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xzero01 · 29 days

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Unattended Prey - Part I/II

Story heavily inspired by Give and Jaws by Sleep Token and Particles by Nothing but Thieves.

Part II

I live in a small town.

I moved here with mom and dad when I was little, but they both passed in a drowning accident in the lake when I was 18. I've been on my own ever since.

I used to be very popular in school, but not for the right reasons. See, we lived in the woods, in a very distant area from the city, surround by the wild life; I'd normally eat a packed lunch with fruits and vegetables with some weird, yet delicious dip that mom invented and drink green tea regularly and I skipped classes every full moon to perform our family rituals to praise the gods and goddess and the skies and the rain and the earth.

So obviously I was the town freak.

Since my folks died I continued our rituals and made offerings on every full moon on their behalf in a way to keep me connected to them, but I created my own rituals as well as a way to keep me sane - if I'm allowed to say something like this.

My main income was from people that vocally hate me, that despise me in front of others, but called me in secret to book tarot reading sessions, chakra alignment and body crystal cleansing. But none should know about this, and for that, I charged extra.

I have the city in the palm of my hands.

Everywhere I went, people were always nervous around me, afraid I might reveal their secrets or cast a spell out of nowhere, I can't tell; but everyone was always side-eyeing me. It didn't bother me much, honestly, but sometimes being the outcast becomes too lonely.

One day I had to go to the town to buy supplies for my upcoming rituals and to the house, too. When I was leaving the house, I noticed strange marks on the porch, like something had been dragged over the dusty wood floor, leaving an uneven pattern that I couldn't figure out what that could be. It vanished when it hit the tiny stairs into the grass. My best guess was that some animal was trying to make its way to the woods and got lost.

But…

As I reached my car I saw blood. Just a few drops, but that was definitely blood. I looked around and saw no carcass, no fur, no bones, no nothing. That animal was hungry and I was a bit scared. I jumped in the car and made my way through town, mentally adding pepper spray to the shopping list and trying to convince myself that that dragging pattern belonged to a dragging animal, for sure.

But what or who did it?

As I passed the town welcoming arches I noticed that something was off. There was police cars up and down the roads, people talking very close to each other in front of the stores and Ms. Turner was there, collecting curious peasants in front of the flower shop - it was never a good sign when she was around.

I parked in a spot near to the group, that immediately turned their faces on me, and made my way to the grocery store, ignoring the rude faces, as I usually did.

"Hi Jim, good morning! How's everything?"

Jim, the store owner, used to be the few that treated me as a real person in that snake coven town, but that day he barely looked at me when I greeted him. That hurt a little.

"Jim, is everything ok?, I asked again, looking straight in his eyes.

"You're a very audacious woman, you know that?". Ms. Turner made her way into the store and got in the way of the answer Jim was about to give me. "Showing up in town after what you did! Wait until Chief Reid gets here. I already called him, he's on his way!"

"Hi Ms. Turner, good morning. Thank you for always being a ray of sunshine in my life. But what in the fuck are you talking about?". I delighted myself with the horror in her face after the curse I made.

Ms. Turner was the official town gossiper. She was a middle aged woman that looked so much older than she actually was; always putting her nose in everyone's business and not getting what she wanted because she was always wrong with her conclusions. And she hated my guts because she knew that I held a lot of secrets and wouldn't share with her. She even tried to befriend me once, but I saw right through her intentions, so of course, I was her nemesis. And now she was accusing me of something - again.

"Keef Johnson disappeared two days ago, dear. Some say they saw him last time around your property". Jim said, while Ms. Turner stared at me, nodding with her hands on her waist, as if that was making total sense to me.

"We all know about your unholy way of life, Miss Lives-In-The-Woods-And-Lights-Candles", Ms. Turner said.

I took a deep breath and made my way out of that conversation, focussing on my shopping list and trying to shake the memory of the trail of blood next to my house. That was something I didn't need to endure in this stage of life.

Did someone actually drag a body on my porch? Were people using my beloved parents' property as a place to dispose bodies?

I was starting to feel sick with that though when someone called my name, a strong and deep voice that belonged to Chief Reid.

"Dear, I need to ask you some questions, do you mind coming to the station with me?", he asked. Although he clearly didn't like me, he was polite.

"Not at all, Chief Reid, but may I ask what is this all about?".

"I guess you've heard that Keef went missing and we had an anonymous tip that said he was last seen next to your place". He said that and tried his best to give a discreet look to Ms. Turner, but I caught their exchanging glance.

"So you're accusing me", I stated.

"I just want to make sure you're not involved". Chief Reid sighted back at me.

"On what? Sounds like you've already made up your mind". I said, almost with no hope.

"You should not talk this way with the law enforcement", Ms. Turner picked my nerve, a devilish smirk on her face.

"Shut the fuck up, you bitch", was the best I could say to control myself. Ms. Turner started to quack like a duck but I ignored her and continued to talk with the police chief. "Can I at least pay for my groceries so I don't have to be back here after you release me of your unnecessary interrogatory?".

Chief Reid gave a positive nod while staring at his own feet, maybe realizing for the first time that I may have an alibi and not be a serial killer, as most of those crazy ass town lads liked to think I was. Ms. Turner was close to turning me into a pile of ashes with her eyes, she didn't blink once since I called her bitch. I sent her a flowing kiss as I made my way out of Jim's store. Worth it!

Chief Reid allowed me to follow him in my own car down to the station; he knew he held nothing against me. The "interrogation" was a joke. I told him everything I did for the past three days, showed him a receipt for a movie I rented online and the time I activated my electronic lockers. Despite being a woman of nature, I was a woman on my own, so I learned how to take care of myself - and that was very handy right now.

Not pleased with himself, but knowing he had no reasons to keep me there, Chief Reid let me go with a promise of a "wellness check up" in a week. I said I'll make sure to have a fresh baked pie for when the time arrives. I took my things and off I went, just thinking in cleaning and mopping and wherever on my porch the minute I got home.

---

I ran inside and took an old rag and cleaning products and started viciously cleaning the front of the house. If anything, the strong lime smell of the cleaning product would keep the animal away for a while. What I didn't know what to do about was the blood trail. If that was Keef's and an animal killed him, it was just unfortunate. But could I prove that to a person that never in his life made a single effort to hide his disgust for me, not even when investigating my parents death, taking their bodies out of the lake and looking at me like I was the one to blame?

Yeah… that's not gonna happen.

As I stood there next to the blood drops, I felt a shiver on my spine - but a different kind of when an animal is close - I can't explain exactly the sensation. It was… uncomfortable.

I quickly collected the drops of blood that mixed with the dirt, threw them away in the lake and prayed that they never bring dogs to my property. 'Luckily, a ritual was coming and that would be enough to send the scent away', I thought to myself as I locked myself inside the house, feeling the beats of my own heart.

---

A week went by and everything was normal. No marks on my porch nor next to the house. Chief Reid indeed showed up for his wellness check up two days after his pathetic interrogatory, thinking he was going to catch me out of guard, but again, I got nothing to hide. He looked at everything and couldn't find anything, so then and there, he dropped me as a suspect and hasn't bothered me since - which was a blessing!

I woke up on this particular morning and the sun was warm, the lake was shining and I decided it was a good day for a swim.

Before my parents died, people used to visit that lake. They spent the day, had picnics and swim until the sun settles, but not since the accident. Everything changed on that day…

I striped my clothes off and slowly entered the cold water, feeling the mud between my toes as I walked towards the center of the lake. The water was crushing my lungs with its coldness, but it was a wonderful sensation; it was a perfect way to start a birthday and a ritual day.

I stepped out of the water and laid naked under the sun, resting in a towel big enough for two people to lay comfortably, but it was only me. And it has been only me for too long…

The sun was touching my body in a gentle way, warming the right places. I felt that knowing knot forming in the lower part of my stomach and wished I had another pair of hands to touch my body just for once.

Everyone I ever been with was just a big disappointment. I was never satisfied, it was never enough. Most guys were just curious about how the crazy Lady of the Woods would behave while having sex; if she was just as wild as the wild she lived in, it turns out they couldn't handle what I wanted. I was a fire to a forest and I was craving a heavy rain.

Once searching for this became a frustration, I simply gave up. Instead, I learned how to please my body myself; knowing the right tempo, the right angles, no shame. And that was exactly what I was doing under that beautiful blue sky and glowing sun.

My pleasure reverberated through the lake's calm waters and a breeze filled the air with a musk scent of dirt. That was turning into a perfect day.

I went inside the house to bathe and eat and start the preparation for my annual ritual - that involves a sacrifice, so I needed to hunt.

I took my knife and calmly walked to the woods, carrying with me my supplies for the ritual itself, such as candles, matches, fruits, flowers and water from the lake. I'd leave everything in the offering site as I make my hunt viable.

I placed everything in order and took an apple with me; head west, knowing exactly where I had to go to find what I needed. I was excited, not only with the frenzy of the hunting, but the exploration of my own body left me wanting more. I was a dangerous.

I reached a valley that nested rabbits, lots of them. A poor curious one approached me as I handed it a slice of apple, it bit a piece and stared at me with wild big inquisitory eyes. It was its last day. I reached for it and it didn't move, if so, it moved close to my hand to enjoy another piece of the fruit and I gently put it on my arms, petting its grayish fur as I walked back to the altar. The little rabbit looked at me before laying its head in my palm and accommodating itself in sleep. I almost felt sorry for it.

I put the animal in a cage attached to a tree and everything became chaotic as it should be. The smell of blood and other animals started the alarm on that little one while I was busy lighting the candles and chanting the words I had created for that moment. Words that had been guiding me through years, making me believe that everything's gonna work out just fine if I keep doing this.

I undressed and reached for the rabbit as it tried to bite me; I was so used to this ritual that I knew exactly what was going to happen, so I managed to avoid the biting animal. I didn't laugh at it, I didn't hurt it; it was my offering to the Goddess and I had so much respect for it to treat it otherwise.

I placed the animal in front of me, on top of a cut tree that served me as a sacrificial table and raised my knife hight to gain force and ended it with just one blow, the chanting coming out of my mouth not louder than a whisper in my lips.

Then I heard something in the woods.

Crashing branches, dry leaves under moving feet.

I felt the same uncomfortable feeling that I felt the other day.

I was being watched.

My heartbeat synchronized with the rabbit.

Both of us were prey.

I held tighter on the knife and let loose on the rabbit, that took the opportunity to run away from my grip. Suddenly, the forest was quiet again. Deadly quiet.

"Who's there?", I asked, betrayed by my own voice. I couldn't move.

I heard something breathing in the darkness.

"Who the fuck is there?"

Nothing. Just silence.

But, whatever was watching me, it wasn't an animal.

"Will you hurt me?", I ask under a deep breath.

I wait too long for a response.

"No". It finally responded.

"Do you want to hurt me?". It was just a stupid question to ask. Just run!

It didn't answer back, so yes! The answer was yes! Shit!

"Were you the one hunting by my house?" by this time, I was trying to make small talk.

"Yes", the voice said.

A man of few words, I see.

"You cause me problems", I laughed, trying to reach for my clothes, but I froze in place when something moved in the shadows and I heard the cracks of leaves again. The knife was so tight in my hands that it was starting to hurt my palm.

"Are you afraid of me?", the voice asked. There wasn't a slight hint of emotion in its voice. I'll dare to say a bit of disappointment.

"I'm naked and I'm vulnerable talking to the void. You're leaving a lot to my imagination. Let me see you and I can properly answer your question". I backed at him, firmly. At least I'll see the face of my killer before I die.

After what seemed to be an eternity, something started to move on the right side of my back - it was behind me all the time and it didn't attack me. I turned to face a tall, skinny figure, messy blond hair shoulder length, using what looked to be a mask that covered only his mouth and nose; it was black and gold. He was barefoot, using black skinny jeans that gave him an even skinnier appearance and an open cardigan, leaving his chest exposed. As he approached me, the candle lights allowed me to see that he had blue eyes.

I couldn't stop looking at him as he kept getting closer and closer to me.

I was intimidated. I was aroused.

He stopped inches from my face and I could smell the dirt on his skin. I wanted to touch him.

"Who are you?", I asked.

"This is a question I ask myself everyday", he said back. I was hooked. "Who are you?" he asked me back.

"I'm a person trying to survive". I couldn't see his lips, but I could tell he smiled by the way his eyes crinkled.

He took a step closer and looked at me from above. I am a tall woman, but this man, he was towering me, forcing me to look up at him, pressing me against the cut tree stained with animal blood.

I was shivering and it wasn't because of the cold air. What was wrong with me?

I raise my free hand to touch his mask and he launched himself back, like an animal escaping from the mouth of its predator. I stood exactly where I was.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you". I spoke in a soft voice.

He was studying me from afar. His eyes were very dark now.

"Why the mask?", I asked with the same soft tone, inviting him to come close to me again, but he didn't move.

"I don't want to be seen. It's ugly underneath". His eyes were fixated on mine. That felt so good.

"I'm sorry you feel this way. You look pretty to me", I said with sincerity.

He took a step in my direction, examining my face. I smiled at him and those black eyes that he was wearing vanished from his gaze. He took another step in my direction.

"You are beautiful", he said. "I saw you earlier today". His eyes couldn't stay on my face, he was facing another direction, the cage on the tree, I guess.

"By the lake?" I asked, knowing what he meant and realizing why he couldn't face me. He was shy.

He nodded positively, now eyeing my left knee. I let out all the air that was inside my lungs.

"Will you hurt me?", I asked him again.

"No". His tone was very firm now.

"Do you wanna touch me?". The way the visible part of his face changed to a crying pleading was delicious. But before he approached me, he glanced at the knife in my hand.

"I won't drop it. You'll have to trust me, too", I said.

He covered the distance between us looking deep in my eyes, trusting me, I guess, in the same blind way I was trusting him.

He touched my hair first and smelled it, I thought it was a bold move to start, so I giggled. He then put his whole face in my neck, forcing my head back when he reached my collarbone, smelling my skin with his eyes closed, holding both of my arms in a tight grip - so tight that it was almost too close to hurt me. His mask was rough against my skin.

He proceeded to my chest and breasts; he first felt the skin with his face too, but then used his hands; he massaged me, giving me a pleasure that he abruptly stopped. He followed the curve of my waist, downing one hand to my thighs and another to my butt. And then he stopped.

I was breathing heavily and he stopped.

He took a step back from me, rigidity in sight, kind of embarrassed with himself.

He was about to be my sacrifice for the night.

"Why did you stop?", I asked, very confused.

He rubbed his own leg, concentrating for the moment to pass. He shook his head no and I felt rejected.

"Oh! Ok", I felt my face burning with shame.

"No. No! I- I can't". That mysterious and dangerous figure was behaving like a boy now. Embarrassed, ashamed of himself.

"That's ok", I tried to reassure him with a smile. "You must have your reasons". I was burning inside.

I started to move to collect my clothes and put them on, he observed every move that I made. I blew all the candles, except for one that would help me find my way back home. Before I go, I turned to him to say my goodbyes.

"Hey, just please find another place to hunt. People in town already think I'm a freak and now there's this guy missing… I was a suspect not a week ago and I don't want those fuckers snooping around. But I really do hope to see you again. Goodnight, stranger". I laughed at the sentence, considering he was touching me not five minutes ago.

I turned and initiated my way back to the house, thinking about how different that night turned out to be.

English is not my first language, so if you find any grammatical errors, please notify me :)

#sleep token #sleep token fic #sleep token fanfiction #iii sleep token #sleep token give #sleep token jaws #iii

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just-placebo-estate-things · 9 months

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Tag Yourself (Placebo Edition)

Vee:

Pure condensed anxiety

Could kill you but would cry the entire time

Spent his childhood as a bridge troll

Damours:

Said “no” to society

Comes out of the shadows to help you like a mythical guide

Lowkey protective

Caunter:

Pyromaniac

Fidget 100

Crime as a bonding experience

Maynet:

Evil robin hood

“Do Not Perceive Me”

Has mastered the poker face

Ferrieres:

Survives on a steady diet of gossip

Horse Girl™

Collects figurines

Montaigu:

Would sell you to Satan for one corn chip

Sexuality: money

Hates everyone except for like one person

Wissant:

Mom-shaped

Could 360 noscope you no problem

Small body big voice

Tournebut:

Stable interests? I don’t even know her

Gets a crush and immediately regresses to being a flustered schoolgirl

Trying her best

Emory:

GPS implanted directly in brain

Biology nerd

Pigs are good

Margas:

Mad online, mad offline, mad all the time

Oops all repression

Will kill for you without hesitation if he likes you

Fairfax:

Not a fan of nature

Punches extremists

Politely asked the grim reaper to leave him alone and it worked

Montgomery:

God simp

Gullible

Awkward™

Reynauld:

Holy dad

Attempts to be the sensible one

Reliable when not engaging in Rat Behavior

Guyot:

Himbo

Works out to get good at hugging

Doesn’t like fish

Corneilles:

Has just completely given up and is mad about it

Saw god

Brooding as a hobby

Rosebud:

Judging you

Egotism as a coping mechanism

Goes by his nickname only

Gaveston:

Calculated chaos

Supplies the cursed knowledge

Made one (1) mistake years ago and will never forgive himself

Siggy:

Be gay do crimes

Here to make things worse

Dead inside and outside but still kicking somehow

Bertie:

Hopeless romantic

Writing a fix-it fic for life

Probably on an FBI watchlist and not just for her search history

Carnet:

Capitalism

Names everything she comes across

Pestering as a love language

Marches:

Can only express one (1) emotion per lunar cycle

Screwed up so bad that ghosts had to stage an intervention

Reluctant mom friend

Verdun:

Looks like she could kill you and would 100% kill you

Must be the best or she’ll just die

Has a husband but is also married to the grind

Lynom:

In a constant state of “fight me”

Living in denial

Strongk

Dismas:

MVP dad friend

Killed god

Tired but also a chaos enabler

Piquiri:

If looks could kill you’d be dead

Earned 1st place in having trust issues

Bad luck magnet

Corbiere:

Fancy street tricks go brrrrrr

Raccoon energy

Kisses the homies

Venois:

No talk

Hates excessive loud noise

Loves his dog more than he loves most people

Loges:

Is the law

Beware of dog

“I can fix him”

Mauroaurd:

The sane one

Pampers his dog 24/7

Doesn’t like alcohol

Warci:

Does it for the bit

Loves his wife

Is your dad now

Pip:

Personified trauma

Music god

Needs a hug but will also stab you if you get near him

Nesdin:

Catboy

He protecc he attacc

Cannot heely away from the feelies (but he does try)

Marchmain:

Big boy. Buff

The one responsible member in the group project

He forgor :(

Marci:

Riddle Hour Is Every Hour

Everyone’s chill cryptid uncle

Vibing

Merteberge:

Philosophical

Has come to terms with the inevitability of death

Youngest in the group but is somehow the leader

Fontemai:

Did a Leeroy Jenkins once

Physically fought his demons

Funny accent

Noyers:

Grandpa vibes

DIY king

Doesn’t like war

Perci:

Hyper strict

“Get off my lawn!!!”

Job is life

Bosanquet:

Stays up all night reading

Mommy issues

Smarter than you

Montfort:

Is brother

Edgy loner

Art as a coping mechanism

Fribois:

TIME FOR TEA TIME FOR TEA

Token extravert

Cottagecore gay

Lucy:

Gifted kid syndrome

Will kill you if you don’t vaccinate

Necrophilia pog

Malv:

Group baby

Just wants to be taken seriously

Keeps having to watch everyone she loves die

Lilie:

Old(?)

Likes being carried around

Who is she

Bele:

Monsterhecker

Only in charge because she’s the oldest

Had a rebellious phase (and may still be having it)

Ville:

Religion bad

Sweet and shy but will start swinging without hesitation

Listens when you vent

Pasquier:

Will feed all you heckers

Beautiful cinnamon roll to good for this world, too pure

Immediately knows when things are sus

BONUS:

Cheney:

Fuzzy

Firm believer in the power of friendship

Chivalry died with him

Riebou:

Group brain cell

Gives scoldings (affectionate)

Pigs are bad

Odette:

Got tired of waiting for her husband to return from war

Plant whisperer

Do no harm take no crap

Edith:

Daddy issues extraordinaire

Social skills replaced with street smarts

Learning the hard way that life is so painfully complicated

Thelma:

Whore

Milf

Tells you exactly what she thinks

#heiress post #I aint tagging everyone haahhaha #anyway is this meme dead #if it is idc I've had this sitting in my drafts for a long time #heck I've had this around before this sideblog started

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lepusrufus · 3 years

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Double edged scalpel ch. 2

Ch. 1

Summary: Cassanda Awkward Asshole Dimitrescu

---

After a couple weeks of doing normal maid chores, Nicole was not expecting to see the dungeons again. Not after Cassandra’s little “failed experiment”. But all good things must come to an end eventually, don’t they? And to an end they came when a faint buzzing reached her ears mid-mopping the floor in one of the main halls.

Two gloved hands were placed on her hips, pinning her in place, while Cassandra's chin came to rest on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply before finally speaking.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Yes you very much are.

"Of course not, my lady."

"Good good. Sadly my study is quite a mess again and I was wondering…" one hand came to teasingly caress Nicole’s cheek. “You aren’t busy tomorrow, are you?”

She wasn’t. In fact, tomorrow was Nicole’s day off, something that she would bet on a lifetime supply of coffee that Cassandra was well aware of. It took every ounce of self control not to let a groan accompany her next words.

“I am not.” Asshole.

She felt herself being spun around, Cassandra’s face uncomfortably close to hers. “Be there by ten then.” And, with the sickle now under Nicole’s chin, “Don’t be late.”

And just as easily as she appeared, Cassandra dissipated into a cloud of flies and made her leave. A sigh of relief got caught in Nicole’s throat when she noticed the other two sisters standing in the doorframe opposite from the one Cassandra flew out of. They both gave her an amused look, seeing the faint blush on Nicle’s cheeks and, to her dread, they both approached her. Bela was the first to speak, thankfully keeping her distance.

“So what exactly is your deal? Immune to all the blood and gore, hm,” she hummed, eyes inquisitive .

“It’s been a while since Cassie was so dead set on scaring someone,” Daniela chirped in from behind and Nicole had to force herself not to snort at the nickname.

So that’s what this was about. Lil’ old Cassie was throwing a hissy fit because one person in this castle wasn’t cowering and bowing at her feet the moment they saw some blood splattered on her otherwise beautiful face. If she had to work in this hellhole of a village, then at the very least she could get some mild satisfaction out of annoying the family sadist. With the other sisters however, there was no point in hiding what her “deal” was.

“I worked as a medical examiner.” At a raised blonde eyebrow she specified, “I used to examine dead bodies. Autopsies and all that.”

Bela’s face turned from mild shock to amusement, her eyes darting to the younger sister who straight up started laughing while the eldest, at least trying to keep her composure, chuckled.

“Oh this is gonna be interesting,” the redhead said through giggles.

---

Nicole really had hoped that Cassandra meant 10 pm, with how the Dimitrescus were nowhere to be found during the early day, and she would still have the day to herself until night came. That idea went completely out the tinted windows when, at nine thirty, the head chambermaid came to remind her of the change in schedule. She quickly downed the remaining coffee from her cup while mentally cursing and bolted to her room to change into proper attire, then out the door she went.

Where was she even supposed to meet the brunette? The doors to the dungeons were bolted shut and she doubted Cassandra would oh so graciously escort her this time. Then again, Lady Dimitrescu did say that she had to be supervised. She got her answer when the doors opened with a click and a drawn out groan from the heavy wood. Cassandra was standing there, eyes scrutinizing as ever while giving Nicole a once over. Then she pulled out a pocket watch that looked at least a century old.

“You’re…” eyes narrowed at the small silver object. “Seven minutes early. Oh you’re as annoying about being on time as Bela aren’t you?”

Well you did make it a point to tell me to be on time, you absolute hypocrite. Instead of voicing her opinions though, Nicole settled for following the other girl deep into the castle’s undergrounds, through damp and oddly warm corridors. The giddiness was back into Cassandra’s demeanor, golden eyes occasionally turning to the small redhead walking behind her with an expression of barely concealed glee. This was definitely not good news.

It took about .5 seconds to notice what got the brunette so happy when they entered her study. The room was definitely cleaner than the first time, only a handful of devices were dirty and the floor needed some mopping. The tables however... One was covered in fresh blood and the other had a dead body sprawled on it, partially covered by a stained sheet. Oh the irony.

While Nicole was cleaning the unoccupied table, she was facing the brunette, somehow trusting her even less with a scalpel in hand than with a sickle. Not that watching her absolutely botch an autopsy was much better mind you.

Has nobody taught you about the Y incision?!

That's too dee- congrats you’re making a mess.

That cut needs to go lower. What, are you afraid of some balls?

Oh my god are you trying to take the heart out before even taking care of the guts-

“What is it?” Cassandra’s voice came with a low growl, then a slight cock of the head. “You’re staring.”

“N-nothing,” Nicole stumbled over her reply, realizing too late that her hand had stilled on the rag she was using to clean the blood.

“One thing that I hate more than being disrespected is being lied to.” The warning was clear in her tone. “So I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Nicole was sure that being criticized was something she would hate even more, so she made the split second decision to go with a white lie.

“I just...find autopsies quite fascinating.” Well, in a way she did.

“...You do?” Golden eyes widened in what was probably the first truly genuine emotion Nicole has ever seen on Cassandra’s face: surprise, and a hint of curiosity.

When Nicole reaffirmed her reply, the brunette’s eyes stayed on her for a few long seconds, trying to find the traces of a lie. When she found none, she just dismissed the other girl with an awkward cough and a “Those knives won’t clean themselves.”

A tense silence fell on the room, only disturbed by the occasional clink of metal tools or the sloshing of organs being handled by the brunette. After the table was wiped to a reflective surface, Nicole moved on to mopping the blood trails on the floor. She was grateful for the chance to step away from Cassandra, if only for a bit. After the floor too was clean, it was time to wipe the few dirty blades, thankfully not as many as last time. She took a dagger from its holster on the wall and carefully ran a piece of cloth over the blade, washing away dried crimson clots.

As much as it was probably a bad idea, she couldn't help throwing a subtle glance behind her at Cassandra. A few organs were placed on the table at the body’s feet, and she was taking notes in a leatherbound notebook that looked well used. The idea that she had any interest in the bodies beyond being food gave Nicole an oddly nostalgic feeling. It sent her right back in high school, when one of her friends who took art history classes was telling her all about how da Vinci used real dead bodies in order to study anatomy. Yeah, da Vinci but the more attractive versio- fuck.

She hissed and retracted her hand as she felt the sharp blade cut her wrist and almost dropped the dagger. The effort to conceal the pain was there, but useless as Cassandra was by her side in mere seconds.

"Oh did you cut yourself?" She asked with feign concern, and grabbed her hand. "Here let me help you with that."

"Oh no I'm okay really no nee-"

Nicole's words died in her throat when Cassandra stuck out her tongue and dragged it, slowly, across the cut, collecting every last drop of blood. To top it off, she let out a low moan and gave the soft skin there a small nip, successfully making the redhead’s breath hitch. Now any normal and sane person would think I still have a knife in my hand, I should use it, but Nicole would be lying to everyone and then herself if she said she didn’t have a thing for danger. And it doesn’t get much more dangerous than this, now does it.

“Mm...you taste wonderful.”

Was she supposed to thank her?

“You’re lucky you intrigue me, otherwise you would make for some fine wine.” She finished with her trademark cackle.

Oh she was definitely not getting a thanks now. Nicole rolled her eyes slightly, tugging her hand away. She was half expecting Cassandra not to release her, but instead she let go of her wrist and, with a giggle, she returned to her work without another word.

---

That night, Nicole made damn sure to wash the cut until her skin felt like it would have a permanent sensation of pins and needles. Once a bandage was securely wrapped around her wrist she sat down with a cup of tea, not quite ready to sleep yet. How ironic would it be if she died of an infection while living in a castle where people are literally turned into food and wine.

Although in all honesty, she was quite certain her death would be far more entertaining.

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #fanfic #resident evil village #gore #blood

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fightxxmexxshiggy · 3 years

Text

People mentioned dnd to me and now I'm having thoughts so everyone can have a crisis with me about how hot this would be.

BAKUGOU the first one up is our sexy boom man and lord let me tell you I absolutely see him as a lvl 15 half elf artificer (really hope I spelled that right) he would come up with the most intricate bombs and weapons that he'd have a reputation for always being ready to level a kingdom if he needed to. He would literally find you doing some petty theft to survive and decide your interesting. He would take you on as an assistant teach you some profitable skills and when he felt you were gonna be ok without him talked to you about where you could go for a good job. He is not happy when you laugh in his face. That is until you explain that the only thing you wanna do for work is be his assistant and work his cock inside your hole every night if he'd let you. This was absolutely the perfect thing to say because the next thing you know he's gripping you by the neck and slowly walking you backwards to the bed. The moment is tense and you can feel the sex energy in the air so you make a joke about being ready to store his boom stick for him. He smirks and pulls out a long thiccc cock that has you both wary and wetter than a flood. He would crawl over you and slide it between your lips the hand on your throat still gentle but the command he has over you is unmistakable. As he gets a steady pace of face FUCKING you, he also gets into a little rythm of squeezing and caressing your throat in time with his cock head hitting sliding into it. Before long he's cuming down your throat and growling at you to drink every drop like a good girl so he can fuck your little full of his next load. He would literally say "only good girls get breed and good girls drink all the cum their given so keep swallow my pretty assistant."

SERO he is a shifter archer who was on the way to meet up with his party when he finds you wounded after a battle with a rude hobgoblin. He patches you up and takes you with him to the next town to get you to a proper doctor. After meeting with his party he goes back to visit you and make sure he didn't drag you here only for you to take a ground nap. He doesn't expect to find you up and fully healed. But at this point he's just gonna go with it. As a thank you you take him to a local inn for a meal. After talking and laughing together for a bit you start getting flirty and rubbing his leg underneath the table. He grins slow and cat like before hooking his leg around yours and jerking his head towards the back alley. Once outside he's got you against the wall and is finger FUCKING you WHILE he rolls your clit with his thumb. In minutes your squirting and squeezing his fingers. That's when you learn that shifters are long and strong. SERO'S teeth are gripping your shoulder while he holds you up against the wall finger tips digging into your ass and hard cock rearranging your guts like it's a damn sport. Your cuming again when he let's go and floods your womb with hot cum. Just as your ready for him to put you down he starts thrusting again hitting your deepest spot like he's guided by magic. The nonstop pounding has you breathless an unable to do more than grip his hair as you moan in his ear. A part of your mind is wondering if his party has space for one more until everything goes blank when you cum so hard you go limp.

KIRISHIMA he is a goliath barbarian with a surprising sense of humor. His party uses your town as a homebase of sorts and he comes to your shop often for supplies and even more often for the snacks and pastries you sell at the counter. He always buys enough for his friends and then sits down with the large portion he got just for his big ass self and has tea with you while he fills up. He regales you with tales of his dungeon raids and where he might be off to next. Usually he leaves you with a little charm he had carved while off on a quest except this time he leaves a wooden carved ring with the word mine engraved on it. The sly man has already headed back to the large home he shares with his party on the edge of town. Once the work day is done you march down to his home an knock on the door. It's answered by the ever grumpy half self that you push past and march up to your goliath. You drag him out by his ear and hand him the ring back with a growled if you don't put it on me the right way no more snacks. He puts it on your left hand and then throws you over his shoulder. He runs to his room and drops you on the bed much faster than you would have thought such a big man could. With your skirts thrown up around your waist you have a perfect view of the redhead slurping and feasting on your pussy. It's only after your 6th screaming orgasm that he frees his cock. You swear it's a war hammer made of flesh but that doesn't stop your pussy from clenching at the sight of it. Long minutes later you were impaled on half of his cock just whimpering and squirting while he worked you up and down like a fuck doll. His growls and snarls only made your pussy weep more juices down the length of his cock. On a particularly hard thrust you came so hard your pussy convulsed around his cock milking his cum from him so violently that even when he had shot every drop into your welcoming womb he was still twitching inside as if he had more to shoot.

DENKI he is a tabaxi rogue. He was doing some scouting for his party on a quest when he sees you. Your collecting herbs and fruits nothing strange except your scent hits his nose like mace to the face and he jumps from the tree's to land in front of you. Needless to say you are freaked out until he apologizes and explains that his species are drawn to the sent of their mate and your scent is making him want to both protect you like a precious treasure but also rail you like he's in rut. Yes he says this like it's not kinda nuts to say to a stranger. You weren't happy in your village and you had given up on finding a life partner so you took a leap and said you'll be his mate on the condition that he courts you like other races do first. He's over the moon and agrees but asks that you let him cover you in his scent before he goes back to his work just to keep him sane. He rubs and grinds all over you for about five minutes before running off to continue his work. From that point on he visits you at least twice a week and courts you, bringing gifts and having meals with you. One night after it had been two weeks since he last came he shows up with a few almost healed wounds and tells you that his last mission was difficult. You fuss over him for a while until you notice the clear bulge in his pants. Thinking about how much you had missed him you decided that you needed the closeness that only sex could bring. He's panting at the knowledge that he'll finally be able to claim the little pussy that's been giving off the most alluring scent he's ever smelled. A few minutes of tongue FUCKING you with your leg over his shoulder later, your sliding down his thicc cock and riding him like you used to ride your father's horse. He's FUCKING up into you with no mercy, absolutely abusing your gspot. The sensations are too much and you can't stop crying as you cum soaking his cock. He rolls you to your back still fucking you like a madman until he shoves deep and his cock swells locking him inside your pussy as he cums so much you can feel it escape your pussy.

Someone come take my internet away. @hipster-merchant-of-death @reinawritesbnha @sendhelpimstupid @cupcake-rogue

#bakugou headcanons #sero smut #denki x reader #kirishima headcanon #mha sero x reader #bakugou smut #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #denki headcanons #denki smut #sero headcanons #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakusquad #bakusquad dnd characters

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theimprobabledreamersworld · 2 years

Note

"You didn't think you'd be able to get rid of me just yet did you?" With Moceit? (Yes I'm proudly obsessed over these two, shut up)

This was so much longer than I expected it to be, and much fun to write!

Based off a UK show called 'Trigger Point' and it screamed Moceit energy 💛💙

Warnings: a lot of mention of bombs (devices)/threat, stressful situations, one innuendo instance, swearing... and I think that's it!

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @psychedelicships @red-imeanblue @jwillowwolf @the-duke-of-nuts (If you'd like to be added/removed, let me know! )

Enjoy 💛

Read on Ao3!

Run

Janus pulled the police car up behind the blue tape and grabbed his trademark sunglasses off the dashboard. He sighed as he slammed the door behind him and heard the loudspeaker’s warning in the background. ‘God, why does this always happen in the middle of a heatwave?’ He thought bitterly.

“This is a police message. We need your assistance. We are evacuating this area due to a threat. This is for your safety.”

He watched as people tried to push through, if only they knew how dangerous and terrifying it was to be the ones actually dealing with the threat. The anger in his mind subsided when he saw an all-too familiar car pull up next to his, he couldn’t help but smile as Patton got out of the car. Janus would never understand how someone could be so perky and irritatingly bubbly in their line of work… but it kept him sane, so he allowed it.

“Hot enough for you?” Patton called over as Janus chuckled in response. They met in the middle and gave each other a warm hug. Their usual greeting as it gave each other a brief moment of calm and assurance before the tension begins.

“They’ve requested two bomb disposal teams on this job. Must be big.” He parted the hug and threw his sunglasses on, thinking that one day, someone might say it was a cool move.

“Either that or they’ve got their doubts about you.” Patton eyed Janus up and down with an incredible amount of sarcasm in his tone as he high-fived Danny, the technician in their team.

“With you by my side, how could I possibly go wrong?” Janus winked and spoke with an equal amount of sarcasm in his voice. Their tit-for-tat exchanges were one of the few things that kept him going in this job… and it was one of the many things he adored about Patton, but that was a thought he needed to push aside.

Commander Simmons came over as they collected their kits and put on their protective armor. They waved as they checked their supplies, but Simmons ignored the pleasantries, Janus and Patton glanced at each other as they stood up with the equipment. This is a serious threat then.

“Apartment 346. That’s our target. The room has been deemed as clear, but no one has gone in yet for safety. One hostage but they have been rescued and they’re with a specialist officer now. So now, the floor is all yours. Check if the threat is real and… you know… do what you need to do.” His tone was quite blasé towards the end which irritated Janus greatly. Patton put a hand on his shoulder to keep him calm, at least they would be in full control from here on out.

An armed officer took them up multiple staircases, they saw worried looks from people who were still trapped in their apartments. He saw Patton give warm smiles, and he waved at kids who gave little waves back… ‘If he could stop being cute in this particular moment, that would be lovely.’ Janus thought as he looked away and down at the ground, people were starting to get irater behind the police barriers. It just adding to the pressure he was already feeling to get this done quickly.

They stopped outside the open apartment door. The numbers glared at them like it was taunting them. The armed officer looked at them, and Janus asked him to take five to give them space. The man definitely wasn’t arguing because he shuffled off without a word.

“Hey. I want you to have these.” Patton’s voice was cautious, that hint of worry of something happening to either of them. He took his wire cutters out of his pocket and held them out to Janus. Janus shook his head vigorously, pushing Patton’s hand away.

“No, no, no. They’re your lucky ones! I can’t take those… without giving you mine in return.” He smirked as he removed his from the pocket of his vest. Patton beamed as they swapped cutters and their hands lingered for a little longer than usual. They placed the new cutters into their pockets before tentatively taking the first steps into the apartment.

The air was musty with flash grenade smoke, and they looked around for any obvious wiring or components. Their torches made the air look even thicker as Janus had to squint to find all the entrances to the different rooms in the apartment. The first one was a lonely bedroom that clearly wasn’t used, there was nothing in there. No photographs, nothing in the drawers but the biggest clue was no mattress on the bed. Janus breathed a sigh of relief; the biggest room was safe which was a significant comfort. He was about to head out when a frantic cry emerges from another room.

“JANUS! Bathroom, now!” He didn’t hesitate, he ran down the corridor to Patton waving the metal detector by the sink. He held his breath as the detector started to beep, notifying them of an unwelcome object. He closed his eyes tightly. ‘Shit. For the first time in 10 months, this is a certified threat.’ He tried to remain clam at the fact that Patton was extremely close to something he shouldn’t be.

“Right. There’s a pressure plate under this mat. Janus? Can you mark it for me? I can’t find my glowsticks.” Patton’s voice trembled as he measured the size of the pressure plate. Janus snapped a glowstick and shook it until it glowed a bright red. He placed it gently on the mat and as he looked ahead of him, his heart sank as he was met with a flashing device.

“Oh shit. Patton, let me take over? I’ve seen this type before.” Patton turned back with scared eyes, not wanting to put Janus in danger, but he nodded reassuringly and squeezed his shoulder, so Patton caved in and let Janus take his place. He exhaled a sharp breath before coming face to face with the device, it wasn’t exactly complex… something about this made it seem like it was almost too easy.

“Why did I pick a job where I spend so much time on my knees?” Janus questioned as his legs thudded on the floor, and he heard Patton snigger.

“The PG version is because you’re an idiot… I’ll save the not PG version for later.” Janus gulped, he tried to ignore the implication, and smirked. He then tutted as he realised that his shadow was blocking his view of the device which was not a position he wanted to be in.

“Can’t see a damn thing here.” He took his torch and started shining it around the room, what was throwing him off his game? What has he missed? There must be something…

“I’ll get the lights!” Patton remarked as he walked out in the hallway. Janus finally worked out what was bugging him. There was an additional wire… heading out into the hallway… Patton.

“Patton… wait! STOP!” He ran out to see Patton had his hand on the light switch, holding it perfectly halfway between on and off.

“There’s a secondary trigger… and it’s linked… to that switch.” He shone his torch to show Patton where the wiring had been perfectly disguised leading to the switch, and he could hear Patton swearing under his breath. He looked at Janus with tears and panic in his eyes, one word escaping his trembling lips.

“Run.” Patton demanded, unable to stop his voice from shaking.

“Hold on, hold on.” Janus looked around trying to find where the wiring went to after the light switch.

“No, just run. Please.” The desperation in Patton's voice was enough to make Janus want to hug him, but he couldn't right now. He just needed verbal reassurance that everything would be fine.

“The circuit isn’t complete. I can neutralise it.” Janus couldn't tell if he was saying that for Patton's benefit... or his own.

“Jan. I’m not going to kill us both, so, please… will you just run?” He froze at the name. Patton had never called him a nickname before. This wasn't the time for his heart to flutter, but it wasn't unwelcome.

“Cute pet name darling… but you didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of me just yet, did you?” Janus walked over a quickly kissed Patton on the forehead before forcing them to make eye contact. A silent ask for Patton to trust him and he nodded.

“Don’t move. Just don’t move.” Janus commanded as he started scanning the hallway. ‘Another trigger, so there has to be another power source here something.’ He thought frantically as Patton’s breathing started to get more frantic, he needed to find that power source. He wasn't going to lose Patton. Not now, not ever.

He was starting to lose his composure. He knew this was too easy, but he still let Patton take lead. He should have been protecting him, it should be him that’s on the precipice right now… Not Patton. Janus shone his torch on the floor and noticed a change in the wiring, where an extra connection had been added.

“Patton! I found the split! It goes… along this plate. Don’t move.” He paced quickly, making sure to not lose the split in the process.

“Quick as you can, dear.” Patton retorted, trying to keep the mood light even though they both knew he was on the verge of breaking.

“Don’t move!” Janus called back again, his focus centered all on finding this wire.

“It’s not moving… but m- my hands are shaking.” Patton’s voice dimming away into a panicked whisper, his voice trembling again.

“It’s alright, Patt. It’s alright.” Janus replied calmly, he followed the wire around the room until it came to its end. Finally, some progress.

“Okay, it goes into the cupboard. Let’s sort this, shall we?” He took a deep breath and fell silent as he searched it meticulously.

“Jan, can you talk to me? What can you see?” It was almost like Patton was begging for a distraction, something to keep him calm. The only thing that tended to keep him calm, was doing his job. So Janus pushed down his own panic of making a mistake, and tried to explain the process to Patton.

“I’ve got it! Got it, got it, got.” Janus saw the wiring immediately and took hold of it firmly, following the white cable as it freed itself from its tape prison. “Where is it? Where is it?” He muttered to himself as the cable seemed to carry on forever with no end in sight. “Where are you going?” He asked, as if it was going to give him an answer. The cable finally collided with something else, and Janus realised he had reached the end… right as Patton cried out.

“Shit, I think it slipped!” Patton began to cry as he realised another mistake he had made today, and Janus shushed him gently.

“It’s okay, you’re okay dear. Just don’t move your hand. This will be over soon.” He somehow managed to say calmly even though his heart was beating violently fast. There was no time to lose.

Janus frantically grabbed out the compact mirror they all keep for connections in obscure places, and Patton’s lucky blue cutters out of his pocket. He placed his torch down so it illuminated the whole cupboard, and looked at the wire’s end with the mirror. He smiled widely as he realised that everything would be okay… he was going to save Patton.

“It’s a standard connection!” He called out as he could hear Patton begging him to be careful in the background. The mirror started to shake in his hand, but he took a deep breath and it stopped quickly. He took another look at Patton’s lucky cutters, wrapped them around the wire and called out to Patton.

“I’m so sorry… it’s gonna slip.” Patton cried as he grasped onto his arm for dear life, determined to keep it steady. Janus started to countdown, this nightmare will be over in a few measly seconds.

“Let’s go. Five, four, three, two… one.” He cut the wire and watched as the trigger disarmed, he sighed in relief and looked over to Patton smiling.

“I’ve got control, you can let go now, my heart.” Patton’s eyes widened, asking if he was sure. Janus nodded in response as Patton let the switch return to its off position. He exhaled sharply, almost like he hadn’t been breathing this whole time. Janus stumbled over to him, and Patton collapsed into his arms, head buried into Janus’ chest.

“You know what? I didn’t think that would work.” Janus remarked sarcastically while taking deep breaths himself, mainly to calm Patton down who was still clinging to Janus. It didn’t stop him from slapping Janus’ arm as he laughed from shock.

“You… absolute wanker.” Patton replied between every breath. Janus wrapped his arms around Patton as they sat there for a few moments, just holding each other and assuring each other that they were okay.

“And I love you too.” Janus retorted causing them both to hold one another even tighter. He was just relieved that he didn’t lose Patton today. Janus knew they still have to neutralise the device, but he was selfishly wanting this moment to last longer. Eventually, their radios started coming to life and there were demands to know what was going on. Janus sighed before standing up, dragging Patton with him.

“Okay, you go call it in and I’ll neutralise this bastard. Head to my car, I’ll be there before you know it.” He smiled as Patton nodded before squeezing his hand and leaving the apartment to call in the threat.

As he walked back into the room to complete the final step, one thing became very clear in his mind… he was going to do everything he could to keep his partner safe.

#sanders sides #ts fanfic #ts patton #ts virgil #moceit #platonic or romantic #your choice #tension #hurt and comfort #angst #stressful situation #tw bomb #cw bombs talked about as devices #Trigger Point TV Show #cw innuendo #cw swearing #i love them your honour

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cosmic-affinities · 3 years

Text

Intense and Passing Infatuation

Summary: Flirting with your crush who doesn't take it seriously? No harm in that right? Right?

Well, Izuku does it anyway. Until the day he said he wouldn't anymore.

(A very self-indulgent bkdk fic that has a tiny bit of past krbk, totally not a thing in the fic. A plot device at most!)

Read it on AO3 Here.

Crush: (noun) an intense and usually passing infatuation.

That’s all it was.

Just a crush.

Izuku was sure of it.

Nevermind Uraraka who said her psychology professor had told them a crush can only last about four months, after that it’s considered being ‘in love’ he was sure love was much too strong of a word.

Nevermind the last year which Izuku spent flirting with his Kacchan, something no one else would dare call him, while also never getting the right response.

“Morning love!” Izuku planted a sweet kiss on Katsuki’s cheek, a normal sight for their friends given the fact that they had witnessed it every day for the last nine months.

“Hey Deku, sleep in again?” Katsuki barely reacted to the kiss now, Izuku loved and hated it. He felt it was progress, just not in quite the right way.

“You mean waking up at the same time I do every Tuesday? It stops being ‘sleeping in’ once I’ve done it for months. And what about you Kacchan? Did you wake up early again today?” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the shorter man’s sass, he should’ve known where that was going.

Their friends all sat around them and waited, they knew if they tried to interject before their morning exchange they would simply be ignored.

“Looking good Kacchan seems like that campus gym treats you well.”

“Not too shabby yourself, nerd.” Katsuki quickly supplied, letting his signature smirk fall into place.

Izuku’s heart fluttered and he smiled back. If only the blonde was serious.

Just a crush. That’s all it was.

Finally, their friends could join the conversation they had waited out the morning kiss and compliment, they would now be acknowledged.

They had aptly claimed a table for eight, a seat for each of them, and two empty ones to house their enormous bags that came with life on a college campus. Sero and Kaminari always sat together, being roommates had been great for both of them. Shinsou and Uraraka sat beside them, knowing they might very well be the only sane ones at the entire table. Lastly, Katsuki and Izuku sat next to each other, across the table from Kaminari and Sero.

Their conversation carried on as normal, eventually, Katsuki turned and noticed Izuku looking at him.

Katsuki simply jutted his chin out questioningly, knowing Izuku would understand his unsaid remark.

“Oh, nothing. Just waiting until you’ll see me as your love interest.” Katsuki really should know the drill by now.

Katsuki smirked once again making Izuku weak in the knees, boy was he glad he was sitting.

“Trust me Deku, you’ll know if you’re my love interest. For now, I’m alright.” Izuku knew the drill too, it was rejection every time. Even so, he couldn’t help but deflate ever so slightly.

“Can we not discuss love interests at the breakfast table? I am trying to eat here.”

“Oh you can tune us out Sero, you should be used to it by now.”

“Or, I have an even better idea! Since it’s been nearly a year you could just, ya know, give up.”

Sero’s statement earned him a few dramatic gasps.

“Blasphemy!”

“Mutiny!” Uraraka jumped in, unprompted.

“Treason!”

“Ugh, they even got you, Kami? I thought Midoriya and Uraraka were the only ones invested in this.” Kaminari shrugged in response, he enjoyed the fun they had.

“Hey, you can’t blame him for trying. You gotta give him that at least.” Shinsou finally spoke up, he could appreciate Izuku’s patience and persistence even if he didn’t know why he used his energy on Katsuki.

“Yes! Exactly thank you Shinsou! I am just going to have to keep trying!”

“I’m not gonna stop you. Who knows I might even fall for ya one day.” Katsuki smirked along with his remark.

“I’ll be waiting.” Izuku winked at him, enjoying the ease of their interaction, even if it was all one-sided.

That’s all it was. Just a silly crush.

“What will it take for you to actually quit?” Sero, it seemed, wasn’t quite finished.

“I’ll quit when Kacchan finds himself falling in love with someone, until then you will all witness my persistence.”

“Deku aren’t you late for your TA spot in critical data analytics?” Katsuki cut in suddenly.

“Ah shit thanks, love! I’ll see you later!”

“No need to thank me sweetheart I only remind you every fucking Tuesday and Thursday.”

Katsuki called Izuku a handful of playful nicknames, the most dangerous of the bunch being ‘sweetheart’. Izuku didn’t know when it started and could only hope for it not to stop.

Katsuki didn’t seem to mind the playful flirting, Izuku would even go as far as to say that he enjoyed it and participated, but he also doesn’t take it seriously. He knew that Katsuki was just playing along.

It was a dangerous game that he couldn’t bring himself to stop playing, after all:

It was just a crush.

“Oh, you’re so sweet but I’m sorry I’m going to have to say no. I’m really not looking for something right now,” Izuku spoke to the taller boy in front of him. Izuku knew he was really sweet and, he can admit when he meets an attractive person but the red and white-haired man had one issue, he wasn’t Katsuki.

The taller man nodded and turned to walk away, leaving Izuku more relieved than he thought he would be.

“He was cute.”

“AH! Kacchan! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Izuku planted a swift peck on Katsuki’s cheek, they hadn’t seen each other all day.

“Whatever, you just get scared too fucking easily. Anyway who was the dude? You totally could’ve gone out with him.” Izuku sighed, he didn’t want to explain that he turned down the critical data analytics hottie, Todoroki, because he was already crushing on someone but what other reason was there.

“Oh, he’s a student in the class that I TA for, I’m sure there’s some kind of rule against that or something. Plus he’s been with, like, at least three people I know, he was probably just looking for a new piece.”

Katsuki shrugged in response, seemingly accepting Izuku’s reasoning. The pair walked towards their meeting spot where they were going to join the rest of their friends for pizza.

“So how’s that crush coming?” Katsuki smirked at Izuku, the only thing that kept his knees from swaying was the sheer disbelief at the question he was asked. He quickly pulled himself together to answer.

“Well, if you must know, he’s been trying to pimp me out. Just recently he tried to get me to go out with someone!”

Katsuki hummed in response, “It’s been around a year I’ve heard. Is that right?”

“I hate to say it but I can’t disagree, a year sounds about right. I’d like to say I’m making progress but he might not be so inclined to agree.”

“I’ve heard through the shitty grapevine gossip central that our school is that progress is different for everyone but he seems to be making some of his own, although I’ve heard he’s still not too sure himself.”

Izuku wanted to gawk at Katsuki’s nonchalance, he held it together though.

“Is that so? Huh, if that's true it might be time I tell him about you, love.”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sure he’s aware, probably just fucking confused as to why you keep going.”

Izuku stopped their walk, he knew they had just been teasing but he wanted to make sure the part he was serious about came through. Katsuki noticed a few steps later and stopped and made his way back, facing Izuku.

“I’m going to keep trying until you are taken.”

“And when that happens?”

“Then it’s my time to stop.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, he simply looked at Izuku. The fierceness of his gaze made warmth blossom on the back of Izuku’s neck.

“You can’t look at me like that. I’m just gonna kiss that expression right off your face.” Izuku whispered, he was trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Why don't you.” Katsuki’s expression changed into a smirk, almost as if he knew the effect it had on Izuku. Instinctually, Izuku’s eyes flickered down to Katsuki’s pink lips, almost tempting him to follow through.

“You are one cruel man, Kacchan.” Izuku snapped himself out of his trance and stepped back before turning and continuing their journey to their friends.

It was just a crush, even if everyone knew about it.

The group enjoyed their night together, they all needed it after the month they had been having with school. The end of the night came much too quickly for everyone.

After whatever moment they had on their way to the restaurant, Izuku was ready to lie down. He paid his portion of the bill and planned on sneaking out, knowing he would see everyone in the morning, he had no such luck.

“Where are you sneaking off to sweetheart? You didn’t even say bye to the rest of the shit heads.”

“As if I won’t see everyone in less than twelve hours back on campus! I was just going to get home and grade papers for Tuesday.”

“You could’ve at least come and said bye to me, you’ve barely said a damn thing to me tonight.”

“Well then, bye love I’ll see you tomorrow. Get back safe and don’t forget to water your plants, I know you hate when they start to wilt.”

“Now that’s better, I’ll see you tomorrow, you damn nerd.”

Izuku finally made it out, he let out a long sigh. He was in much too deep with this man.

Honestly, it wasn’t just a crush.

Kirishima Eijiro.

Apparently, that was the name of the guy in Izuku’s seat on Thursday. He had woken up later, as usual, and made his way to the table everyone had breakfast. As he approached though, he noticed his seat was not empty. He was going to go straight to Katsuki for his morning kiss but even from far away, he could see the look on his face.

He brought with him Izuku’s time to stop.

Izuku quickly veered into the nearest bathroom to collect himself, he had no clue what to do. Once he felt better he made his way back towards the table.

“Hey Shinsou, I’m going to move your bag over so I can sit.” Izuku kept his voice low, he didn’t need any extra attention, Uraraka had already shot him a sympathetic look.

Once he was seated his friends greeted him.

“Morning guys.”

“Oh hey! We haven’t met, I’m Kirishima!”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Midoriya.” Izuku felt his phone vibrate, Uraraka had sent him a text. “On and off ex-boyfriend of baku's”

Izuku’s eyes widened and he stilled, he needed to think of something quick there was no way he could stay there. He luckily caught a glimpse of the time.

“Oh shit, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for uh, um... Fuck, critical data analytics, that's what it is. I’ll see you guys later!” Izuku grabbed his stuff and quickly left, that was the first time all semester that he had remembered on his own.

Now, there was no way Katsuki could know that it was anything more than just a crush.

Izuku held strong for two days, for two days he went to the table and saw the clear entrancement written all over Katsuki’s face whenever Kirishima spoke, he never once kissed Katsuki’s cheek in Kirishima’s presence and they were never far behind each other. There was no more sweetheart and love, just the bare pleasantries Izuku could muster.

After his two days he couldn’t handle it, he began going straight to his classes, catching up with his friends in their rooms. It was the first time he and Uraraka had time alone when everything truly went to shit.

“Look, they were best friends in high school and started dating halfway through, they were on and off for months when they went to different schools until they were finally done for good, a little while before you met him. Now that Kirishima is here, I really don’t know what’s going to happen.” Izuku took a calming breath before he responded.

“I always said if he found someone I would stop. I stopped and he doesn’t even care so everything’s fine. Why don't we review for your math exam? I made flashcards for you.”

Uraraka was suspicious, but she went along with him. The pair spent the rest of the night studying and Izuku continued to avoid their table.

He had to figure out how to get it back to just a crush.

Turns out that staying in your dorm gets quite boring. With the amount of extra work Izuku had offered to take on he had better win “TA of the Year” if it was a thing. Nearly two weeks had gone by with Izuku’s new schedule, he never did like change. He finally had his first misstep.

“OI Deku!”

Shit.

Two weeks of carefully planned avoidance, out the window.

“Oh hey, I didn’t even see you two.” Of course, the first time he interacts with Katsuki after two weeks, Kirishima would be with him.

“Nice to see you again dude!” Of course, he just had to be super nice too.

“Yeah yeah. Listen Kirishima I gotta talk to Deku real quick, go ahead I’ll meet you guys later.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, he wasn’t ready to be with Katsuki alone!

Kirishima nodded and walked away, leaving Izuku and Katsuki standing in the middle of the hallway.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve barely seen you in the last two weeks.”

“Oh um, I’ve just been busy with teaching, Professor Aizawa has me leading classes now.” Izuku held back the urge to keep talking, if he started he probably wouldn’t stop until he said something that he didn’t mean to.

“Tch, that’s never stopped you before, hasn’t the guy been giving you a shit load of work all semester?”

“Well yeah, but he has me writing lesson plans and leading lectures now, even if he takes over most of the time. I’ve just been trying to keep up, doesn’t leave time for much else.” He can only make so much stuff up.

“But you always leave time fo- whatever. When is the guy gonna lay off?”

“Uh not sure, probably closer to finals so I’ll have time to study?” Izuku glanced at his watch and noticed he only had two minutes to make it to critical data analytics. “Ah shit, I’m running late I have to go.” Izuku quickly turned and continued making his way to his class, but he didn’t get too far before he heard the last thing Katsuki had to say.

“I’m supposed to be the one that says you’re running late.”

Izuku fought the urge to turn around, it would only give him hope he couldn’t afford.

Just a crush, just a crush, just a crush. It became a mantra.

Izuku was finally let out of his last class for the day, he really hated Thursdays, they were long and drawn out, and seeing Katsuki hadn’t helped like it normally would.

“Deku wait up!” Speak of the devil.

Izuku watched, frozen, as Katsuki made his way towards him. Completely and utterly alone.

“Kac- um Bak- what's up?” Izuku could barely stutter his way through a greeting, he seriously wasn’t prepared for this.

Katsuki met him with a strange look, before deciding to respond.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No, I don’t think so? I have my bag…” Of course Izuku wasn’t, he had to keep himself from planting a swift kiss on Katsuki’s cheek every time he saw him, he had to.

“What the hell Deku?! You go MIA for two weeks, and when I finally see you again it’s like everything is different! What the fuck happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you I’ve just been busy.” He knew exactly what Katsuki was talking about, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“You know exactly what I mean! Two weeks ago you came and had breakfast with me every day. You called me love and Kacchan and every time you saw me you gave me a kiss! Now you will barely even fucking talk to me! So let me ask again, what the fuck happened?”

Izuku felt like he could barely breathe, what was he supposed to do? He wasn't ready for any of this.

He tried to calm himself with a deep breath, he couldn’t just stand there and act dumb no matter how much he wanted to.

“Look, I-”

“I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you’re trying to come up with. The truth Deku.”

“I always told you that, when the time came, I would stop all of that. Well, the time came and I wasn’t ready so I had to do what I had to do.”

“Now you just aren’t making sense. What the fuck do you mean stop? Who said you had to stop?”

“I did. I always said when you find yourself inevitably falling for someone else I would stop. Now you have Kirishima and I stopped.”

“Wha- What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Kacchan! It doesn’t take a genius to see the way you look at him. It’s, it’s the same way I looked at you when I started to fall in love.”

Wait.

Shit.

That came out of his mouth.

That was never supposed to leave his brain.

Fuck.

Now there was no way he could get anyone to believe that it was only a crush.

Katsuki wasn’t faring much better. He seemed frozen, although Izuku couldn’t pinpoint why. Obviously hearing that someone is in love with you will do that but he couldn’t be sure if it was shock, disgust, or something entirely different in its own right.

He didn’t want to find out.

“Uh, I have to go, bye.”

“No! Deku wait!”

That’s all Izuku heard before he took off, he could handle a lot but flat-out rejection was not a part of that list.

Katsuki knew it was never ‘just a crush.’

Izuku simply shut himself away, he was luckily done for the week, having strategically chosen to have a long weekend while making his schedule. He emailed Aizawa the grades for the quiz he administered and decided that was enough. He didn’t want to try and explain himself to anyone or have anyone pity him.

Therefore, when he heard the knock on his dorm room door, he assumed his roommate simply forgot his key.

He was wrong.

He opened the door to see a more composed-looking Katsuki. He could only hope his eyes weren’t rimmed with red.

“What are you doing here?” Izuku’s voice was soft, he was just glad his arm didn’t instinctually slam the door, that would not have gone well.

“What am I doing here? You’re seriously going to ask what the fuck I’m doing here?” Izuku noted that Katsuki seemed more frantic than anything, maybe his composed demeanor was for show.

Izuku took in a breath and moved aside, gesturing for Katsuki to come in, this wasn’t something an unfortunate bystander needed to witness.

Once safely inside his room, the pair waited, they waited for someone to start talking, for some answers.

Katsuki finally snapped.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Right because everything else I have done was specifically to hide the fact.” Izuku hadn’t meant to sound so teasing but he had nothing else.

“You know what I mean!”

“Okay, I didn’t say anything because… well because I didn’t want anything to change! As much as the consistent rejection hurt at least it was lowball, we were still friends! We still hung out! I was still allowed to shamelessly flirt with you! I was actually planning on telling you but then everything with Kirishima, and well I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin tha-”

“What the fuck are you talking about? That's the second time you have thrown him into this, this is between us why are you bringing him up?”

“Come on, Uraraka told me you guys were a thing, and she told me that you guys broke it off because you went to different schools, now that's not an issue anymore! The way you look at him shows how much he means to you.”

“Deku, he was my best friend for years that I hadn’t seen for about two years. I was shocked to see him and I seriously forgot how good it was before we dated!” Katsuki steeled himself with a breath.

“Look Deku, since he’s been here Kirishima has been up my ass about what the fuck was going on with me. He hadn’t seen me for nearly two years and he knew something was up with me. That day we ran into you outside of your class, he told me something. He told me that he was going to ask me out and then didn’t. All because of the way I reacted when we ran into you. He said I was more myself for the minute he saw me with you than I had been for the previous two weeks. Now, what the fuck does that tell you Deku?”

Izuku stood in shock, he really didn’t know what to say. There was a short pause before Izuku began to speak again.

“I don’t kn-”

“Nope. I don’t want to hear any bull shit. It took me way too fucking long to realize all of this and that was after someone told me to my face that I need to figure out my shit with you. Right now I just need to know if… if I’m too late.”

Izuku’s knees came out from under him, he fell backward onto his bed, thankful that he didn’t crack open his skull.

He was having a hard time understanding. There was no way Katsuki meant what Izuku thought he meant. No, that would mean… well, too much for Izuku to think through.

“Deku…?”

“I’m sorry. I think I’m just having a hard time understanding what you’re telling me.”

Katsuki used all of his remaining restraint to not grab the man in front of him and shake him until everything fell into place.

“Deku, what I’m telling you is that I was fucking wrong. I thought that everything between us was purely friendly and it was just a fun thing we did. I’m telling you that every time I turn someone down the reason in my mind is you. I am telling you that, if you will still consider me after every single shitty thing that has happened, I want to be with you. I am telling you that what I feel for you isn’t just some stupid fucking crush. Even if it took shitty hair telling me that I look at you like you hung the stars for me to realize it.”

Izuku blinked a few tears from his eyes. There was no room for misunderstanding and both of them knew it. Izuku couldn’t even think of a proper response, he simply threw himself forward and wrapped himself tightly around Katsuki.

Katsuki let out a shaky breath and returned the hug, basking in the warmth he had been missing since Izuku had been away.

“You know what nerd? Now it’s my turn.” Katsuki swiftly leaned forward and placed a small kiss on Izuku’s cheek, mirroring the action Izuku had done plenty of times before.

As Katsuki pulled back Izuku faced him properly, letting his gaze slip down to Katsuki’s pink lips, silently asking for permission. Katsuki wasted no time, they had done enough of that already.

It was perfect, their lips fit together better than puzzle pieces. It was instant gratification, a satisfaction so great, they were keen to never stop. Alas, they did need to breathe.

Once they pulled apart Izuku looked Katsuki up and down, in a way that gave him the chills.

“It took over a year of shameless flirting, cute nicknames, and trying to fend off anyone who had eyes but damn are you so worth it.”

Katsuki flushed darkly, something he wasn’t accustomed to doing, and simply stared back.

“To answer your question, of course, I’d still consider you. As long as you’re my ‘love’ I’ll consider you.”

“I will be your ‘love’ as long as you are my ‘sweetheart’ how does that sound?”

“That sounds like the perfect thing for the two most stubborn people on this planet. Does that mean I get to finally say that you’re my boyfriend?”

“Well either you say it or I will, every shitty extra in this place is going to know where they stand, let me tell you it is nowhere near you.”

Izuku smiled, he could get used to this. In response he kissed his new boyfriend, letting out a pleased hum due to how familiar the feeling was starting to become already.

Izuku couldn’t believe he ever thought it was only a crush.

57 notes · View notes

ahkaahshi · 4 years

Text

how they handle the wedding planning process [scenarios]

pairings: hirugami sachirou; oikawa tooru; miya osamu x fem reader

genre: fluff, humor

warning(s): two swear words. that’s it, surprisingly enough.

Hirugami is well known for being cool as a cucumber under the most intense of conditions. It’s a skill he's refined over the years, and, boy, does it come in handy during the wedding planning process. If you’re stressed, he’s there to calm you down. If you’re doubting decisions you’ve made about your dress, venue, food, or literally anything else, he’s there to reassure you that right or wrong doesn’t matter, as long as the two of you are happy together and in agreement.

Not only is he a seasoned professional in the arts of remaining calm, but he’s also a skilled crafter. Yes, that’s right. This man will go HAM in the arts and crafts department. Think you need to hire someone to make cute invitations and a table decorations? Think again. Hirugami’s on it, and at only the cost of a few kisses an hour. If he’s workin’ overtime, he might request a lil shoulder rub every now and then, but talk about a good rate! Plus, he does a great job and you know what he makes is special because he put his heart into it.

“How’s it going, Sachirou?” you ask with a gentle sigh as you walk into the living room from the kitchen with a bag of chips in hand.

From where he’s sitting on the floor, focused on his work, he lifts his head and directs a gentle smile your way. “Good. I’m almost done with the invitations now,” he responds and returns to his duties once more.

With half a chip in your mouth, you pause for a moment to marvel at the sight before you. At the center of a sea of craft supplies sits your tall fiancé, looking calm and controlled as ever while his nimble fingers place appliqué decorations onto one of the many strips of paper in front of him. He’s wearing golden glitter on his cheeks like war paint and has his crafting weapons--paint, brushes, markers, and ribbon--neatly arranged within arm’s reach. The way he grabs what he needs without glancing away from his work for a second reveals just how much time he’s spent on this project.

Feeling your heart warm at his efforts, you continue walking through the room so you can carefully sit down beside him and spend some time with him. You don’t even have to utter a word for him to know you’re stressed.

“Just get off the phone with your mom?” he wonders. Your arrival warrants a break, so he backs away from his project for a moment and sticks his hand in the bag of chips you’re cradling.

You nod in response to his inquiry and mention, “She’s been driving me up the wall about all the little details. I know she means well, and all, but she’s just stressing me out.”

A hum echoes from behind his lips as his eyes move to yours. You think he’s going to say something reassuring or inspirational once he's finished munching, but, instead, he dips his fingertips into a container of glitter and spreads it across your cheeks in two, long swipes.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you murmur, “What the heck are you doing, Sachirou? I need you to stay sane.”

“(L/n), (f/n)--soon to be Hirugami (f/n)--you are now a wedding warrior,” he announces, an amused grin forming across his lips. A moment of silence passes as you mentally question his state of mind. Maybe he hadn’t been the same since he’d left for the craft store earlier. “Which means,” he continues, pausing to press a kiss against your lips, “you’re strong and you can do this, okay? We’re in this together, so I’m right here with you, baby.”

His words and actions bring that reassurance that you’d been seeking in a goofier way than you’d anticipated, but one that you appreciated nonetheless. You utter a gentle promise of love to him that he returns and seals with another kiss placed on your forehead.

“Should I let you get back to work, then, wedding warrior?” you ask.

He nods and replies, “I’ll collect all my hourly kisses when I’m done.”

Oikawa is a methodical guy who always wants to be in control. Because of this, he’ll be just as hands-on in the wedding planning process as you are. In fact, there will be multiple times when you’ll have to tell him to step down, or you’ll argue because of your competing visions. However, his love for you will trump any desire of his to “win”--in terms of disagreements over certain aspects of your wedding--and he’ll always want to pick the option that will make you happy. Though, keep in mind, it may take him a bit of time to understand your point of view and come to terms with it.

While having a helicopter mom of a wedding planner for a fiancé might not be every woman’s dream, he is very helpful and you can always be assured that you’ll never have to shoulder the entire burden of the process yourself. It’s tiring! You don’t want to do it all by yourself, and that’s why you can be thankful that you have someone to share the workload with. If he’s busy at practice/training over the weekend, he knows that you’re working hard at home. Likewise, while you’re at work, you know you can trust him to get things done in your absence. He won’t let anything slip through the cracks, so you’ll never have to worry about the job getting done or any details being forgotten. You’ll just have to make sure you’re planning a wedding for the both of you, not for just one of you.

“No, I don’t like those floral arrangements for the tables.”

Oikawa’s lips settle into a frown upon hearing you express your discontentment with his idea. “Well, I don’t like the arrangement you like, either, (f/n)-chan, so what do you wanna do, then?” he grumbles.

As your gaze wanders around the shop filled to the brim with different varieties of flora and fauna, you take a deep breath of the air tinged with the potent scent of roses. You don’t like the way your fiancé’s looking at you right now or how he has his arms crossed in front of his toned chest as his foot taps against the floor with impatience.

“Tooru,” you groan quietly and shoot a withering glance towards his shoe, “Come on. These aren’t the only options we have.”

He retorts, “But we really don’t have the time to spend looking for another florist. And I think these arrangements are perfect. They match our color scheme and they look classy.”

You shake your head and take your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry; they’re just not what I envisioned. Besides, we don’t have to find another florist. Why don’t we just go around the shop with him and pick out some flowers we both like?”

There’s a long silence as he wrestles with the idea of compromise and his pride. Getting him to sacrifice the latter is harder than pulling a chew toy out of a pit bull’s mouth. But, for you, he’s willing to entertain the idea that he doesn’t always have to be right, since what he always wants is for you to be happy.

After a few moments pass, the expression on his face softens and his hand finds yours. He takes a long look at the engagement ring glittering on your finger before he presses a gentle kiss against the back of your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Okay,” he concedes, “let’s do that.”

A small smile graces your lips as you peck his cheek and give him a soft pat on the shoulder. “I know you just want everything to be perfect, baby, but let’s work together, okay?”

He murmurs in agreement and plants another kiss on your lips. “As long as I can have my milk bread on the menu, there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m glad your milk bread is worth the cost of including those embarrassing baby photos of you in the slideshow.”

“Don’t remind me, princess. Now, let’s go look at flowers.”

Osamu is more laid back by nature, and, while he’s willing to help, he probably won’t sweat the fact that you two have a huge event coming up. He won’t be getting into a tizzy about the ins and outs of wedding planning, so he often comes off as being apathetic about the whole thing. This can be extremely frustrating for someone who loves to plan and fusses over every, grueling detail of the event. However, it’s important to understand that his hands-off approach comes from his trust in you rather than from laziness.

Because he knows you have everything under control, he’ll be a part of the process by taking on a supportive role. Truth be told, he really does care about the fact that you’re getting married. He wants nothing more than to be with you for the rest of his life. So, if you want an opinion, you can go to him and he’ll help you. If you want him to make a decision, ask him and he will. If you need him to do anything, let him know and it’s done. Otherwise, he’ll just make sure you’re well taken-care of while you handle things.

Oh, and don’t even bother looking into catering options. That’s strictly his department and he’s an expert. Let him work his magic.

Your (e/c) eyes burn with strain as they flicker between the bright screen of your laptop and the notebook resting on your leg. For the umpteenth time that evening, you try turning down the brightness only to find that it was already at the lowest possible setting. This causes a small groan to echo in your throat as you scan the webpage tirelessly for any information you can find about each potential wedding venue you’d been considering.

The only thing that gives you pause is the sound of footsteps padding across the wooden floor behind you. Looking over your shoulder brings your attention to your fiancé, who’s dressed in his sweater and boxers, sporting a disheveled head of dark hair.

“(F/n)?” he utters, steel-colored eyes shifting over to your form, “What’re ya doin’ up? It’s fuckin’ two in the mornin’.”

Shaking your head and brushing strands of your own, messy hair away from your face, you explain, “I was too stressed to sleep. I can’t sleep until I find a good set of venues to look into tomorrow.”

Though he wears a clear look of disbelief on his features, he doesn’t try to stop you, since he knows that won’t get him anywhere. “Fine. But don’t be complainin’ when you’ve got a headache tomorrow, love.”

His words are dry and sharp, but you know the intentions behind them are warm and soft, so you don’t argue or huff in response. Instead, you turn back to your laptop and continue your research.

When you tear your gaze away from your work once more, it’s because Osamu’s at your side, offering you a mug filled with warm tea. “Come back to bed once you’ve finished this, alright?” he bargains as you hook your fingers around the handle and bring the drink to your mouth. You nod wordlessly, and he glances over at the notebook perched on your thigh. “Need any help?”

“I’ll need some tomorrow, but I'm okay for now. Thanks, ‘Samu.”

He places his hand on your shoulder and swoops down to press a kiss against the crown of your head. “I wantcha back in bed by three. If ya stay up later than that, ya start gettin’ all grumpy, ‘nd you know it.”

You chuckle and reassure him, “I know, baby. I promise I’ll be in bed before then.”

“Hey,” he speaks in a tone that’s more tender than that he’s been using, making you look up at him expectantly. “Whatever place ya pick, it’s gonna be great, alright?” You try not to giggle at the way his words are ever so slightly slurred by his fatigue as he continues, “As long as yer happy ‘nd the bank ain’t broken, we’re good.”

“I love you,” you coo against his lips in the moments before they meet with yours.

“I love ya too, babe,” he responds when the two of you pull away, “I’ll be awake, waitin’ for ya ta come back, so don’t be late.”

You scoff, “Oh, c’mon, ‘Samu, you were never awake to begin with.”

He clicks his tongue and places his finger on his chin in an act of contemplation before waving you off and trudging back to your bedroom. “Shit, ya got that right. But if yer up past three, I’ll know it. Trust me.”

378 notes · View notes

elowenp · 3 years

Text

part 1, this on ao3

It’s a normal night, until it’s not.

Dick had been purposeful when he had said that Damian could make mistakes. He remembers the way the necessity of perfection had eaten at him when he was younger. He knows that Damian is even more susceptible than he was to that burning self-disgust at anything less than a flawlessness. Upon taking over the mantle of Batman, Dick had decided that Damian needed to know there was at least one adult in his life who wouldn't disown him for delivering anything less than perfection.

He hadn’t thought so much about what would happen when Damian actually did make a mistake.

It happens when Dick is in the middle of congratulating Damian on a particularly impressive move, one with a more gymnastic slant which Dick is sure is based on one of his own trademarks. He’s telling Damian what a good job he’s doing and Damian is puffing up with pride, a smile playing around the edges of his expression. Then Dick catches the glint of the sniper rifle scope.

The ability to dodge bullets is a trademark of members of their family. Damian should feel the whistle of the bullet coming his way, he should jolt back from the air parting in front of him. But Damian's too caught up in his pride to do any of those things quickly enough so within a moment of Dick spotting the rifle scope there’s a bullet in Damian's leg.

Dick is so used to falling that he doesn't remember a time when it didn't feel like flying. The way his stomach drops now though, it doesn't feel like flying. It feels like the kid he said he'd take care of has blood spurting from his leg and it's all Dick's fault.

To his credit Damian is very calm about it. Dick knows he’s been shot before although he doesn’t know if it was a purposeful part of the boys training or not. His blood boils at either prospect. Even as the crowd is still screaming for their heroes to come save them Dick grabs Damian from the blood soaked ground and rushes to the batmobile, putting it on autopilot as he tries to stabilise the patient.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, “I’m sorry. We’ll be back at home in no time and we’ll get you all fixed up, okay?” Dick blinks away the tears at the sight of Damian bloody and pale in front of him. Impediments to his vision will only make it harder to get Damian stable.

“Okay.” Damian replies, voice remarkably steady.

Now aware that someone he trusts is going to make it all better, Damian promptly passes out.

“Shit.” Dick says, young ears now unable to hear him. “Shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck.”

He swears to his heart's content for the rest of the ride back to the manor and it does very little to make him feel any better.

No, the swirling sea of worry-guilt-anguish in his stomach only begins to abate at the sight of Alfred in the bat cave, perfectly calm and with all the necessary medical supplies ready. They get Damian to a bed and Dick tries to make himself useful as Alfred treats the bullet wound.

He isn’t particularly useful and spends most of his time fretting.

“He’ll be fine, Master dick.” Alfred says once he’s finished up and washing the blood from where it had stained his skin.

“Of course he will.” Dick replies, attempting to sound a little more nonchalant than he actually is. From the look Alfred gives him he doesn’t think he succeeds.

He’s spared the indignity of having to say anything else by the rumble of Tim’s motorbike pulling into the cave. Tim gets off with an urgency Dick isn’t sure he expected and when he takes his domino off there’s genuine worry in the frown between his eyes.

“Is he okay?” he asks, his tone frantic.

“He’ll be fine.” Dick's grateful to find that his voice is far more level now than it was ten minutes ago.

Tim tilts his head to the side, looking at Dick. His expression narrows into something slightly more analytical than concern. “Are you okay?”

Dick tries to say yes. He really does. He's Tim’s big brother, he’s Batman. Of course he can tell his little brother that he’s okay. But after a moment of silence Dick glances towards where Damian lies far too still on their operating table and feels the tears he's been fighting off resurface in his eyes.

Tim nods as if this is confirming something. “Come on.” He says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dick tries to protest that Damian needs someone to be here when he wakes up but Tim just continues to pull him gently out of the cave.

“He’s going to be out for the next few hours. I can make you hot chocolate in the meantime.”

Dick wants to keep protesting but he’s been left tired and weak by the nights events. He allows himself to slump as his little brother leads him out of the darkness.

Dick talks. Significantly more than he had intended to.

He talks about how he can’t balance this awful dichotomy of guardian and commander. He talks about how he’s still not entirely sure how to be Batman, let alone a parent. He talks about how he can’t keep doing this without something breaking.

Probably him. Possibly Damian. Both answers are unacceptable.

“I’ll to fix this” Tim says. The determination in his expression reminds Dick of when he came to his bludhaven apartment all those years ago and demanded Dick reprise his roll as Robin. “I’m going to make a call, we’ll sort this out.” he promises.

Tim’s always been good at that. Tugging on the fraying strings of their family tapestry until it resembles something whole. It’s how he came into the family in the first place and Dick has always been grateful for that.

Tim leaves, already dialing a number into his phone with a look of intense concentration. Dick wants to go check on Damian but Alfreds got that handled so it’s not like he’ll actually help. Sitting idle at the boys bedside will probably just make him feel worse.

So Dick hangs his head and waits for someone to save him.

“Give me a lift to the airport?” Tim asks far too sweetly. The tone of voice doesn’t suit him.

“You can drive.” Dick points out, suspicious.

Tim gives him a look, like Dick's being difficult on purpose. “It’ll be a bonding opportunity.” he says, his tone lowering to something closer to his usual cadence. Dick still feels suspicious but there’s a million things he has to do today that are more important than arguing with his only sane brother, so he nods. Tim grins in response and gets up with a lot more energy than he tends to these days.

Dick decides that there’s little use in thinking on it more. He’s in charge of far too many things at the moment, he’ll let Tim control this one.

Cass appears in the collection area, suitcase in hand, and Dick feels the weight of the world become significantly lighter.

She's more muscled than she was when she left. Her footsteps are more confident. It makes pride rise in Dick's throat as he realises how brave his little sister is for growing so much all by herself.

She picks up her pace once Tim and Dick are in view, almost breaking into a jog as she approaches. She wraps an arm around each of them and Dick can feel her smile pressing against his cheek.

Dick realises that his own smile is pressing against Cass’s cheek. His chin is somehow resting in Tim’s hair.

He savours the moment and feels more full than he has in a long time.

“Welcome home.” He says into Cass’s neck. He feels her smile even wider in response.

That night as Dick is about to go on patrol Cass taps his shoulder.

“I can do it.” she says, pointing at the Batman suit Dick had been about to start putting on.

Dick frowns, pushing away the golden hope bleeding into the edges of his soul. “It won’t fit.” he says.

Cass shrugs. “I won’t wear it. But I can do it.”

Dick feels his frown deepen. Cass is younger than him and she hasn’t been in Gotham for so long. It’s not a good idea for her to take on the mantle. She’s already got far too much weighing her down without adding another impossible burden for her to bear.

Dick looks past Cass for a second to allow his eyes to rest on Tim, busying himself with sorting his own gear out but none too subtly watching the exchange between Dick and Cass. He gives a slight nod. An endorsement. Dick looks back to Cass who is smiling very gently at his indecision.

“Okay.” he says, and the room releases a sigh of relief.

Cass has been Batman every night since she got back a week ago and Dick hasn’t felt this light since Bruce died.

She was always the best fighter out of them. Always a little faster, a little more cutting, than any of her brothers. She isn’t as used to the detective aspect of things but she's surrounded by enough people trained in that aspect of the job that it isn’t a problem. Dick wears the Nightwing suit and flies higher than he has in months. Damian tends to work with Cass, Batman needs a Robin after all, but will pop up on Dick's patrols with silent requests for ice cream and a shoulder to lean on.

Cass can be Damian's Batman. Dick can be his guardian. It was always too much to ask of Bruce, for him to be both. For him to be their teacher and their hero and their father. Splitting the load seems to be going far better than anything Bruce used to try.

Sometimes Dick will catch Tim smiling at him the same way he does at a problem just solved. He wants to say thank you. Thank you for letting me outrun that awful burden for a little longer. Thank you for saving me. But he supposes that’s just what brothers are for.

Instead he asks Tim if he wants to go train surfing. They haven’t since before Bruce died. Dick was far too busy trying to keep the world from collapsing in on itself and Tim was too busy trying to find a way to stop Dick from crumbling under the pressure of it.

“Yeah.” Tim says, his smile twisting and morphing until it goes from analytical to soft and relieved. “Yeah I’d like that.”

"Do you miss him?" Damian asks one day. Dick doesn't need any clarification on who he's talking about.

The two of them are sat on a rooftop, legs swinging over the side. Damian is holding a rum and raisin ice cream Dick had pressed firmly into his hand. Dick decided a while ago that Damian should be offered the opportunity to try all the flavours he missed out on in the earlier part of his childhood and he thinks they're making some pretty good progress.

Dick considers for a moment. It's a complicated question. "Yes," he starts, because of course he does, "But it doesn't hurt like it used to. Not now that I can focus on being myself instead of squeezing myself into the shape of the person I'm mourning. And you?"

"Yes." Damian starts, because of course he does. He pauses for longer than Dick did but that makes sense. Damian's thoughts are complicated enough that Dick can't help but be proud of the kid for being able to untangle even a few of them. "But I know a lot of people who've died. And at least this time I gained what I came searching for regardless of what happened to Father."

It's not a thank you. Dick knows that it's going to take a little more time for Damian to learn how to shape his mouth into those words. But it's a start.

Dick looks at all the life surrounding him and smiles.

#dick grayson #damain wayne #nightwing #batman #writing #dc #tim drake #cassandra cain #cass cain #i have not posted anything in AGES #exams murdered me but i'm back #(until resits)#also i just put this in a word counter and I did not realise how long this was #au where tim doesn't bring bruce back

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iamkidfish · 3 years

Note

Would you be at all interested in writing a prompt based off a quote? I've been reading On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous and got destroyed by the line "sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined". I feel like it's a line that works for both Leah and Fatin, and I would love to read your interpretation of it!

have a little angst this morning

Read on ao3!

It shouldn’t be a big deal. 50 days on the island. 50 days of fighting for their lives against the elements, against each other, against themselves.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, except it is.

50 days pass for eight girls barely surviving on an island when there should be nine.

There’s a choked sob, like someone is trying to muffle the sound, and then another and Leah wakes to the sound of Fatin crying. It surprises her more than it should, Fatin crying. She hasn’t seen Fatin cry, not at school, not on the first day, not when Fatin held Leah in her arms on the beach, not even after Nora pulled Rachel’s unconscious body from the ocean, her bloodied arm looking like it got sent through a wood chipper.

She turns over, trying to look for Fatin’s body by the shine of the moonlight. As the weeks went by, they all started sleeping closer and closer together, kind of like a group of seals on a dock, so it’s impossible to discern Fatin from the others. Shelby’s blonde hair catches Leah’s eye and she focuses in, noticing how Shelby’s left hand is gently curled around the inside of Toni’s elbow. Leah smiles, in spite of herself.

Past Shelby, Martha and Dot are curled together, with Dot lying on her back, mouth open, and Martha tucked into her side. Near them, Nora and Rachel are wrapped up so tightly Leah can’t really determine who’s body is who’s. They’ve slept like that ever since the accident and every time Leah looks at Rachel her eyes can’t help but slide down her arm to what’s left of her wrist. It’s mostly a mangled stump, but considering the limited supplies, it looks at least stable. Rachel’s been highly medicated most everyday and every few hours Dot pours their quickly depleting supply of vodka on it.

A noise behind her makes Leah turn around. She maneuvers around their campsite, the best she can in the dark, stepping over water bottles, pieces of driftwood, even Martha’s suitcase, before she reaches Fatin.

She’s curled tightly, more like a ball than the fetal position, and away from Leah so she can’t see her face. It’s not particularly cold out, but Fatin’s shaking.

Leah drops to her knees, hands hovering over Fatin’s side, unsure if she can touch, then switches direction to lie behind Fatin. She tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, the ones that have been there since around day 29, as they try to flutter awake. For a second, Leah pauses before wrapping her arms around Fatin. The other girl doesn’t protest at the contact, but she also doesn’t acknowledge or lean into it, just continues shivering.

It’s hard but she tries not to notice how well their bodies fit together. They’ve slept close together before (Fatin actually has been insistent about Leah sleeping near her ever since “Leah’s second Virginia Woolf moment” as Rachel dubbed it accordingly), but never this close, with her front pressed up against Fatin’s back. They’re basically spooning.

As if she heard Leah’s thoughts, Fatin mumbles, “I’m the little spoon. God, how embarrassing.”

She lets out a pained laugh and Leah freezes. She wasn’t expecting for Fatin to react, let directly acknowledge what’s happening.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t spooned someone before, Rilke,” Fatin’s voice cracks but still manages to have her signature teasing lilt.

“Of course I have,” Leah says into Fatin’s shoulder, her face heating up against her will. Thank God, Fatin isn’t looking at her.

“Well then you know you have to commit,” Fatin says, moving Leah’s arm so it’s curled against Fatin’s stomach. Leah counts to 100 by 7’s twice to resist the urge of flexing her fingers against Fatin’s skin. Not the time.

Her brain blurts out the first thing she thinks of, “Ironic, how you’re talking to me about commitment.”

(Smooth Leah, real smooth)

Fatin doesn’t respond to her stupid ass comment, doesn’t talk for a long time. She is not crying as much, at least not that Leah can hear, the tears could still be falling down her face silently, she reminds herself.

“You know, my dad didn’t let me say goodbye to my brothers,” Fatin finally says. “At the airport. Didn’t even let them come, they had to stay home with my mom. He said they had ‘too much homework’ which was bullshit. School was almost over by the end of May. I knew he just didn’t want me to see them and now…”

Fatin takes a shuddering breath and dissolves into fresh sobs.

“It’s been fifty days and...and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see them again,” she hiccups.

“Fatin you don’t…” but the reassurance dies in Leah’s throat. After fifty days, dying on the island seems like a very real possibility, as real of a possibility when Leah was losing her mind over the realization and tried to run into the ocean a month ago, maybe even more so now, with their collective fear growing each day about how purposeful everything feels, how a group of (seemingly) random strangers arbitrarily came to be stuck on an island, depending on each other. The day they saw the plane fly over doesn’t even register in Leah’s mind as significant anymore, just another circumstance on her list proving that something is fucking wrong.

It hits her, Leah’s bad at this. Being there for someone, let alone comforting them. It feels alien to her, as much as her cell phone or Ian, a thousand miles away, desperately insignificant to her, to what’s on this island. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time she’s touched someone like this before the island, especially someone she cares about. Leah was never a particularly touchy kid but after him, when she started to flinch at her mother’s touch or shunned away from her father’s hugs, her tolerance for physical contact plummeted, pretty much becoming nonexistent.

The feeling rises from her chest into her throat like bile and Leah becomes acutely aware of how her body is positioned, how she’s holding Fatin, just like how he held her: from behind, chin tucked into shoulder, arms snaking around her waist. She always found it comforting but now, in the haze of the memory, she wonders if he did that to keep her in place, to hold her down. Leah stiffens, she can’t help it, as the pressing, suffocating feeling settles again over her body.

But Fatin isn’t him, and neither is she. Leah knows that, knows it in the way Fatin’s hair smells like pears and sand and salt, knows it in the spaces that she's hesitant and timid, Fatin is unselfishly bold, knows it by the way Fatin’s fingers never rest, even now tapping out a slow melody on her arm, knows it because Fatin’s been there for her since the plane crash (well, close enough), holding her and crying with her, and a tiny, persistent voice in the back of Leah’s head whispers loving—

Still, Leah gently extracts her hands from around Fatin’s waist and tugs on her shoulders until Fatin is turning over to face her.

“You will. We will get back home, we have to.”

Maybe it’s the darkness that makes her bold, but Leah leans forward, just enough, to brush her lips against Fatin’s forehead. She tries to ignore the hitch in her chest or the memory of Fatin doing the same to her after she ran into the ocean, thinking Leah was still knocked out from the pills instead of just dozing.

“You probably just got sand in your mouth, dummy,” the weight of the insult is weakened by the way Fatin’s voice breaks.

“I don’t care,” and Leah doesn’t. She has more important things to think/worry about than a few grains of sand, like keeping everyone she knows alive, keeping herself mostly sane, and not screwing up and saying something incredibly stupid in front of this girl she’s holding in her arms.

Fatin sucks in a breath and maybe, just maybe, thanks to the light from the full moon above them, Leah sees Fatin’s lips quiver. It takes her a second to look back up at Fatin and the other girl is already looking at her, the air thick with tension, thick with an unspoken something.

Leah’s nose tickles as Fatin nudges it ever so slightly with her own. It feels like an invitation and maybe in another life without deserted islands and broken girls Leah would understand and kiss Fatin until they’re both breathless, but she looks at Fatin again, still with tears on her face, and wonders if Fatin expects it because that’s all she’s ever known: people using her body for their own motivations. And it’s not that Leah doesn’t want to kiss her, because God, she does, but she wants to do it right, and wants it to last this time.

She leans in because she can’t completely resist the hedonistic (self-destructive) pull in her stomach, the curiosity of how Fatin’s skin feels against her lips, and presses her lips into the corner of Fatin’s cheek, just close enough to her mouth to say I want this too, but not now. Leah knows she’s lingering, but the mix of perfume and salt is almost addictive and it just feels so fucking good to touch someone, knowing Fatin won’t break. (Is it because they’re both broken already, who knows?)

Leah pulls back and Fatin’s looking at her with more tears streaking silently down her cheeks, but Leah’s pretty sure she understands.

She wipes a tear from the side of Fatin’s eye and maybe, she thinks for a moment Fatin is going to make a comment about messing up her mascara, but then thinks better of it, because this moment, where they’re both staring into each others eyes under the moonlight on an empty beach feels too heavy for any words.

Instead, Fatin just tucks her face into the crook in Leah’s collarbone and shudders and shakes with silently sobs, but Leah holds her, all through the night, even when she’s too exhausted to open her eyes anymore, and falls asleep too.

Thankfully, when Dot finds them in the morning still curled into each other, she waits until they walk back to camp with the others before nodding and passing a water bottle to Fatin.

#the wilds #the wilds!fic #leah rilke #fatin jadmani #leah x fatin #leatin #leatin fic #leatin breakdown hours #my brain decided to finally finish this prompt and i absolutely love it <33 #whoever sent this in thank YOU i'm sorry it's like a month late #the void

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anxiouslyfred · 3 years

Text

Limping on Phantom Pains

Summary: Remus is very much against the world when it comes to injuries being celebrated as a chance to find your soulmate. Why would he want to hurt a stranger for so flimsy a reason. Roman doesn’t care and will drag his limping brother off to congratulate his friend in hospital

CW: broken leg, hospital scene

/\/\

Remus knew how to avoid injury and pain better than anyone he knew. Of course he also knew how to cause it, but that was just a fun hobby. Avoiding it meant that he wasn't causing pain to a stranger he might never meet; causing his soulmate to be in pain and that was vital for Remus.

He knew through his childhood they'd have felt pain from him a lot, had a full collection of 'congratulations hope you find your soulmate while healing' cards. Those were what first made him realise how sadistic and cruel the world was to soulmates,especially before you met.

If he attacked someone they'd as likely get congratulations and suggestions to thank him as told to report the assault and he hated it. There should never be a celebration of causing pain to others.

Since realising that Remus had ensured the only pain that could reach his soulmate from him was the sore throats he couldn't avoid. He was going to cherish his soulmate and keep them free from pain even before they met if he could.

In all honesty there was so rarely any pain he felt in return that it seemed his soulmate was trying to do the same thing, at least before this week. This week Remus had been limping around, a phantom pain in his lower leg leaving him limping and struggling to walk as far as he had to for work.

“Remus, Have you been vandalising all of my injury cards again? I need to congratulate Virgil on his broken leg. You're coming with me too, since I've been trying to introduce you pair for literally ever. I know you don't have anything going on this afternoon, since you're pulling a sickie.” Roman yelled through the house, clearly still in his room if the bangs from drawers and cupboards being opened and shut was anything to go by.

“What kind of sick twisted jerk do you have to be to congratulate someone on getting injured? I don't care if he could find his soulmate, we should be hoping Virgil gets better soon, not praising him for however he got hurt!” Remus screeched, deciding to hop down the hall on his good leg and see how high he could hop.

Roman just glared over his shoulder, now kneeling to look under his bed. “It's what we do, what everyone does. Not that you seem to care about finding your soulmate. Do they even know you're still alive with how injury averse you are?”

“I care about not putting my soulmate in pain. Why the hell has this connection become societies excuse to get hurt, hurting soulmates in turn and not the way to protect and look after each other it was probably meant to be?” He'd never agree with his brother about the romance of sharing pain with someone else.

Once Roman had proclaimed that as soon as he found his love they would never feel pain again, and been completely flabbergasted when Remus suggested limiting the amount he hurts them ahead of time instead of waiting for the meeting. He'd had to watch his back and double check any of his art supplies for the next month after that argument, even after Remus took off on a skiing experience in Japan.

Roman's back bristled at the question, just as it always would. “Because your soulmate is your other half, someone who'll help smooth all your broken edges and complete you. Anyone sane would want to increase their chances of finding them.”

“I doubt Virgil would agree, given you said he's strapped up in hospital with a broken leg days after the accident that caused it.” Remus countered, before frowning again. “Why's he still in there anyway? Don't the hospitals usually just put a cast on you and let you leave for broken bones?”

Roman just shook his head, finally pulling out a blank card. “Something about the bone possibly getting shattered. A stack of heavy books falling on top of his legs can do that apparently, but I didn't ask for the details. Maybe I should try drawing Logan's book stack teetering above the congratulations?”

Remus groaned, turning away now. He should have known shredding or redesigning all the injury congratulations cards his brother had wouldn't work if he left the blank ones still around. That's a mistake he wouldn't be making again. When vandalising his brother's participation in societies sickness, get rid of all things possible to make cards out of.

Then again, he was actually curious about this Virgil guy Roman had befriended a few years ago. Perhaps he should actually go along to the hospital, as long as he could hobble along at his own pace. Remus even had a few fun outfits to wear for hobbling around.

/In the Hospital room\

Virgil was going to scream if another nurse, stranger or friend tried coming in to congratulate him on getting his leg broken. Bad enough the pain he was in, that surely, should his soulmate still be alive, was hurting them a lot to, but to act like it was a good thing? He was fuming at the idea.

So far Logan had been the only sane person to visit, apologising and promising to store his books more safely in the future. He hadn't stayed long though, only enough time to explain the provisions he'd made at their work to ensure Virgil kept his job while unable to walk and could return to it once release from hospital.

Roman opening the door carrying a congratulations balloon and a card only made the glare deepen. “Hey Virgil. Are you looking forward to trying to find your soulmate once you're released? I know some wonderful cafes we could sit in and watch for-” The words were cut off with a yelp when Virgil threw the notebook he'd been scribbling in at him.

“Are you seriously telling me I should be celebrating getting injured you empty headed, dust filled dreamer? I have a broken leg, far more pain than I've ever been in, and you think I should focus on finding romance or friendship with someone I've never met?” Virgil snapped, already looking around his bed for something else to throw.

“Of course. It's a fantastic-” Roman was cut off again by a pillow being thrown.

Virgil scowled at him, “Fantastic what? Response to someone I only guess at being alive still because of occasional phantom sore throats? Opportunity to torture someone I've never even met yet with pain I wouldn't wish on anyone else given I'm going through it myself?”

He could hear a lift opening somewhere down the hall since the door was still opened but just carried on yelling. “Or maybe all you think about is the fact that this worldwide obsession with getting hurt does more harm than good. A bruise is a good way to find a soulmate, or a tattoo, where the pain is controlled, and caused safely. Broken bones and ridiculous stunts that will end in injury are cruel! Especially given all the pain gets inflicted on a stranger! And that's what you're trying to congratulate me for! Have a braincell Roman, or would you prefer I ask Logan to throw those books at you? Holy hell, do you actually think I'm excited by the sight of the books that caused this freaking injury?” Virgil had caught a closer glimpse of the card and finally stopped yelling, dumbfounded by the idiocy Roman must have to actually have drawn them onto the card.

“Oh, so Roman does have a friend with some sense about them. I'm Remus and have been trying to stop this stupid congratulations thing for years.” A doppelganger of Roman was suddenly leaning against the door, grinning and panting a little.

Virgil paused for a moment, before nudging the chair beside his bed. “You injured yourself or something? You look like you've run a mile to get here.”

“Soulmate hurt their leg badly. Walking too much is a bit of a strain this week. Hope you get released from here soon though. It can't be fun spending your days in this place.” Remus limped over to the chair, collapsing into it with a sigh.

“Guessing you already know I'm Virgil if you're prince prats brother. Which leg got hurt?” Virgil smirked, realising Roman had fallen quiet now, given in just their few words it was clear Remus shared his views about the nonsense idea of congratulating people for injuries.

Remus glanced at the bed, wriggling his eyebrows, “Same leg as yours if you wanna try me out for a ride.”

“Roman, give me my notebook back. If your brother's going to flirt I need something to thwack him with.” Virgil ground out at the insinuation. He wasn't looking for his soulmate, and didn't care for getting hit on. Either that or he really needed another dose of pain reliever, hurting only ever made him more angry.

“Well that's one way to find out if we're soulmates, but I'm sworn not to get injured if I can avoid it. No pain for my soulmate at all. I can even tell the chances of a landslide on various slopes to decide whether I'll climb them or not.” Remus shifts as though to get out of the chair, grimacing in preparation for the pressure on his leg, despite the pain he'd mentioned being phantom.

Virgil reaches out with both arms then, one to shove Remus back down, and the other to take his notebook back from Roman. “Well then I guess you can keep dreaming of being my soulmate then. Since I try my best not to get injured too. If only save myself from the Roman's of the world.”

He smirked at the cackles that brought from the man beside him, while Roman protested. He was curious though, since it would be nice to be able to keep his soulmate safe in person, despite being well aware they were already experts at avoiding injury.

While Remus was still laughing he moved the hand still on his shoulder to pinch the back of his neck, flinching himself at the sting to his own neck. The gasp cutting off the laughter showed Remus had realised what he'd done too, turning to face him properly somehow in a jump while still sat down.

“So? Soulmates? Weirdly coinciding injury and phantom pain? Team destroy the congratulating cards?” Remus rattled off ideas for how they could be connected, eyes scanning over his face.

Virgil smiled, nodding. “Guess we are soulmates, and I should be apologising about all this.” He frowned again, realising just how much Remus's leg was probably hurting him, even through the phantom pains. “Do pain killers work on the soulmates thing?”

“We've got a while to figure that out! I don't think they'd work if I took them though. Let's call the nurse to give you some.” Remus was already jumping up and hurrying out of the room, or as fast as he could with his leg still in a lot of pain.

Roman watched him leave, before tilting his head at Virgil. “So am I going to get something thrown at me if I try to congratulate on finding your soulmate now?”

“Don't tempt me.” Virgil groaned out, realising he was never likely to lose the romantic now, and that entire scene could have just proven the use of injuries in finding soulmates, whatever arguments he and Remus had against it.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #remus sanders #virgil sanders #shared pain #broken leg #hospital scenes #creativitwins #roman sanders

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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.

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx

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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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Text

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely. And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

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Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone.

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life.

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves.

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore.

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe.

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Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores.

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands.

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us.

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’.

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose,

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra (prospect) x you #Pedro Pascal #Prospect #ezra x female reader #the second part may have a little spice #considering the song i based this off of #but not alot bc i have found I suck at smut #but it might be hinted at or briefly described?#anyway i am kinda happy to be back writing wise #ive missed this

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