#their strange behavior bewitched me body and soul
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Reader(Fem) x Alcina Dimitrescu
(PART 2)
Written by cannibal_witchh
Part 1
:https://cannibal-witchh.tumblr.com/post/641589115086929920/readerfem-x-alcina-dimitrescu-part-1-written
⛓Trigger Warnings⛓
Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.
Notes: This is the 2nd part of the story and it will progressively get more sexual, and the elements between the reader and Alcina will become more dom/sub. It is a little bit of a slow burner so bare with me. It will get juicy soon! I want to add, I do not support in any fashion abuse, and or non consensual actions. ⚠️ I have clearly placed trigger warnings to indicate there may be elements that are not for every reader. I heavily gravitate with dominance and submission/gore so thats where the relationship in the story will go ⚠️ Again, limited information so nothing in the story really is canon.
The reader is referred to as:
Y/N- your name
Y/L/N- your last name
She/her- in italics and bold
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Her blood boiled as she felt the weight of humiliation and rage filter through her. She was in poor shape, bloodied up, bruised, and very little hope could be found within her. She stared at Alcina with a hateful expression, but the vampress had full awareness beneath that thin surface of loathing was absolute fear. "Don't be foolish. I will not say it again.", she continued a smirk as she rested her elbows up on the edge of the bath. Even in absolute indecency she was wicked and intense. Her body at full exposure, water glistening off her porcelain skin, and gentle beads of water trailing down her breasts. The moon was illuminating off her soft tall figure, as she tipped her head back and relaxed it on the edge. "I think I've been more than patient with you."
Y/N, had so many emotions cycling through her, there was disgust, hatred, and anxiety. But she had concluded that there was no point in stalling. Alcina would grow tired and eventually kill her if she wasted anymore time. She began to strip, peeling an article of clothing at a time, trying desperately to cling on to every second. Her hands trembling as she slid her panties down her ankles before the wicked vampire.
She submerged her body in the warm water, blood began to scatter out from her knee, and she watched fragments of the water become crimson. Fuck. "Relax, I'm not a shark. I can smell your wonderful nectar but I have no need to feed at this exact instance just because you're coloring my bath water red.", she teased pulling her head up. Loose black waves stuck to her wet skin, spreading out like a small web on her smooth pale skin. Her intense bright eyes focused on Y/N, her eyes looked so preditorial, and so hungry. Those eyes burned deep in Y/N's soul, it was haunting.
After about forty minutes of soaking and cleansing, Alcina decided to privilege Y/N by showing her the cellar room. She held a lit candlabrum guiding them deep inside. It smelled foul, there were variations of fresh corpses everywhere, limbs lost in other areas of the large hallway, and it was incredibly dark. The walls and floor were built with thick cobblestone, and there were numerous cellars with rusted bars. " Now, I believe I have treated you kindly with allowing you to stay in an actual guest room.", she said as she continued to lead Y/N deeper into the cellars. Abruptly, an incredibly dry groan echoed through the cellar, it sounded as if it was in absolute suffering and pain. Y/N darted her head in the direction she believed it came from but it was too difficult to really distinguish actually where it sounded. " Relax, I won't allow them to touch you.", she assured as she stopped and turned to face her. "Those are family.", she stretched a pearly grin, her fangs teasing under her satin red lips. Alcina instructed with just her hands for Y/N to come closer to her, and she obeyed the demand. "You look much better being cleaned up, pet.", that name alone flooded a pool of humiliation in her, being stabbed, bitten, and beaten countless times to this nonsense- it just delivered a wave of embarassment to her. Alcina let out a soft giggle, and for moments there wasn't words being exchanged.
Thud! With swift impact, there was a heavy hit that landed to Y/N's head, and she flew several feet back away from Alcina. She tried to gather herself but her vision grew blurry, and her knee still in poor condition to make quick movements. Dwindling in and out of clear vision, the sounds of agonizing groaning reverberated through the corridor infront of her. She felt shivers, hair raise, and another dose of adrenaline greet her. What could this be? Within moments, a strong smell of decay flooded through the damp cobblestone hallways, and echos of pain continuing to sound. A group of corpse like creatures swayed in, their bodies detierating, bones exposed, long sharp aged nails, and hollow dark eyes. Her family. Absolute horror welcomed Y/N, Alcina had lied, she wasn't going to protect her. The creatures began to hobble towards her, surrounding her, their stench choking her, and their groans ringing in her ear. She was fucked, no available escape was present for her to attempt. She closed her eyes and she felt the stroke of long thin nails brush against her face and arms. Felt the cold breath of their hissing near her ears, as she tried to control her panic. This was it. "Enough!", Alcina screeched, and immediately the creatures shrieked and fled away in the tunnels. She relaxed her hands on her hips and walked over to Y/N with a pleased expression. " This is what will become of you but worse if you do not submit to me. Do we have ourselves clear?", Alcina watched as Y/N nodded trying to control her panicked breaths, and maintain her shivering. "Good."
Without effort, Alcina had carried Y/N in her arms all the day back to her captive room. When they arrived, she locked the door, and rested Y/N on the sheets. Y/N felt some release of tension the moment she establish this was her room. She spread her arms out, tracing the creases of silk that collected under her. The presence of the fabric brought her slight comfort. "Honestly, you truely are pathetic.", she sighed as she sat the candlabrum on the wooden nightstand beside the bed. Y/N felt beside her sink, Alcina had sat beside her and began to run her fingers through her hair. Despite the cruel treatment, this minor kindness felt relieving to Y/N. She let out a small sound of relief as Alcina continued to lace her fingers through her hair. "I feel despite some tension, you have gathered an understanding of your place as my feeding pet. I appreciate that submission. I have mutually contributed. I awaited feeding until you were cleansed and in the comforts of your room.", a sharp spike danced in Y/N's stomach, she felt acidity well up, and her knee twitch with discomfort. It was time.
This time, Y/N did have opposition towards the situation this time. She fully gave in to the unfortunate circumstances. Her pants were removed, revealing a blackened knee with blood stains feathering out from the site. "I'm quite surprised how quickly you've adapted to your position to me. I have to admit, I am pleased with you.", Alcina leaned to her side, hovering over Y/N's wounded knee, her large breasts nearly spilling out from her nightgown. The closer she leaned towards her knee, the more her alluring breasts pressed gently against Y/N. "Despite my daughters, I have control over my hunger. I will treat you well, and I will know how to savor you slowly.", she looked down at her knee and let out a sound of disappointment. "So much for being patient. Its scabbed. I suppose I will make a new feeding site."
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"My f-femoral atery?", Y/N muttered as she felt her cheeks grow hot. A major artery, not even her daughters had fed on. The violent feeding they did more than likely would've killed her if they attempted to. " Yes, now please relax. I have fed in this location before and no one has ever died. I have lived a long life and acquired quite the knowledge on self control.", she began to move close to her upper thigh, her nose brushing lightly against her skin, and her mouth leaving light streaks stained from her rouge. The sound of skin break was heard through the cold air, Y/N let out a pained moan and held her breath. The pain was unpleasant, it was like having a canine bite but with small thin teeth. She tried focusing on the candle wicks, watching them sway and dance softly in the distance. The warm occasional crackle it did from time to time. It was the closest thing to resemble peacefulness during this taxing time. Alcina began to feed, siphoning Y/N's blood, she made sounds of utter bliss as the sweet flavor danced along her desperate tongue. Her body stiffening in surprise as pure satisfaction greeted her mouth. Her nipples growing erect through her night gown, brushing against Y/N's leg. Y/N felt light headed, feeling blood leaving her as she grew quickly cold. Strangely, she had no presence of panic, perhaps, the loss of blood delivered her brief emotional insensitivity. Alcina stayed down there for quite sometime, muttering muffled sounds of bliss, occasionally latching off revealing a bloodied chin, teeth, and lips. She met Y/N's eyes and immediately flashed a wide smile, it was almost sickening but in a way bewitching. Maybe the lack of blood was making Y/N confused. " W-why am I so relaxed?", she muttered feeling a heavy weight of tranquility possess her. " Shh...its the lack of blood. Soon I will stop.", Alcina whispered as Y/N felt her tongue lick her inner thigh. Her long tongue tracing and prodding the bite marks. Desperstely trying to drain whatever was left of the site.
" I believe, I am full. Thank you for the meal.", she wiped her crimson stained lips and chin with the back of her hands ,now tarnishing it with red. " I believe, I owe you a thank you, pet. You have been surprisingly obedient the whole time, and quiet too.", Alcina slowly adjusted herself until she was on all fours above Y/N. Her large smooth breasts draping down reaveling down her well tailored gown. She began to crawl slowly towards Y/N's face, her chest lighting brushing against Y/N's body. It was incredibly soft yet cold. " I am going to need you to open your mouth, won't you, pet?", without hesitation, Y/N dropped her mouth open for her. Alcina licked her lips and pressed her right fang into her plump bottom lip. Blood began to trickle out and run down her chin and onto her chest. Her hand traveled slowly up to Y/N's neck, gentle gripping it, and holding it against the mattress. Her opposite hand, explored under her shirt, and rested on her heart. Y/N, felt the a wave of heat flush away the cold that was residing in her. What was she about to do? "Can't let my obedient food die on me, yet.", Alcina leaned herself forward, pressing her lips against Y/N's. Her tongue inviting itself into her mouth, brushing metallic crimson inside. The flavor was terrible but Y/N did not seem to object. Alcina continued to kiss her, muffled sounds escaping between their lips as a warm blanketed feeling continued to lay over Y/N. Blood had managed to escape their lips, trickling down Y/N's chin, it was incredibly cold as it traveled down. Alcina ceased the kissing, her face revealed itself to be flush and pink. Strange for a creature of the undead. She moved her long delicate fingers along Y/N's blood covered lips and chin. Collecting whatever escaped under her finger tips. "Don't waste it.", she whispered softly nudging her fingers against Y/N's lips, as they slipped their way inside her mouth. More of that bitter flavor met Y/N's tongue, and she felt her body grow warmer and warmer. Alcina took her fingers out after a few moments, examining there was no trace of remaining blood present. She made a sound of approval that trailed with a small smile. An overwhelming amount of insatiable hunger found Y/N, she felt her body perk with energy, her senses incredibly alert, and her heart accelerate as if it was injected with caffeine. She brought a hand to Alcina's cheek and drew her to her own. Lips reuniting again, her tongue pressing its way into Alcina's mouth, and Y/N biting her lower plump lip. She was hungry, the introduction to Alcina's blood was intoxicating, addictive, and restoring. It brought her energy and she needed more. A small line of red flowed from Alcina's lower lip, and Y/N quickly licked it from her face. Her tongue returning back to Alcina's mouth the moment she collected all of her crimson. Alcina muffled a small moan, as her hand tightened around Y/N's neck, the opposite hand no long resting on her Y/N's heart but traveling down her stomach. Her incredibly sharp nails dragging into her sternum down to above her navel. She felt blood seep from those insicions, and she let out a pained moan. She buried her lips against Alcina's for a few more passionate moments until she broke it. Her lips pressing against Y/N's neck and her tongue dragging down her neck to the freshly bloodied cuts on her sternum and navel. She kissed and licked the bloodied wounds hungrily. Little delicate moans left her mouth as she glanced up at Y/N with her appreciative smile. Still continuing to clean the newly made cuts with her tongue. "Dont act as if this is an invitation of making love, foolish one. Vampires have restorative blood that gives humans the ability to briefly recover, replenish energy, alertness, and on some occasions enhance their libidio.", she rolled her eyes, " In this case, you acquired all of it. What a headache. I just wanted to make sure you didn't die of blood loss.", She sighed. " I suppose I will find more uses for you, pet. But don't think it will entirely feel good."
To be continued...
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#resident evil#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#re village#re8#resident evil village#alcina#alcina x female reader#alcina x reader#alcina fanfic#reaident evil village fanfic#resident evil 8 fanfic#resident evil fanfic#fanfic
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This drawing was inspired by a story my friend cursedautumn wrote for me as her part of our usual story for art trade.
It's been so long since I've drawn something in this style, I was scared I was going to give up half way through the entire thing. But nope, I was quite ambitious and pulled through 9 hours to finish this piece!
Look at that! It's absolutely beautiful 😭 I can stare at this and be so damn proud of it all day!
Speaking of the story, you can read it here under the cut. Flowers may be my absolute favorite from autumn's stories, but this was just too cute. I just adore the father/daughter dynamic Veruca and Elroy have.
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His Princess
"Alrighty, I'm leaving." Wilhelmina kissed Elroy on the cheek and took the bag. “I'll be there in the evening, don't wait for me early. I left a list of products that Vera needs to be fed. Are you sure you can handle it?"
"You underestimate me," Elroy growled, jokingly offended. "Veruca will be fine, I'm a fully capable father, Wil. Go and have a good rest, you'll see when you come back, the house will shine, and the child will have the tenth dream." Wilhelmina smiled dryly and rolled her eyes. "You're the same as always. Well, I'm off."
With that, she opened the door and went out. Elroy watched her go for a while until she disappeared behind the fence, then closed the door and took a deep breath. Elroy McQuaid was a father of two children, but, frankly, he had already forgotten what it was like to stay all day with a small child. Coby had grown up a long time ago, now he was at Hogwarts (where, by the way, he recently received an indignant letter from Minerva McGonagall about his son's behavior), and little Veruca did not want to sit still and quickly came up with entertainment for herself: she rolled away from her father, turning over from her back to her stomach, then, on the contrary, crawled up to him and began pulling his hair or stubble. Elroy didn't mind, but he couldn't let his daughter roll around on the floor all day and pinch him! He had to think of something to do. So he picked up Veruca in his arms and spoke, "What should we do? We're going to play with toys, aren't we, baby?"
"Yes!" Veruca said glibly. She didn't know how to speak yet, but she already knew words like "yes", "not", "ma", "pa" and "Co-i" (that is, Coby). Elroy was infinitely proud of his daughter; Wilhelmina took it much more calmly and even laughed at his constant delight. Elroy was slightly offended: "How can you, Wil? She talks great for her age!", but there were no big quarrels because of this, and he understood that his wife showed love for her daughter in a slightly different way.
As soon as she was in her room, Veruca clung tightly to a wooden box filled to the brim with toys. There were dolls, plush toys, a plastic tea set, with which the baby sometimes gently beat her older brother, several suits with bat wings and many other means of entertainment. Elroy watched in silence as she turned over the wooden box, and sighed to himself: later he would have to take a long and painstaking time to clean up the mess that his daughter had made. But he obediently waited until all the contents of the box were on the floor, and smiled, "Come on, Vera, choose what we will play."
Veruca thought for a while and a soft bat colored so bright it was slowly eating out Elroy's eyes. This bat was given to the McQuaid family by friends a few years ago, and at first Coby played with it, and then it was taken away from him by his younger sister. Veruca took it out at every opportunity and forced the first family member she met to entertain her, holding her in their hands and "butting" the girl with a toy. Elroy didn't have much choice right now. He asked, "Are we going to play this?"
"Yes!" Veruca nodded. She had the same light green eyes as Elroy, like clear, transparent water.
"All right," he agreed. "I'll butt you. Come on…" Suddenly, he quickly grabbed the toy and began to gently poke his daughter in the face. Veruca burst into a ringing childish laugh, trying to grab a bat, and randomly waved her plump hands in the air. Elroy poked the toy first on her cheek, then in her stomach, then in her shoulder, and she laughed and made futile attempts to outwit dad and catch her pet. At that moment, Veruca strangely reminded Elroy of a young Wilhelmina, just as cheerful, laughing happily, not yet so strict and upset by the behavior of her growing son. Actually, Veruca was much more like her father, but there was already something about her that made her obviously the daughter of Wilhelmina McQuaid.
After playing with the bat, Veruca lost interest in it and took up a book of fairy tales written by the bard Beadle. Of course, it was still too early for her to read them, but the bright pictures on the glossy paper attracted the eye, and the baby ran her finger along the pages with genuine interest, looking questioningly at Elroy, as if asking what was depicted here. Most of all, she was interested in pictures of beautiful queens, princesses and sorceresses, women with long hair, dressed in dresses, robes and heavy jewelry. The girl especially liked the drawing of Morgan Le Fay, a tall red-haired woman with light green eyes, in a white dress. Veruca poked at it with her finger and hooted.
"This, baby, is Morgan Le Fay. She was a very outstanding sorceress, healer and fortune-teller. The sorcerers bewitched people, Vera, they are also wizards, it's just that their magic was different. And Morgan was both a sorceress and a witch. It's complicated, isn't it?" Elroy explained, to which Veruca frowned and turned away, indicating that she was not interested in this topic. She always did this when she did not understand what was being said to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance — it hurts her pride so much!
And even though Veruca was still a very little girl, she had pride. This pleased Elroy: if self-confidence and healthy pride are inherent in a person from childhood, nothing will knock them out of there. So let his daughter be proud. It was better to have pride than not to have it, his sister had once told him, and Elroy completely agreed with her.
Suddenly, his daughter turned over on her stomach and, starting to turn over slowly, rolled in the opposite direction from him. Elroy was so surprised that he didn't even understand what was happening, and he stared at Veruсa with his mouth open for a few seconds, and then he realized that the typical willfulness of the McQuaids had awakened in her, and she decided to try to move herself. Attempts to "escape" have occurred before, but Wilhelmina, with the air of a connoisseur, assured that this is normal and there is no need to interfere with the child's self-development.
"Veruca!" Elroy called out to his daughter.
"Ah!" she answered him and giggled, once again turning over on her stomach. "Vera," the man said more quietly. "Where are you going?" Veruca smiled with an almost toothless mouth and giggled louder. Elroy sighed loudly and got to his feet to put the mischievous girl back in her place.
Suddenly, Veruca reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed the leg of a chair. She tensed, slightly lifting the body and pulling her legs under her.
And then she began to get up — in the literal sense, to get to her feet, holding tightly to the leg of the chair, as if for a handrail, and finally straightened up and stood up, swaying slightly. Elroy froze in mute amazement, joy and disbelief, watching his little daughter, his princess, stand on her feet for the first time, and was afraid to even sigh and break the great moment. This feeling was even brighter than what he had experienced when Coby first got on his feet, much, much brighter, although Elroy did not want to admit it to himself.
It seems that Veruca was afraid of her own independence and the next second fell on the carpet and began to cry. Elroy was at his daughter's side in the blink of an eye and hastily picked her up in his arms, saying affectionately:
"Don't cry, Vera, don't cry, my princess, everything will be fine, you're a good girl. Look, you got up for the first time today, can you imagine?" and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back. Veruca's crying wasn't caused by pain or anything worse, it's just that she hardly expected such sharp physical progress from herself.
So he patiently calmed her down until the girl stopped crying and wearily buried her face in her father's shirt.
"Do you want to sleep?" Elroy asked gently. "Let's go sit outside. It started raining there, we'll swing in the chair, listen to the weather…"
They did just that. Elroy went out onto the terrace. There he sat down in a wicker rocking chair with Veruca in his arms and was quiet; a summer downpour was really rustling on the green street and in the garden. The storm swelled over the McQuaid estate, rallying in the sky in a dense purple wall, ready to crack and burst into lightning. But while there were no loud noises, Elroy held the sleeping Veruca, wrapped in a plump purple blanket with a bat's face, in his arms and looked at the blooming garden. There was an unusual calmness in his soul, although, in general, there was no cause for alarm; nevertheless, such satisfaction in his soul had not been for a long time-maybe because he was the father of two children, the eldest of whom was now supplying his school with problems, and the youngest was still very small and helpless, like a porcelain doll. They had to look after both of them, and it was difficult for him and Wilhelmina. Very difficult.
Elroy kissed the top of Veruca's head as she dozed off. No, he was grateful to his wife, Providence, and himself a million times for his daughter, because since his youth his dream was to have a daughter, his little princess, just like from fairy tales. As a child, he saw how carefully his father treats his sister, and just dreamed of doing the same.
And now he had Veruca.
His little girl.
His princess.
Elroy wrapped his daughter more tightly in the blanket and began to doze a little himself. The storm did not break out with thunder and lightning, only the rain began to rustle more loudly, and somewhere on the horizon a rainbow began to appear, as if the sky was watching the father and daughter and letting a bright ray through the summer rainy haze.
The rainbow was flaring up. Elroy and Veruca were sleeping peacefully.
#ariparri#elroy mcquaid#veruca mcquaid#hogwarts mystery#hphm#harry potter hogwarts mystery#hphm mc#hogwarts mystery mc#fanfic#hogwarts mystery fanfic#fanfiction#hphm fanfiction#hphm fanart#hogwarts mystery fanart#jacob's sibling
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“i want to go home” and “let me go” with ethan 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 make it angsty i missed ur angst
you don’t want to fight with him. you weren’t the fighting type, but christ he can be insufferable sometimes. it hurt you to fight with him - no matter how much he deserved to have his ass handed to him on more than one occasion.
ethan is stubborn. often times brooding during your time together. you’ve known that since the first day you met him and watched with confused delite when he refused for you to pay for your own coffee only minutes after having small talk. he wasn’t the easiest to understand right off the bat that’s for sure. he’d talked of things far beyond your comprehension and spoke eloquently. he’d inserted his card into the chip reader with his brows turned down in a pout, dark hair a perfect mess atop his head, shoes shined, suit pressed. the corners of his mouth drooped to match his adorable pout, merely shaking his head briskly when you’d tried to pay him back. you’d known it to be a kind gesture, and he confirmed those thoughts by later slipping the small white receipt piece in your jacket pocket with seven messy digits drawn right next to a sloppy smiley face.
you still have that receipt in the top drawer of your nightstand. that spark...you remembered that first spark. thinking of him from that day on was habit, and often times more than you could handle. he’d captured a part of you before you’d even realized it. he had that effect on people.
you waited weeks until you’d texted him, too much of a chicken-shit to think he actually meant it as anything more than a kind gesture for listening to him drone on about marketing for at least a half an hour. to your surprise, he had texted back in minutes. from them on he’d made every attempt at scoring a date with you, and when he finally did - you had the best night of your life.
boy did the man have a personality. take that as you will.
if he so much as felt you were having an attitude, he’d refuse your kisses until you agreed to talk to him like a “big girl.” you knew from the moment he whipped his head to the side and shut his eyes, your body going still where you leaned across the table watching him pay bills or work on deadline work. not only did it make you want to fall into the floor and hope the foundation swallowed you up, but it forced you to talk - something you could never get him to do.
ethan only buys you the best of the best despite your objections. you figured that’s what love means to him in a way, giving your all even if it wasn't emotionally. you'd never had the guts to tell him you like to be held more than anything. he makes sure to never leave you unsatisfied in bed - especially if he noticed your legs weren’t shaking hard enough to his liking. tells you any story you want to hear if it means you’ll sleep peacefully. let’s you read your favorite books to him: his head in your lap, arms crossed over his chest in thought, pondering eyes on the ceiling. he’d stop you for explanations along the way. it was an adorable habit that you will love until the end of time. the fact that he wanted to hear your thoughts. you found yourself jotting down scribbles in the margins just to remember the moments exactly as they were: pure.
he tries to act hard, like the world is his slave and bends at his will, you know - oh you know just how soft his heart truly was. even if he was an arrogant ass 87% of the time. but he’s learning. how to be a boyfriend, how to be a man that doesn’t have to hide from vulnerability and emotion. he’s learning despite his discomfort.
ethan never wanted help when making the bed, no matter how many times you insisted and he always wanted to help you put your sunscreen on during summer and run your baths when you’ve had a long day. his work computer was shut off at seven sharp every night and shower always started at six in the morning. keys must be placed on their rightful hook and shoes on the mat. notepad must be placed on his side of the bed in case a thought wakes him in the night and he can’t go to sleep until he writes it down. all of which were non negotiable. he was stubborn, yes...but you loved him.
above all else there was love. so much love it consumed him deep in the pits of his body, mind and soul. even if he couldn’t, or much rather wouldn’t explain just how much you’d bewitched him...there was love.
he had a funny way of showing this love through obstacles and hoops you’d taken forever to jump through early on in your odd relationship. first it was friendship, a strange friendship at that. mostly consisting of calling each other randomly to ask what the person was thinking at that moment, which led to conversations of witches, wizards, and ghouls - children's tales and memories from the past that sprung free of the net. regardless if he meant for it to happen or not, that friendship blossomed into a whirlpool of admittances he would have damned himself for in the past:
“I wanted to see you”
“I hope you're okay”
“let me know when you get home safe”
“can you read that part again? I like the sound of your voice”
“I know you got that job, they’d be insane not to hire you”
“come over, I miss you”
“do you miss me too?”
“I thought of you today”
friendship turned into fire kindling in the pits of him
he wasn’t easy to trust others and you’d earned that trust fair and square. first through kindness, honesty, and a lot of self control. he wasn’t like every guy you’d been with in the past and you didn’t treat him like such. you’d been the only one to take your time and learn the inner workings of his mind and understand, not just engage or maintain his happiness. you’d expanded your craft in making him happy. giggling in bed at 3am, lovestruck, insanely, truly, madly, deeply happy. but demons don’t go away forever, and good behavior must be learned - especially with a life that has treated you unfairly.
you understood how troubled ethans mind could be at times and you tried to be patient. patient enough that when he looked over at you, he trusted that you’d listen to him even if he was being irritating and crude. the darkness swirling in his eyes didn't scare you off, not like the others. you chose to stay time and time again. not that you were a push over by any means but one must understand how hard it became sometimes, to be patient in times where he blocked out every voice, every noise, every reasonable answer and refused to listen. refused your help and your advice, gave you silence as a reward for thirty minutes of trying to make him smile. it was frustrating to be ignored.
there was a lesson you'd known to be true: no matter how many stars you wish on, how many pennies you drop into the well, nothing is ever as perfect as it seems.
you had told him more times than you could count on one hand: you weren’t his enemy. when it felt like the world was out to get him, like the sky was black and blue and he couldn’t see any light in the foreseeable future, you were there with a kind hand to lead him back. back to himself, reality, sanity. with the good came the bad and the constant back and forth it was taking it’s toll. if something didn’t change soon, he’d find that his light has left him in the clouds.
that’s how you found yourself sitting with your fingers fiddling in your lap, in the passenger seat of a car that you’d have to sell your soul to be able to afford, the hot air blowing through the vents and over your now trembling fingers, dress now more tight and uncomfortable than it seemed to be half an hour ago. you tried focusing on anything than the eery silence, save for the quiet music rolling through the speakers. it was easier than you’d thought to drown out the voices - you weren’t in the mindset to listen to someone else's problems. the many rings you wore now the main focal point for the agonizing hour drive back to your shared apartment.
it was a collection of pointless noise. pointless for the simple reason that the only sound you really wanted at the time was ethans voice. the low vibration that shot sparks straight to your stomach, the vibrato that sounded like home. anything to let you know he was okay, that he was working through his emotions instead of shutting them off.
“you okay?”
the last thing that had been said in over 30 minutes. you knew he was frustrated with himself by the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the way he drove at least ten over the speed limit, and the torturous strain of his taught jaw muscles, eyes shooting daggers at the road. he hadn’t given you an answer.
if you’d known Alec would be there, you never would have gone. you never thought in a million years you’d be seeing him again unless forced by the universe to punish you. punish you both. how often did you see your boyfriends ex bestfriend who happened to co-exist as the ex of your very own bestfriend? a person you’d both chosen to cut ties with for a multitude of reasons. for the better. a lying manipulating cheater that had no place in your life or anyone that you loved. the connection between the two had been a shock at first, but you were quick to warn ethan about the deceitful nature of his “friend.” you wondered how you’d never met ethan before considering that link but were thankful he decided to shoot his shot in the café not a block from your old apartment.
alec was...sneaky. not only had he betrayed you and your bestfriend, shown his true colors, but he’d also betrayed ethan - his closest companion for over a decade. it wasn’t long before he dropped the both of them like they were a virus he was glad to be rid of. it broke your heart to see them both grieve the man they thought they knew. from that day forward, you made it your mission to try and lessen that pain for the two of them in whatever way you could. you became the anchor to a ship gone rogue.
you’d been just as shocked as ethan to see him at the event. an event he wouldn’t have even been at, had it not been for ethan and his good word.
alec was part of the holding company, Rissito’s Publishing Co golden boy. a new top boss only thanks to ethans referral and promise that he’d “kill it.” HR ate it up. if only ethan had known beforehand the betrayal that would unleash after his hiring - he’d have stuck his foot in his mouth long before he told HR to give him a chance.
Alec was someone who gained respect without earning it first. someone who took advantage of a good friends kindness and used it for his own benefit, while leaving that same friend in the dust. he was a dispicable tyrant that had nothing better to do than ruin people to get ahead. no matter what cost.
he was someone who rarely showed his face at events that gave him no ego boost or feeling of supremacy.
you didn’t think your stomach would twist up at the the mere sight of his icy blonde air, unbelievable posture, and wicked grin. but it did. the few times you’d met him for your friend and for ethan...you’d felt the wind of something bad. “something wicked this way comes” right?
you’d been so stunned that you’d stopped in your tracks and let go of ethan’s hand altogether. the air stuck somewhere deep down in your chest, threatening to burst if you didn’t get as far away as you could. of course he would be here, he was invited to speak on behalf of the company. you quickly scolded yourself, reminded that this night wasn’t about you or alec no matter what past or resentment you held - it was about being there in support of ethan and his accomplishments.
alec had strolled up on stage draped with navy velvet curtains, right to a glass podium clear enough that you had to squint to see it just to “give his thanks and welcome” to the crowd of overdressed office workers. you wondered for a brief moment how strange he sounded when he spoke formally. like a robot coached to please. he’d used the same voice when he gaslighted your friend into thinking she was insane and needed help. really he was the lost boy. he spoke down to the group of people he now had authority over. people you knew he didn’t give two fucks about. he looked the same as you remembered - but if possible more sinister. he was the devil in the flesh and someone you knew could set ethan off in seconds. to your horror, your suspicions were true.
this was ethan’s night. at least to you and everyone that cared about him. a night he worked hard towards and quite frankly busted his ass to achieve. he deserved the silver platters, champagne, laughs with his co-workers, a pat on the back from his boss standing somewhere near the exit that you’d missed somehow on your way in. you knew it would be ruined if he let his anger get the best of him. you couldn’t stop his fuse igniting, and just when you thought you’d made it to the clear, that he’d been paying too much attention in trying to find snacks to satisfy his growling stomach - ethan froze beside you. statue still and glaring at alec. you were shocked alec didn’t drop dead from the look.
“i want to go home,” ethan had seethed immediately upon seeing Alec rise to the podium, grabbing your wrist tight with his fingers. too tight would describe his hold. much too tight. he all but ignored your grimace and look of confusion.
“we just got here ethan, you haven’t even received the award,” you had tried to reason with him. he was acting brash. impulsive and irrational. he’d be called to the stage any moment, an award he obviously no longer cared about. when ethan was set on a mission, he was rarely persuaded.
“i don’t give a fuck,” he growled lowly, turning to look at you with laser hot eyes, “i don’t want to be anywhere near that prick and honestly i don’t know why you would either, y/n.”
it stung to hear him spit your name through his clenched teeth, but you tried your best to ignore it.
you heard him. you did. but you also knew he’d regret walking out the door more than he thought at the time. for years all he’s wanted was the recognition that he’d get in just a few minutes - the praise you knew he yearned for. but he was hell bent on getting the hell away from he who must not be named.
“tonight isn’t about him. it’s about your amazing accomplishments. something you’ve earned and worked hard for. don’t let him take this away from you!” of course your words fell on deaf ears. he wasn’t in any position to negotiate.
“stop. talking,” he barked, nails digging into your delicate skin, marching through the crowd of concerned on-lookers.
“ethan stop...you’re hurting me. please stop and talk to me, we can go to the bathroom or something,” you begged, trying not to blush with all eyes set on the two of you. taking a quick glance around to the raised eyebrows and turned up lips you shook your head in embarrassment. you were mortified to be a part of such a scene.
you were embarassed to be causing such a scene at a prestigious event for one of the biggest publishing companies in the country. it caused your stomach to turn at the thought of ever having to face the crowd of people again. your office visits would be few and far between after this.
“baby please,” you whimpered pathetically, trying yet again to be a voice of reason. you figured a pet name would get through to him. hopefully to calm the storm crashing in his head, “stop and look at me.”
“all he’s ever done is fucking ruin things, y/n. don’t you agree? he caused you and i both havoc for MONTHS and you want to stand and listen to this fucking shit?” he barked, turning to look at you with daggers for eyes, “i’ll be damned if i stare at his cocky smirk all night long.” you worried his jaw might break from the strength of his clenching, but chose to keep your knit picking you yourself he’d grumbled one last “fucking dickhead.” before you’d flinched at the aching of your wrist.
being dragged through a crowd of people wasn’t exactly the easiest task when you could barely keep up with his strides on a daily basis, let alone when he was sprinting around tables set for a feast, elegantly dressed men and women, staff that bustled about, and security that eyed you both like a hawk - thankful for your hasty exit.
“let me go!” you cried with one final feeble attempt to reach him through his blind rage from just the sight of the man that had hurt you both deeply. you wretched your hand like a girl gone mad, ignoring the gasps of people much too prudish to ever sympathize with your situation - all they knew what judgment and riches.
guilt crashing through his wall of xxx only allowing him a horrified glance back at your pained expression, yanking his hand back and away from you without a word. he held his arm to his chest as if it pained him to touch you in any way but his usual soft caress.
you watched warily when he turned toward the open set of double doors, this time without grabbing you. you had half a mind not to follow him. but you weighed your options heavily: stay for no reason and get judged and ridiculed by a crowd of people that thought less of you than dirt and even worse, have to talk to alec? or run after ethan and hope for the best on the ride home? hanging your head, you gathered the bottom of your burgundy dress in your hands shyly as to not trip and humiliate yourself further, walking briskly towards the parking lot. you knew he’d be more than ashamed with himself for acting the way he had, disgusted with his failure to perceiver through a problem.
he’s lost control. ethan hated losing control.
isnt that exactly what alec would want? he would want to see ethan crumble before his eyes and the many eyes of people he’s meant to be composed and professional around. create a name for himself: not a good one.
he would want to see him act out and lose his sanity with resentment and hatred in front of the well respected business men and women he worked with daily. alec was far too narcissistic to admit to his wrongdoings, but had a way of making his victims seem crazy. it was the toxicity you’d dealt with for the entirety of your miserable relationship. you felt ill at the fact that ethan had to experience it. had to deal with it for the sake of his job.
he did hate him, more than he’d admit. but really what lied beneath the surface is something he’s only admitted to you once before when he’d had one too many shots. more than anything, alec caused him a great deal of pain. ethan was hurt by his late friend. he was hurt by the reckless behavior and betrayal. he was hurt that alec tried to take his job out from under him instead of being satisfied with what he had. he was hurt that he treated you no greater than a peasant. he was hurt that he’d thrown away years of friendship just to get ahead. more than anything, ethan was hurt. but of course he was too stubborn to say that to you, to anyone, maybe even too scared to admit it to himself.
pulling into the parking garage was in no way an experience you wanted to relive again. the silence pained you. the silence pained him too, and you know it whether or not he’d say so. your tears, silently falling right next to the man you’d normally run to, went unnoticed. the yellow-orange of the lights bounced off the hood of the car to illuminate your devestated expression. you couldn’t believe how the night had played out and how easy it had been for alec to get the best of you both. he had won. again. the thought made your stomach churn.
he was out of line tonight. he’s not only made an ass of himself in front of the head management of his company, but he’d had total disregard for his actions towards you - physical and verbal. tonight...he was someone you didn’t want to be around.
your wrist was red from where he’d grabbed you at the party, reminding you that ethan did need a serious wake up call. you’d done as much as you could to soothe him and you won’t be subject to his wrath.
when he finally turned into a parking spot and turned the car off, he finally did speak. but it was in no way what you wanted to hear.
“they’ll hold the award. i would have been on the stage speaking for a couple seconds before they moved on.”
despite your efforts, you scoffed at how abtuse he really was to the situation.
“i asked if you were okay. but you acted very not okay and i don’t know how to help you or even if i want to,” you told him earnestly, eyes glued to your lap.
“what does that even mean?” ethan snapped, running a hand through his hair.
you watched as a grey expedition passed in the side mirror before you chose to respond as calmly as you could.
“it was so easy for you to lose control.”
“i don’t stay in situations that hinder me or the people i care about.”
“oh so now you care about me?”
“that’s not fair, y/n,” he sighed, shaking his head and looking out his respective window.
“and this is?” you hold up your reddened wrist, just far enough that he couldn’t ignore the gesture and turned to look at you briefly.
“it wasn’t personal, i just get so...”
“angry. you were angry and i understand why you would be. al...he showed up out of nowhere and you don’t do well with surprises. but he is a part of that company now and maybe we both should have prepared ourselves before we stepped foot out of the apartment tonight. i didn’t deserve that and neither did anyone else at the event tonight.”
he opened his mouth to speak, another excuse your sure but you carried on while blinking back hot tears.
“you were impulsive and gave no mind to the way you treated me and how it must have looked to your boss who watched us leave not even 30 minutes after we arrived. how do you think you’ll feel in the morning when this is all you’ve wanted and you let him ruin it? you always said you were done letting people get the best of you.”
“he has a way of pissing me off and he’s just- he doesn’t care okay?! he sat up there and told lies, y/n. he doesn’t give a fuck about the job or the people or even all of the good we do and dreams we help make a reality. i...i should have been the one up there talking...” ah...so jealousy it was.
“ethan,” you laugh, not with humor but disbelief, “you know he’s as fake as they come. he doesn’t care like you do. you will have your time to shine and you would have tonight if you hadn’t ran away like a coward.”
“i don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he grumbled, opening the latch on the door in an attempt to get out and leave a conversation where he had to talk about how he felt.
“you can run all you want but one day these feelings will catch up with you and you’ll crash. you’ve opened up quite a bit with me over the past few months and i’ve noticed that change and i’ve been proud. more than anything i’m proud...but this has to stop,” you grab him by his bicep, forcing him to look at the tears that fell onto your cheek, ignoring the stiff silence without the aid of the radio and air conditioning, “you have to start believing in yourself like i do. who gives a fuck if he’s a man with five seconds of fame he didn’t even earn? you bust your ass every single day and you know it.”
his eyes shoot across your kind face, landing on your eyes that scream he’s sorry, he messed up, he wants to talk but doesn’t know what to say.
“no one can make you feel inferior without your permission remember?” you nod, trying your best to give him a smile. you suppose it looked more like a grimace.
“right,” he huffs, sucking in a breath like he’d been suffocating the entire ride home, and maybe he had. he’s pressing the palms of his hands flat against his eyes in an attempt to cover up whatever emotion threatened to expose him, “fuck him dude.”
“fuck him is right,” you chuckled dryly, flopping back against the leather back of the seat.
in the silence you waited. you must have been sitting together in the orange glow of the lights for thirty more minutes, the time passing slow. you watched him pull himself together, breathing even in an attempt to build up the nerve to talk once again.
finally he’d looked at you with those eyes you fell in love with. the hazel brightness that was a gate to who he truly was. a soft man with a traumatic story that wasn’t his fault. he fought hard for everything he had and he’d built a good life for himself. he was a different, better, man than he’d been the day he paid for your coffee without question. he was unsure of himself and self-conscious to the point he didn’t know what his purpose was. he’d bounced around from girl to girl, drank away his sadness...but you. you. you must have been his saint. his angel placed in his path for a reason. he couldn’t have felt shittier when he looked over at your wet cheeks and hair falling out of it’s elegant up-do.
you’d flinched at the feeling of his fingers trailing over the splotchy fingerprints on your wrist. this time, you welcomed the touch, staring at his hand tracing the damaged he’d caused. you tried not to bunch your dress up in your other hand.
“i hurt you.”
you nod slightly, not having the energy to respond with anything else.
“i embarassed you.”
another nod.
“i won’t do it again,” he whispered, fully ashamed of himself, “and i’ll...i’m gonna talk to Jeff on Monday. apologize for running off. i’ve never been that person and i acted before i could think straight. you were right. i earned this night and i shouldn’t have let him get to me so quickly. seeing him shouldn’t break me down. it was cowardice and i made an ass of us both and i’m sorry. i’ll try my best to make it right.”
smiling gently, you find yourself leaning over the console to kiss him on the apple of his cheek. his warmth shot sparks through your chest and stomach, something youre sure you’ll never get used to.
“we’ll figure this out together. that’s what we do. side by side. we figure shit out when it seems hopeless and when we look like idiots. it’s called being a team you dummy. thank you for apologizing. but...you know what i’d love?”
the light tone of your voice had him smiling in no time, his head rolling on his neck to look at you, head resting back against the seat.
“if i chilled the fuck out?” he teased with a grin.
“yes...but not what i was gonna say,” you continue smiling, raising his hand to kiss over his knuckles, “i was going to say...i’d love for us to go upstairs so i can get out of this ridiculously tight dress.”
inching towards you he nods, eyes latched on your lips. you feel his breath fan over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs. he’s moving slowly, enough that if your lips didn’t meet soon you’d get impatient.
“i’m sure we can make that happen,” he mumbles, so low you almost don’t hear him.
you know from this point on, you can trust him on his word. you can’t think to hesitate when he tilts your chin up to connect your lips in a gentle kiss. the fire kindling in your stomach burns brighter when he nips at your bottom lip, asking for permission. you part your lips eagerly, deepening the kiss.
the growth you’ve seen just from this conversation had you hoping for a future where he trusts you completely and didn’t shy away when his own mind punished him into make rash decisions. he’d owned up to his mistake and meant everything he’d said. it would be the last time alec got the best of him. it would be the last time he’d run away from a battle he knew he had the strength to conquer, especially with you at his side.
you’d deal with the consequences of his actions tomorrow, but for now the two of you lived in your own world - far away from alec, the banquet, and any other outside force that threatened to tear you apart. he’d placed his trust in you, and you’d do anything in your power to protect it.
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DESERVING
Title: Deserving
Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.
Word count: 1.6k+
Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!
Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid
I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme;
John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!
P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.
John never thought it would be like this.
At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.
As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.
While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.
John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.
He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.
It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.
Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.
“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.
Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.
He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.
“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.
A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.
John hesitated for a moment. "No." Nevermind.
The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."
John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.
"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"
"Don't know, don't care." Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.
John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.
"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.
He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.
"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"
Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.
"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"
Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.
"Why?"
John narrowed his eyes.
"Why what?"
"You know."
He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes. John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.
He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.
"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.
John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.
"I, uh..."
"you what, dear?"
How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?
"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.
"Alright."
They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.
"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.
John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.
"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."
Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.
"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."
"Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"No! I, ugh... I don't know."
Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”
John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.
“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”
What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!
“Arthur, you're not listening—”
“Every damn word, of course I do...”
“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.
“John, I—”
“I don't deserve it.”
A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.
“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”
John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.
"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.
After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.
“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."
He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.
John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.
"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."
John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.
Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.
“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”
“You too.”
John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.
“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.
They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.
“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.
“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.
Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.
#rdr secret cupid 2021#Morston#Morston2021#Arthur Morgan#John Marston#rdr2 fanfic#rdr fanfic#rdr2 photography#rdr2 community#rdr2#red dead redemption two#red dead fandom#red dead photo mode#rdr2 Morston
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just like a movie | pope heyward x oc
summary: aster wants her life to be just like a movie. pope is happy to oblige
warnings: cursing, alcohol, so much fluff it’s like cotton candy
word count: 2.4k
a/n: here is my entry for pope appreciation week day 1! some fluffy fluff that had me smiling the whole time i wrote it. got the title from a wallows song, which you should go check out. enjoy the song and enjoy the fic :)
Pope didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but Aster spoke loudly when she was drunk and she and Kiara were only a few yards away from where he, JJ, and John B sat. Plus, in the years he had know her, Pope’s ears had become attuned to the sound of her voice, hanging on to every word.
“It’s hard not to have high expectations, you know?” Aster sighed, her drunken arm movements erratic as she spoke.
“Right, but you watch way too many movies, babe. Life just doesn’t compare. You need to get your head out of the clouds if you actually want a relationship,” Kiara said sympathetically. Aster slumps over into her friend’s lap, taking another sip of her drink before groaning.
“But whyyyyyy?” She said, holding the last letter like a grumpy child. She sits back up and sighs again, looking up into the sky. “Is it so bad to just want a guy to sweep me off my feet? I want him to send me flowers and sweet notes and pull off grand romantic gestures. I just want a guy who shows me he loves me in beautiful ways.”
“And by ‘a guy’ you mean Pope,” Kie said, earning a loud shush and a hand clamped over her mouth from Aster, who looked back at the boys with wide eyes. Pope stared into the fire before him, not wanting Aster to know he had been listening. She and Kie continued talking, but Pope had tuned out. Was it true? Did Aster like him?
Pope had been harboring a crush on his best friend since middle school. In high school, when his feelings were still going strong, he realized it was much more than a crush. He was completely in love with her. Refusing to believe she felt the same, he buried his feelings deep, deep within him. But her drunken words were like a shovel, digging through his heart until she hit gold. Staring into the flames, he suddenly can see everything he’s ever wanted. With a final look back at Aster, a grin growing on his face, Pope makes a decision. She was everything he wanted, he was going to be the same for her.
Aster stretches as she wakes up from her spot on the pull out couch. A slight pounding in her head reminds her of the night before and she groans. Kie is curled up beside her, soft snores echoing in the air. Aster looks to the other side, the space where Pope had occupied was empty, cold. Aster frowned, missing the comforting feeling of having him nearby. Looking out the window, though, she sees his head peaking over the window sill.
Aster pushes open the porch door, opening her mouth to speak when she notices a small bouquet of her daisies sitting on the ground, an envelope tucked between the petals.
“It’s for you,” Pope says nonchalantly. Aster furrows her brows.
“From who?” She questions, but Pope just shrugs. He knows he will give everything away if he says too much, remaining silent in the better option. Aster picks up the flowers, admiring them with a small smile before opening the small envelope.
"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love… I love… I love you." Pride & Prejudice, 2005
- The Darcy to your Elizabeth
Aster’s eyes scan over the words again and again. The words were pulled from one of her all time favorite movies. Despite the beauty of the words, she focuses more on the sign off. She doesn’t recognize the handwriting and she can’t think of anyone who would send her such a beautiful gift. The smile refuses to fall from her face as she plops down next to Pope.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone drop these off?” She asks, looking to Pope. He shakes his head a little too quickly, his shrug too large, and he hopes she doesn’t notice.
“Nope. No idea. They were just there when I woke up.”
Unfortunately for Pope, Aster knew him like the back of her hand, and his strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Unable to believe that Pope had any feelings other than friendship towards her, she didn’t make the connection between the gift and her best friends nerves.
“Well, whoever it is is very sweet. Want to read?” She asks, holding the card out to him.
“Nah,” He suddenly stands up, moving towards the door, “I have to use the toilet actually. Y’know, wring it out. I’ll be back.”
His heart pounds as he speed walks through the Chateau, partly from nerves but also excitement. She liked it! She really liked it. Confidence soars through Pope as he plans his next move, hiding in the bathroom.
The doorbell rings just as Aster sits down for lunch. She glances towards Kie, who is busy cutting up strawberries for the both of them. Aster sighs and gets up from her spot, slumping towards the door to find out who disturbed her meal. Her annoyance disappears though when she notices a box, a single daisy on top of it with an envelope between the two. She goes for the envelope first this time, hoping that it will warm her heart like the one from earlier that day.
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Moulin Rouge, 2001
- The Christian to your Satine
“Who is it?” Kiara calls as she makes her way to the door. When she noticed the flower and envelope, she gives Aster a curious smirk. “You’re secret admirer?” She giggles, poking Aster.
“Shut up, it’s not a secret admirer,” Aster says, pushing the girl away as she blushes.
“Hm, a person is sending you love letters but won’t tell you who they are, I wonder what that’s called?”
After flipping Kiara off, Aster picks up the box and brings it back to the kitchen. She gasps in awe when she opens it, revealing her favorite lunch, pineapple fried rice from the Thai place on Figure 8. Very few people knew about her love for Thai Lotus, since she rarely got to eat there. A hope passes through her mind in the form of a boy who’s smile is like the sun.
“Kie, did you tell the boys we’re hanging at your house today?” She questions, looking back at the note and examining every stroke and curve of the writing.
“I don’t know, probably.”
Aster sighs in frustration at the vague answer before picking up her phone, finding Pope’s contact easily. He picks up immediately.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothing just having lunch with Kie. Where are you right now?”
“Um…I’m out on some deliveries with JJ. Why?”
Aster feels her hope fall at the words and shakes her head before realizing he couldn’t actually see her.
“No reason, just checking in. Wanna hang out later?”
“With you? Nah,” The smile in his voice gives him away, and Aster can feel a similar smile growing, despite her hopes that Pope was her secret admirer being crushed in his unknowing hand.
“My house? Movies, popcorn, ice cream?” He adds on.
“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” Pope laughs.
“Cool. See you later, alligator.”
“In a while, crocodile.” Aster giggles, hanging up and sitting down to dig into her meal. Her fingers twirl the flower in one hand while the other scoops rice into her mouth. Kie says something to her, but Aster doesn’t hear. Eyes focused on the soft white petals of the daisy as her mind to the boy she had just spoken to, and how she wished the daisy had been a product of his love.
At the sound of the door opening and Aster’s voice drifting down the hall, a grin made it’s way to Pope’s face. Leaving the popcorn spinning in the microwave, he grabs the small present on the counter and moves down the hallway. He puts on his best confused face before he reaches Aster, holding the gift out to her.
“Hey, this was left for you at the Chateau. JJ told me to give it to you.”
Aster rips the package from his arms, admiring the small daisy hair clip before ripping into the envelope.
“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” The Princess Bride, 1987
- The Westley to your Buttercup
Aster sighs and presses the card against her forehead with a sad smile.
“Did JJ say who gave it to him?” She mumbled.
“No. It was just there.” Pope’s words are short again. His plan is close to completion. He can’t ruin it now. Aster carefully slides the envelope into you back pocket before working the wrapping paper open. She bit back her smile as she held a special edition copy of The Princess Bride and the book with behind the scenes stories. Her eyes scan over the objects in excitement, while Pope’s flitter across her face. He took in every detail of excitement and happiness that shone on her beautiful features.
“Wow, this guy must really like you,” Pope comments, compelling Aster’s eyes to meet his own. For a moment, he tries to plead with her wordlessly. Don’t you know it’s me? Please know it’s me. When Aster’s focus breaks away from him, he knows the message didn’t get through.
She shuffles the dvd case in her hands, tapping an erratic rhythm before holding it up and shaking it towards Pope.
“When’s the last time you saw The Princess Bride?”
“Well, I’m friends with you, so probably yesterday.” He grins at her as she rolls her eyes. She slaps his chest, pushing past him to move into the Heyward residence living room. His gaze follows her until she disappears from sight. Pope rubs his chin, but the movement does nothing to wipe the goofy smile that Aster gave him.
They’re far into the movie, Fezzik and Inigo had just brought Westley to the Miracle Man. Aster yawns and stretches out, her head landing on Pope’s shoulder, snuggling into the arm wrapped around her. Frowning, she looks down into her empty cup.
“Popey, could you get me more water?”
Pope let’s out an over exaggerated groan, flopping forward and onto his feet and pressing pause on the movie. Aster giggles at his antics, passing the glass to his outstretched hand. He starts to move away, but she stops him with her words.
“Can you get me some more popcorn, please?”
“As you wish,” He says before quickly disappearing. Aster giggles at his quote, but they slowly fade as the words bounce in her mind. She pulls the envelope from her pocket, tracing over the handwritten words with her finger as she stares towards the spot Pope had disappeared from.
The popping of the kernels is starting to slow as Aster saunters in. Pope jumps when she presses her cheek into his back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“What’s up, lovey?”
“What do you think of my secret admirer?” Pope freezes up for a moment, recovering quickly as he rests his hands on Aster’s.
“He seems like a wonderful guy who’s gotten you some wonderful gifts.” She suddenly pulls away as if Pope were burning hot. Pope turns towards her, confusion clouding his eyes.
“How do you know that, Pope? How do you know it’s a guy?” She points an accusatory finger up at him. “And these gifts aren’t just wonderful, they’re perfect! The daisies and the Thai Lotus and The Princess Bride and the move quotes. Who else on this god forsaken island would know about all of that except for…” She trails off, energy suddenly leaving her body as she stares into his lovely orbs. Pope clears his throat and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, staring down at it as his shaking hands unfold the used paper.
“I was going to wait till later but, uh, here it goes, I guess,” He clears his throat, “‘I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’ When Harry Met Sally, 1989. Love-”
“The Harry to my Sally,” Aster’s eyes are watering as she smiles up at Pope, then she giggles, a happy and terrified and excited giggle that forces a smile onto Pope’s face.
“Thank you for citing your sources,” She jokes. Pope shrugs.
“I am a man of academics.”
She laughs again, brushing the stray tears from her cheeks.
“So it was you? All day you’re just been…what? What is this Pope?”
He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists before wiping his sweaty palms on the side of his pants. He steps towards Aster, taking her head in his hands and moving forward until they’re inches apart.
“I am in love with you, Aster Goe. I heard you last night, talking to Kie. Please tell me it’s me, I’m the one you want to sweep you off your feet.”
She giggles, the giddy laughter impossible to control as she cups her hands over his larger ones.
“Of course it’s you, Pope! You’re the best fucking thing in my life! You’re the Darcy to my Elizabeth, the Westley to my Buttercup the…the Pope to my Aster. I am in love with you, Pope Heyward.”
Barely a second passes after her words before their grinning faces crash together. Pope pulls her close, hands trailing down from her cheeks to wrap around her back. Her hands grasp the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to her.
Both Pogues curse the human need to breathe as they pull away, chests heaving and eyes beaming. Pope pecks her lips again, quickly, before speaking.
“So, is this just like a movie?” He asks, thumbs rubbing circles on her hips beneath her shirt.
“No, this is way fucking better.”
The come together once more, lips moving like a symphony, perfectly conducted. This moment had been years in the making, and neither wanted it to end. They wanted to let the credits roll, fade to black leaving them stuck in this moment forever. The end. Fin.
But as they pull apart, basking in the love radiating through the air, they know there is so much more beyond the credits. A whole life to live, and a whole lot of love to give.
taglist/moots: @jjmaybby @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @rekrappeter @diverdcwn @rafecameron @prejudic3 @starlightstarkey @https-luna @sunnypogue @obxmxybxnk @jjmayybank @euphoricheyward @socialwriter @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @peachydrews @outerbanksbro @poguestyleskye @softstarkey @bricksatanakinswindow @mdlyncline @poguemackin @downbytheouterbanks @rae131415 @ptersparkers @prkerspogue @moldisgoodforyou @outrbanks @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @tempestuousjj @stargazingstarkey @anxietyandtacos @uwubonebabie @joshy-obx @sortagaysortahigh @overly-b @highondrew @madelynsclines @cherryobx @royalmerchant @wtfkie @ilovejjmaybank @broken-jj @vindictive-hearts @fttayla @rafej-cambanks
#popeappreciation#pope heyward x oc#pope heyward fic#pope heyward x reader#pope heyward fluff#obx fic#my writing
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Eagles Mate for Life (Talbott x Reader)
Harry Potter (HPHM) - Talbott Winger x fem!Reader
Summary: When Talbott, despite months of dating, calls you his “friend” to Professor Sprout, you find yourself doubting your relationship. But Talbott is determined to reassure you.
Wordcount: 2.4k
Warnings: fluff, a little OOC depending how you HC Talbott as a boyfriend, hints of sexual energy, spoilers for year 6, part 2
Masterlist
A/N: I was so upset with this “friend” exchange, and especially reader being excited about it WHEN WE JUST WENT ON A DATE! I needed to fix the continuity error! <3
“Gifts for centaurs. Gifts for centaurs.”
Your thoughts are deep and focused as you push through the doors to the greenhouse. A gift, a prophecy, a key, a curse, and most importantly, a petrified student bound to the hospital wing until you can do something to help.
“Professor Sprout?” you call over the foliage, full and lush from the late class’s attentions. The burlap top of her witch’s hat is just visible beyond the planters of wormwood.
The din of your own mind is overwhelming as you round the corner to the work tables, but a hush takes over your senses at the sight of the blue-lined robes and slicked-back hair owned by the man standing right beside your professor.
“Ah, Miss L/N,” Professor Sprout says at your appearance, “What a pleasant surprise.” Her smile falters a little when she sees the way you are staring at her companion, your pupils dilated and your mouth slightly open, an expression she interprets simply as confusion.
But you aren’t confused. Talbott can often be found in the least likely places, ones that provide solitude and self-reflection, so seeing him in the greenhouse wasn’t surprising. But you still so rarely are prepared for the way the slightest curl of his lips at your presence makes your heart flutter, how devastatingly handsome his jawline is when he pulled his hair away from his face, and just how much your body aches to be closer to him when he is within reach. He controls you in some weird way, a spell he casts with his presence, not with his wand. You do your best to breath.
“I see you know Mr. Winger?” Sprout asks as a way to break the tension.
Talbott clears his throat, “Actually, Y/N is a friend of mine.”
Your heart, which has been in your throat, suddenly falls deep into your stomach. Sure, you had spent months trying to get Talbott to acknowledge you as his friend and so for him to say it so casually and publicly was a big deal, but you are dating now and had been all summer. And maybe you aren’t the most public about it, just a stolen hold of the hand under the table during Transfigurations or a stroll around the courtyard after dinner, but between all those letters this summer, the ones where you learned all the details about his mother and his hopes for the future, and his late night flights halfway across England just to stop by your window and remind you how beautiful you are and leave the gentlest kiss upon your cheek, you thought for sure you would receive a title greater than merely friend.
Your disappointment doesn’t last long, however, because the instant Professor Sprout takes her eyes off Talbott to turn back to you, he raises an eyebrow and gives you a quick wink. The act, flirtatious and sneaky, is so unlike the Talbott you remember from just a year ago. Your surprise makes him laugh, something that does not go unnoticed by Professor Sprout.
“It seems you two are close,” She muses as she moves towards the next set of pots requiring her attention.
And with her back turned, Talbott’s fingers reach out to find your own, still nervously clutching at your robes, the tension from your mission still apparent in your body despite the distraction.
“Quite,” he whispers more for your ears than hers, his fingers running gently over the sides of your knuckles, loosening your grip. You only have a moment to curl your hand around his palm before Sprout returns her attention to you. Talbott pulls away in an effort for his affection to go unnoticed.
The tiny gesture, the freeing of your hands from their tight confines against your uniform, is enough to lift your confidence and spur you into action. You explain the situation to Sprout, who is happy to support you so long as you helped her for a little around the greenhouse. An hour later you find yourself deep among the Wiggentrees spreading fertilizer beside your handsome ‘friend.’
But that word, that one word, still gnaws at you.
“Talbott?”
His head whips up quickly and his neck cranes, the tiniest of reminders of the bird within his spirit.
“Yes?” he asks, his hand still deep in the bucket of mulch beside him.
“What am I to you?” You try your hardest not to bite too hard at the inside of your cheek as you watch the wheels seem to turn in his head. His eyebrows scrunch together so much that they form a single “v” but when he notices your nervous behavior, his entire face softens.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” you say dismissively, even though you know it isn’t true, “I’m just curious as to what you consider us.”
“You’re my girlfriend,” he begins slowly, watching your face for confirmation, “Are you not my girlfriend?” And after another long pause, “Is this some strange way of breaking up with me?”
“No, I’m your girlfriend,” you confirm with a swallow. Your voice grows quiet as you get out the last words, “I guess you were just too embarrassed to tell Professor Sprout and that’s why you told her I’m just your friend.”
The bucket of mulch makes a loud plopping sound on the floor beside you as Talbott turns his whole body towards you.
“Embarrassed?” he says, his voice mostly air, “Of you?”
“I don’t know,” is all you manage as you turn your face down to the ground.
With deft speed, Talbott turns over the bucket, takes a seat, and plants his face just below yours, his hand coming out to cradle your chin.
“You are witty and charming and brave and bewitching, my perfect partner. And you never gave up on me, not matter how many obstacles I put in your way. Do you have any idea how much of my heart is yours? Nearly all of it at this point and it just keeps growing by the day. I dare say it might never stop.”
His words are so sweet as they carry across your lips towards your ear. His fingers are a little dirty as they brush against your jaw but that is nothing compared to the way his amber eyes seem to pierce into your soul.
“There will never be a day when I am ashamed to call you mine. I’m grateful.”
You feel a tiny tear trickle down your cheek as you nod at his affirmations.
Talbott’s free hand grabs at your palm, tugging you down to sit upon his knee. Immediately, his pulls your head against the crock of his neck.
His scent is intoxicating and his touch electrifying. You hadn’t been able to be this close to him, properly in his arms, since that night just before you left for the Hogwarts Express, when you snuck out onto your roof to meet him. You slept cradled in his arms as he identified all the constellations for you. That night he mumbled into your hair how he wished he could wake up beside you every morning when he thought you had already fallen asleep. His final words, “Goodnight, my aguilula,” carried you through many lonely nights in your dorm room these past few weeks.
You build the courage to whisper against his neck, “Then why did you call me your friend?”
Talbott just holds you tighter.
“You are still my friend, are you not?” he asks, though he expects no answer.
After a moment, you feel him swallow before he continues, “Anyone can be dating. We’ve seen how many people at this school date for a while and then the instant they break up, it is like the other person never even existed. At our age, a lot of people will date anyone they are mildly interested in snogging in an empty corridor.”
You laugh, mostly at the ridiculous image of Talbott being one of those boys who’d pull you into an abandoned classroom for a handsy make-out. Not that you’d mind, but that certainly isn’t the boy you are dating.
“See?” Talbott says at your laughter, “Even you know it’s completely ridiculous! You are my friend, Y/N. I care about you, deeply. I support you and confide in you and rely on you. And you do the same for me. That means a lot more in my mind than the fact that you let me kiss you sometimes.”
“Talbott, I doubt anyone would ever think you the kind of boy who’d date someone without much care,” you reassure him as you pull yourself up from his shoulder to wipe your eyes better.
Talbott slicks his hair as he straightens his back, unsupported by the bucket you’ve both claimed as a seat.
“Yes, but I’d prefer not to be lumped with that at all. What we have is special.”
And with that, he helps you to stand and gently kisses your forehead.
“Aquilula,” he whispers more to himself than to you, a common occurrence with Talbott, but this time you actually catch the words.
“Why do you call me that?” you ask abruptly before he can claim he didn’t say it.
Talbott pulls away quickly. “Call you what?”
When you lift an eyebrow, Talbott relents, grabbing a pair of sheers to begin his work on the plants behind you. You know it is just an excuse to not have to make eye contact and that fact only makes you more curious.
Talbott mumbles, “For a wizarding school, you think they’d teach a little Latin around here.” The skin on his neck grows sanguine as he finds his voice.
“It means little female eagle. I know you have your own animagus but—“ he turns over his shoulder to meet your eyes for just a moment before pulling his attention back to his work. His final words are so quiet you can’t help but think he’s trying to make sure you don’t hear him.
“Us eagles mate for life.”
Immediately you run into his back, hugging him so tight by the waist that the tools in his hands come clanking to the ground. Talbott’s laugh rings in your eyes and shakes your cheek as it rests upon his back. His hands grab at your wrists against his stomach, securing you to him. As his fingers stroke your pulse, you realize just the kind of relief that must be washing over him as he bears his heart to you in truth.
Sprout peers around the corner, carrying another tray of seedlings for repotting, and gently clears her throat. You pull yourself away, already preparing for Talbott to want to keep what you are hidden but instead his grip on your left wrists locks a little tighter. He turns to Sprout while interlocking your fingers.
“Professor, my girlfriend has finished harvesting the herbs. Do you think you can guide her through what might make a nice gift?”
Talbott turns his eyes to you, seeking approval for his words, but you are all smiles, at his touch, at his care, and at his words.
“Of course, Mr. Winger, Miss L/N,” Professor Sprout says, her voice a little too cheerful.
As you examine potential gifts for the centaurs, Talbott never leaves you, hovering just a few inches behind your back and peering over your head. The heat of his body so close is still exhilarating and you find yourself leaning backwards just to feel the rough of his robes upon you. You are supposed to be focused on the dittany but Talbott’s soft breathing upon your neck is doing things to your mind and your body. He may be focused on having your heart, but he has many other parts of you if he wishes them.
“Thank you, Professor,” you say to Sprout after pocketing her gift. And as you leave, Talbott follows.
“Mr. Winger, we aren’t finished with the collections from the Mimbulus Mimbletonia.”
“May I walk Y/N out?” Talbott asks, his voice all sweetness as he stares at your retreating form. And the next thing you know, your bag is removed from your shoulder and his fingers are slipping between yours.
As you stand at the door to the greenhouse, you realize how much lighter your feel then when you entered. The centaurs will love their gift, the curse will be lifted, and Talbott, your sweet, brilliant Talbott, will be beside you the entire way.
“Be careful with the centaurs,” he says as he leans against the door.
You can’t help but smile, “Of course you figured it out.”
“I was in divinations with you, silly bird.”
“Your bird,” you assure him, feeling the warmth spread across your chest at the thought.
“My aquilula,” he corrects, pressing the lightest kiss to your forward. You glow internally at the thought that this will be the new tradition.
But as his lips linger against his skin, you feel the warmth drop lower and once again your mind is racing on thoughts of those empty corridors the seeds of which your boyfriend had so rudely planted earlier, thoughts of what those same soft lips might be able to do against other parts of your skin, how the love you feel for this boy in your heart might manifest so beautifully in your body.
You tilt your head up and take his lips against your own, tasting the delightful mint of his mouth. It takes Talbott a moment to register but when you grab at the edges of his robe and pull him flush against you, he doesn’t hesitate to sink deeply into you, to run his fingers through the base of your hair and hold you tender and close.
When you nip at his lower lip, Talbott quickly pulls away. As he rests his forehead against your own, he whispers to you, “So about what I said earlier—“
You interrupt him before he can even finish, “The old Ancient Runes classroom on the fourth floor?”
“After dinner tonight?”
Another quick peck and your friend -- your best friend, your boyfriend -- sends you on your way.
All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug
Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech
#hphm#hphm imagine#harry potter imagine#talbott winger#talbott winger x reader#talbott#talbott x reader#harry potter#hp#hp imagine#hp hogwarts mystery#hp hogwarts mystery imagine#reader insert
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CONUNDRUM
pairing: Ivar/Aud
genre: Angst/Romance/Family
warnings: Possible major character death, depression, drugs abuse, toxic behavior, parenthood, single motherhood, self-loading, anger issues, disabilities, physical and emotional pain.
Words: Prologue- 2660
https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365384/chapters/30605166
***
He's a spiteful and vengeful man, an outcast, alone in the labyrinth of his anger and remorse. She's a single mother of a special needs child trying to navigate the brutality of her daily reality, a daydreamer lost in a crowded room, unable to express her true desires not even to herself. He's a savage spirit, She's a kind soul. He's has nothing to lose, and she has nothing to gain.
A conundrum indeed.
***
Prologue:
S I L L A G E
***
On the day Ragnar returned to me I told him of my vision.
That I was afraid to lay with him, for I had had a dream, and I had seen if we made love on the next three nights I would bear him a monster. I do not know what made me said the things I said to him that day, I spoke them, but it seems now as if our fate was already sealed.
Of course, Ragnar -being Ragnar- chuckled softly, smirked deviously, and teased me to no end about my old hag superstitions, dismissing each and every one of my words. You see? That’s the thing about my husband, he never listens to my advise, and he doesn’t believe in my “gift”.
But right then, neither did I. At least, I didn’t want to. In his embrace, all the fears in my mind and all the sorrows in my heart were banished to oblivion, and as his arms surrounded mine, I found peace again.
My happiness wasn’t meant to last for long anyway.
I sensed this pregnancy was different from the moment it began, but Ragnar reassured me -I was overreacting, the child was fine -he told me- and I just felt anguished and strange because he was sure we where expecting a girl this time around, and surely a daughter took more energy from her mother in order to become strong. He has been hoping for a baby girl for a long time now, for even if he never talked about her anymore, I knew he missed his first daughter terribly, and he seemed so happy and joyful with the prospect of it, I did not dare to contradict him.
You can imagine his disappointment when the doctor told us waving at the black and white screen it was, without a hint of doubt, a boy. “A big, strong, healthy boy, just like his brothers” he promised looking straightly into my face.
But then again, what do the doctors know?
First came the pain… so much pain, and then the unnatural stillness… My baby was so calm back then… but nonetheless I dreaded every doctor appointment, and every time, when they told me all was just fine I plagued them with questions and concerns, I insisted Ragnar endlessly into doing all the tests possibly known. So, when finally the diagnosis was made I’m not sure why it was so much of a shock to me.
Osteogenesis Imperfecta.
Brittle bones disease.
We were absolutely devastated. The new scans showed several fractures in his legs, both of his femurs were crashed, and that was just a small glimpse of all the suffering to come… As we could not determinate the extent of his injuries, and the level of his condition, the specialist sat us down and told us to prepare ourselves for a fatal end before birth, or, being strongly optimistic, on the firsts months of his short and difficult life. From the moment of his arrival to this world our baby would endure incredible pain, and quite possibly, would never be able to walk at all. And if, by some miracle, he survived into adulthood, Terms like “probable dwarfism”, “acquired deafness” and “abnormal development” would be part of our vocabulary on a daily basis.
At this point, he advised us to seriously consider terminating the pregnancy.
It was out of the question for me. I wish I could say the same for Ragnar.
We argued day and night, we cried, we fought, we said hurtful and cruel things to each other, he told me our son would die anyway, “what is the point in pretending otherwise?” and if he survived, he told me, it would be much worse, for he would be weak and deformed, a cripple, and everyone would stare and be cruel to him. “What kind of a life could he live?” he asked me with tears on those beloved blue eyes.
I understood then, my husband was already grieving. And I hated him for it, I hated him with a passion I never knew I had within me. Because even if what he said was true, I didn’t care. That baby was already my son and I loved him just the same.
I wanted him.
I know, what a selfish bitch I am, am I not? Believe me, I’ve been told worse.
Even to Siggy, my dearest and oldest friend among those who I call family now, I couldn’t bear to listen. She told me it would be a mercy to him, but by then I would have rather died than take her advise. I felt my little boy growing inside me. He was alive, and I knew he would be a fighter, a warrior.
I have never been as fierce as my father nor yet as brave as my mother, but I stood firm on my determination, and at the end, I won. At least I felt that way at the moment.
I knew my husband resented me for taking away his choice on the matter, but I was sure, with time, his heart would warm and he could find the love to understand me and even be grateful for my stubbornness.
He did not.
Our son arrived almost one month early in this brutal and vicious world, premature and small, I knew he would need to spend months developing in the safer environment of an incubator, but I craved for a little touch, so the nurse placed the frail creature on my arms as she instructed us to “handle him with care”. That sentence would hang above our heads as a Damocles sword for the rest of our life.
I neared him to my breast and he opened his eyes, those big and bewitching eyes, and there was so much blue in them even the white surrounding his irises seemed completely cobalt-stained; and yet, they were so similar to Ragnar’s I could swear it was my husband giving me a playful grin just before starting sucking with a demanding need. I took a great comfort in that resemblance, and I wanted to show it to Ragnar, a little -yet precious- renewed joy in my heart.
I handed him the baby, and in doing so the blankets covering his little body felt down revealing a couple of thin and twisted legs. Ragnar’s eyes flew open in surprise, a repressed grimace of pity and disgust showing through his handsome face, he tried to disguise it quickly kissing our baby’s head, caressing and folding him again. But as soon as his hands placed a little too much pressure on him a horrendous and heavy “CRACK” resounded through the room.
The sound of your baby bones smashing to dust hooks to your brain as a spreading stain of oil. From that moment onwards, our lives became a living hell, I could only listen our little boy screaming in pain and fury as they took him immediately to the first of many surgeries to come. I was powerless, nothing I could do would spear him now. And it was my fault entirely.
“After all, your prophecy was right ” Those were Ragnar’s only words to me on the day our son was born, and then he left the room with tears in his blaming eyes.
I had never felt more alone.
“His name is Ivar”- I whispered into the void.
From the diaries of Aslaug Völsunga Lothbrok,
September 1985, Stavanger.
***
He runs into the mists without fear, after all, the mists are just the passage to her, and so, he knows he doesn’t need to be afraid. The Ravens will guide him like they always do. Without hesitation or pain. Without sorrow.
Without shame.
He runs fast and agile as sweat rolls down his skin in thick, salty beads. His strong long legs pushing him far away from everything, he doesn't care about his soared muscles, he pushes harder, always harder, the wild wind blowing against his face, his bare feet feeling the warm sand escaping through his fingers, his heart throbbing inside his chest at full speed. He does not mind. Not a little bit. He is free.
Ivar runs as he always does, in his dreams.
And then, as he always does, he wakes up.
A raspy and wet tongue licking his ear is not like he had imagined it will happen though.
The persistent sound of his alarm punching his sore head as a hammer reminds him is time to start his morning routine…. Gods, He’s getting older, he cannot hold his scotch like he used to. As he silences the fucking iPhone he pats the Great Dean head with parsimony.
“Ok ok! ok, old boy, come here” he throws the stuffed pillows and the sheets away to make space for Odin to jump in. He knows the old man does not allow it usually, but who cares? As he’s in the cabin visiting he will do as he pleases.
He searches inside the drawer of the bedside table until he found what he’s looking for. He opens the small travel pillbox as he evaluates for a second his pain levels on this cloudy morning. The ache in his knees worsened with all this humidity.
What a great-fuckingtastic day to be in the middle of this nothingness of mountains and lakes.
He grabs a couple of extra ibuprofens and his normal dose of painkillers and he swallows them in one gulp with the golden liquid that still remains in the glass. He’s sure he’s not supposed to mix, but frankly, he does not give a shit.
While trying to relax waiting for the medication to kick in he grabs the lighter and lazily lits a cigarette. His bare chest expanding as he breaths the familiar and shooting scent. Odin looks at him reprobatory with his big yellow eyes. Ivar chuckles and turns his head slightly to the left, mimicking the dog position.
“Now even you judge me?” The dog just raises his brows as if trying to prove he’s not impressed.
What a great day indeed.
His sight stops abruptly upon seeing where Odin’s tongue is leaving a trace of slobber on the mattress, his last night reading scattered dangerously close to the dog warm body. He quickly takes the thin black covered books away and he caresses them briefly to his heart, that has stopped abruptly for one second as he has faced the very idea of losing those diaries.
His mother diaries.
He has read them a thousand times… and yet… yet, every time, every fucking time he reads those firsts pages, an iron fist punch him hard in the stomach. She started writing a mere week after he was born… how hollow and painful was her life in those days to throw herself with such a passion into the white pages of a notebook?
He’s not prone to self-pity. There’s nothing to win from it anyway, but today he cannot hold a pressuring though from his aching mind.
That he brought her nothing but despair.
And yet, she loved him. She truly did.
And he misses her. He truly does.
He wonders if she’s resting in peace, knowing she is finally avenged.
Most probably not.
She’s either completely gone and therefore not present to have an opinion or worst, she’s sad and disappointed at what remains of her family.
He lets out the last puff of sweet smoke as he ends his cigarette.
Enough. It is enough.
With a couple of smooth moves, he pushes himself into a straight position, and then transfer into the sleek black wheelchair by grabbing on to the side of it and shifting his body over using the strength of his arms. The muscles in his upper body the exact opposite of his lower half.
As he goes on with what is needed to be done in the bathroom the soft in-crescendo beats of Apocalyptica’s cello fills the air with the last pieces of his new album. Music always soothes him, and half an hour later Ivar emerges from the scalding shower and quickly transfers again into the bed after grabbing his clothes for the day. Odin seems to be missing, and he guesses by now the giant dog will have let himself run free through the mount and fields that surround the cabin. He’s not particularly worried, after all, the back door is never locked for that same reason. The animal does as he likes for some hours every morning and sometimes even at night, but he always comes back.
As every one of them, he’s a wild soul trapped within a small mundane cage.
He carelessly – as carelessly as this process allows anyway- dresses into an all-black outfit. He feels like it fits the day mood and besides- being lost in the middle of nowhere is no reason to be tatty.
After giving it a quick thought he decides to risk it with the braces for the day. The old man doesn’t seem to be awake yet and he can use some good breakfast for once. And as Ivar have experienced recently his old shabby kitchen is not too wheels-friendly. So, KAFO and crutches for the day it seems.
***
The sun is already high in the grey sky when Floki finally makes an appearance into the kitchen guided by the delicious smell of crackling bacon and sizzling eggs.
“Happy Bi-“ He has no time to finish as his godson interrupts him quite rudely.
“Don’t mention it” He barks, heavy annoyance sounding like a threat in the suddenly tense atmosphere.
For once the older one seems taken aback by the vivid anger that comes off the bitter young man in front of him. He’s used to Ivar’s outburst – even when with time he has mastered theme and is less prone to lose his temple in front of others- but is on rare occasions when he finds himself the target of that overflowing fury.
He has no time to elaborate an answer as Ivar shrugs and drops his face into the palm of his hands. His crutches resting on the kitchen island as he leans into a high stool for stability.
“Sorry, really bad morning” The voice comes muffled through his fingers as Ivar slides his hands with a nervous gesture that he tries to conceal by adjusting the strands of hair behind his ears. The young man tries to smile dismissively. “Can we pretend is just another stupid cold day in this stupid cold place?”
The older one nods silently, there’s no more explanation needed. He takes a glimpse for a brief second of the three smiling faces frozen forever on the small wooden frame on the shelve. His sweet Helga, his little Borda, and his own young reflexion smiling freely for the camera as they play in the snow.
Some days are harder than others. And that he understood quite well.
The realization struck him like a thunder then, and suddenly he is painfully aware that today is not only a birthday for his godson.
Today marks a dividing line on Ivar's life.
Today he becomes 33 years old, and therefore, from this day onwards, he will have lived more than half of his days without parents in this world.
“Come on, move your lazy ass to the table and let’s enjoy whatever you’ve managed to left unburned by now” He says as he grabs the plates and starts crossing the room to the small circular kitchen table. After a few seconds, he hears a soft sight and the familiar sound of his accurate and slow movement as the metal bars of his braces scratches the wooden floor.
The boy will be alright. Floki will make sure of it.
He will have a family again, and he will be ready when the time comes.
And then the old and lonely Floki will be allowed to rest in peace, he will go back to his family knowing he has fulfilled his promises.
And finally, all will be alright.
#ivar's heathen army#ivar vikings#ivar the boneless#vikings#vikings fanfic#history vikings#alex hogh andersen#aud the deep minded#modern setting#alternate universe#disability#drugs abbuse#toxic behavior#lots of angst
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Mr. Darcy- Tom Holland One Shot
Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader
Prompt: While undercover at a school in New York, Tom falls for the pretty valedictorian and his partner for an English project.
Word Count: 3070
Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist
*Gif is not mine*
~~~
“I can’t believe it- I’m literally going back to high school.” Tom muttered angrily before biting into his toast for breakfast.
“Hey, you wanted to play Spider-man.” Harrison said, taking a sip of his tea.
“I know, but I didn’t think Marvel would legitimately send me to an American high school.”
As Harrison went to respond, his phone lit up, “Well, I got to go. Have fun at school, Stanley Osterfield.” He ruffled Tom’s hair playfully before leaving the room to answer his phone. Tom let out another huff of annoyance as he finished his meal. He fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror and grabbed his backpack, before heading out the door to his first day at an American high school.
~~~
Your AP Physics C instructor droned on about how magnetic fields are created as you drifted off into space. Just as your eyes were beginning to shut, the door squeaked open and a brown-haired boy walked in.
“I’m sorry. I got lost.” He said, handing Mr. Smith a pass. The teacher glanced down at him, then peered back up at the teenager.
“Transfer, eh?” Mr. Smith tossed the paper on the desk, “Take a seat in the back, next to Lucas.”
“Okay.” The boy said and began to walk to the back of the classroom. You, along with your classmates, stared at him as he walked; all of you wondering how-how he managed to get into the Bronx School of Science and Engineering at this point of the year. No one new had arrived since freshman year, so why suddenly in your senior year is someone knew arriving? He must be brilliant, in order to have bypassed all the tests and the waiting lists. You had a strange feeling about him. He looked all too familiar; when he passed by you and his brown eyes caught yours, you could’ve sworn you’d seen them before.
Your instructor continued with his lecture, acting as if he wasn’t questioning the arrival of a new student.
~~~
Four classes later, you saw him again. The new kid, Stan if you had heard the rumor properly, was in your physics class as well as your AP Literature and Composition class. This time, however, he wasn’t late, which seemed to please Ms. Hall.
“The AP Literature and Composition test is based upon your ability to analyze pieces of literature.” Ms. Hall spoke as she passed around a yellow sheet of paper with black printing on it, “For this project, you will be reading a classic novel and film a short movie based upon it. I will assign you a partner to work with on this project, as well as a book for it.” She then rattled off names in partners, calling you out last, “Y/N and Stanley, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.” You immediately looked over at the new boy. He simply pulled his beanie down lower and kept his head hidden in his arms.
Class continued as normal with no further discussion about the film project. After class, you went over to Ms. Hall’s desk to ask her about your partner.
“Y/N, are you here to ask why I partnered you with the new student?” She said before you managed to get a word out. You nodded sheepishly, “I did it because you are the valedictorian and my brightest student. I know you will do well on the project and I know that you will also manage to help him get comfortable in this school.”
“Okay. I think it will be fine. And, Ms. Hall, I am not valedictorian yet.”
“You’ve always been so modest. You will be valedictorian-I’m quite sure of it.” She smiled at you, “Have a good afternoon.”
“You too, Ms. Hall.” You replied, exiting the classroom. You headed straight for your locker to drop off your textbooks, so that you could head home.
“Excuse me, do you know where the library is?” You heard someone question. You turned around and were met with the eyes of Stanley.
“It’s on the other side of that building. You just walk down that hallway, through both sets of doors, and you’ll be there.” You explained.
“Right. Thank you.” When he turned to leave, you stopped him.
“You’re Stanley, right? The new student?” You said.
“Yes, that’s me.” He turned back around to face you.
“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, your partner for the English assignment.” You held your hand out for him to shake.
“Stanley Osterfield, but you can call me Stan.” He replied, shaking your hand with a smile.
“What are you off to the library for?”
“Textbooks-and also Pride and Prejudice.”
“If you give me a minute, I’ll walk with you. I need Pride and Prejudice as well.”
“Oh okay.” Stan said, waiting for you as you finished up at your locker.
“I have a copy of it, but I’m afraid my sister took it back to Florida, so I’ll most likely never get it back.”
“So you’ve read it before?” He asked as you both headed down the hallway towards the library.
“Yes, it’s one of my favorites. I’ve always been a fan of classical literature, especially novels from the U.K.”
“Have you ever been?”
“To the U.K.?” You questioned and he nodded, “Never, but I’m hoping to study at University College London next year.”
“UCL? Isn’t it hard to get into?”
“I suppose, but I’m hopeful.”
“Well, you’ll love it there. I’ve been to the U.K. quite a few times and it’s great.”
“Do you have family there?” You asked and Tom laughed with a nod.
“Yes, yes I do.” He responded as he held the library door open for you.
~~~
“So, Stan, how was your first day of school?” Harrison asked when the front door of his shared apartment with Tom opened that afternoon. He had been sitting on the couch, watching TV while eating chips.
“Boring and long.” He stated, dropping his backpack and books off on the dining room table.
“Make any friends?”
“No; besides, I’m only here for a month.” He stole the bag of chips from Harrison on his way to his room.
“What are all the numbers on your hand then?” Harrison called after Tom.
“Homework.” He responded as he shut the door between them. Tom looked down at his hand where the numbers were written. He hadn’t meant to make friends, but he somehow had become acquainted with you on his first day. He didn’t refuse when you offered to give him your number, so that you could communicate for the project. He continued to tell himself that it was for a project and not for any sort of relationship.
~~~
A few weeks later:
“Stan, I’m serious. The project is due next week and we still have to film and edit it. When will you be open?” You questioned as the two of you walked down the school hallway. Tom kept joking around and you could see that he was far from taking this project seriously.
“I can do whenever. I haven’t got any plans this weekend.”
“Ok, so we’ll film at my place tomorrow. And then you are going to study for that physics test.”
“But physics is boring.” He whined as you opened your locker.
“Oh well. You need to pass this test.”
“But it’s so hard. I don’t understand anything.”
“I really have no clue how you got into this school. You don’t know a thing about science at all.”
“I know Newton’s three laws.”
“Stan, everyone knows that.” You laughed, rolling your eyes at him.
“I’m an idiot, but that’s why I have you-the smartest girl in school- to help me.” He smiled as the bell rang.
“I’ll see you in second period.”
“See you then.” He replied as he took off to make it to class. You sighed as you closed your locker. At least it was a Friday.
~~~
“Are we doing British accents or not?”
“I can work with British.” Tom said, switching into his normal accent, as you two carried on up a small hill, where you’d begin filming.
“You definitely have spent a lot of time in England for your accent to be that good. I don’t know many Americans who can talk like that.” You laughed.
“I’ve had practice. Your turn.”
“Yeah, I think we’re going to stay with normal American accents because my British accent is terrible.” You stated, setting up the camera on a tripod.
“Alright, we’ll do American accents. Might make it less legit.” Tom said, making you shrug.
“I just want to get this over with. Ready, Mr. Darcy?” You asked.
“Always, Miss Bennet.”
“Let’s start it then.” You pressed play on the camera and got into position in front of Tom.
“I couldn’t sleep.” You said.
“Nor I. My aunt-”
“Yes, she was here.”
“How could I ever make amends for such behavior?”
“After what you have done for Lydia and I suspect Jane also, it is I who should be making amends.” Tom stepped closer to you, prepared for Darcy’s speech.
“You must know, surely you must know, it was all for you. You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I’d scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.” He stepped closer to you once more, “If, however, your feelings have changed, I would have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love… I love… I love you. And I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” He delivered the lines with such ease and fluidity that you stood frozen, staring into his big brown eyes, completing forgetting about the rest of the world.
“Y/N.” He mumbled, causing you to snap out of your trance.
“Right! My line!”
“Were you distracted?” Tom teased as you went to stop the camera.
“No, what makes you say that?”
“You just kind of zoned out staring at me. Does that mean I’m a good Darcy?” He asked and you playfully rolled your eyes.
“Let’s run it again.”
“Can you handle that?”
“I’m fine. I just forgot my line. That’s all.”
You ran through the scene a few more times and each time you were amazed by Tom. As you were packing up you camera, your stomach growled at you.
“Are you hungry? We can go get something to eat.” Tom asked, putting on his sunglasses, despite it being overcast.
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“I know this amazing taco place not too far from here.”
“Sounds good to me.” You shrugged, zipping up your camera bag. Tom took your hand, leading you through the park to the taco place, which turned out to be a taco truck.
“When you said amazing, I was thinking fancy restaurant.” You laughed, taking a bite of your taco.
“Is this not fancy?” Tom asked, accidentally slipping into his British accent.
“I still can’t believe you can speak with a good British accent.” You stated.
“I’ll have to take you there someday.”
“Take me where?”
“England.”
“I can’t afford a spontaneous trip to England, Stan.”
“True, because you’ll be going there next year.”
“I haven’t gotten my acceptance letter yet. I’m starting to get worried.”
“If you don’t get in to UCL, that’s okay. You’ve got a handful of other brilliant colleges waiting for you.”
“I know, but UCL has always been my dream.”
“You’ll be fine. I believe in you.” He encouraged as your phone went off.
“Sorry, Stan, I have to go. My mom wants me home.” You stated, standing up to leave
“I’ll walk you home.” He replied, following your actions. Tom walked beside you the entire walk home as you two continued your chat.
“Well, this is me.” You said, “Thank you fro tonight, Stan. I had fun.”
“Me too.” He replied. You both awkwardly stood there for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move. You turned towards the door.
“I should go.”
“Wait.” He called out and you turned back around to him. “I really like you, Y/N.”
“I like you too, Stan.”
“No,” he said, getting closer to you, “I really like you.” He repeated, leaning in to kiss you.
~~~
“How was filming?” Your sister asked you when you walked in the door.
“It was great.” You smiled, “We got everything done.”
“Seems like something more happened.” She said.
“Nothing happened. What are you watching?” You asked, looking at the TV.
“Captain America: Civil War.”
“Is Thor in it?” You asked. You’re not one to be big on superheroes, but you did have a soft spot for the God of thunder.
“No, but Spider-man and Black Panther are in it.”
“I didn’t think Spider-man was an Avenger.”
“It’s a long story. He’s about to pop up, wanna watch?”
“For a few, but I’ve got chores.” You said, sitting beside her on the couch as she played it. “Queens” was shown in big, bold letters as a song began to play.
“How was school today?” A woman off-screen asked as the camera focused on the back of a teenage boy.
“Okay. This crazy car parked outside-” he cut himself short as he saw whatever was behind the camera. You didn’t care about the plot-you cared about the character.
“Stan?”
“What?” Your sister asked.
“That’s Stan.” You said in disbelief.
“Stan? Stan who?”
“Stanley Osterfield. He’s new to my school and we’re partners for an English project.”
“That’s Tom Holland- not Stanley Osterfield.”
“They look the same and speak the same.” You pulled out your phone and searched up the unknown actor. “I don’t believe this.”
“What?”
“They are literally the same person. He’s faking it. He’s British and he’s 20.”
“Hey, Y/N, look what came today?” Your mom said, showing you an envelope with the letters UCL in bold.
“It came!” You shrieked, discarding your phone to grab the letter. You opened it with shaking hands and began to read it.
“I got in! I got in! UCL accepted me!” You exclaimed eagerly.
~~~
“Hey, Y/N.” Tom said Monday morning when he stopped by your locker, following his routine. You stayed silent, deciding to ignore him.
“I heard you got into UCL. Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks.” You said flatly, slamming your locker shut and beginning to walk away.
“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, chasing after you. When you remained silent, he questioned you more, “Is this about Saturday?”
“What are you doing here?” You replied, halting and turning to him.
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing here? At the Bronx School of Science and Engineering? You’re not looking for a career in science or engineering. You’ve already got a career, don’t you, Tom?”
“Y/N, I have no clue what you’re talking ab-”
“I don’t want to hear it. I know you’re not Stanley Osterfield and I know you’re not even American. You’ve been lying to me-all this time.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
“This far? You’re the one who kissed me the other night.” You were furious at ho he remained calm.
“I know. I’m really sorry, just please understand I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t lying to you when I told you how I felt about you. My name and my accent was all I ever lied about. Please, believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I need time. Please, St-Tom, just leave me alone for a little bit.”
“I will, but please just know two things: first, tomorrow, I am going back to London and my time here will be up; and second, I love you and, as cheesy as it is, I never wish to be parted from you. I’ll leave you alone now. Goodbye, Y/N.” Tom walked away in defeat as you stood there trying to compose yourself.
~~~
The next morning, you received a text message from an unknown number, reading: ‘Y/N, you don’t know me, but I am Harrison Osterfield and, as Tom’s best friend, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve known Tom for many years and he’s not one to easily fall in love, but, somehow, he fell in love with you quickly. His intentions were originally to witness a New York high school first hand; then that all changed with you, on the very first day. I just wanted you to know that Tom loves everything about you. Our flight to London leaves at 9, but below is our flat address here in New York, in case you wanted to say goodbye to him.’
You sat still for a minute, deciding if you wanted to go see him off or not. Looking over at your bedside table, you saw your UCL acceptance letter sitting on top of Pride and Prejudice.
“How are you holding up, Y/N?” Your mom asked, walking into your room.
“I don’t know what to do. For the first time in my life, I’m utterly clueless. I’m upset that he didn’t tell me the truth, but I think I love him, mom.”
“Elizabeth Bennet gave Mr. Darcy another chance. Maybe Tom is your Mr. Darcy.”
“His flight is leaving soon, but I’ve got school.” You told her.
“Quit making excuses and go. Go find your Darcy.” She said and you smiled, racing out of the house.
You arrived at the complex and breathlessly knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened to a surprised Tom.
“Y/N, what’re you doing here?” He asked.
“I came to stop my Darcy from leaving me.” You said, causing a silly smile to form on his face.
“Your Darcy?”
“If you’ll still accept me as your Elizabeth, that is.”
“Your affections and wishes have changed?”
“Very much so.” You said, taking his hands in yours, “You’re hands are cold.” He laughed in reply.
“Are you two going to continue being nerds or are you going to kiss?”
“That’s Harrison.”
“I know.” You laughed, “And he’s right. We should kiss.”
“Yes we should.” Tom said, before giving you a kiss.
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