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suguwu · 7 months ago

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WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings.

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,” she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.”

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides.

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.”

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji.

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet.

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun.

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair.

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again.

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa.

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly.

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.”

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say.

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering.

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate.

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod.

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji.

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath.

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.”

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!”

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control.

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.”

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth.

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.”

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.”

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir.

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum.

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon.

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.”

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down.

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.”

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.”

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky.

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.”

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.”

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms.

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately.

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words.

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo.

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do.

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training.

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring.

Life, ever unmoved, continues on.

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle.

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes.

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist.

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #bee writes jjk #fic: would that i

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howlett-n-morgan · 8 months ago

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Take Me Home

4. John Fucking Marston

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: GUYS I GRADUATED MY FROM MY COURSE! i give you this chapter as a token of my celebration... now I just have to make sure I don't have any models fall off the runway in my line up lmao

Summary: The newest arrival makes his way into camp, and inadvertently becomes the reason that chaos begins to spread. Luckily, his new uncle Arthur is there to carry the woes on his broad shoulders.

Warnings: mild swearing, canon typical violence, birth?? mentions of past death and Arthur remembering his deadbeat dad days. drinking, mild alcohol abuse?? also Hosea is a real one we love Hosea

WC: 4.5k

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?” “She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.” “But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he was the one who asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

A week after the heist, Arthur’s shoulder was feeling better… but his head was hurting like hell.

In fact, on this specific night, nearly everyone’s head was throbbing on account of the wails and cries of terrible pain coming from the edge of camp.

Abigail had gone into labor around five hours ago, and the little baby had still not come into the world yet. As of right now, the men were huddled close to the fire, passing around a fresh bottle of whiskey in attempts to pass out so they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, the women were rushing to and fro about the camp, working their asses off to bring a new life to the gang.

You figured it would help you bond with the boys more if you sat with them, moaning and groaning about the noise… but you’d much rather be helping, making sure nothing went wrong in the tumultuous process of birth.

It wasn’t until close to one in the morning that a tiny baby boy was born, strong as ever, with lungs so powerful they could blow a lark out of a tree. His cries replaced Abigails, but after all that time, everyone was pleased to know the delivery was over, and both parties were healthy and sound.

The men did eventually pass out, all except two.

Arthur and John were up till the crack of dawn arguing, and it didn’t look good from an outside perspective.

You were about to take back towards your tent when you came across them, hurriedly getting out of their line of sight so you could listen without suspicion. You knew you had no right to eavesdrop, but with everything you’ve heard from Abigail concerning John, you were bursting with curiosity in a way that turned your stomach.

“I don’t see why I need to be convinced otherwise,” John ripped into his dearest friend, and even from behind a wall of tented fabric, you could imagine the look on his face.

“You’re makin’ a mistake right now, and you ain’t gonna see it until it’s too late.”

“How would you know? S’not like you did any better,” the tone of his voice was bitter, almost. John caught himself, taking a step back and breathing more evenly after his fit of anger. “I didn’t mean that, Arthur… but you oughta know where my head’s at.”

Arthur was silent, and you wished more than anything you could see the look on his face to determine how Marston had gotten to him. Was he saddened or angry? Maybe even confused? You didn’t know, but you didn’t have long to dwell on it.

“You listen here, boy,” Arthur’s voice sounded threatening, intimidating. It was perhaps the scariest you’ve heard him speak. “You ain’t got no idea what’s comin’ to you if you leave. There will be no place in hell you’ll be able to hide from the decision you’re about to make. It’ll follow you the rest of your days, and haunt you when you’re dead, you understand me?”

John didn’t speak, didn’t answer or even mumble an excuse, he just walked away. He walked towards Abigail’s tent, ducking his head under and closing the front panel. You stood there stunned, afraid to move… but then Arthur came up around the backside of the area and scared the shit out of you.

“You hear all that?” He asked, a slanted look in his eyes and a distaste for you in his tone. It might be the remnants from his past conversation, but you hate the way it sounds.

“Arthur,” you caught your breath from the fright he gave you just in time to mumble out an apology. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be listenin’, but Abigail’s been telling me things and I just…”

He managed to huff out one silent breath of a laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t be fretin’ on my account, I ain’t mad at you.”

You sighed in relief, stepping closer to him now that you didn’t feel so burdened.

“I don’t know him very well, but what I’ve seen… he doesn’t know his head from his ass. Is he really gonna leave?”

“I don’t know,” he started, crossing his arms and letting out a small yawn. He’s just as tired as you are. “I think I just bought a few days, maybe more, but who knows.”

“You think he can change his mind?” You relaxed your demeanor in front of him, but kept your head on a swivel just in case

He was so tired, you felt bad for keeping him awake, but you figured these thoughts were weighing heavy on him, and it might be good to get it off his chest. “He’s far too stubborn to do it on his own. We’d all have to raise hell for him to think badly of his own choices.”

You frowned, turning towards the tent of the new, young family… There were already so many problems in their unit.

“Poor Abigail.”

She’d be alone, and with a child to take care of. And meanwhile John would be scott free and having the time of his life.

“She’ll be alright, her and the boy. I’ll make sure of it,” he nodded towards where you were staring. “Around the time he started acting up, I told her I’d marry her, be the kid’s father if she wanted me to.”

Your head snapped around to him, and you processed his words. Abigail told you about part of his offer, because you’d given her the same one, sans one detail…

“You’re gonna marry her?”

“Only if she wants me to, if John leaves.”

Good to know… but not really. It looks to you like John is pretty set in his ways, even if he ends up staying through the week, or even more.

You nodded to him, but you hated the notion that he could already be promised to another person, even if you had absolutely no plans on pursuing him yourself. It was a small little envious monster that crawled in the pit of your stomach, and for a split second, you felt yourself resenting Abigail, who thus far, had become your closest friend after Arthur.

“I actually offered the same,” you laughed, shaking your head and kicking your boot into the ground. “Not that it would last, but I just wanted her to know I was willing to help.”

“The whole gang chips in here and there, bein’ a family and whatnot… She’ll never go without help,” he assured, his posture becoming heavier with each minute passing.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat and stretched your arms out, faking a massive yawn that looked real enough to pass you off. “It’s probably time we all turn in, huh?”

For some reason he seemed vaguely sad for the interaction to be over.

“Just about… I’ll catch you later, then,” he waved you off, heading back to his wagon and you to your tent. Even though they were relatively close, the entry points were on opposite sides.

You fell back into your cot with a heavy exhale. It’s been a long night, and with a crying baby in the camp, it’s looking to be a long next few months.

The next few days were wonderful, despite the ill attitudes of a few grumbly men, Arthur not included.

Dutch has been going on and on since the birth of the baby that the newest member should be given a worthy name. You assume he suggested his own namesake a few times, but since he’s been nothing but playful about the whole thing, you know he isn’t too bitter when they do finally settle on a name.

Abigail picked it out, and you understand why.

John Marston Jr, or as the two have taken to calling him already, Jack.

You were surprised to see that waking up in the late afternoon the day of the birth, John was being… really different. He was putting in effort to help Abigail, he was making sure the others knew of all the information as it came, and most importantly, he was being positive about the whole situation. You suppose Arthur did knock some sense into him, and it was evident in how he was carrying himself.

You weren’t sure how long it would last, but you felt relieved. Not only for Abigail, but selfishly, for yourself. If John sticks around and pulls his weight, Arthur doesn’t need to be tied down to a family. Not that he would ever see it that way, but still.

You didn’t know where you stood with Arthur. He was a dear friend, you knew you could say that by now. You think that maybe the playful banter between you holds more than just friendship, but you can’t be sure, and you’re too damn chicken to test the waters. And obviously, a plain and simple conversation is entirely out of the question, because of ridiculous reasons you don’t care to list off.

Maybe you’ll never know, and you’ll always be playing the game of ‘will we, won’t we’, unable to come to a sound conclusion. You think you’d be well enough with that, even if you never settle down with anyone.

It’s a terrible absolute, and you should have never decided on it, but you think that being open ended and in this endless cycle of banter with Arthur is better than being in a committed relationship with anyone else. It makes the one on one interactions with him that much sweeter, though. Like today, when it was both your turns to watch baby Jack. The others were working on something in the town, and Abigail and some of the women were napping, having taken care of him through the night.

“He might be hungry,” you suggested, laughing at Arthur’s attempt to sooth the wailing infant.

“I get hungry too, y’never see me cryin’ about it,” he was joking, clearly. He shook his head and reached for the glass bottle Miss Grimshaw had prepared this morning.

Jack fed on the bottle and stopped crying, and in the aftermath, you paused to watch the scene before you. A big, gruff outlaw, with his hair tousled and shirt out of place from tiny hands fisting at it, and relaxed in his arms, a tiny baby being bottle fed. It was such a contradictory picture, but one you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“Cute,” you mumbled, nearly under your breath, but he heard you.

“He’s somethin’,” he chuckled, a small smile on his face when mentioning the boy he held so close. Arthur was many things, but amongst them was gentle. He was a kind creature by nature, that had only been hardened by experience, and these soft moments let his internal goodness show.

“I meant you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to respond for a second.

“I’m quite the opposite, but I’ll thank you for the thought.”

As tough as he was, and as rightfully boastful over his skill with a weapon or with his bare hands, he seemed to negate himself often. His intelligence, his artistic talent, his looks, even his presence during group gatherings. It saddened you, and you didn’t even know the root of his struggle.

“Why you always doin’ that?”

“Doin’ what?” he asked, his head tilted to the side and a narrow look on his face.

“Bein’ mean to yourself…” you answered, sitting down on the other end of the log he was relaxing against.

What a treat it would be for Arthur to see himself through your eyes. He’d never think poorly of himself again.

“M’not, just the truth.”

And that was even sadder. Who on earth ever convinced this man that he wasn’t good enough? Whoever it was, you’d like them to be on the other side of your pistol’s barrel.

You huffed out a sigh, leaning forward so he didn’t have to strain his neck to look back at you.

“Y’know it’s too damn bad, I happen to think you’re a pretty decent person. I pity anyone who thinks otherwise,” you spoke firmly, laying it on thick so that maybe he can come to terms with believing you.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm, very much so…”

He looked back down at Jack, trying to distract himself from your complimentary onslaught. He didn’t much care for compliments, so he wasn’t even sure how to receive them, if he accepted them at all. He has a very strong belief system, and it’s constantly just a mantra of things like ‘I am a bad man, I do bad things, I am dangerous, I am getting old, I am ugly,’ and so on. He didn’t understand how much he had hurt himself by forming those beliefs in the first place.

You sat with him in silence for a few minutes, just watching Jack finish the bottle and settle into Arthur’s arm for a nap. He slept a lot for someone that cries through the night. Hearing the soft cries in the night isn’t peaceful, but it’s better than the anxiety and feeling of dread his cries brought you the first day, when John was set on leaving.

You keep replaying a moment from that morning in your head, when the sun was just over the ridge, and you were heading to your tent…

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” He turned his head again.

“The day he was born… that argument between you and John,” you wanted to make sure you phrased this correctly, unsure if it was a sensitive topic. “He’d apologized for sayin’ something… Sayin’ that you didn’t do any better? What was he talkin’ about?”

Arthur took a deep inhale and shifted around in his seat, the ground beneath him feeling like it could cave in just at your words. John had struck deep with what he’d said, but having to rehash it, and with you… it wasn’t a thing he’d ever do for fun, to put it nicely.

“I mean, him talkin’ about leaving Abigail, and you givin’ her your offer… You’re already better than he is.”

“I wasn’t always,” he shook his head. “Holdin’ him like this, it makes me remember just how terrible I am.”

You sank down from the log and scooted closer to him. No one in camp was around to see, so you didn’t bother looking. His eyes got foggy without even going into detail, so you didn’t push… but he seemed to open up on his own.

“I had a boy when I was John’s age. Same situation n’ all,” he shook his head, trying to keep his sights on the ground in front of him. The longer he held Jack, the worse this feeling got, but he knew it wouldn’t ever go away, not really. Not with a new and constant reminder of his past. “His momma and I, we didn’t get on too well, so I kept with the gang. Didn’t ever come around except when we passed through that town. Could count on two hands the times I saw my own son…”

You didn’t know what to make of this. He has a son? Does he keep contact with him? You’re unsure if you want to know all the details, because hearing it as is, sounds messy.

“Where does he live?”

You had no idea that you’d just asked the worst question in response… but how else were you supposed to know? This was the first you’d heard of Arthur’s son.

“He uh… he died, about three years ago,” Arthur shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat, though his teary eyes persisted. “They both did... I came back one day, and found two crosses in the yard. I asked around, townsfolk said a group of robbers came through and raided several homes.”

“Arthur…” you grabbed his arm gently, trying to convey your sympathy, and your sadness.

“I knew it had been my fault. If I had been there, my son would be alive, his mother, too.”

A cloud had rolled over the sun, and shrouded in a temporary shade of darkened light, the mood felt heavier than even his words could convey. This man and his layers, being peeled away before you… it was both touching, and terrible. You had no idea a man was capable of feeling so deeply, of being so open about his past and regrets. You’d never seen a man cry before.

“Issac and Eliza were their names,” he finally looked at you, tears escaping his eyes at a rapid pace. He let them fall, somehow knowing you wouldn’t judge him for it. “And they aren’t here because of me.”

You gently raised a hand and wiped his cheeks with your thumb, leaving your hand there for as long as he would let you.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur…”

Nothing you could say or do would help to heal his wounds, but you wanted to try. Wanted to be there for him, whatever that meant. You and him got on well. You were friends, but there was competition between you, all a part of your banter. You supposed you’d feel inclined to let him win in any circumstance from now on, just because you couldn’t bear to make him upset. Seeing him this way broke your heart, but it also empowered you in some way. To be more empathetic, and kind, and to not let your anger get the better of you. You’ve proven to him in the past that you were a hot head, no pun intended. You would have to be mindful of letting yourself fly off the hinge to him in the future.

“Even if John doesn’t leave… I swear I’m gonna do right by this boy,” he let out, his voice trembling but his words were of certainty.

You felt a tear roll down your own cheek, and did nothing to stop it. This moment, whatever it was, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to keep it buried within the depths of your soul.

You’ve been on the run for four years now, and in those four years, you’ve been on your own, making some sort of fantasy world for yourself where death was just the thing at the end of a duel, and you never had to pay the toll of those losses.

You’d not been living in reality, and coming to this gang, meeting Arthur… it must have been preordained. It must have been fate. He himself, day by day, was restoring your humanity, and your ability to feel something that wasn’t just a farce.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, but being so close, he heard you clearly.

He let out a huff that you suppose was meant to be a soft laugh. “You don’t just hear me, Red… you listen to me. I guess I’ll keep on tellin’ you things.”

And soon both your attentions were pulled back to Jack as he stirred slightly.

You took a turn holding him while Arthur went to grab some food, and you found you rather liked this particular baby. He was a sweet little thing, not so bratty like the tiny cousins you grew up around. You can only hope he’ll stay this sweet as he grows older.

A month had passed, and John was getting more angsty.

Arthur was honestly surprised he had lasted this long. It seemed impossible that he stuck around, especially when he had to be the one to take a turn with the baby during the night.

Fights had broken out with various members of the camp, mostly over John and his unwillingness to help anymore. Dutch had chewed him up and spit him out, and after that, John had made up his mind, for certain this time.

“You ain’t leavin’, just sit down,” Arthur pulled him back by the shoulder, trying to stop him from packing up and saddling his horse.

“What makes you think I would stay with a bunch of folk who hate me?”

“We don’t hate you, you’re bein’ ridiculous. Sit down, we’ll talk about it.” Arthur tried to reach out for him again, but John pulled himself back and out of the way, two steps from the hitching post. “Boy, you’re not goin’ anywhere-”

“I’m leaving!” John burst out, taking Arthur by surprise. This wasn’t just another hissy fit or tantrum where he would eventually let it stew over. He was really gonna do it. “The kid ain’t mine, I counted back. She’s just try’na tie me down, Arthur... I feel for her, but I ain’t stayin.”

“Need I remind you of the price you’re gonna pay?”

“She’ll be safe with you. The boy, too. I ain’t leavin’ them in incapable hands.”

“But you’re leaving them,” Arthur reasoned, trying his best to make any last effort to save what could have been, but he knew his found brother would not be changing his mind. His only thought at this point was to beg him to stay. If only because he asked. “Don’t do this. They need you, we need you.”

“You don’t need me, Arthur. You’re the better one, always were…”

“C’mon now, you know that ain’t true. S’just another excuse,” he waved his arms around, trying to emphasize just how stupid it sounded. Yes, it’s all Arthur’s fault that John is leaving.

John doesn’t even answer Arthur, he just turns heel and readies his horse, all while the older of the two stands by and ridicules him for what he’s about to do. All John can do is tune him out, and pretend he doesn’t hear the distant crying at the other edge of camp, where Susan is trying to console a tired and emotionally devastated Abigail. Their son sleeps in Tilly’s arms, oblivious to anything happening around him, but what’s to come will put a damper on his previously bright future.

By the time John is on his horse, loaded up and ready to head out, Arthur grabs hold of his leg, yanking it back from the stirrup. He looks to his eyes one more time, to see if there’s any guilt, any resolve, anything that might show he knows what he’s doing is wrong… but he only sees annoyance and pride. Two things John Marston usually wore on his face.

“If you leave this camp, you best never come back again, ya hear?”

And for the first time that night, Arthur saw just a shred of fear in the younger man’s eyes.

“I hear,” he nodded, the fear turning into sadness in this last moment. “It just ain’t worth it no more.”

And with that, he turned his horse, and left the camp.

Arthur went storming through the camp after the interaction, needing to find himself a drink.

You were angry and rightfully so, stomping back into camp like a bear hunting its prey. Walking up to the campfire, there were only a few left awake. Pearson and Hosea sat, hunched over and with half full whiskey bottles in their hands. Probably from the stolen stash, the brand was decent.

“Anyone seen Arthur?” You asked them both, knowing that at least Hosea could tell you.

“He passed out ages ago,” He nodded towards his covered wagon near the trees and rocks separating your space. “John left camp tonight.”

“I know, I caught him outside the saloon,” you sat down by them, reaching out for either bottle they were willing to hand over. “Gimme some of that, will ya?”

And of course, drinking was the solution at the end of the day.

After a while, Pearson dragged himself to bed, leaving you and Hosea to sit and stew by the fire, milling about your tumultuous thoughts. You should have known he’d ask for details of your run in with John.

“I was out scouting today… realized I needed to go to town for a pair of socks, mine got holes too big for sewin’,” you began, gaze trapped on the fire, the alcohol making it harder to focus on anything else at once. “Came outside and found him hitchin’ his horse.”

“You were the one who approached him, then?”

“I thought about just wavin’, I thought I’d be seein’ him back here… but then I looked at his saddle. He was packed up for the trek of a million miles,” you sighed, taking another big swig of the pricey whiskey in your hand. You would finish the bottle in no time if you kept up like this, trying to quench your raging thirst for something strong and potent.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing really, not at first. Just asked how the day had been, how Abigail was. I haven’t been here since this morning. I guess they started fighting real bad after I left. Dutch tore into him, too,” you spoke heavily, suddenly the swigs you were slamming back were making you a bit less understandable. Hosea though, was easily able to listen, because after years of Arthur’s drunk slurring, and having to make out sentences between, he was practically an expert. “All I said was that he shouldn’t leave, because he’ll regret it.”

“And I suppose that didn’t help.”

“Nah, he just told me where to shove it. I think he’s scared… not of the kid, and not of Abigail. I think he doesn’t wanna end up like his father. Arthur’s told me something about it, but in my opinion, he’s trying to get out before the resentment turns to abuse n’ all that.”

“I reckon you're right. We all told him time and again he’d be a good father, but he’s stubborn as they come, and when his mind’s made up… there’s no stopping that boy.” Hosea shook his head once more, his sadness reflecting in the light of the fire.

“I guess Arthur’s gonna marry Abigail, now…” you knew you were just trailing into your thoughts, and that while getting more drunk, you shouldn’t be saying them out loud… but you couldn’t help it. Selfishly, on your ride back to camp, this is all you thought about.

“He offered, it’s up to Abigail to accept,” he said gently, raising his brows in thought as well. He doesn’t see it as a good match, but he thinks it’s honorable that Arthur would do such a thing.

“I hope she doesn’t,” you murmured quietly, but it seems he still heard you.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, m’just gettin’ drunk.”

He chuckled under his breath, his side eye remaining on your features just a while longer before he stood up, patting you on the shoulder.

“Don’t drink too much more. You’ll pass out before making the trip to your tent.”

And then he left you alone. With your thoughts and a bottle of whiskey in hand, who knows what more you could do in a situation like this. It was better to cut your losses and just turn in… so you did.

Laying down on your cot, you expected sleep to take you. It should have, given how tired you were, but the single notion kept echoing in your head over and over…

Arthur Morgan isn’t mine, and he never was.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you #texas red

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jamslamz · 10 months ago

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help does this make me a furry??

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cheerclaw · 7 months ago

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for wc names , wiltflower or larkface?

larkface, based on a horned lark

#warrior cats #wc ocs #wc #my art

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warrior-cats-rewritten · 1 year ago

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Graystripe has 8 kids now. Jesus. Graykin/Silverkin is a pretty big family. Applekin is even bigger now, too. As is Fallowkin, especially now with Swankit/Swancall surviving long enough to have kits.

(Stormfur, Feathertail, Fang, Fang's 2 siblings (Leah/Ember and Orchid), Briarlight, Bumblestripe and Blossomfall)

Graykin grandkids are: Singing Lark, Clinging Pine, Rustling Breeze* Swimming Trout, Flipclaw, Plumstone, Thriftear, and Bristlefrost.

*Hawk Feather is no longer the son of Stormfur and Little Brook, just Rustling Breeze's best friend, who gets together with Flipclaw, he just didn't fit. Graystripe makes a mistake during Graystripe's Clan where he assumes Hawk Feather is Stormfur and Brook's son, but they have a naming theme with their kids. Singing, Clinging, Rustling, Swimming.

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confessions-of-a-monster-freak · 8 months ago

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Dogs really are man’s best Wingman - Minho TMR

Prompt: Out walking their dog who chases your dog. WC: 3640

Synopsis: You work from home at a service desk that does data entry and take night classes from the local college for your chosen degree. You go on regular walks with your dog Lark, and just so happen to run into a certain someone.

Another prompt fill, I am quite happy with this one, even though it is rather short. This is a Non-Apocalypse Minho from The Maze Runner. If you have any questions on how I see the Gladers in today's society, put them in my ask box! I will answer the best I can.

Notes, Reblogs, and comments are appreciated! (I'd love to hear feedback or even silly little comments from you!)

Warnings: Swearing? (I don't know if the words I used count as swearing.)

I was finally on my lunch break, my legs were starting to cramp from the lack of movement, but it was better than constantly moving around a warehouse or otherwise. That meant it was time for a walk with Lark. Who had been patiently waiting on the couch for me this entire time. I stood up and walked to the door to grab her leash. When she heard the jingle of her leash she jumped off the couch and happily pranced over to me. She was happily prancing around and partially on my feet when I had a good hold on her harness. Her long tail thumped into my legs as I straddled her to get her harness on.

“C’mon Lark, just stand still a bit longer yeah?” I grumbled softly, having a struggle to try and get her harness on. She was normally very compliant when I had to put her harness on. Today it seemed she just wanted to get out. I couldn’t blame her, I’d been so busy I couldn’t even toss the tennis ball around for her during calls. I felt bad about it, but I knew I could make up for it when we got back and I got back to work, and when my classes started. I could play tug of war whilst listening to the lectures, or even give her a busy bowl for some enrichment.

Once her harness was attached properly, I toed on my shoes. Thank goodness for running slip-ons. I grabbed my keys, and my doggy bag, and slid on my headphones. It was time for some music and a change of scenery. Maybe even to stop at the cafe a few blocks down. At that thought I decided to duck back and grab my wallet. Tucking it into the doggy bag for safekeeping. I hooked her leash and opened the door. She knew better than to tug, but there were times that she had gone AWOL. I was doing my best to correct it when it happened, such as when she went AWOL after a squirrel. But just to be safe, I gave her the harness.

I turned on my headphones as we got into the elevator, scrolling through a playlist before deciding to shuffle it and hope I got some good songs. The elevator dinged and we left. Setting off from the building at a brisk pace. Lark stayed in front of me and kept an easy pace. Her tail wagged happily as we walked, starting to almost prance again as I picked up my walking speed. If I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be able to handle two dogs I’d get another one to keep her company. She’s old enough that I’m not concerned about littermate syndrome.

My lunch break was typically an hour to hour and a half long so we had time. I remember when people told me not to get a Dalmatian because I lived in an apartment. All these worries about it being aggressive, barking excessively, or even not getting enough exercise. Here I was proving them wrong, getting Lark was the best decision I could have made. She kept me just as entertained as I kept her, as well as active. Now that I had her, I had a reason to get up and get out of bed in the morning, and go for walks. Hike even. Not that I had very many opportunities to do so.

I made up my mind to stop at the cafe so I could eat on the way back. I could even get a biscuit for her too. I was lucky that it was a pet-friendly cafe, and that they made stuff for dogs there too. As we continued our walk we passed some other dog walkers, most of which I knew were for people who had jobs that took them out of the house for work. I smiled as I passed, and continued along. Lark even stopped a few times to say hi to the dogs. I was proud of the work that I’d put into her, she still had a long way to go and was still young so we had time. I wanted to work on off-leash recall. That way when I did go hiking or camping I could call her back if needed.

I could finally see the cafe, we had a bit to go still, but at least it was in sight. It also didn’t look too crowded, which meant I didn't have to hold onto Lark’s harness to make sure that she stayed where she was supposed to. Even with her having a fairly good heel down, she still had issues in crowded places with other dogs. Especially since she just wanted to play with all of them.

With some more pep in my step, I continued along, Lark was wagging her tail as we got closer. She could probably smell the other dogs that had been there and wanted to sniff around when we got there. I took this small gap of time to look down at my phone and check the time. That and to skip the song I was listening to, it didn’t quite fit my mood at the moment.

In the split second from skipping the song to the next. I heard a name being called. I turned to see where it was coming from only to have something rocket into my legs. I stumbled, pulling Lark back as I did before looking down and spotting this bright red dog wagging at my feet and greeting Lark. There was a leash attached to a black harness on the dog, but that didn’t seem to be attached to a human.

“Well hello you…” I said, pulling off my headphones and crouching down to greet the dog. “You got away from your human didn’t you?” I cooed softly, letting the dog sniff my hand before petting its head. It was very soft, softer than most dogs that had this long of fur. I reached around for a collar or tags and managed to find one. Printed on a simple tag was the name Cinder.

“Cinder! Goddamnit” I turned and saw a man jogging across the street to me and the dog. He was well built and also seemed pretty athletic from the clothes he was wearing. He crossed the street and then whistled, Cinder looked between me and the man before running back to him and sitting at a heel at his side.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and she yanked the leash out of my hands” He apologized, reaching down to pick up her leash as she stared at him. Once he had the leash in his hands he wrapped it around his wrist a bit more firmly. “That's a nice Dalmatian,” He said looking at Lark, before looking at me.

“She’s friendly, you’ve got a pretty dog yourself” I answered, as he crouched down to greet Lark, who seemed more than content to let him pet her so long as she could get closer to Cinder. She tugged a bit before I corrected her and she rounded back to me. Not in a heel, but closer to my legs to where she wouldn’t be tugging at her leash.

“She seems really well trained” I pointed out, since she hadn’t broken her heel even with Lark trying to play with her. I was curious if he’d teach me how to do that with Lark, or even point me in the direction of the person who taught his dog that.

“Thank you, she is. She has to be for the amount of hikes we go on. I guess she just couldn’t contain herself this time” He shrugged, looking down at her before patting her head. Making her tail start to thump on the concrete behind him.

“I’m Minho,” He said, sticking out his hand for me to shake. I took it and introduced myself. Before looking down at Lark who was wagging her tail enthusiastically whilst looking at Cinder, she didn’t tug to try and get closer and play.

“Well Minho, do you think you can teach me how to get that good of a heel?” I asked, “I’ll buy if you’d like to stop at the cafe” I offered, deciding maybe the promise of food or a drink might help ease any tension.

“Sounds good to me” He agreed, clicking his tongue and Cinder stood up and watched her owner very dutifully. “It took me some time to get her this good, but I think I can get…” He trailed off, having not been told my own dog’s name.

“Lark” I answered, starting to walk, this time slower as Lark drifted over to the side Cinder was on to walk next to her. I was hoping this could turn into a good friendship, even if it was just based on him helping me with training my dog.

“Lark. I think I can get her close” He said with a grin, leading me to smile as well. Minho seemed very charming and personable. Someone I could get along with. Which I did as we continued to talk whilst walking to the cafe. I was keeping a rather dutiful eye on the time since it was a fifteen-minute walk back to my apartment from the Cafe.

“So what do you do?” I asked, looking over at the man who was keeping an even pace with me. I would assume he was some sort of fitness coach with how he looked. He wasn’t buff per se, just well-built and in shape. Maybe he was an athlete at the nearby college. I wasn’t quite sure.

“Work at a sports store” He answered, “Not ideal, but it gets me discounts on the stuff that she wrecked as a puppy” He added, looking down at Cinder who was staring right back up at him. Unaware that he was talking negatively about her she started wagging her tail furiously.

“I’m also in school to get my bachelor's, last year and then I can get that cartography degree,” He said with a huff, “I’m glad it's almost over, I’m getting tired of the traffic on campus” He tacked on at the end. Figuring my question could be interpreted both ways.

“Sounds annoying, the last time I was over in that area I was stuck at a traffic light for like fifteen minutes” I agreed, it's been ages since I was over at the college. Normally Rush Week would be the busiest time, but apparently this year they had a surge of freshmen compared to previous years.

“I can’t wait to graduate and be able to camp for like two weeks and then go do my job” He sighed wistfully, I wasn’t sure how cartography worked but I assumed it could be a pretty lonely job. Maybe that’s why he got Cinder, to keep him company whilst he worked.

Once we got to the cafe and had our stuff ordered and bought for. Minho insisted on sitting outside so that way there’d be fewer distractions for Lark whilst training. Which was smart, I didn’t think about the fact it might not be the dogs in the cafe causing the issue. It could be the noise in the Cafe.

“To keep her focus on you” He started, having taken Lark’s leash from me whilst I held onto Cinder’s for him. “You need to have something she wants, that way she learns it positively,” He said, digging into his own pouch and pulling out a dog biscuit. Lark’s eyes suddenly locked onto his hand. Her tail started to wag and she almost looked ready to jump him for it.

I laughed softly at her reaction. “I barely give her treats for training, mostly I give her kibble so she eats her food” I explained. Having felt that would be better since she had alternating food schedules. She got raw food three times a week, and kibble four times a week.

Minho hummed and nodded. Before he continued to explain how to get her to heel like how Cinder had. Whilst he talked I pet Cinder, who’d laid her head in my lap. Growing tired over her owner talking.

It was weird seeing Lark be so receptive to a new person. She wasn’t stranger aggressive, but she was wary of strangers. Seeing her being so comfortable as to jump on him to try and get the treat was a new thing. That and she rarely jumped because she was strong enough to knock me over. Cinder was different, she seemed so open to everyone and everything. Including me, since she was half asleep in my lap whilst Minho walked and talked me through the heel process.

Eventually, we swapped places, with me taking Lark’s leash and going through the process a few times to hopefully get it down. Once that was done, we sat down to eat, talking more in the process. Minho seemed like a pretty good guy. One with a lot of ambition and some crazy friends it seemed. “I told him not to get in the car, 'cause it was Dingus driving” He continued, Dingus was Thomas. Or at least what Minho called him frequently. “But he got in the car, and I watched them spin on the ice as soon as he left the parking lot. I seriously question how some of them even got into their majors” He finished, grinning as he watched me laugh at the horrible story.

“That is ridiculous.” I shook my head, his friends sounded interesting. I was bad with names, so I’d probably have to be reminded. But I didn’t think I would forget Thomas any time soon and his horrible driving skills. “How many tickets has he gotten?” I asked, reaching down to pet Lark as she was pawing at my leg for attention.

“None so far, stupidly lucky bastard” He answered, shaking his head. “I keep telling him that he’s going to get ticketed one of these days. But apparently, the cops don’t even try” He huffed, crossing his arms. “He’s going twenty over and doesn’t get pulled over. I go five over, and I get pulled over” He pouted, apparently still sour over the whole ordeal.

I couldn’t help but laugh, seeing someone like him pout was oddly adorable and funny at the same time. When I started to laugh his pout went away and turned into a smile. For how we met, we turned out to be pretty compatible. That and our dogs were compatible which was a rare scenario for me.

“Well this was wonderful, and I will put all of that into practice. But I have to get back so I don’t miss my check-in for work” I said eventually, holding onto my to-go cup of the drink I typically got wherever I went. “But maybe we should meet up again, since both of them dragged us together,” I added, smiling at him. He looked down at Cinder who did nothing but wag her tail at him. She then looked at Lark and me and continued wagging her tail.

“I think that’s a good idea, how does tomorrow evening sound at the dog park?” He asked, looking back up at me with a smile. I assumed it was due to him working, but it worked out perfectly since I didn’t have a lecture that evening.

“Sounds good to me.” I agreed, before pulling out my phone and offering it to him to input his number. “That way if either of us needs to cancel” I added, watching as he took my phone and inputted his number. Before sending himself a text with my phone and handing it back.

“See you tomorrow evening” He called, watching me walk back down the street with Lark.

I echoed his parting words, waving at him before turning around and picking my speed up again to get home in time for the clock-in. He seemed nice, and so did Cinder. Maybe regular Pup-play dates would be in order. I’d have to ask about that tomorrow, but for now, I had to get home and find a proper meal to eat in between calls.

I had decided to drive to the dog park, that way when Lark had exhausted herself I didn’t have to do much with her except load her into the car. I pulled up and unloaded her, locking my car before heading into the park. Lark was prancing about as we did, she always loved getting so much open space to run around. I didn’t like to bring her in the afternoons, as that’s when I found most of the Puppies that needed “Socializing” were out.

That led to some disasters that I’ve had to break up before. I didn’t understand how people could be ignorant about what socializing was. In fact, they were just traumatizing their poor dog by putting them in a park with other dogs. Not to mention the new wave of people not vaccinating their dogs for simple things.

I heard another car pull up and turned to see Minho getting out of his car with Cinder. Who pranced over to the gate and pawed at it. I laughed at her behavior, Minho didn’t seem concerned with her running off. I opened it for her and let her run around with Lark once they entered. I figured they wouldn’t need much, so I brought a few tennis balls just in case. I even had that old frisbee in my trunk still. But with the way they were sprinting around the park, it didn’t seem like they needed any additional toys.

“I don’t think they need the toys I brought” He laughed, joining me in the park. He was now in jeans and a plain polo shirt. He didn’t look like he’d just gotten off of work, so I assumed his shift was earlier in the morning. “I do not believe so” I agreed, “I think they are gonna tire each other out” I added, walking over to one of the benches and sitting down. Lark quickly sped past me with Cinder chasing her.

“How is the heel going?” He asked, joining me on the bench. Looking over at me. I had texted him at some point yesterday because Lark was struggling again and he offered some pointers.

“Okay ish” I laughed, “It's kinda difficult to practice in my apartment with it. But I made some progress in” I admitted, which was true. She mostly wanted to play instead of practice, and I couldn’t blame her. I was trying to practice whilst listening to my lecture. Which made my focus off, as well as hers.

“So long as you keep consistency you should be fine” He assured, looking over at me before looking at Lark. “So if you live in an apartment, why’d you get her?” He asked, “Now don’t think I’m one of those, “Don’t get a dog if you live in an apartment” People, I live in an apartment with her.” He corrected quickly, gesturing to Cinder who was belly up and roughhousing with Lark.

“I got lonely, and while I do like cats, I needed to get out more” I explained, “I work a customer support and data entry job from home. Plus I take online night classes. So I truly never leave home much” I watched Lark as she jumped over Cinder and then off they went chasing each other. It brought a smile to my face seeing her this happy.

“We should make this a regular thing” I offered up, “Gets both of us out, and gives them freedom to run around” I grinned as Lark came running up to me and slammed into my legs before whirling around and taking off again. I laughed off the pain in my shins from her impact and watched them sprinting around the totally empty park. Barely anyone went to this park in the evening. Making it perfect for training and for Lark to get her energy out completely.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Minho agreed. Before he turned to look at me. “How would you like to go camping?” He offered and I turned to look at him, my mouth opening slightly before I smiled. That was forward and out of the blue, but not totally unwelcome. We got along really well, and so did our dogs. It was only reasonable to ask something like that.

“Are you asking me on a date?” I inquired, watching him grin back at me. He started to chuckle a bit before glancing at the dogs to make sure they were doing fine and not getting into any major trouble.

“Absolutely” He replied and I laughed. Nodding my head agreeing. Minho was charming, and I definitely wanted to get to know him better than I already knew now. So I assumed he wanted the same with me. We’d have to figure out our schedules for camping, but I’m sure it’d be fun.

“So long as you can keep Lark in check, then yes” I answered, turning to look at the dogs, who knew that it would be dogs that are man’s best wingman. Lark came running back to me and was panting, slobbering all over the ground. “Are you having fun darling?” I cooed, grabbing her face and squishing it playfully as she mouthed at me. I laughed and played with her until Cinder came and stole her away again.

“I think I can handle her, it’s you I’m worried about” Minho teased lightly, making me shove him with my shoulder pouting playfully until we both just started laughing. Maybe this date would be a good thing for both of us.

Well hello! You've made it to the end of this fic. I've got a question for you if you'd like to share your answer. What's your favorite dog breed? I personally love Beaucerons. *Cinder is an Irish Setter, and yes, I went down a dog breed rabbit hole to find a dog that Minho would get along with.

#x reader #first person view #gn reader #minho #the maze runner #tmr minho #tmr x reader #tmr minho x reader #thomas can't drive you can't convince me otherwise #tmr thomas #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom #modern!au #prompt challenge #writing prompt #i am so tired #pls i need human interaction

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