evil witches that only uses black magic and practices necromancy, you’re wrong. I’m actually more of a Green Witch on steroids. I make healing and protection potions, work together with the nymphs who live down by the mountainside, open up my home all the time to the neighboring normal and mythological wildlife, encourage the growth of new, exotic kinds of plants to sprout in my backyard, and more. That is how I was able to make that cream so powerful for you and I, thanks to your guard dog, Kirishima.” you rubbed your neck where the slice had been that had long disappeared from the magical antidote and glared at Bakugou who simply grumbled and looked away in embarrassment.

“Woah, that’s amazing! I was wondering how you made it feel like it wasn’t even hurting anymore! You’re amazing.” Kirishima awed with wonder as he lightly patted the strips of bandages strapped to his side.

“Awe, thank you so much! I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you gave him a scratch behind his horns and his tail began thumping the ground like a dog as you became serious once more and turned to Bakugou, “But I have to ask, what caused Kirishima to get such a huge injury?”

Bakugou froze and let his head dip a bit towards the ground. You looked over at Kirishima who, for the first time, had a truly pissed off glint in his eye. You were taken by surprise at the silence that overcame them and considered taking back the question you had asked but stopped short when Katsuki began to speak again, this time his voice was just a gravely grunt.

“Ever heard of the Dark Kingdom?” was all he had to say as the mood became sinister and heavy.

Your eyes widened and you let out a brief shutter of a sigh as chills swept over your body, “Of course I have. Who hasn’t been affected by them in some way or another?” a grimace filled your now hushed voice. After all, how could you forget the ones who imprisoned your dear instructor?

“Kirishima and I had just made a trade with that damn Prince Shoto in the Todoroki Kingdom to the North last night and we were flying on our normal route back home when all of a sudden this huge blast of blue flames came hurtling towards Kiri. It came out of nowhere, no warning given. I don’t blame Kirishima for not being able to avoid the fucking sneak attack, but I do blame myself for being ignorant enough to not think that an assassin from the Dark Kingdom would try something on our only route home.” Katsuki closed his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed further.

“I should have expected it too, Bakugou. You’re not the only one who wasn’t thinking the smart way.” Kirishima tried to take some of the blame but Bakugou only continued.

“I got a brief glance at the attacker before Kiri fell. While he was falling, he managed to hit a rather large pine tree and instead of breaking it he impaled himself directly on it like a dumbass and further hurt himself. We hit the ground, I checked to see if Kiri was even alive and if I had anything broken, and once I confirmed he was breathing, I ran after the fucker who did this to give him a lesson like a jackass. I ran and ran, but the bastard got away and when I came back to help Kiri I saw you poking and prodding at his flesh and I just...saw red. Look, I’m sorry I jumped your shit and nearly killed you. Just don’t be such a weirdo and don’t go poking your head in business that doesn’t concern a dummy like you!” Bakugou finished while crossing his arms over his chest.

“How did this turn into my fault?” you rhetorically asked the air.

“Well, it’s because--,” Bakugou started.

“Didn’t need an answer on that, dunce,” you rolled your eyes and stood while looking over at Kirishima, “Well, to end this on a happier note, my medical work here is done, boys! You’re all patched up, Kiri!”

“Seriously? Freaking awesome!” he jumped up from the dirt and almost nearly collapsed again if it weren’t for you and Bakugou rushing to help him lean his weight on you two.

“You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown lizard! You’re all patched up, but there is only so much that cream can do. I wanted to say the both of you can come back to my cottage and you can rest up awhile, rehydrate, get some energy back. Plus, I can see about making you a potion that can fully heal that wound for you too!” you finished with a grin.

“Oh yeah? What’s the catch, bitchy witchy? Turning us into frogs to keep as pets?” Bakugou sneered.

You giggled with a smirk, “I haven’t thought of the price yet, but if you’re offering that sounds like fun! I bet you two would be the cutest frogs in the land! Maybe I could as far as cursing you to need a princess to kiss you back to your handsome selves again~!”

The two of them gasped at your cruelty, but you laughed, not noticing the blush on Bakugou’s face, “I’m kidding, guys! You don’t think I’m actually that mean, right?” you teased.

“O-Of course not, (Y/N)! Ha ha! Pleasedon’tturnusintofrogs!” Kirishima stuttered out with a paled face, which made you laugh.

“You worry too much! Let’s get you boys somewhere safe to hang out! Ooo! I have to show you guys everything!” you skipped down the dirt path that ultimately led to your house and you rambled on about your own little world as the two of them shambled close behind, one of them wondering what the hell they just got themselves into getting stuck with a cutie klutz like you and the other way too excited to help these two lovesick fools navigate their way through the world of romance.

~ The End ~

~ Extra Bonus Ending!!!! ~

The figure hidden in the shadows of the trees watched with a smirk as the beautiful young lady led the two idiots further into the forest and away from the clearing where the beast had sadly not bled out.

“Wow, what an interesting turn of events, chiefling,” the blue-eyed figure snickered as they incinerated the bloody cloak of the young maiden previously used to clean the dragon’s wound, “Let’s see how long your princess in shining armor can keep you safe~!”

~ To Be Continued… ~

#mha #bnha #mha oneshot #fanfiction #fantasy au #adventure #romance #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #fantasy au katsuki bakugo #fantasy au katsuki bakugou x reader #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #fantasy au kirishima #fantasy au kirishima eijirou #witch #witch reader

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scribbling-punk · 4 years

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Maintenance

Lena Luthor x Reader

A very kind lady commissioned me to write this and asked that I share it with you all.

Warnings: 18+ Domestic discipline.

"Lena x Reader maintenance spankings in a domestic discipline relationship. Can you make it similar to your Andrea fic Reassurance?"

You wash the same plate for the third time without even realizing it, repeatedly glancing at the clock on the wall. You gnaw on your bottom lip until the skin is raw, your nerves bubbling to the surface. Lena won't be home for another fifteen minutes, but it feels as though it's an entire lifetime to you.

Your mouth feels dry as you wipe your hands on the dish towel. There's more than enough time for you to prepare for Lena's arrival, but your gut still flips whenever the hand moves forward on the clock. You know what's expected of you, the routine is well established by now, but your anxiety still makes you question yourself.

Wednesday evenings are your least favourite, but you know you'd struggle and fall back into old habits without them. Lena will soon come home and turn you over her knee for your weekly maintenance spanking. She'll remind you what she expects from you before making you cry out a week's worth of pent up negative energy.

It's been three months since the maintenance spankings first started. Lena had suggested them after dealing with yet another one of your outbursts. You'd goaded her into spanking you one too many times, an unhealthy habit born from lack of communication.

Lena had refused to punish you until you were open about your feelings. She'd patiently listened as you explained your desire for more consistent discipline. She didn't judge you when you'd told her you needed more than just punishment. You needed reassurance, a firm reminder to keep you on the straight and narrow before you earned yourself a real punishment.

You sigh and fold the dish towel, placing it beside the sink. Your legs carry you through your Wednesday evening routine without you even thinking about what you're doing. Your jeans are removed and placed over the back of the couch, your underwear joining them a moment later.

Your palms are sweaty and you ball your hands into fists to stop them from trembling. The hairbrush is retrieved from the bathroom and placed on the arm of the couch. You stare down at it, scowling as though it's mocking you. You'll soon feel it on your bare behind.

Nerves settle low in your stomach as you make your way to your usual corner. You clasp your hands behind your back, fingers lacing together in an attempt to stop yourself from fidgeting.

The room is almost deafeningly silent, with only the ticking clock for company. You focus only on each passing second, anxiously waiting for the sound of Lena's keys in the door. She’ll be pleased to find you ready and waiting for her, but you know it won’t make her take it any easier on you. This is happening for a reason, and it won’t work if Lena isn’t consistent with you.

The minutes feel like hours. Your blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the clock. You want this. You asked for it. Hell, you begged for it, but waiting for it is torture. It always feels worse than the actual spanking… mostly.

You shift from foot to foot, growing restless. Lena likes for you to be in the corner at least ten minutes before she’s due to come home, and you’d contemplated bending that rule for just a moment. Lena would never know unless you told her, but your lifestyle requires trust. If there’s no trust, no honesty, then what’s the point?

You startle when Lena’s keys rattle in the lock, and you instantly straighten your spine and halt your fidgeting. The door is quietly closed and locked again, and you listen as Lena’s stilettos move around the apartment. Her keys are dropped in the bowl, the sound making you jump even though you knew it was coming.

Lena’s warm hand on your lower back makes you smile, as does the chaste kiss to your temple.

“I’m going to change and then we can get this over with, darling,” Lena murmurs. “I’d like to hold you as soon as possible.” She gently pats your bottom and kisses you again before making her way to your shared bedroom. The brief interaction fills you with warmth, and you pine for more of her attention. You know she’ll take care of you once it’s over.

Lena only takes a few minutes to change into comfier clothes, and she pads barefoot towards the couch. She softly calls you over and you nervously shuffle across the room. You stand in front of her, your clammy hands still clasped behind your back. Lena gazes up at you with warm eyes, her face relaxed.

“Why am I about to spank you, baby girl?” Lena questions, making sure to keep her tone gentle. You suck in a deep, nervous breath, an embarrassed blush seeping across your cheeks.

“You’re spanking me tonight as a reminder, ma’am. To maintain my behavior and ensure I’m taking care of myself and not resorting to unhealthy coping methods,” you recite. Lena smiles fondly, nodding for you to continue. “I will receive a maintenance spanking every Wednesday night unless I no longer consent, or we decide it’s no longer working.”

You’d memorized the speech on the first night, and have recited it several times since, but you still find it mortifying. Lena offers you a reassuring smile and pats her lap, indicating that it’s time. She graciously allows you the few moments that it always takes for you to submit and finally lower yourself over her firm knees.

Her sweatpants are soft against your crotch as you settle in the familiar position, and Lena rubs your bottom whilst you wiggle around to get comfortable. You fold your arms in front of you and bury your head within them, your legs stretched out behind you. She continues to rub for a few short moments, quietly urging you to relax.

The tingling warmth from the first smack is soothed away by gentle rubbing, Lena easing you into the spanking like she always does. She’s silent as she spanks you - you both know why this is happening, and she slowly warms your bottom with her experienced hand. Lena falls into a steady rhythm, methodically painting your bare skin in hues of pink.

The spanks slowly grow harder, leaving uncomfortable warmth in its wake as it steers towards sharp stinging. Lena’s knee lifts, giving her access to your meaty sit spots, right where your bottom merges with your thighs. The pain no longer disappears after each spank, instead settling as a deep ache in your cheeks.

Her hand claps against your bottom with enough force to make your bottom jiggle. Tears build in your eyes, stinging the corners as you whimper into your arms. Her hand stops, and you know what’s coming next. The cool wood of the hairbrush offers momentary relief to your hot skin, but you wince as soon as it leaves your bottom.

It returns with a loud crack and you howl, the floodgates blasting open. Tears flood from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks and soaking into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. The second burning stroke makes your chest heave, sobs wracking your body as you release everything you’ve been holding onto for a week.

There’s two more swats to each sit spot before Lena throws the brush aside like it has burnt her hand. Your bottom burns and aches, but your chest feels looser than it has in days. You cry into your arms as Lena rubs your behind, patiently waiting until you’re ready to move. You sniffle and hiccup, your features a mess of tears and snot as you crawl from Lena’s lap and into her arms.

“I’ve got you, darling girl,” Lena murmurs. She produces a tissue and gently cleans your gross face without so much as a wince. “I’m so proud of you, y/n. You’re such a good girl,” she praises. You bury your face in the crook of her warm neck, inhaling her perfect scent and clinging to her sweatshirt.

Lena rubs your back and kisses every inch of skin she can reach, murmuring gentle praise and promising to take care of you. You tuck yourself as close to her as possible as her hand slips down to your tender bottom. She rubs gently, quietly reminding you that you’re her good girl.

You feel safe in her arms, loved and protected, and you’re beyond thankful that Lena is so willing to take care of your needs. You’ll take a bath together later, like you usually do, and Lena will make you something to eat before tucking you into bed. It’s the same routine every week and it keeps you sane.

For right now, though, you’re content to stay curled up in Lena’s arms. The safest place you could possibly be.

Find Reassurance Here

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #reader #supergirl #lena luthor fanfiction #lena luthor imagine #supergirl cw #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl imagine #supergirl reader insert #lena x reader #bottom!reader #fem reader #top!lena #commission

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misssophiachase · 3 years

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All You Never Say - Pt 2

Hey! I’m so glad you all liked the first part (thanks to the anon who prompted me), you can read it HERE on Tumblr or follow it on AO3 HERE for future updates. Shout out to @sekretny13 because I totally did that shirtless Klaus thing we discussed.

Synopsis: One wedding and a confused maid of honour and best man with years of pent up feelings and unresolved tension.

Dr Grayson and Mrs Miranda Pierce and Mr Mikael and Mrs Esther Mikaelson cordially invite you to a garden party

To celebrate the upcoming nuptials of their children

Dr Katherine Pierce and the Right Honourable Elijah Mikaelson

At The River House on June twentieth, twenty twenty one at 1700h in Ely Cambridgeshire

Dress: Cocktail

All I'll never know is if you want me oh

3 days before the nuptials - Ely River House, Cambridgeshire - 6:53pm

“You’re the bride, the least you could have done was revoked his plus one,” Rebekah muttered.

“He’s also the best man and brother of the groom,” Katherine shot back tersely then remembered where she was and sent a dazzling smile in the direction of her soon-to-be Aunt Penelope. “Trust me, if I could have uninvited the she-wolf I would have.”

“How can someone that pretty be so ugly in the personality department?” Bonnie asked. “She knows my name but has taken to calling me Belinda anyway.”

Caroline could relate given her new name was apparently Carly.

“She told me my wedding festivities were folksy and quaint,” Kat growled. “I have a mind to stick my folksy wedding up her…”

“Unfortunately, my brother has the worst taste in women but I suppose that isn’t anything new but this time he isn’t the only one interested.”

“Yes, I noticed your parents fawning all over her,” Bonnie noted. “I’m imagining it’s more about her being the heir to an oil fortune rather than the person herself.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rebekah replied. “Although, they seem to be the only ones. Usually Nik just gets bored with them and moves on and this one seems to be staying around much longer than expected which is so strange.”

Caroline was standing near enough to hear her friend’s conversation but far away so she wasn’t tempted to comment on his date. She had no intention of ever letting her friends know the annoying feelings she harboured for Klaus.

The parents of the bride had insisted upon hosting the welcome party as a thank you to the Mikaelsons for hosting the reception. Esther, of course, had seen to it that even though the celebration wasn’t being held in their name she still made sure her signature touches were on display, much to the chagrin of Miranda Pierce.

They’d chosen the Ely River House for the occasion. A beautiful and contemporary venue on the water that showcased the best the town had to offer, including the cathedral they were to be married in as part of the backdrop.

Caroline, ever the dutiful maid of honour, had been busily working alongside Miranda to help make this event perfect. She knew how overrun the Pierce family had felt by the Mikaelsons during the planning stages and wanted to help them make this cocktail party the best it could be.

Obviously her motives weren’t completely selfless and helping out meant she didn’t need to focus on him.

With her.

She looked beautiful in a red, strapless gown but given her profession there were no surprises there. Caroline then made the mistake of glancing over and noticing how his hand teased the small of her back as they laughed and chatted with family. It was familiar and affectionate. She looked away but it was too late because it hurt.

“Refill?’ She asked Rebekah, taking her glass before she could even respond. Weaving her way through the guests Caroline decided she needed a time-out and the sooner the better.

Given the weather most of the party goers were outside and so the staff were handing out drinks on trays. The bar inside was empty at the moment and Caroline decided to put herself to good use by replenishing Rebekah’s drink.

She made her way behind the bar and found a bottle of champagne deciding that she could open it herself. I mean how hard could it be?

Difficult as she found out. Why did it always seem so effortless when they did it on TV and in movies? However this one wasn’t going to budge, that much she knew. She tried again, pulling as hard as she could.

“Don’t shoot!” She looked up into his familiar, blue eyes. Why did he have to look so good in an open collar shirt and jacket?

“Funny,” she shot back.

“Need my help with anything, love?”

“Well, not with playing poker obviously.”

“Ouch, way to punch a guy where it hurts,” he groaned, pretending to be in pain.

“Well, that oversized and overinflated ego of yours could do with some wounding, Mikaelson. I’m just upset it has taken me so long to finally land that perfect blow.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just gazed at her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Well, how kind of you. So, given all of your generous humility, how about I give you a hand? Don’t want to knock anyone’s eyes out, do we sweetheart?”

She noticed his eyes blazing now, was that anger or something else entirely? Caroline decided it was best not to wonder.

“Or you could leave in case such an impending disaster were to befall you?” He looked at her, clearly unmoved. “You know I’m not some damsel in distress that needs your assistance, I am perfectly capable of opening this bottle myself,” she huffed, feeling her composure slipping away.

Bastard.

“By all means,” he smiled, taking a seat on the nearest barstool and watching her in anticipation.

“You can’t just sit there and watch me.”

“Oh no? Last time I checked this was a free country and I have every right to sit anywhere I want. As the lawyer in the room, I’m sure you can back me up on that argument.”

“You are so…”

“Handsome, charming and brilliant?”

“I was going to say arrogant, childish and smug,” she bit back. “And, as the lawyer in the room, if this cork does happen to hit you I’ll testify that you refused to leave the scene after considerable warning on my part.”

“I’ll take those chances,” he smirked, taking her by surprise and fluidly moving behind the bar. “And I’ll even offer my assistance, if not just so these people can drink sometime this century.”

What she wasn’t expecting was for him to slip in behind her, his hands connecting with hers and running them enticingly up and down the chilled, champagne bottle. She shivered involuntarily hoping he hadn’t felt it in the process.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Mikaelson?” She asked, trying to contain the unwanted tremble in her voice.

“Exactly what I said. Helping,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as his hands covered hers. “Now, what you need to do is place your thumb right here and caress the cork gently until you feel it disengage.”

Why did she automatically think of untoward things when he uttered the words ‘caress’ and ‘disengage’?

It didn’t help that her back was moulding perfectly against his toned chest either and there was something else she could feel.

Was that?

Was he?

Before she could wonder anymore, the cork popped, flying across the room and sending a huge spray of bubbling liquid shooting out all over the bar. Caroline jumped in surprise, accidentally turning the bottle around and drenching them in the process.

Before too long they were both in fits of laughter unable to control it. He wound his arms around her waist attempting to rub the excess champagne on her while she squirmed in his warm grasp attempting to get away.

Well, sort of. If Caroline was being honest it felt good.

Too good.

Their laughter died down, almost as if they realised just how intimate their proximity and position was. After over a decade of knowing each other they’d never been this close, well except for that night two years earlier.

“I’m just glad I never asked you two to be waiters today,” a voice interrupted. Caroline turned her head, noticing Miranda Pierce staring at them both amusingly with her hands folded across her chest. Caroline moved away, albeit reluctantly. “How about you two clean yourselves up and get back to the party, speeches will be in fifteen minutes.”

She was gone before either could reply. Then it hit her.

“Speeches in fifteen minutes? I can’t make a speech looking like this,” she squeaked, looking down at her champagne soaked dress which was fast becoming a see through garment. “Why the hell did I decide that wearing white was a good idea? Should have gone with red or something.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Why did she have to mention the exact colour Hayley was wearing? The last thing she wanted was to seem jealous or insecure over his girlfriend.

“I much prefer the white,” he murmured. Caroline not sure if he was just being kind or it was something to do with its new, transparent features but given the way his eyes were trained on hers and not the dress she wasn’t quite sure. “As for the speech, you’re Caroline Elizabeth Forbes, you’ve got this.”

He remembered her middle name? Yes, they’d known each other a while but it seemed like something Klaus Mikaelson wouldn’t do. Or so she’d thought.

“I look more like the maid of dishonour who’s been bathing in half of the liquor tab,” she hissed. “I can’t go out there like this.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. It had an immediate calming effect, something she wasn’t accustomed to. “Go to the bathroom, use the hand dryer. I’ll send in Bonnie because, well we all know she’s the most practical in an emergency, and I’ll try out my best man jokes during my speech. I’ve always had this dream of becoming a stand-up comedian.”

“Who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, love,” he teased, curving those crimson lips into an enticing smile. “Now, go on.”

She did leave, but all Caroline wanted to do was turn around to see if he was still watching.

She was in big trouble and not because of her dress and that impending speech.

2 days before the nuptials - Kensington-Foster Atelier, Ely Cambridgeshire - 10:29am

“Tails are so uncomfortable and so last season, brother,” Kol complained, inspecting himself in the large mirror.

The groomsmen were having their final fitting before the big day. Klaus had long since blocked out Kol’s incessant whining and was distractedly playing with the hemming pins on the nearby table.

He thought being home would make him feel more comfortable and at ease but it was just the opposite. Klaus hadn’t planned on a surprise champagne incident followed by the maid of honour firmly ensconced in his embrace. If he had his way, he’d have never let her go.

Klaus told himself that after the poker match he’d keep his distance from Caroline. She’d been stirring up feelings this week that he’d worked hard for years to contain. He had no intention of letting one night from two years ago betray his feelings.

Also, as disingenuous as it might sound, Klaus had a girlfriend and would not betray her either. Although, it didn’t help that Hayley was wearing on his last nerve. Ever since she’d arrived nothing seemed to be quite good enough. Given these were his family and friends that didn’t sit well with Klaus.

“Last time I checked tails never go out of style, especially when the dress code is white tie,” Elijah responded tartly, breaking Klaus from his thoughts.

“I do look devilishly handsome, so I suppose it will do the job.”

“Trying to impress anyone in particular or just planning to pester the entire female guest list?” Enzo asked.

“Well, usually at these things a groomsman can rely on picking up a bridesmaid or two but I seem to have lucked out in that department.”

“I hope so given one is your own sister,” he chuckled.

“I’ll let you have her,” he smiled deviously. Klaus looked over noticing just how pink his best friend’s face had turned at that unexpected comment.

“How very kind of you, but you know Beks and I are more about the fighting than the loving.” Enzo replied dismissively, finally finding his words. Klaus couldn’t help but think just how delusional his future brother-in-law was but he figured he’d get it eventually. They both would. “I suppose there’s always Bonnie for you then, Kol,” he pressed on, clearly an attempt to get some form of payback.

This time it was Kol’s turn to blush.

“To be honest, I always thought you two would find your way back together,” Elijah said straightening his tie, making them all look at him curiously. “What? I have opinions, is that so difficult to believe?”

“You’re a politician, so when it comes to the affairs of state, no,” Klaus offered bluntly. “But why does it sound like you’re channeling Katherine Pierce right now?”

“I do have a mind of my own.”

“Sure you do,” the three responded in unison then broke into laughter.

“You’re all hilarious.”

“Anyway, Bonnie and I are ancient history,” Kol explained after a few minutes, almost as if he’d been thinking about it all that time. “I suppose maybe sweet Caroline might...”

“Over my dead body,” Klaus blurted out. Three sets of brown eyes clapped on him. This wasn’t how Klaus saw things going in his head. So much for being discreet and containing his feelings.

“Bloody finally,” Enzo grinned. “We’ve only been waiting for that confession since boarding school.”

They were? Klaus couldn’t recall what he’d done during that time given he and Caroline barely got along, fought incessantly and he’d also dated half the girls in her class. Was there something between them back then he’d been too ignorant to see? Given his current feelings, maybe so.

“Yes, you always were rather transparent when it came to Caroline, Niklaus,” Elijah agreed.

“I was not,” he shot back childishly, thinking denial would have been a much better counter attack. Clearly he wasn’t in his right mind.

“Even Kol knew about it and we all know what that means, Nik,” Enzo offered.

“If that is your way of insulting me then you need to try harder,” he growled. “While this confession has been a long time coming is everyone forgetting that Niklaus has a girlfriend? You know brunette, beautiful but extremely bossy?”

“I’ve not admitted anything,” Klaus baulked, feeling increasingly guilty. “And even if I had, Kol is right.”

“Finally someone gives me the credit I deserve,” he joked. “But if you’re experiencing a dilemma we could swap, even if yours is a bit on the high maintenance side.”

“I didn’t realise Caroline was yours to swap, Kol,” he murmured, again regretting that choice of response. Then he added what he probably should have said first. “And that’s no way to speak about Hayley, I mean she is bossy but…”

“Mother and father love her because all they can see are oil fields and dollar signs in their future,” Kol mused. “If anything that would be a sign to end things immediately.”

“Mother and father like Katherine,” Elijah commented, clearly perplexed. “And I wouldn’t dream of ending anything.”

“Chill, Elijah,” Kol answered. “You two have found the perfect balance but Niklaus here doesn’t like his girlfriend anywhere near as much as you love your fiance.”

“Why is Kol suddenly the expert on love and relationships, have we entered the twilight zone?” Enzo asked, humming the theme tune for added effect.

“Laugh all you like, Lorenzo, but you know I’m right.”

Klaus hated to admit it but his brother had a point, not that he’d tell anyone that. But what was he supposed to do? Caroline hadn’t given him any reason to think she liked him the same way.

Later that night, Mikaelson Manor - Ely, Cambridgeshire - 11:59pm

“This is not happening, this is so not happening,” Caroline said, repeating it like a mantra and hoping that somehow it would calm her and solve her most pressing issue.

She’d ventured into the manor’s vast gardens on a mission. Yes, it was pitch black and her torch was barely doing its job. It was also midnight and she was seriously rethinking her attire of shorts and a tank top, even if it was summer.

Caroline decided to blame her unpreparedness on Kol and the story he’d told after dinner about their ancestor Sir Henry Stirling who apparently lost his head for treason and walked the grounds in search of it every night.

It wouldn’t be so scary if she were tucked up in bed in her room but here she was trying to find something extremely important in the grand scheme of the wedding and marriage as a whole which she’d stupidly lost earlier in the afternoon.

Some Maid of Honour she was.

She’d been too busy thinking about a certain guy who decided to tease her then rub up against her and then distract the crowd with jokes so she could make herself speech-ready. To say she was confused was an understatement.

He also had a girlfriend so that added to the mess.

The girls had picnicked on the grounds that afternoon. The sun was shining brightly and they’d decided to forget the wedding plans for once and just enjoy themselves. It wasn’t difficult given their beautiful surroundings and the abundance of wine. Caroline couldn’t believe this was her best friend’s life and would be lying if she wasn’t slightly jealous.

Of the four of them, Caroline was the only one who was truly unattached. If you asked Rebekah and Bonnie they were too but everyone knew that they would end up with Enzo and Kol, as they should. They were meant for each other and it was only a matter of time in her opinion.

But she was the odd one out and in Caroline’s mind she always had been. She liked being different but at the same time it had its drawbacks. Weeks like this only amplified it.

She heard a noise behind her, like a rustling in the bushes. Caroline pointed her torch at the noise hoping Sir Henry wasn’t going to take her head as a substitute. “I don’t have your head, sir, I promise.”

Okay, not the most suave thing she could have said at that moment.

“I can’t believe you of all people would believe Kol,” the voice was unexpected but familiar. In fact it caused some of the chills she’d been experiencing to defrost. She moved her torch to the left catching him in the light.

And what a sight it was.

Klaus Mikaelson.

Shirtless.

Caroline felt the torch wavering in her hand and only just managed to maintain control before it dropped to the ground. Clearly she wasn’t the only one poorly dressed for the occasion.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed.

“I believe I should be asking the same question of you, love,” he murmured, the sleep in his voice evident. “I heard noise outside my window and saw the torch light so came out to investigate.”

“Naked?” Okay, it came out before she could stop it. At least he couldn’t see her blush in the dark.

“Yes, because I would definitely waste all my time throwing on clothes if I saw someone attempting to break into my house,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Although, you seemed to have underdressed for the occasion too if my eyes aren’t deceiving me.”

“No need to be so snarky, Mikaelson.” Caroline decided not to address her outfit as it would just complicate the situation.

“Says the girl who woke me up,” he shot back. “Please tell me there is a perfectly reasonable reason for you to be skulking around the property at this time of night?”

“I’m not skulking.” Okay maybe she was skulking but it was all for a good cause. His prolonged silence was telling her he was impatient for an explanation. “Fine, I might have lost the wedding ring and I’m trying to find it before anyone else notices.”

“Please tell me I can put this in my speech.”

“That’s seriously your take back from this whole scenario? Your maturity astounds me. Just shut up and help me find it you idiot.”

“Not until you tell me how exactly this happened in the first place, love. You have my full attention.”

A/N Stay tuned for the midnight wedding ring search, the rehearsal dinner and so much more.

#klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #misssophiachase #all you never say #part 2 #stay tuned

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thejamesoldier · 4 years

Text

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 3

A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx

Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II

First order of business is to wash.

You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.

One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.

You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.

"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.

Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.

In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.

"Um, Miss?"

It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.

"Miss? Are, are you okay?"

It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --

"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.

Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...

You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.

"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"

Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --

"Wait!"

-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --

"Wait! Wait!"

Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!

"Wait!"

As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --

Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!

Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.

"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"

Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.

"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.

"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.

"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"

"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"

Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.

"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.

Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.

The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.

Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?

"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.

You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.

"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.

"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."

You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.

Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.

"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."

"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."

"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."

"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.

There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.

"Thank you Kieran, I --,"

"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."

"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.

Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.

'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.

"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.

You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.

"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.

He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.

After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.

"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.

I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.

"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."

She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.

"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."

"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.

You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.

"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."

You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.

The other women aren't too bad.

Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.

You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.

"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.

"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"

Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."

"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.

"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."

Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."

"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.

"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"

"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.

You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.

"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."

"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."

Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"

A harsh huff blows from your lips.

"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.

Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.

"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"

Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.

"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."

Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.

"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."

Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.

"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"

You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.

"Deal!" You confirm.

Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.

It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.

As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.

He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"

You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.

"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."

A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.

"Do you? Care?"

"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."

You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.

"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.

"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"

Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.

"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.

Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.

"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."

Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.

"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."

"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.

"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."

You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.

"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."

Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.

"It's the only way."

There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.

"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.

Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."

"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.

"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."

"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.

Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."

There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"

You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."

"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"

"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."

"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."

"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."

You take a moment to consider this information.

"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.

The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...

You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.

With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.

"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.

You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.

Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.

"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."

You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.

"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"

"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"

The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.

"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.

"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.

Fuck.

"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.

Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.

"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.

"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.

"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.

Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.

"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.

Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."

You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.

"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.

"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.

"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.

"Um,"

"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.

"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.

"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.

You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.

"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.

"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.

You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.

It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.

"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.

All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.

"He is not an O'Driscoll."

Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.

"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.

You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.

You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.

"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.

"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."

"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.

"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."

"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."

Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.

"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.

He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"

You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."

Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.

"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."

"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.

"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.

"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."

You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.

"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --

"Okay I'm sorry!"

There it is.

"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.

You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.

"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."

Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.

"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.

He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.

"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."

Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.

I guess men will be men no matter the time period.

"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.

You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."

Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.

"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --

"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.

Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.

"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."

"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --

"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.

"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.

"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."

Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.

"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.

Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.

"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."

Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.

"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.

"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.

Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.

"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."

You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.

"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.

This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.

"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.

Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.

"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.

"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."

Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.

Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.

"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."

"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"

"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"

Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.

"Ladies! Sing us a song!"

It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,

"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.

"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.

The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.

"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.

Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.

"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"

"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.

Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --

"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.

The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.

"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.

"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.

Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.

"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.

"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.

Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.

"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.

The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.

"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.

Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.

"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."

He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.

The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"

Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.

"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.

"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.

Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --

"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"

The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.

"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"

Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.

"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.

"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.

"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."

God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.

"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.

Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.

"Well, you didn't!"

Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.

"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.

Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"

"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.

"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"

"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.

"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.

Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.

"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.

"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."

They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.

"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"

Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.

"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.

"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."

Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."

As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.

"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.

He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.

"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."

Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.

"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."

A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.

"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"

You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.

You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.

"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.

"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.

Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.

Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.

"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."

"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.

You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."

Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.

"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.

You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,

"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"

You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.

"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.

The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.

"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.

"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.

May 17, 1899, it reads.

1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.

The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands

This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.

"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.

"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.

You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.

You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."

"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."

A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.

For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.

"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.

"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.

Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.

"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.

You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.

Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...

"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"

It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.

Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.

His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.

She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.

"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.

Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.

"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.

"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.

"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).

"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.

Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.

Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?

But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.

"Another." Arthur blurts.

He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.

"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.

Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.

This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.

The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.

"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.

With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.

Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.

Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.

(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)

Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --

"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"

The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.

"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."

Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.

"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.

He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.

You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.

The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.

"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.

You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.

Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.

You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --

Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.

"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.

His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.

"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.

Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.

"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.

You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.

"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.

Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.

"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.

It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.

"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.

You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.

"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"

Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.

Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?

Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.

"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.

"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.

You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.

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Masterlist

#A Single Frayed Rope #thejamesoldier #my writing #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

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