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sometimesitrytowritethings · 3 years ago

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A great big special thank you to @peachy-mags for the full version of the fantastic companion artwork for this piece! (https://peachy-mags.tumblr.com/post/654049235542622208/)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Summary: After years of service to Angelo Bronte, who would have thought that the arrival of little Jack Marston could change your life forever?

Notes: My submission for @rdrbigbang! Be sure to check out the AMAZING companion art for this fic from @peachy-mags!

-----

Another beautiful morning in Saint Denis. You breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm peace that so rarely enveloped the town. There was a slight nip in the air that you knew would fade away as the morning drew on, the sun rising and casting everything in a pale-yellow light, before the city itself awakened. It was your favorite time of day.

A cup of coffee steamed in your hands as you slowly made your way through the gardens at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. One of the perks of being a live-in servant, you supposed, was unfettered access to the (admittedly slightly ostentatious) statue garden out back - given that Signor Bronte himself wasn’t occupying the space. After a few minutes of slow, calm pacing, you found yourself standing in front of a marble statue of some Roman goddess, Aphrodite?, and taking a sip of your coffee.

It was hot and bitter, the perfect juxtaposition to the cool morning that you would allow yourself to enjoy for a few moments longer. Soon, you would need to make your way inside and ready the table for breakfast, but for now you could enjoy this moment. This peace.

Unfortunately, that peace was almost immediately broken by the sound of terrified cries coming from inside the house. It was not all that uncommon to hear screams and sobs from inside the building, due to the scrupulous nature of your employer, but these sounded different. Almost childlike.

Curious, you made your way back indoors, trying your best to steady your pace so as not to draw unwanted attention. Setting the coffee cup in the kitchen next to the large washbasin, you nodded to the cook, Giovanni, before opening the door to the servant’s stairwell.

The crying was louder here. Anguished and frightened sobs broken only occasionally by cries for “Mama”.

So it was a child?

Quietly, you crept up the creaky stairs to the hallway, where several of Bronte’s more scrupulous henchmen, Gene, Alfonso and Irvin, were gathered around a door. The crying was even louder now, and most certainly coming from the room where the henchmen were standing guard. Above the desperate sobs, you could just make out the sounds of your employer trying to shush the child, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Now, now, my boy,” he soothed, his accent unmistakable. “There’s no need to be upset, I’m sure your family will come after you soon enough.” The boy continued to cry for his mother in between sobs. Signor Bronte’s tactic wasn’t exactly working.

The men standing guard had spotted you, and closed their ranks tighter. You knew how this went - you were never allowed to see Bronte’s victims. In fact, as far as you were supposed to know, Bronte participated in no underhanded dealings whatsoever. Which was, of course, completely wrong, and you had figured that out long ago. But for the most part, you tried your best to ignore the dealings - for the sake of keeping yourself alive.

But this was a child.

You had to do something.

Carefully, you moved closer to the line of henchmen standing in front of the door. They were larger than you, Signor Bronte had a habit of finding and employing practical giants to act as his henchmen, but they were also silent.

“Signor Bronte?” you called, standing nearly face-to-chest with one of the large men. “Is everything alright? Can I be of service?”

The men in front of you reddened, irritated at your immunity to their intimidation tactics. They stayed silent, however, and maintained their position as a wall of flesh between you and the crying child in the room.

After just a few moments, you heard your name being called with a familiar Italian lilt . “Come in, come in. We could use your help,” he hailed for you over the steady sobs from the room.

The three men at the door reluctantly parted to let you enter the brightly lit room. A fire was burning low in the hearth, likely more of a symbol of comfort than to actually provide any heat, and your boss sat on the side of a large, gaudy bed.

The boss of the largest crime syndicate in San Denis was a feared man, but if you met him in the street, you would never know. He was small, with a prominent nose and dark eyes that never overlooked anything. At home, his dark was hair slicked back under a floral headband, and his red housecoat opened in the front to reveal an unbuttoned white collared shirt. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could have passed as any rich, european immigrant.

But you knew better. In the middle of the luxurious home, beneath the extravagance of his clothing, sat a cunning, intelligent man who had clawed his way up from hell itself. He was cutthroat, manipulative, and would not hesitate to sell out his closest comrade for a step up the ladder. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise you to see a small boy curled up on the large, gaudy bed, his clothes muddied and his light brown hair in tangles. He couldn’t have been older than four or five, and was screaming adamantly for his mother.

Instinctually, you rushed to the bed and sat next to him, taking the spot that had been occupied by your boss. “Now, my dear,” he said as he stood, clearing his throat and adjusting his housecoat, “this young man is Jack, and he will be staying with us for a while.” You looked sympathetically at the boy, still sobbing and curled up in front of you, before giving your boss a solemn nod.

You hated this; seeing the boy in such a familiar state. A state that you, yourself, had been in for years upon your arrival in San Denis. Hopefully his parents, unlike yours, could pay off whatever debt they had soon. “If you could stop his screams, I would appreciate it. He’s giving me a headache,” Signor Bronte continued, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose with one hand as he headed toward the door. “Get him some breakfast. I’m sure he hasn’t been fed since those hillbillies in Rhodes took him.”

Without another word, he walked from the room and the three henchmen followed closely behind him. As he entered the hallway, you could hear him speaking to them in Italian, “Let’s hope these bastards come for him soon. I want to have the little shit out of here as soon as possible.”

The door closed behind them, and you were left in the room with the poor, frightened child. You sighed and slowly moved closer to the curled up figure on the bed. Making sure you were as gentle as possible, you reached out to place a hand on his tiny shoulder. “Jack?...” you said his name, low and calm, as if you were trying to tame a spooked horse. He curled even further into himself, but you noticed his sobs had started to die down to exhausted whimpers. “Jack?” you tried again, pulling your hand back to yourself and placing it in your lap. Calmly, you gave him your name before continuing, “I’m very sorry about all of this, Jack. I know it’s very scary…. I-”

What could you tell him? That you had been in the same situation when you were just a few years older? That your parents had never been able to come back for you? That you had spent the majority of your life in service to Angelo Bronte, notorious mafioso, in order to pay a massive debt that had been racked up by your father when you were eight?

No. He didn’t need to know those things. He didn’t need to know the likely reality of his situation.

It was rare that Signor Bronte dealt in child kidnappings, but when he did? The poor kids were lucky if their parents were able to retrieve them.

“I’m sure your ma and pa will show up for you soon,” you soothed, hoping it was the truth.

The poor boy, whose sobs had now turned into quiet sniffles, stayed curled up with his back to you, unmoving. You reached out a hand gently, brushing his dirty hair away from his forehead, only for him to flinch from your touch. You couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, Jack,” you said quietly, standing from the bed. A nearby armchair held a throw blanket that you spread gently over him. “Why don’t you get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and some soup in a bit, I’m sure you’re starving.” The floor creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t look up at you. He just stayed on the bed, a shaking, sniffling bundle. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind you. You didn’t think he would run away, he seemed far too exhausted and overwhelmed for that, but you have seen desperate people do crazier things. The least you could do was make sure he wasn’t accidentally hurt trying to make his way past Gene, Alfonso and Irvin trying to escape.

You made your way quickly back to the servants stairwell and down to the kitchen, where Giovanni was waiting for you with bated breath. A joyous, loving man, an immigrant from Italy alongside Angelo Bronte several decades ago, Giovanni was one of your closest friends - possibly the next thing to family that you had had since coming here. Over the years, he had taught you as much as he could about Italian cuisine, all the while boasting about the restaurant that he would surely open one day.

At first, you had scoffed. Hardly anyone in Angelo Bronte’s service managed to leave and start their own life. And, with as much as Signor Bronte boasted about Giovanni’s food, it wasn’t likely that he would be let out of his repayment contract that easily.

Hardly anyone actively sought out Angelo Bronte as an employer. In fact, you suspected that the only actual well-paid employees were the contract killers he sometimes took out to keep his hands clean - but again, you weren’t supposed to know that. The rest of you were given room and board and a pittance of a salary, in exchange for paying off whatever debt was owed to Signor Bronte. For you, it was your father’s sizable gambling debts. For Giovanni, it was the cost of keeping his nieces and nephews alive after their father, his brother, had suddenly passed. Bail, loans, gambling - every one of his employees had a past, and every single one of them owed their future to Angelo Bronte.

“And, my dear, what is the news?” he asked, turning from the freshly baked bread that he had just taken out of the oven to face you.

You gave him a somber smile and picked up a slice of tomato from the cutting board in the center of the kitchen island. “A boy,” you explained, leaning against the island and taking a bite of the vegetable. You glanced over at the washbasin and saw your coffee cup had been cleaned. Giovanni was a saint. “Maybe four or five? Small, either way. I…” you trailed off, but the both of you knew what was going through your mind. You felt bad for him, you didn’t think he deserved this.

Giovanni nodded, and turned to the stove. “Well, my dear, let’s give the boy a warm welcome, shall we?” he responded before pulling a large pot from the back of the stove and looking inside. “We have some leftover minestrone from yesterday, why don’t you warm some up for him while I finish Signor Bronte’s breakfast? There’s some stale bread in the pantry you can add to it. I’ll call in Anne to set the table,” he handed you a wooden spoon and was out the kitchen door, where you heard him calling for the older woman.

Your smile was significantly less downtrodden after speaking to the man, but you still could feel anxious, worried butterflies in your stomach as you collected a bowl, spoon and glass. After a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, you also slipped a small chocolate bar into your apron pocket, hoping it would help cheer the boy up, even a little. Within just a few minutes, you were headed back up the creaky stairs to the room where Jack was housed, hot soup and cool water in hand, and armed with a secret chocolate bar.

Quietly, you opened the door, balancing the soup and a glass of water with your left arm as you entered. The room was silent now, except for the low breathing of the boy on the bed. If it weren’t for his red-puffy eyes and the chapped rings around his nostrils, he would have seemed peaceful. Like nothing was wrong at all.

You stood for a moment, looking at the poor boy. Should you wake him? He was bound to be starving, but you were sure he was exhausted as well. You hesitated, but decided against it. You could leave the soup and water on the bedside table and check on him throughout the day - he deserved his rest.

Slowly, quietly, you crept across the room to the side of the bed and set the soup and water down, followed by the chocolate bar. You glanced quickly at him, relieved he didn’t wake, before making your way back to the door.

Just as you were about to leave and go about your duties for the morning, you heard a small cough and a hoarse, timid voice from the bed. “Wait…” he said. You turned to see the boy propped up on his arms, looking at you with puffy, shining eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Looking at him made you want to cry. How could anyone hurt someone so small, so fragile, so helpless? How could someone be so cruel as to take him away from his family and thrust him into this god awful world?

He was already so exhausted, so frightened, so sad, you couldn’t leave him to sort his feelings out on his own. You could convince Anna and Giovanni to take your duties for the day. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded at him and moved back toward the bed to sit with him. “I won’t.”

---

Slowly, Jack began to settle in. Although he was still obviously upset, the boy proved to be far more flexible and resilient than you had expected from someone so young. Whether from his natural resilience or from your constant reassurance that his parents must be doing everything in their power to get him back, you weren’t entirely certain. You spent plenty of time with him, making sure he was doing alright, and eventually he chose to sleep on a small cot in the servants quarters, next to your bed.

He was prone to constant chatter during the day, and you soon learned quite a lot about him and his family. He apparently had plenty of aunts and uncles, who all moved together around the country. They had been down near Blackwater for a long time, where Jack had apparently left his favorite storybook, but then something brought them north to a small ghost town “with lots of snow, it was real cold!”. Luckily, they hadn’t been there long before heading south again to “a place by a river with lots and lots of trees” where, notably, his Uncle Arthur had taken him fishing. Most recently, they had moved down to Lemoyne, once again near a river, but this time Jack described it as “really hot and nothing ever dries and it always smells like fish.”

An accurate description if you had ever heard one.

In the meantime, although he wouldn’t talk much to the others, most of them couldn’t help but dote on him. Giovanni had a habit of slipping him sweets throughout the day. Anna and the other maids would occasionally bring him books or toys that they had found around town - he was amassing quite a collection. And from Signor Bronte himself, Jack received a brand new outfit made from the finest cotton. You suspected it was most likely to keep the worn rags out of the man’s sight than to actually please Jack.

But, despite the gifts and the treats from the others, Jack clung to you. On laundry days, he would help sort and fold. When cooking, he would clean the vegetables without a second thought. During cleaning, he happily carried supplies around after you, handing you what you needed whenever asked. Although you had told him multiple times that he was more than welcome to sit and read his new book, he preferred staying by your side.

Almost as if he was afraid that, if left alone, he would be taken again.

And at night, it always came to a head. In the dark and left with no distractions, you could hear his whimpers from the cot next to yours. You could hear his murmurs and quiet cries for “Mama” as he dreamt. And it hurt. You couldn’t bear to see him so miserable.

After the third or fourth night, you reached down and brushed the hair from his head. “Jack?” you whispered, looking at the small boy with all the affection of a loving mother. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t wake. Instead, he sleepily lifted his hand to yours, and held it in his until the sun rose.

The first few weeks went by similarly. Working during the day, with Jack at your side, helping you out as much as a child could, and comforting the poor child during the night with reassuring words. Soon, the reassurance and affirmations turned into stories - tales about dragons and castles, about magic and the sea.

About two weeks into his stay, you spent the day preparing for a large feast alongside Giovanni, Anna and with plenty of help from Jack.

“You didn’t finish your story last night,” he said, pounding away at a ball of bread dough with his tiny fists.

“Oh yes I did,” you teased, looking the boy dead in the eye with a grin. “You were just too sleepy and fell asleep before the end.” As you joked, you set down the knife and pushed aside the tomato you had been chopping to poke him lightly in the side.

His joyous laughter lit up his face. “Hey!” he whined in between bouts of giggles. “That tickles!”

“I know, silly,” you returned not relenting your tickle torture. “That’s the point!” You did acquiesce after just a few moments though, not wanting to actually cause him any pain.

“Alright you two, calm down, now,” came Anna’s voice from across the room. She was a lovely, portly older woman, with graying hair and a smile to light up a room. If Giovanni had been your father figure since coming here, she certainly took the place of your mother. “We’ve got plenty to prepare for tonight. Signor Bronte is having the Mayor over to talk about his party.”

You let your giggles die down, and nudged the red-faced child next to you. “Now look what you’ve done, Jackie,” you teased softly, ruffling his hair before going back to chopping vegetables.

“Nuh uh,” he responded, giving the bread dough a thorough punch before looking up at you again with a childish grin. He had lost a tooth recently, which only made it all the more adorable. “Can you tell me the end of the story?” he asked after another moment, turning back to the mound of dough on the table. “It was so good, I wanna hear the end. Pretty please?”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Alright, alright,” you chided, picking up yet another tomato. It wasn’t a particularly good story, just a thinly veiled version of… well, you didn’t want to dwell on that, but if he wanted to hear it, you would oblige. “Where were we?”

“Hmmm…” he mused, stopping kneading the dough for just a second to recall. “Well, the king and queen had just sent the princess to talk to the mean dragon, and then he caught her in a trap, remember?”

“That’s the beginning of the story, Jack.”

“Well, that’s as far as I remember,” his giggles echoed through the room and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned irritation that he definitely could see right through. “Well, the princess had been caught in a trap by the mean dragon, but he didn’t hurt her. He… he just wouldn’t let her go home. He wouldn’t let her see the king and queen again so she could be happy.

“‘Your king and queen need to send a knight to come get you,’ the dragon told the princess. ‘Little girls cannot roam the forest on their own.’

“And so, the princess waited, and waited and waited and waited. She learned to read, and write, and she even learned to speak Dragon, which were talents unheard of for princesses in those days.

“She had lots of friends who came and went, and even though she couldn’t go back to the king and queen, she... she wasn’t so lonely… and she learned to find happiness in the small things, like the smell of coffee in the morning, or turning the page of a brand new book, or even the glow of the sunrise on spring dew.

“After a while, she finally realised that she didn’t need the king and queen to be happy. She could make her own happiness… And she did…” you trailed off at the end, returning your focus once again to the vegetables. The other two adults in the room remained silent. You couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious. “The end.”

Jack was quiet for a moment as well, hands stilled on the dough as he looked at the ceiling in thought. “That wasn’t a very good ending,” he said quietly, looking up at you.

You had been caught.

“The princess should have run away, or she should have asked one of her friends to take her when they were leaving,” he continued, determined.

You chuckled solemnly. “You’re probably right, Jack,” you murmured. “I think she was just… scared. The world was dark and scary for her, and she weren’t a very brave princess, and she was worried about what would happen to the king and queen if she left.”

“But that’s not true,” he interjected, throwing one final punch at the bread dough before Anna came to collect it from him. “She was real brave! She lived with a dragon! And dragons are real scary!” He was handed another mound of dough which he immediately proceeded to punch with all his might. “And maybe some of her friends come back to save her! Maybe she helped lots of people while they were living with the dragon, and then they come back to help her! That would be an even better ending!”

Another chuckle. He was far too adorable and far too naive for this house. “Maybe, Jack,” you responded, plastering a knowing smile to your lips. “That would be a good ending.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands on your apron and turned to face the small boy. “Alright now, you. Finish up with that bread and then we can get cleaned up for lunch. I think Giovanni is making us spaghetti.”

---

The hot water splashed out of the bucket, spraying suds across the floor. Jack giggled and picked up a handful, blowing it in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The kid sure did know how to make even the most boring of chores into a game. Looking around first to make sure no one caught you messing around, you picked up a handful of bubbles and plopped them onto his head. This brought out a shrieking laugh from the boy. He really was settling in. For better or worse, at least he seemed to be happier.

Finally, you told him gently that you needed to finish the laundry, and then the two of you could go outside for a walk. This, somehow, convinced him to calm down, left playing with the bubbles and giggling to himself until he was interrupted by a voice calling your name from the hall.

Signor Bronte.

“Get these men drinks,” you heard, his spoken Italian echoing across the hall.

Immediately, you put the wash down and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron before hustling to the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, Jack. I’ll just bring the whisky out and be right back,” you instructed, quickly gathering six whisky glasses and a serving tray.

This had been your job for years, you could practically do it blindfolded. As one of the youngest servants in the house, Signor Bronte tended to like to have you wait on his more esteemed guests. It was degrading, but it kept you in his good graces. You had seen enough servants come and go to know that complaining about your role would get you nowhere. Or worse.

Quickly, you pulled a decanter from the cabinet, and left the room with the tray full of glasses in your hands. Already in the hallway, you could hear the conversation between the men in the room. “Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, John Marston,” introduced one of the strangers, his voice confident.

You brushed past Irvin, who was standing guard at the entrance, into extravagant parlour. Upon entering the room, you could immediately see that these were not the typical guests that Signor Bronte would waste his good whisky on, but you hardly had time to look at them individually. They seemed dirty, rough, and completely out of place in the richly-decorated parlour.

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, please,” he said, summoning you forward. You warily step between the chairs to place the tray on the table and pour the glasses, handing them to each man in turn. First, to a tall, thin man with dark hair and a frustrated scowl etched into his face. Next, a muscular man with light brown hair and bright teal eyes, and finally, another dark-haired man, his hair slick with pomade and dressed in clothing that looked like it used to be expensive.

“So, can my friend have his son?” says one of the men - the one who had introduced them all earlier. You nearly froze. Can my friend have his son?

Jack.

It took you just a moment to gather your wits before you turned to your boss, handing him the last glass. He took it with a nod to you and a chuckle, before looking back at the men in front of him. “Of course, of course!” he grinned, taking a sip of the whisky. You immediately got yourself out of the way, standing behind the couch in case you were needed for anything else, as you had been taught. “But… should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that…”

“No,” answered the man, slightly reluctantly. You noted that none of the other men had yet spoken, this must be their leader.

Bronte seemed satisfied with their response, choosing to ignore the reluctance with a jovial laugh. “No, no no. So, how about this? You perform a simple job for me and you get your son back,” he explained, rubbing his hands together like the villain he was.

Finally, one of the other men spoke.“What is it?” the larger of the two groaned, beginning to stand up, as if he knew he would be assigned to this task.

Bronte, of course, made light of the situation, waving his hands through the air as he spoke, “A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery.”

“That is a fine place for it, the best,” joked the leader. You cringed, but Signor Bronte seemed to enjoy it.

Your boss burst out laughing, from the gut this time. “I love this guy, don’t you love him?” he laughed, looking at you. You nodded, plastering a smile to your face until he turned back to the other man. “I love you!” He paused for a moment to pour himself another glass of whisky before continuing his explanation. “See they’ve taken not only to desecrating the dead, but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you two head off, huh?” he said, indicating to the men on the couch before pouring yet another glass of whisky and handing it to the group’s leader. “And you, Mr. Van der Linde? Why don’t you tell me more about my manners?” he finished speaking and held up the glass to the other man, Mr. van der Linde, for a toast as the other two men stood to leave the room. “Salute.”

“Salute,” parroted Mr. van der Linde, clinking his glass with your boss’s. The other two men exited the room, as your boss and Mr. van der Linde continued conversing. Their laughter was real, but something in the room was tense, fake. Two men cut from the same cloth, both trying to one-up the other without making it completely obvious.

You had seen this enough times to know that this would only end badly for at least one of them - if not both.

The hour dragged on, as you stood in the corner, ready to jump into service if need be. Your mind drifted to Jack - now sitting alone in the washroom - and that you would soon be saying goodbye.

It was bittersweet, this feeling that came over you. You wanted him to be happy, to be home with his family, of course, but over the course of the last few weeks, he had wormed his way into your heart. He was the family, the son, that you would never have. And it broke your heart to have to let him go.

But you knew better. You couldn’t keep him here. Not for you. It was better if he were able to go home, to see his mother and his family, to see his dog that he missed so much. That was the life he needed, the life he deserved.

You felt the tears well in your eyes as you stood, waiting for your orders. A little over three hours had passed, and the men were still away. Signor Bronte and Mr. van der Linde were well into their cups, and you were not surprised in the least when your boss stood and unceremoniously sent his guest on his way.

“And the boy?” asked Mr. van der Linde, standing from his position on the couch and reaching out a hand to shake.

Signor Bronte took it, gave it a quick shake and began to stagger out of the room. “Yes, yes,” he slurred, turning to you on his way. “Bring him down, would you?”

“Yes, Signore,” you nodded, looking from your boss to the other man. It was really happening. It was really time to say goodbye.

To say Jack was excited at the news was putting it lightly. He had nearly bounced with joy when you had told him that his Pa was here to pick him up. You had led him down the stairs and out the front door to where Mr. van der Linde was waiting patiently. Jack nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement.

“Uncle Dutch!” he called, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist.

A loud, barking laugh left the man as he patted Jack’s head. “Well hello there, son,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you around camp.”

You smiled, looking at the two of them. This was the right thing to do. But then, Jack did something wholly unexpected. He led Dutch to you, and introduced you.

“She’s been real nice since I got here,” he explained to the older man. “She told me stories and brought me candy, and today she even put bubbles on my head!” his excited giggles echoed across the yard.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dutch said, looking you up and down before reaching out for your hand, which he then pulled to his lips in a theatrical show of chivalry. “And thank you so much for taking such good care of our boy.”

You plastered another smile to your face and gently pulled your hand away, wary of potentially offending the well-armed man. “Of course,” you responded. “I was happy to-” you were cut off by the well-timed sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and a loud, rough voice ringing in your ears.

“Like I said, we’ll see where we’re at once we got Jack,” said one of the men from earlier as their horses came to a halt in front of the gate. They dismounted and were immediately let in by one of the front guards.

Upon their arrival, Dutch seemed to immediately forget your existence, instead striding towards the two men with an exasperated, “Well, you took your time.”

And then there was Jack, nearly bursting with excitement at the sight of the men, he couldn’t wait until they were through the gate before he ran to them with a cry of, “Pa!”

The sight warmed your heart. Jack was quickly picked up and clutched to the chest of the taller, dark-haired man as the other moved past you to hand something to the guards. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said, rubbing the back of Jack’s head and holding him close.

However, Jack, completely oblivious to the nature of the situation, wiggled free of his father’s arms and, instead, grabbed his hand and pulled the man in your direction. “Pa, come here, come here, you have to meet my friend!” he said, voice loud and excited, as he introduced you to his father. “She’s been helping me since I got here. She tells the best stories!”

The man looked down at Jack with a loving smile and then up to you. “That so?” he asked the boy, reaching out to shake your hand. “John Marston.”

You took his and introduced yourself as Jack rambled on, “Yeah! And she taught me how to make bread real good, want to see?”

“Sure, you can show us when we get back to camp,” John acquiesced, still holding tight to the boy’s hand, who then proceeded to drag the two of you over to the one man you did not yet have a name for.

“Uncle Arthur!” he called. The man, having dropped off whatever he had needed to give Signor Bronte, was leaning against a column and smoking. “You have to meet my friend too.”

“Is that right?” he said, smiling at Jack. He pushed himself off the column and snubbed his cigarette on his boot, moving toward the three of you. “Nice to meet you, miss,” for the third time that night, a hand was held out.

You shook it and introduced yourself, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

John, looking both relieved and exhausted, heaved Jack back into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of him, I-”

Immediately, you stopped him. “It weren’t no problem, really. He’s a lovely boy,” you explained, once again trying to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Taking care of Jack had easily been one of the highlights of your life. Having someone need you, someone that loved talking to you, someone who was simply excited to be around you - it was such a drastic change from how you had lived for so long. And, even if you would never experience it again, you wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for the world.

John nodded, you didn’t have to explain any further. “Comeon, Jack, your ma’s been worried sick.” Jack nodded to his father enthusiastically, a grin on his face, before turning and surprising you with a big hug.

You bent over to hug him back, patting him on his head when you heard your name. “You’re coming with us, right?” he asked, his tiny face buried in your dress. You looked around at the others, Arthur had paused in his tracks, John was frozen in place, Dutch was stopped near the gate. No one said anything for a moment.

You don’t know how to break it to him.

So, you pull his face from your skirt and kiss him gently on the forehead, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “I’m real sorry, Jack,” you say, looking him in the eye, “but not this time.” You felt tempted to say something like I promise I’ll write or You can come see me any time but you knew both of these things weren’t true. He would get home to his family, and in a few days you would just be a stranger from his childhood. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood again, ruffling his hair and turning him to face his father. “Now, you go on back to your family, alright? Teach them how to make some good bread, like I showed you.”

His head was shaking as he looked back up at you, tears welling in his big brown eyes. “But…”

This hurt. More than saying goodbye to a child you had only known for a few weeks should. “I know, but…” you started, still not entirely sure how to explain yourself. “I have to stay here. This… this is my home.” You pull him to you once again in a tight hug and place a kiss on the top of his head. “You be good for your parents, alright?”

You can feel him nod under your chin, but he does not respond. It’s easy to tell that this is a new feeling for him - being so happy and so sad all at once. You wished you could tell him that its only temporary, and he will never have these conflicting feelings again. You wished you could have gone with him, broken free of Angelo Bronte and this life. There were so many things you wished you could do at that moment, but you couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t.

With a light sob, Jack wraps his arms around you one final time until he is gently pulled away by his father. “Comeon, son. We should get going.”

They walked to the gate together, John’s hand on his son’s back, leading the way. Jack was hoisted high onto a horse, and you could vaguely hear them talking to him, trying to cheer him up. “We have a new camp set up, Jack, you’re going to love it,” says Dutch before they ride off down the street.

Finally, you allow your tears to fall.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

---

The days pass slowly after Jack’s goodbye. There is little entertainment to pass the time. No dumb jokes, no begging for stories. It was exactly as it was before. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Early in the morning, a few days later, you walked around the house as usual, coffee in hand. You mused over the tasks for the days ahead: the Governor's garden party was in about a week, so it was time to start preparing. Clothes needed to be pressed, shoes to be shined, and, most importantly, mounds of food needed to be cooked.

Giovanni’s cooking was, although rarely shared outside of Signor Bronte’s home, lauded as some of the best in town. So, of course, Angelo Bronte’s personal chef would be graciously catering the meal.

It was supposed to be a sign of generosity, you theorised, but in reality it was all a show to keep Signor Bronte in the San Denis elite’s good graces - and to worm his way into another favor from the mayor.

You chuckled lightly to yourself as you paced slowly around the perfectly manicured gardens. Marble statues, imported from Italy, gazed down at you, unmoving. Quietly, you began to hum a short tune, not noticing the figure at the fence across from you.

“Mornin’,” he called, his voice low and gruff, just as it had been when you had first met him.

You look up from the grass to the man, in surprise. He was leaning aginst the fence, patiently smoking a cigarette, and waiting. For you? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you call, making your way to him. He stubs out his cigarette on his boot and turns to fully face you. Only now, in the morning sunlight and away from the stress of Angelo Bronte, do you notice how attractive he is. Light brown hair framed an unshaven face, a strong jawline, light smattering of chest hair showing through the top of his unbuttoned collar. “It’s lovely to see you again. How is Jack doing?”

Arthur smiles at you, and the sun suddenly seems slightly brighter. “Boah’s doin’ good,” he says, leaning forward on the fence, one arm above his head to balance himself. “He’s happy to be home.”

You shoot him a small, bittersweet smile before turning your gaze to your coffee. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Misses you, though,” he continues, once he realises you aren’t going to say anything more. You look up at him, and notice he is fishing something out of his satchel. A small, folded piece of paper is passed through the bars of the fence, and you gently pluck it from his hand. “Sent this. Special delivery.”

You gently unfold the paper, and see a row of several stick figures, several people and what looks to be a dog, standing in front of some trees under a sunny sky. Under each of the figures, you can see several names scribbled in an adult’s hand.

Pa, Ma, Jack, Cain, Uncle Arthur… and you.

“Been told to tell you,” he continues, reaching through the fence with the hand that had been keeping him balanced and pointed at the figures on the paper. “That’s you… with us…”

You laugh lightly, glancing from the paper to the eyes of the man in front of you. A handsome teal, complimented by his, admittedly dirty, blue shirt. How had you not noticed him before? “This is real sweet of him, thank you,” you breathe, slightly softer than you had intended. You turn again to look at the drawing, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that had suddenly stained your cheeks.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise above the horizon. “You could come with us, you know,” he said after a minute, pulling another cigarette from his satchel and lighting it. “The boah would shoa be happy to have you ‘round.”

You smile at the thought. Waking up in the fresh air, telling Jack stories, getting to know his family. It would be lovely. But at the end of the day, it was easier said than done. “That… that’s a nice dream,” you told him, smiling.

He huffed, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s true,” he tells you, leaning against the fence once more. “The life… well it ain’t pretty. Sure as hell not as pretty as livin’ in a mansion. But it’s free. You ain’t gotta answer to no one you don’t want.”

You scoffed and found yourself kicking at the grass beneath your feet. It would surely be better than what you had here. Hell, it would be easy enough to walk through the gates with the intention to never come back. And, what was even keeping you here? Your family? You hadn’t seen them in years. Giovanni? Anna? They would both leave if they could.

But, you knew it wasn’t possible. You’ve seen this kind of thing before. One of your fellow servants found a means of escape, only to be back within a week. If they weren’t found and killed onsight. Angelo Bronte had eyes in every corner. Flies on every wall. He would find you.

“I… I wish I could.”

You went to bed late that evening, your conversation with Arthur resounding in your head. You could come with us, you know. The boy would sure be happy to have you around. The thought had even permeated your dreams, enveloping you in a fantasy world. A beautiful campsite by a river, a group of people, happy, laughing, free. Jack and Arthur and John and Dutch, and even Giovanni and Anna. They were all there, and they were all happy.

But, of course, the threat lingered. What had started as a beautiful dream quickly turned sour as Angelo Bronte entered the scene, scaring away your friends, capturing you and dragging you back to San Denis, into a mansion that looked more like a prison with every step. You would never escape him. You could never be free.

You had woken early in the morning, covered in sweat and sheets kicked from the bed. Breathing heavily, you glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was early, but not early enough to warrant going back to sleep. Groaning, you stepped quietly from your bed and pulled on your dressing gown. Your morning ritual would begin earlier today.

The air was crisp, but your coffee was hot - the perfect combination for waking a person up in the morning. The birds sang in their early morning chorus as the slowly rising sun cast everything in a calm, light blue. It was earlier than you had been up in ages, and you were fully prepared to sit in the garden, alone, and bask in the peacefulness.

To your surprise, however, the increasingly-familiar smell of cigarette smoke and campfire reached you. You turned to the fence, the same place as the day prior, to be greeted by the rugged cowboy, leaning casually against the railing. Tired as you were, you couldn’t keep the smile from lighting up your face.

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, making your way over to him, coffee cradled in both hands. You took a sip, thinking that you may need to start making two cups if this becomes a habit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’s Jack?”

Arthur’s grin immediately made your stomach flip. “Mornin’, miss,” he responded, tipping his hat to you. He lazilly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before leaning against the fence again, his arm above his head, like he had done the day before. “Boah’s doin’ good. Still talkin’ ‘bout you.” His grin never left his face as he looked at you.

You cleared your throat and maintained eye contact even though you were sure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Well, ain’t he a sweetheart?” you tease, only partially talking about Jack.

He chuckled and reached into his bag, mirroring his actions from the day prior. “I been asked to deliver this,” he said, pulling out a string of slightly crumpled red flowers from his bag. They were strung together, tied at the stems, into a long, vibrant necklace.

You gingerly took the necklace from him with a smile, examining it. Wild yarrow. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” you respond, pulling it over your head before striking a cheesy pose for the man in front of you. “How do I look?”

God, you could look at his smile all day. “Gorgeous,” he responds, only slightly teasing, and you are suddenly struck with a feeling of giddy embarrassment. It was rare that you got on with someone this well, this quickly. But with Arthur Morgan, despite his rough exterior, you felt strangely comfortable.

The two of you stood together, talking through the morning sunrise until you were very nearly late for work. When the sun was almost fully above the horizon, you found yourself giggling and dashing into the house, with one last glance to the cowboy at the fence, eyes shining.

And so it went.

For the next week, like clockwork, you would wake, go for your walk, and meet Arthur Morgan at the fence. Gifts, supposedly all from Jack, were exchanged - a nice rock, a beautiful notebook, a seashell, a fountain pen - and you sent your fair share of notes back, including candy for the boy, and a (stolen) flask of good whisky for your postman.

Soon enough, you found yourself gladly waking earlier in the morning - butterflies in your stomach as you made your way outside to greet him. Your mood was better, despite Jack’s farewell only a week ago, and even your colleagues had taken notice.

“What’s got you walking around here all smiles lately?” Anna had asked on the morning before the Mayor’s garden party, as you sat together, adding finishing touches to several large pies that were to go into the oven.

You scoffed, still unable to wipe the smile from your face, and looked at her over the stack of pans in front of you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded. “Now don’t distract yourself with me, we need to get this all ready to take this afternoon.” Your chiding didn’t deter her, as she continued pestering you the rest of the day.

Her teasing had very little effect on your mood, however, despite the large amount of work ahead of you. And, so, the day passed quickly, in anticipation of the coming evening. It was well known throughout San Denis that Angelo Bronte had one of the best chef’s in town under his employ, so the household staff was asked to provide a portion of the catering. It was a massive, and time consuming project, but it was well worth the work.

You finally had the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it were for just an evening, which would be an incredible change of pace. Almost before you could even gather your bearings, you were slipping into your best uniform, and were on your way to the even larger home.

You had been to the Mayor’s home a handful of times, but it still left you in awe. If you had thought that Angelo Bronte lived in the lap of luxury, but this home was somehow even more opulent. Marble pillars, statues lining the hallways, mahogany floors, golden chandeliers, art on every wall. You had to make a conscious effort to not allow your jaw to drop as you walked through the hallways to the kitchen. There was no time to dawdle, guests would be arriving shortly.

With an unintentional grunt, you hoisted the box of chopped vegetables you were carrying onto a table, and got to work helping Giovanni finish up a large pot of étouffée. It took some time, but after some significant effort from yourself, Giovanni, and Anna, as well as plenty of help from the Mayor’s own servants, the food was served and guests were mingling in the garden.

You leaned carefully against a counter and wiped sweat from your brow. Cooking for upwards of 100 people was exhausting, not to mention that the kitchen was absolutely scalding. You could use a large glass of water and a breath of fresh air.

Nodding at your colleagues, you told them as much before stepping into the hallway and taking a deep breath of the cooler air. If you were lucky, no one would be on the upstairs balcony, and you could head out and watch the fireworks for a few minutes. As you made your way to the back staircase, hoping that the balcony would be empty, you spotted a flash of a black tuxedo and familiar light brown hair in front of you.

Arthur Morgan. Now what was he doing here?

With a smirk, you carefully followed him up the stairs, catching a further glimpse of him as he entered the first door on the second floor. You hadn’t been up here before, but with the way he was walking, you could be sure that he wasn’t sneaking off to the toilet.

Glancing around, you saw no one else in the hallway.

Good.

Slowly, carefully, you pushed open the door to what appeared to be an office. And there, in all his glory, was Arthur Morgan, rummaging through the Mayor’s desk. As you snuck in and quietly closed the door behind you, he slipped a small stack of papers into his tuxedo jacket.

You took a moment to look over him. Damn, he cleaned up well. A recent haircut, clean shaven, and a brand new tuxedo made him look like an entirely new man. Not that you had any problem with the bearded, dirt-covered version of him that had been meeting you all week.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” you said quietly, startling him. He turned to you, wide-eyed, his hand instinctively flying to where his pistol was usually holstered. He was red in the face, adrenaline pumping, and you had to admit that it was a very good decision to not allow weapons at this party.

Upon seeing you, however, he noticeably relaxed. Face still red, he glanced quickly around the room before moving toward you, a predator stalking its prey. “Could say the same to you,” he whispered, voice low, as he backed you slowly toward the door.

That familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach rose again as he neared, but you held your chin high in defiance - and then you did something even you didn’t quite expect. You kissed him.

Lunged would be a more accurate description. You closed the distance between the two of you in a second, lips crashing with his. You had only known him for a week, but somehow it felt like you had been wanting to do this your entire life.

After a moment of shock, he returned the kiss, lips frantically moving with yours as he wrapped his hands around your body. He was warm and strong, and smelled of campfire and cologne and you wanted to get lost in him. You wanted to lose yourself with him. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair until you reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He moved with you, slowly, steps matching yours, until your back was flush against the door. For only a moment, he pulled away. You heard the light click of a key and he was on you again, hands fluttering over your hips as he began to work his lips down your jawline. You had to swallow the moan threatening to spill from your lips as you pulled him impossibly closer, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Then you pulled.

He leaned back with a guttural groan, following your hands as you gently pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips to his.

The taste of him, the feel of him, it was overwhelming and you wished you could be surrounded by him like this for the rest of your life. Silently, lips still on yours, he turned the two of you so that your back was against the nearby bookshelf. You lifted a leg and wrapped it around his, grinding into him without breaking your kiss.

Before you knew what was happening, his hands moved from your hips to pull up the skirt of your dress and finger the waistband of your bloomers. A nip at the bottom of your lip brought out a groan from you as he slowly made his way into your underclothes, exploring until he found your core.

Gently, he toyed with your lower lips, ghosting his fingers along the outside teasingly. If you were in any other state of mind, you would have been embarrassed about the way your hips began moving - wantonly, desperately, trying to maneuver his exploratory fingers exactly where you wanted them.

But Arthur Morgan was apparently not feeling cooperative. He pulled away from your kiss and brought his hand out of your bloomers at the same time, leading you to throw your head back against the bookshelf with a desperate groan.

The twinkle in his eyes matched the mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you, your breathing heavy, cheeks flushed. The cocky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying this. This torment.

With a sudden burst of courage that you didn’t know you had in you, you found yourself pushing him backward. Hands on his chest, you led him roughly to the mayor’s desk, and lunged. Lips crashed once again with his, the taste of whisky and tobacco overwhelming you once again. Your fingers toyed with his tuxedo jacket before slipping underneath and sliding it from his shoulders.

As good as he looked in this outfit, he was far too clothed for your taste.

Next came his vest, unbuttoned with help from him as you both lost your patience. You peeled his suspenders off until they hung loosely at his sides, and finally all that stood between you and his bare chest was his shirt. He yanked it roughly from his pants, the two of you unbuttoning it as quickly as your shaking fingers allowed, and flung it across the room before leaning in for another desperate kiss.

As his lips met yours once again, you felt him push you back toward the bookshelf as he untied your apron to pull it over your head. Next, his fingers unbuttoned the high collar of your dress, quickly followed quickly by his lips as he placed kisses and nips on your flushed skin. He trailed ever downward - to your collarbone, to your cleavage - drawing moans from your parted lips.

Desperately, you reached for his face and pulled him back up to you, caressing the smooth shaven skin as you kissed. Once satisfied, your hands wandered downward, toying with the hair splayed across the hot, hard panes of his chest. Slowly, teasingly, you followed the path of his hair with your fingers until you reached the top of his pants, and his breath hitched in your mouth.

Your kiss slowed and turned into a peck as you undid the button and pushed his pants down, revealing muscular thighs framing a growing bulge hidden under his underclothes. Pushing down the thin cotton finally revealed his swollen member, which you took gently into your hand as you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, growing impossibly harder with each stroke, until he pulled away to look you into the eye. His face was flushed, his hair in shambles, and you swore you had never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. You nodded, and allowed him to hoist up your skirt and slide into you through the slit in your bloomers.

In unison, groans left both of your mouths. You were balanced precariously on a bookshelf, your leg wrapped around his waist as he sank into you, head thrown back in pleasure. Once he gathered his bearings, he slowly, torturously slowly, began to move.

He thrust in and out, in and out, his face buried into your shoulder. Each thrust was paired with a small grunt and a gasp from you. You reveled in the feeling, the warmth, the intensity.

His hands gripped your hips through the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him up to you. Your lips met, tongues entangled as tiny gasps swelled up from your throat. It was all you could do to keep in the loud moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.

With each thrust, the bookshelves shook, sending a few trinkets to the carpeted floor with a light thump. You should be more careful. The thought echoed in your mind for only a second before it was whisked away by another thrust that shook you to the core.

As he grew closer and closer to completion, his thrusts became faster, more frantic, and you found yourself clutching the edges of the shelf for balance.

Finally, he pulled one of his hands from your hip and wormed it between your bodies to find the place where he had teased you so well before. And then he pressed. And rubbed. And stroked. And finally, in a glaring flash of white before your eyes, you found yourself biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming his name. Your body shook, your breathing came in harsh gasps, until you could finally open your eyes.

Not a second later, Arthur took a few final thrusts and pulled out of you, stroking his member once, twice, and then spilling himself on the floor with a series of loud gasps. A shaky breath followed as he fell onto you, his head balancing on your chest to catch his breath.

Finally, there was silence, only broken occasionally by a heaving breath. The two of you huddled together against the bookshelves, clinging to each other until you could regain your balance.

You found yourself leaning hard against the shelf behind you, running your fingers through Arthur’s mussed hair. “Those last few gifts… the journal, the pen… those weren’t from Jack, were they?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

A low chuckle came from Arthur, still bent forward with his head balanced on your chest. “I s’pose I’ve been caught again…”

The party ended with a spectacular fireworks show, which you and Arthur watched together, now fully clothed and hidden from sight on the empty balcony. Shortly after the last firework had lit up the night sky, he left you with a lingering kiss that you swore you felt on your lips for the rest of the evening.

To say your head was in the clouds would have been putting it lightly. You would have never expected such a rough, dirty man to be your knight in shining armor, but here you were.

Your good mood carried over through the party cleanup, into the night, and even on into the morning during your daily walk. Glancing at the gate where he usually stood, you were slightly disheartened to see his spot empty. Your smile faltered for just a moment, before you reasoned with yourself. He was probably just tired, or hungover, and just because he had showed up every day for the last week and a half did not mean he could keep up that habit forever.

So, you sat and waited for nearly a half an hour at your normal meeting spot, before heading back inside only slightly disheartened. He had a life outside of meeting you, you reminded yourself, it was unfair to assume he would be there every day when he had never promised this.

Despite your disappointment, your good mood persisted through the day. Through stained laundry, through dusting and mopping, through cleaning a massive pile of cooking dishes from the night before - you couldn’t have wiped the smile off of your face.

And then he didn’t show up again. And again. And again.

For over a week, you missed Arthur’s presence on your morning walks. You found yourself waiting at the fence each day, coffee and the morning paper in hand to pass the time, only to end up disappointed once again. At the very least, there seemed to be a lot of dramatic news to report that week - a trolley station robbery ending with a crashed trolly on main street, a wealthy man on a steamboat robbed for all he was worth - but that information only helped pass the time you spent waiting for him.

Outside of your morning walks, your mood slowly soured. Maybe Arthur had gotten what he wanted. Maybe the dirty, lecherous outlaw’s only goal was to bed you and be on his way. Maybe Jack had forgotten you completely, and with nothing new to deliver, so had Arthur.

You took to writing angrily in the journal he had gotten you, having no other reasonable outlet for your emotions. Originally, you had wanted to toss the damn thing into the fire, but - without someone to vent to, without someone who could understand the depths of your frustration - it seemed like such a waste. Instead, you chose to use the gift for its intended purpose, and wrote down all of your frustrations toward the man who had gifted it to you, before stuffing it underneath your pillow and falling asleep for the night.

There it lay, throughout the day and night until you finally did see Arthur Morgan again. A loud crash, followed by gunshots and yelling in Italian and English from the back gardens, met your ears as you cleaned up after dinner with Anna and Giovanni.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte! Send out every man you got!”

The three of you had no guns, and even if you had it sounded less like a gunfight and more like a massacre. Quickly, you locked the doors, hoping that it would be enough to deter the intruders. And then, huddled together out of sight with your friends, you waited.

The back door was kicked open with a gunshot and a loud bang. More gunshots, screams, and crashes echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. You heard the yells get closer, before the kitchen door was shot and forcefully kicked open.

This was it, this would be your end.

Only, it wasn’t.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Arthur Morgan, shotgun in hand, eyes frantic… until he caught sight of you.

“Comeon,” he said, rushing over to where the three of you were huddled together and pulling you up by the arm. “You three gotta get outta here,” he ordered, gruffly, hurriedly, as he opened one of the larger windows. “We only came from the back, so head to the front and go somewhere safe.”

Giovanni and Anna looked from each other to you, and then to the open window, hesitant. Another volley of gunfire reached your ears from inside the house. There was no time for debate. “Go ahead,” you told them. “We can trust him.”

That (plus another few rounds of gunfire in quick succession) was all it took. Giovanni nodded to you, grabbed Anna by the forearm, and they were out the window and running across the lawn to safety. You breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Arthur. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but there was no time.

As if sensing your hesitation, he took you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “Go,” he said, face buried into your hair. “Get to the Fontana, I’ll meet you there when this is over.” You could have sworn you felt a light kiss atop your head before he pressed a crumpled ten dollar bill into your palm and lightly pushed you in the direction of the open window. “Get outta here.”

You nodded, mouthing a quick “thank you” before climbing through the window. In the distance, you could see Anna and Giovanni, silhouetted against the night sky. They were running as fast as they could, to safety, and you felt a pang in your chest. They had been the closest thing you had had to a family for so long. The three of you had been forced together by fate, and had come out a team. But… where would you end up if you followed them?

Likely back in the service of another rich man. But, maybe it would be better. Maybe the freedom you found yourself longing for was to be found in the familiar, the known. Could you really abandon your friends, your way of life, for the promise of a man you had known for little more than a few weeks?

Quickly, you glanced in the opposite direction, toward the city. Toward the Fontana. Toward the promise of freedom. The clock was ticking, you needed to decide. Now.

Torn between what was and what could be, you took a deep breath and took the advice of a child who was far too wise for his age. You ran toward the Fontana. You ran as fast as you could to a new life.

The sound of gunfire and screams followed you to the gates, where it then became overwhelmed by the shouts and sirens of incoming police. Luckily, you were able to slip outside of the gate and get partially down the street before they stopped in front of the house.

Bowing your head, you quickly made your way down the cobblestone street and into the city, away from the violence. By the time you reached the Fontana Theater, the gunshots had all but faded into the hustle and bustle of the city center, and you became acutely aware of how much you didn’t belong. It had been years since you had been anywhere outside of Signore Bronte’s mansion other than the grocery and occasional trip to the tailors. It had been even longer since the last time you had been to a Magic Lantern Theater. And you knew, with your hair mussed and maid’s uniform, you must stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, if your memory served, the theater should be dark enough that no one would notice. You slowed your pace, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and proceeded to the ticket counter, purchasing one ticket to the three upcoming shows. That should be more than enough time, you hoped.

You entered the dimly lit room and practically collapsed into one of the seats. Now that you had managed to escape, now that you were in relative safety, the adrenaline you had felt earlier had completely vanished. You were exhausted. You were confused. You were scared.

Now, you could only wait, and hope that Arthur would be back for you as promised.

In front of you, the film started with a flicker. The recorded voice of a man telling the story of several forest animals as a series of images were projected onto the screen. The room was silent, except for the recording, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open.

What must have been a few hours later, you were shaken awake by an unfamiliar man. You were startled for only a minute before you realised that he was the same man who had sold you the tickets earlier. “That’s the last showing for the day, miss,” he was saying, quietly, pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be on your way, now.”

You blinked and looked around the room, now flooded with light. It was empty except for the two of you. “What… what time is it?” you stammered, voice cracking lightly.

“‘Bout 11:30,” he responded, looking quickly to his pocket watch to confirm. You had been asleep for a solid 4 hours, and Arthur hadn’t yet arrived. “You should get on home.”

Home. Where was that?

You stood, nodding abashedly at the man. “Thank you,” you murmured before making your way out of the theater and into the dark streets.

It was quiet, the same kind of quiet you had grown so used to on your morning walks. However, instead of finding it calm and refreshing, you found yourself longing for the noisy streets. The hustle and bustle of San Denis that would overpower your thoughts, that would drown out your anxieties.

Instead, you were alone, left to mull over your current situation on the steps of the theater. The long, dark tendrils of doubt crept into your mind as you waited. Did you make the right choice? Did Arthur abandon you? Was all of this some horrible trick? Tears spilled silently from your eyes as you waited. Exhausted. Frustrated. Sad. The only thing to break you out of your thought spiral was the occasional drunk would wander by, heading home for the evening.

Eventually, the ground where you sat grew cold, and you found yourself falling asleep against the wall of the theater, huddled up like an abandoned animal. You could sleep here tonight, in case he did show up, and head … somewhere … in the morning. A hotel, maybe? A workhouse? You didn’t know where, but that was a thought for the morning.

It was only when the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horse hooves made their way down the dark street that you willed yourself to look up. Coming slowly into view through the darkness was a lone rider on a horse. He looked exhausted, frustrated, as he stopped his horse in front of the theater and dismounted, glancing around the area until he spotted you.

You stood on legs that were strangely both stiff and shaky and made your way over to him, where he pulled you into a tight hug.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, once again burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to leave you so long.” You nodded against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as tears of relief threatened to spill. “Let’s get you home.”

The ride went by in a blur. Not that you were moving fast, but rather because you were so exhausted that everything was a bit of a haze. You must have arrived at the large, dilapidated mansion early into the morning, before anyone was up to disturb you, because you could not remember the journey into Arthur’s bed for the life of you.

There was no crunch of the grass as you slid off the saddle, no creek of the stairs, no groan of the bed as the two of you lay down together. Nothing. All you could remember was that you were here. You were safe. You were home.

You awoke around midday, sunlight streaming through the broken windows of a small-rundown room overlooking the swamps of Lemoyne. It was sweltering hot, but you found yourself cuddling closer into the strong arms that were wrapped around you. The scent of the swamps mixed with whisky and tobacco, campfire and gunsmoke, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He was breathing deeply, soundly, as you lifted your head from his chest to look around. The room itself was old and dilapidated, it would barely serve as a shelter during any storms that may strike. In the far corner stood an old shelf, filled with photos and trinkets. Next to it, a small table with a map, and across from that, a larger table, stacked to the brim with weapons and ammunition.

Arthur’s room.

You stood, intending to make your way over to examine the trinkets across the room, but were instead gently pulled back to bed by the man behind you. “Mornin’,” he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he held you close.

You acquiesced, leaning back into him and basking in his presence. “Mornin’, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back to him, gazing over his face. His eyes were still closed, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming as you spoke. Gently, you brushed hair away from his forehead and planted a light kiss to the revealed skin. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. You could have melted in the soft, loving look that came your way. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, reaching up to run his thumb along your cheek in admiration. “Just needed to get you out alive, is all.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I feel like that deserves thanks.”

A scoff came from the man beside you. “Nah, it was all selfish, really,” he explained, his gaze travelling over every inch of your face as if he were committing it to memory. “I just wanted to keep you ‘round.” With that, he planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up, turning to his satchel that had been tossed to the floor by the bed. “It weren’t pretty last night… ‘n’ I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”

“What happened?” you asked, watching as he pulled the satchel to him and began to rifle through it.

“Bronte… well he done his best to screw us over,” he explained. “Set some traps for us… ‘n’ Dutch made sure he paid for it.” You figured you knew what he meant, but let him continue anyway. “Bastard’s dead - some poor alligator’s breakfast.”

To your surprise, you felt incredibly conflicted. The man had essentially kept you hostage for the last few years, but he had at least taken care of you. He had by no means been a good person, but… you had grown some sort of strange affinity for him over the years. And yet, you didn’t find yourself shedding a tear for him. If anything, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe freely after so long.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I did manage to get hold of these, though,” he said, pulling several items from his satchel. You gasped when you saw them, and felt the tears that wouldn’t fall for Bronte begin to well up. In Arthur’s hands were a child’s drawing, a flower crown, a very special rock, a beautiful journal, and a fountain pen.

Now, the tears did fall as you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you, Arthur,” you said, burying your face into his neck. “Thank you so incredibly much.”

With a small chuckle, he set the momentos down on his lap, and wrapped his arms around you as well. “‘Course.”

The two of you stayed like that, reveling in each other’s embrace, for a few perfect, blissful minutes. So this is what it felt like to be wanted. This is what it felt like to have someone really, truly care about you. This is the feeling you had been waiting for for so long.

It wasn’t a minute later before there was a tentative knock on your door, and Arthur pulled himself away from the hug. “I think someone might be excited to see you,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You looked over, calling for the visitor to come in. As the door swung open, you were greeted with the sound of your name excitedly being called, and the sight of a child, red with excitement, standing in the doorway. Jack. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaimed, darting over to you and jumping into your arms. He was followed by a smiling, dark-haired woman, and a man who you recognised as John. “I knew it! I knew you would come live with us!”

“Of course, Jack,” you childed, squeezing him tight. “I could never leave you.”

He squeezed you back, before pulling away and grabbing your forearm to lead you out of the room. “Come on!” he said, leading you forward. “You have to meet the rest of our family!”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #f!reader #rdrbigbang2021 #rdrbigbang

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idesofrevolution · 4 years ago

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Gods of the Zodiac: Taurus

Gonna try something fun. I’ll schedule these so y’all have something to look forward to.

Nerissa stood at the counter, palms sweaty and heart racing. She’d never used a fake ID before to get anything let alone booze. Being 20, her options were relatively limited- go without Brian’s Bud Lite and risk the fallout or casually walk up with the six pack, see if they card her, and just keep cool. Deep breaths.

To the clerk, it was obvious she was nervous. Maybe she had a stolen credit card, or was tripping on something. Regardless, the sight of this sheepish girl and the douchey boyfriend sitting in the parking lot was enough to arouse his suspicions.

“Yeah... uh... just this.” She schlepped the case of Bud Lite onto the counter, accidentally knocking over the display holding energy shots. The metal rack clattered to the ground, spilling the shots everywhere. “Oh my god I am so so sorry! I... I’m so...” Nerissa clamored to find the words, to escape the situation; and escape she certainly did. Panicking, she bolted. So neurotic was she that the front door didn’t even occur to her as a route of exit, but rather the back employee door into the alleyway was absentmindedly her way out.

Collapsing against the rusted metal door, she slumped slowly down against the cold surface and slid to the ground. Her heart was thumping enough that she could feel the rhythmic beats against her bosom. The clerk would probably call the police. She’d be arrested. Brian would definitely bail and she’d lose her last iota of support. Everything was wrong, everything was over.

The reality of the situation was simply this: an annoyed clerk picked up a few spilt canisters of Five Hour Energy, and put back a case of Bud Lite. Brian sat in the parking lot listening to Radiohead, stoned out of his mind. The cameras were broken so no chance existed of any negative consequence for Nerissa. This type of overreaction had become the daily norm for her as her anxiety had only worsened with her misogynistic boyfriend encouraging more and more toxic behaviors. Picking up his drugs from the dealer, using a fake ID he’d gotten online, doing all his coursework for his associates degree... she’d become his completely submissive lackey, and truthfully he didn’t even truly care for her.

So while she sat there hyperventilating in the back alley, her plight had not gone unnoticed. It was the season of the wandering bull, who had taken note of Nerissa for some time now. You see, each year when a certain point comes to pass, the spirits of the Zodiac usher in their respective season, taking human form and bringing forth their reign over the earth. And it just so happens that the season of Taurus was beginning to crest.

Crying, Nerissa felt the ground beneath her quake. She placed her hands firmly against the wall to steady herself, before two arms burst from beneath the pavement. Their heavy musculature pulsated as they heaved their remaining body into the open air, and out from within the earth crawled the Minotaur Spirit of Taurus. He stood semi transparent before an awestruck Nerissa, his massive body nearly triple her own size.

“Mortal, the time of Taurus has come to be. And you in your great need will become my vessel.” Entranced, she gave no response, but merely continued to blankly stare at the creature affront her. Taurus reached out, his massive hands grasping Nerissa to pull her to her feet. For one brief moment of absolute clarity, she nodded in abject acceptance, prepared and willing to allow herself a break from existence and recoup. Perhaps this would give her the opportunity for everything to change. Taurus acknowledged the consent, and with his hands placed on her shoulders, he began the possession.

Nerissa felt overcome with a sense of serenity, of fortitude, of stoicism and tranquility as the bullheaded man pulled her close to him. His arms wrapped around her and the spirit began to tightly hug her. Pressure continued to build as Nerissa felt the compression of the muscular spirit completely surrounding her growing and mounting. Finally with what felt like a popping sensation, she felt her physical being give way to the beast, and the Minotaur began to phase into her.

Thrice her size, Taurus squeezed and squirmed as his essence flooded the tiny framed woman. The feeling of being filled with the plasmic entity, being stretched to make room, to feel the immense pressure of a second being invading her body was nearly orgasmic. She gasped as inch by inch, foot by foot, the spirit wriggled into her until nothing but the whipping tail was left outside her. With a quick slurp, it was auctioned into her belly, and Taurus had completely taken control.

Nerissas body began to writhe, as Taurus began to make himself more comfortable in his new home. Her skin bubbled and stretched, turning mocha from her pasty complexion. Her breasts receded slowly into her chest, as the mass was redistributed throughout her entire body. Muscles inflated, powerful arms and legs burst from her frame, as her hair began to fall to the ground. Black tattoos scrawled across her dark, smooth skin, while her face contorted in ecstasy as it reshaped into a handsome, masculine visage.

His eyes opened a deep forest green, as the tattered remains of her clothing began to reshape themselves onto his body. A tight leather jacket, jeans, fresh white sneakers... Taurus sighed in relief as he finally took in his first breath of air. His gift to Nerissa now complete, upon the end of the season, she’d begin anew in this body, and reap the benefits that he’d build over his reign. But until then, he grabbed the blunt in the jacket pocket and lit it, maintaining the comfortable stoic aura he exuded. He rose to his feet, and walked toward into the store- after all, he left his beer on the counter.

#male possession #male transformation #body transformation #transformation #jockification #original #body possession #f2m transformation #zodiac

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crossbowking · 5 years ago

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Space Between Us

Summary: (Set at the beginning of Alexandria) After the reader has one too many drinks, she finds herself being taken care of by the archer.

Request: “I’m here if you need anything, okay?” @anonymous

A/N: I’m so sorry this one has taken so long for me to finish! With all of the shit going on in the world, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. I hope everyone out there is staying safe during this time!

Also, I’m so sad about the season 10 finale getting pushed back because of this virus.

Ugh.

Hopefully, this story can bring y’all a little joy during this time.

xx crossbowking

Masterlist

Ko-fi Account

It wasn’t until after you’d finished your fourth glass of wine that you realized you should’ve stopped at your third.

You hadn’t been able to help yourself though — you’d just gotten caught up in the moment, the normalcy, of what was going on around you.

Alexandria was like nothing you’d ever seen before. You hadn’t thought places like this could even exist in the new world you lived in. Yet, here it stood — with steel walls and fortified gates, with watchtowers and armories. There were children of all ages, running around as if there weren’t flesh-eating hoards of the dead roaming outside. There was enough food and water for all, enough medical supplies to stock up a small infirmary. There was even a beautiful garden, for fuck’s sake.

The people within the community had no clue — no concept — of just how bad things had gotten outside their walls.

And just how good they had it inside of them.

When Deanna had first invited your group into her home, to partake in some sort of makeshift ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ party, you’d been hesitant. After everything you’d seen, after everything you’d been through the past few months — the Governor, the Claimers, Terminus — the last thing you’d wanted to do was dress up and play pretend, as if the world hadn’t completely gone to shit.

Still, it was important that you try, that your entire group try — to fit in, to mingle, to get a feel of what exactly you were about to get yourselves into.

And even more so, it was important that you scoped out the people of Alexandria. Your group didn’t trust easy — and for good reason.

You had a little more faith than Rick and the rest of the group. Faith that there were still good people out there and maybe, just maybe, you’d found some here.

Although that could’ve been the wine talking.

A hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, waving back and forth. “Hello? Earth to Y/N,” Maggie teased from beside you, drawing you back from your dazed thoughts.

You glanced down at her sheepishly, swaying slightly from where you sat, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hm?” you hummed faintly, a lazy smile creeping across your face.

Maggie laughed aloud, her features softening for the first time in what seemed like forever as she turned to whisper something to Glenn, who sat beside her.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over there?” you protested with a pout, leaning over in an attempt to eavesdrop — but you suddenly found yourself tipping over, your balance having disappeared right around that second glass of wine, and landed in a clumsy pile beside Maggie.

The pair dissolved into a fit of laughter as you struggled to upright yourself, finding an unexpected giggle slip through your own lips as you gave up with a huff, your face pressed against the back cushion of the couch. “Help?” you asked pathetically, words muffled against the fabric.

Maggie stifled another laugh as she grabbed your hand, pulling you up into a seated position. Glenn shared an elusive look with Maggie, the two seemingly having a silent conversation, before he stood suddenly, extending his hand towards you. “Alright, come on.”

You accepted his reach without question, allowing him to help you up, swaying slightly on your feet. “Ooh, where we goin’?” you mumbled as Maggie joined the two of you.

“Glenn’s gonna take ya home, alright?” Maggie assured, still looking as though she was struggling to keep a straight face.

“What!” you protested, pulling your hand from Glenn’s. “I’m fine — seriously, I’m — I’m fine,” you nodded, waving off the couple as you attempted to do your best impression of a sober person.

“Okay, Y/N,” Glenn relented, crossing his arms over his chest before he smirked at you, shooting Maggie a look you couldn’t quite interpret. “Say the alphabet backward,” he challenged.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring how the motion made your head spin. “Hey, hey, no! That’s not — that’s not supposed to be your shit! Shit, I mean shtick,” you fussed, waggling your finger. “That’s — that should be Rick’s thing, right? ‘Cause, ‘cause he is a man of the law,” you grinned, drawing out the word ‘law’ before you grabbed onto Glenn’s shoulder. “Ya feel me? Ya feel me, brother?” you gasped softly, looking around in bewilderment. “Whoa, that was weird.”

Maggie covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing directly in your face before she excused herself, spotting Rosita motioning her over from the other side of the room.

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Glenn ushered you forward despite your weakening protests.

You groaned dramatically, earning a side-eye from a couple of Alexandria’s residents — but you simply ignored them, allowing your friend to guide you out of the living room and through the front door.

The cool night air rushed to meet your flushed skin as you inhaled sharply, shaking your head back and forth in an attempt to clear some of the haziness you felt. But the motion threw you off balance and you teetered at the edge of the porch stairs for a moment before Glenn steadied you. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he cautioned before helping escort you down the steps safely.

You turned to him once you reached the sidewalk, widening your bleary eyes as you grabbed onto his arm. “Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” you suddenly mumbled, staggering briefly.

Glenn’s expression became serious as he turned to face you fully, his kind eyes locking with yours. “You okay?” he asked, worry etching his features, making him seem much older than he was.

“Is — oops, shit, sorry,“ you fumbled backward for a moment, having accidentally stepped on Glenn’s foot. You stiffened, keeping yourself upright as you took a deep breath. “Is Glenn short for Glennith?”

Glenn froze for a moment as though the question hadn’t fully registered before a smile broke across his face.

“What?” you questioned, brows knitted in confusion. “Come on, what!” you pressed, suddenly unable to stop giggling as you swayed back and forth.

“This is my favorite version of you,” Glenn laughed, reaching out to steady you once more before he jerked his head to the side, making a move to leave.

You took a step forward before faltering, gasping softly. “Shoot,” you murmured under your breath. Glenn shot you a confused look, quirking a brow at the dramatics. “I forgot my jacket,” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill racked through you.

“Oh, I got it,” Glenn offered, turning back towards the house — but not before shooting you a firm look. “You just hang out here for a second, okay?”

You nodded, giving your friend two big thumbs up.

Glenn rolled his eyes, though a smirk was still etched on his face. “I mean it,” he urged, pointing a finger at you as he hurried back up the stairway and disappeared inside the house.

You sighed contently, unsure of the last time you’d felt this good — this free. Clearly, your tolerance for alcohol wasn’t what it used to be — but in that moment, alone in the quiet, the chilled night air biting at your exposed flesh, you simply couldn’t find it in you to give a damn.

“What’re ya doin’?” came a sudden voice, breaking the stillness.

You startled, spinning around on your heels towards where the sound came from. But you misstepped, one foot slipping off the sidewalk and onto the road, pitching you forward. Though you managed to stay standing, you straightened too quickly, suddenly losing your balance completely and tumbling down hard onto your right side. “Oof!” you huffed as your body slammed against the pavement, the skin on your right palm tearing as you attempted to catch yourself before your face hit the ground. “Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you groaned through clenched teeth as you rolled onto your back, throwing one arm across your eyes.

You were vaguely aware of footsteps approaching, boots scuffing against asphalt before halting in front of you. “The hell’s wrong with ya?” came that same gruff voice from before, though closer this time.

You lifted your arm slightly, peeking up at the archer now standing above you before you covered your eyes once more. “I fell,” you exhaled defeatedly.

Daryl grunted softly. “I saw.”

You sighed once more, pushing up onto your elbows, locking eyes with the archer. “What can I say? I’m an athlete,” you shrugged sarcastically, waving one hand around as though you were royalty.

“Mhm,” Daryl murmured, nodding along — though you could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smile toying at his lips before he reached his hand down towards you.

The sober version of yourself would’ve been mortified — but this version, this version couldn’t care less.

You took the archer’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet, swaying briefly until you found your balance. You huffed, blowing a misplaced strand of hair out of your face before your eyes settled on Daryl’s, noticing that he’d already been watching you. “Hi,” you smiled sweetly, wondering if you should be concerned that you could no longer feel your face.

Daryl scoffed lightly, unwinding his hand from yours, shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans before his expression became serious. “Ya shouldn’t be out here alone, ya know,” he rumbled, surveying the surrounding area with guarded eyes. “Ain’t safe.”

You pursed your lips, looking up and down the darkened street before pointing towards the massive walls surrounding the community. “That’s why — that’s why they built these big ass walls, Dixon,” you shot back, tapping your finger to your temple. “Keeps the outside — the outside, uh, outside, you know?”

Daryl grunted. “Ain’t the outside we oughta be worried ‘bout,” he muttered under his breath before pausing, giving you a brief once over as if he was really looking at you for the first time. Then he slowly leaned forward, narrowed eyes boring into yours and you found yourself subconsciously holding your breath under his scrutinizing stare.

“What?” you asked, somewhat self consciously, ignoring the heat suddenly rushing to your cheeks.

“How much have ya had?” he questioned blankly.

“What —“

“Ta’ drink, Y/N,” he demanded, growing irritated for reasons unbeknownst to you.

“Oh,” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “What’s it matter?”

Daryl opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a door closing drew your attention away.

You spun around, wavering slightly, your nerves still buzzing from the moment previous as you watched Glenn hurry down the steps, your jacket in hand. “Glenn!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up into the air.

But Glenn didn’t seem fazed — instead, his expression looked tenser than it had before. He spotted Daryl behind you and nodded an acknowledgment as he approached. “Hey,” he breathed, slightly out of breath, glancing over his shoulder back up at Deanna’s house. “Here,” he murmured, handing over your jacket, peeking up at the house once more.

“What’s goin’ on?” Daryl questioned immediately, stepping up onto the sidewalk beside you.

You glanced over at the archer, his normally unreadable features back in place — but he clearly knew something was going on that you hadn’t noticed.

“No, nothing — just —“ Glenn sighed, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. “Sasha. She’s — she’s kind of having a tough time in there.”

Then as if on cue, Sasha came barreling through the front door, rushing down the stairs as though someone was after her. She spared the three of you a quick, flustered glance before she pushed past Glenn’s outstretched hand and stormed down the sidewalk, away from everyone else.

Glenn exhaled heavily, looking back at you and Daryl somberly. “Like I said, she’s having a tough time,” he murmured, rubbing a hand through his hair as he shifted, looking torn all of the sudden.

“Go,” Daryl suddenly rumbled.

Glenn glanced at you before looking at Daryl. “But —“

“M’ goin’ back ta’ the house anyways,” the archer interrupted. “I got her.”

You were about to ask who this ‘her’ was that they were talking about — but then Glenn was jogging off in the direction Sasha has just gone and Daryl was nudging you in the opposite direction.

“Wha — oh, alrighty then,” you stumbled forward slightly, feeling Daryl grab onto your elbow to keep you upright.

The longer you walked, the more your buzz began to wear off, the crisp night air having an efficient way of sharpening your senses. Neither you or the archer spoke, walking side by side in silence — you didn’t mind, though. You’d always felt oddly comfortable around him.

When you’d first joined the group back at Atlanta, everyone had warned you of the archer. They’d said he was hotheaded and aggressive, hostile and impulsive — especially living under the shadow of his older brother. But you’d never thought any of that — honestly, when you’d looked at him back then, you’d just thought he seemed scared.

And rightfully so if you had anything to say about it.

You sighed aloud, hugging the jacket you still held close to your chest. The house your group shared came into view — you’d only been at Alexandria for a couple of days and it seemed like no one was quite comfortable enough to move into their own spaces yet. You didn’t care — you preferred to be in close proximity to your family — it was the only way to keep everyone safe.

Daryl was so silent, you almost forgot he was beside you. Not even his footsteps made a sound — that was probably why he made such a good hunter, you thought to yourself. But you didn’t have to look at him to know he was deep in his thoughts, his mind constantly on edge, reliving the brutal past and anxiously waiting for the next bad thing to occur.

You nudged him gently. “Hey,” you murmured, your hazy eyes locking with his troubled ones. “We’re gonna be okay,” you whispered softly.

Daryl huffed, approaching the front steps of the house. “I jus’ don’t trust ‘em, is all,” he finally grumbled.

“You? Not trusting people? You’re kidding!” you teased, feigning surprise as you stepped up onto the stairs.

Karma came at you full force then — you realized too little too late that you’d misjudged your growing sobriety. Almost immediately, your foot slipped out from under you, causing you to topple forward, the steps rushing up to meet your face. But before you could fully face plant, you felt Daryl grab onto one of your flailing arms, stopping your fall just in time. “Shit,” you breathed, craning your neck to look at the archer. “I guess I deserved that one for sassing you,” you groaned, using your free hand to push yourself up.

You hissed suddenly, pain spreading through the palm of your right hand as you straightened — you’d forgotten all about your little tumble outside of Deanna’s. But before you could get a good look at your palm, Daryl’s hand snaked around your wrist, bring your arm closer to his face. He inspected your hand by the light streaming from the front porch, his expression neutral. “C’mon,” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you, nudging you up the stairs.

You cradled your hand to your chest, the pain sharper now that you were sobering up. But above anything else, you simply felt embarrassed. For drinking too much, for making an ass out of yourself — especially in front of him.

Your head hung low as you carefully maneuvered up the stairs and followed the archer inside. You spared the back of his head one last look before sighing, turning towards the stairs that led to the second floor, determined to stow yourself away in pure mortification.

“Where’re ya goin’?” Daryl’s voice cut through the silence.

You faltered, one foot already on the first step. “Oh —“

“C’mere,” he stated simply, waving you forward as he made his way into the kitchen — it wasn’t a request, you realized a moment later.

Your brows knitted in confusion as you set your jacket down on the railing, following the archer into the next room. You stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching Daryl stomp around the kitchen in a whirlwind, opening and closing cabinets, clearly searching for something. He glanced at you from over his shoulder. “Sit.”

His tone of voice made you feel like a child — but still, you did as he told, sliding down into one of the chairs around the dining table. You propped your head up with your left hand, uncurling the fingers on your right hand to examine the cut.

It wasn’t as bad as you’d thought — there were a couple of scrapes, some deeper than others, and little dark specks inside of the torn skin, most likely rocks or small pieces of gravel.

A soft clink drew your attention and you noticed the archer now standing beside you, a glass of water now placed on the table. “Drink,” he grunted before turning without another word.

You watched his retreating form, your eyes narrowing as he began searching the cabinets once more. “Have you always been this bossy or am I just realizing it now?” you challenged, quirking a brow. Daryl didn’t turn around but you heard a soft grunt which you chose to interpret as a ‘yes’.

You rolled your eyes, but grabbed the glass of water nonetheless, nearly chugging the entire contents in one gulp — you hadn’t even realized you’d been that thirsty. Daryl continued to move about the kitchen, clearly on some kind of mission, searching for something he was having trouble locating. But you were content to sit and simply watch him exist — you’d always found him as somebody you had a hard time not noticing.

You took another long swig of water as the archer reappeared at the table, holding a bowl in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. He set the bowl down and slid it towards you. “Eat,” he rumbled, his tone still demanding as he sat down on the chair diagonal from you.

Whatever smart-ass comment you were about to make fell short when you peered inside the bowl, a soft gasp escaping through your lips as you peeked up at the archer. “Is — is this —” a small smile crept over your face. “Spaghetti?”

“Aaron,” the archer answered simply, sliding a fork towards you.

You picked up the utensil from the table, digging into the meal without a second thought, unable to stop the blissful moan that came out of you after the first bite. “Oh my God,” you sighed around the food in your mouth. “I love him — I, I mean, I truly love him.”

“Alright, easy, girl,” Daryl grumbled, rummaging through the kit before pulling out tweezers, gauze and alcohol wipes.

You laughed softly. “Don’t be jealous,” you teased, shoveling another big forkful of pasta into your mouth.

The archer merely rolled his eyes, though you could’ve sworn his gaze darkened. “Lemme see,” he suddenly grumbled, grabbing the hand you’d injured, laying it onto the tabletop, palm facing the ceiling.

Using your free hand, you continued eating, every mouthful further sobering you up. Your body was starting to feel sluggish, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment as you finished your last bite, sighing contently.

You pushed the bowl away as you propped your head up with your free hand, watching the archer’s steady movements. He picked up the tweezers, resting them between his fingertips as he slid his other hand beneath yours, bringing your palm closer to his face. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the cut on your hand, using the dimmed light above the kitchen table to survey the damage done.

He pulled your fingers back slightly, the skin on your palm stretching as he hunched over, his soft breath tickling your skin. His touch was surprisingly gentle, you realized then.

“Huh,” you breathed softly, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

Daryl glanced up, regarding you warily. “What?” he mumbled, almost self-consciously.

“Dr. Dixon,” you waggled your eyebrows, a soft laugh slipping through your lips as the archer rolled his eyes, though you could’ve sworn you saw the tips of his ears suddenly turn pink.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, though his tone lacked any harshness. He brought the tweezers to your skin, slowly pushing them deeper into your palm until he was able to grasp an imbedded piece of gravel.

You winced, fighting back the urge to curl your hand into a fist. Daryl glanced up at you, scanning your features for a moment before he continued removing the small pieces of rock, moving a fraction slower than before.

Daryl was efficient — he had your wound cleaned and bandaged within minutes, neither of you uttering a word the entire time. You were content to just watch, keeping your gaze on his features to distract you from the burning sensation on your palm. He was incredibly focused — looking as though he was diffusing bomb instead of simply wrapping your hand in gauze.

His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed — though that seemed to be a permanent feature of his. You suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to touch him, to brush away some of the worry etched on his face — to just be closer to him.

But you fought back the urge, instead bumping your knee against his to draw his attention. “Hey,” you murmured as your eyes locked. “Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, his gaze searching yours before he finished the last wrap, releasing your hand from his.

“I mean it,” you pressed, sighing softly. “Even if it doesn’t work out here, we’re gonna be alright. I need you to know that, D. I just —“ you exhaled, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “I’m here if you need anything, okay? Anything.”

The archer remained silent, a flash of something flitting across his features as his eyes flickered down to look at your lips before locking with yours once more. “Ya got somethin’ on your face,” he suddenly murmured.

“What!” you squeaked out, leaning away from him abruptly, feeling your face flush.

Daryl pointed to the corner of his lips. “There,” he motioned, his mouth twitching as though he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Your lips formed into a pout as you pathetically felt around your face. “I was just trying to have a moment with you — you know what, whatever!” you fussed dramatically as you wiped your face, realizing a moment too late that you’d used the back of your bandaged hand. You looked down at the red stains now soaking into the gauze. “Spaghetti sauce,” you whispered defeatedly, glancing up at the archer.

Daryl was still for a moment before his face softened, a deep, rumbling laugh coming from his chest — the sound so rare it immediately caught you off guard.

And so you sat back in your seat, fondly watching the archer, desperately wanting to savor the fleeting moment.

Daryl’s gaze caught yours and his laugh faded, in its place a small, somewhat sad smile. His features settled after a moment before he lowered his head — you couldn’t place the emotion he was suddenly exuding, but it seemed to resemble something like embarrassment.

For letting his tough exterior slip? For allowing a moment of joy to overcome him?

You weren’t sure.

All you knew was that you’d give anything — anything — to soothe his bruised and weary soul.

You regarded him carefully, studying his features under the dimmed kitchen light — his guarded eyes, focused downward, his pressed lips, only parting when he brought the side of his thumb between them, the faint scar above his right eyebrow, peeking through the hair that fell over his face.

Then without thinking, you reached forward.

You didn’t miss the way Daryl flinched at your sudden movement, his entire body going rigid. You faltered, pushing past the unexpected heartache you felt. Your outstretched fingers hovered between you before you extended your reach, gently brushing back the hair that covered the archer’s eyes. “There,” you whispered, a somber smile flickering across your lips.

A beat of stillness passed as Daryl’s gaze searched yours, clearly caught off guard but a look in his eyes you had never seen before.

You exhaled, hoping the archer couldn’t hear the shakiness within your breath as you leaned back. “I —” you breathed quietly, attempting to collect yourself. “I should probably get some sleep,” you murmured, pushing past the lump in your throat, afraid of what would happen if you spent one more second with such little space between you.

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled, nodding once, his expression unreadable though the air between you was buzzing — practically electric — every nerve ending in your body feeling as though they’d been set ablaze. It was as though there was some sort of magnetic pull, drawing you together, the distance between you becoming smaller and smaller until —

The front door suddenly splintered opened, you and Daryl simultaneously jumping to your feet at the intrusion, heavy breaths mirroring each other as you spun towards the noise.

Acting on pure instinct, Daryl yanked his hunting knife from the sheath hanging from his belt, taking a defensive step forward, part of his body automatically moving to shield you.

But when Sasha came into view, storming past the kitchen and up the stairs without a second glance, you let out the breath you’d been holding, your head dropping into your hands as your cheeks flushed, the moment prior finally registering.

What the fuck was that.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Daryl slowly retract his knife, slipping it back into its sheath. You snuck a glance at him, his body so still you weren’t even sure he was breathing.

You dropped your hands with a huff, carefully maneuvering around the archer without touching him, keeping your gaze forward as you slowly walked to the kitchen doorway. You paused once you reached the entrance, turning around to glance back at Daryl, who remained frozen in place.

“Uh,” you murmured awkwardly, gnawing on your bottom lip for a moment, trying to push past the fuzziness you felt in your stomach. “I’m — I’m gonna head to bed. Uh, thank you —“ you held up your bandaged hand. “Thank you for this,” you finished, awkwardly waving at the archer.

Daryl’s eyes remained fixed on the far wall, motionless, avoiding your gaze completely.

You sighed quietly, feeling like a fool for whatever had transpired before — and though you knew you should’ve just gone straight to bed, you couldn’t help the next words that came tumbling from your lips. “I’m sorry — shit, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean — you and I —“ you huffed a breath, throwing your hands up. “Damn it, I don’t know. I’m just — I’m sorry.”

You were mortified — even more so when Daryl barely even flinched at your words, acting as though he hadn’t even heard them at all. You sighed quietly, turning to leave when suddenly, the archer spoke.

“Y/N?” his voice seemed thick, like it’d caught in his throat.

You locked eyes with him from over your shoulder, your heart beating a fraction faster. “Hm?” you hummed, not trusting your voice.

He was silent for what seemed like forever until he straightened, as if he was attempting to build some courage, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say. “Ya don’t ever gotta apologize ta’ me,” he rumbled simply.

You let his words settle, the intent behind them more meaningful than you could even comprehend in that moment. A small smile grew across your lips as you nodded slowly, a familiar heat flushing across your features. “Goodnight, Daryl,” you whispered, pushing away from the doorway and towards the stairs.

And as your foot landed on the first step, you heard a soft mumble echo from the other room.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

A/N: So...how did y’all like this one!?

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ijustwant2write · 4 years ago

Text

A Bad Arrangement-Thomas Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @sihtrics)

Tags: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hi! Could I request a tommy imagine in which the reader and him are in an arranged Marriage. She tries to be a good wife, but he’s very cold towards her and she feels sad about it. One day he comes home in a rather sour mood and the reader tries to cheer him up, but since he’s upset he says something harmful to her which makes her cry. He feels bad and goes to talk to her and tells her the reason he was cold towards her is because he was scared she would end up like grace. A fluffy ending pls❤️’

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Neglect, sadness, arguing, swearing, mention of death, fluff

(A/N: I changed it slightly, it worked better with the direction of the plot)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Charlie's cries could be heard throughout the house, and my instincts kicked in. He wasn't my child, but I had always had a strong nurturing side. I carefully rushing up the stairs, hurrying down the hall to his room when one member of staff stopped me.

"It's alright Mrs Shelby, I'll tend to him." she quietly said.

"No, it's fine, I can look after him. I'm sure you're swept off your feet." I tried to move around her, but she blocked me.

"Please miss."

I sighed."Tommy told you to not let me near him, didn't he?"

Her silence gave me the answer. She hesitated before turning around, making her way into Charlie's room. The door closed before I could even peak inside, and Charlie's cries died down. The frustration in me was building up, I had never felt so humiliated or like an outcast in my entire life. And even in my house, I didn't belong.

As I walked back downstairs, I glanced up at the huge painting of Grace, Tommy's former wife. On the one hand, I understood why he kept it up; he was in love with her, they had a child together, and it was a tragic death. However, it felt as if he was mocking me, telling me that I wasn't as good as her, that I could never live up to her. And he wasn't shy about expressing that either.

This wasn't the marriage I had dreamed of, not the life my mother had told me I would have. After trying and failing to find that love everyone so desperately seeks, I somehow ended up in the clutches of the Shelby's. An arranged marriage (more like a business proposal) had been made between my family and theirs, just so they could tread on some of our territory. We weren't a gang like them, but my father was a powerful man, and he knew how to protect his business. Hence why I was part of the deal; marry the wealthy man's daughter, or lose out on a massive piece of land that would benefit them in the future. The marriage also made a tie between our families, meaning we were supposed to be friendly at all times. Which is why I never told my family about the way I was treated, it would cause an even bigger problem.

I continued down to the kitchen, smelling the freshly baked goods. There were biscuits cooling on a rack, and I hovered my hand above them, checking they weren't too hot. As no one was looking, I pinched one of them, quickly weaving my way out of there, and down to the wine cellar as I ate it. I had noticed that Tommy was in need of another bottle of whiskey in his office (I had been searching for him the day before, not finding him anywhere as usual, and for some reason, it was something that I picked up on), and this was another way to waste time for myself. My finger ran along the many bottles we had, picking up a random one. It seemed fine, I still wasn't aware of what made a good whiskey.

Although I had a feeling that Tommy wasn't in, I knocked on his office door anyway, scared of what would happen if I just entered. When no reply came, I opened it slowly, looking into the room before taking a step inside. My eyes roamed around the place, taking everything in. Tommy never let in me in for a long time, it was the one room I never knew. Slowly making my way towards the trolley stuffed with glasses of alcohol, I swapped the empty whiskey for the new one. That man's alcohol tolerance was amazing.

My head whipped around when I heard echoing footsteps, frozen as I thought about how angry Tommy would be when he caught me. I almost tripped over myself as I moved away from his desk, clutching onto the bottle. The door swun open, and he slammed it behind him before noticing me. With that usual cold expression, he stopped for a second.

"What are you doing in here?" he snapped, storming towards his desk.

"I-I saw that you had no whiskey, so I replaced it." I hated that I stuttered.

He lit a cigarette, not looking at me anymore."Someone else could have done that."

"I don't mind. I mean, it's done now anyway." I gulped."How was your day?"

"Fine."

I waited for him to ask me, even if he wasn't interested. But when he sensed that I hadn't left, he finally glanced at me again.

"Is there anything else?" he mumbled.

"No."

Scurrying away, I held in my tears until the door closed. Hugging the bottle to my chest, I whimpered unexpectedly. When was the last time I had smiled? When was the last time I hadn't cried one day after the other. My hand was shaking as I dumped the bottle onto a nearby table. It wasn't fair. I had been good all my life, why was I being punished?

The evening arrived, meaning another day of not existing was about to pass. Slumping upstairs after another lonely meal, I headed towards our room, when I saw Charlie standing up in his cot. He smiled as he spotted me, wriggling around and giggling. No one was going to stop me from seeing that boy, he had lost one mother, he wasn't going to lose another.

"Hi," I gushed as I approached him, both of us smiling at each other,"you should be asleep."

I picked him up, cradling him close to me, his tiny arms wrapping around me. I rocked him as I rubbed his back, taking the feeling in. He was instantly calmed, snuggling into me, and I cherished it. I wanted a child of my own. I wanted to know that feeling of being pregnant, the connection you had as soon as you gave birth, and for Charlie to have a sibling to play with. Just as I thought he had settled, about to place him back in his cot, he whined, and I straightened up again.

"Mummy." his words were muffled in my shoulder, but I heard it anyway.

He hadn't called me that before. It wasn't a mistake. Charlie knew I wasn't his real mum, and yet he had just called me that. I could hear his breathing become deeper, he had to be asleep by now. Though I didn't want to separate myself from him, I reluctantly laid him down, kissing his head ever so gently. Tiptoeing put of his bedroom, I pulled the door closed silently, luckily not waking him up as it clicked shut.

Most nights I couldn't sleep anyway, I would just lie in the plush bed, head resting on the finest of pillows; still with all this comfort, my mind was still wide awake. The way Charlie had said 'mummy' repeated itself over and over. Of course I had cried over it, but I had also cried at the joy he gave me. My heart hadn't felt such love for a long time. Tommy could be heard coming up the stairs, and I knew it was him because all of the staff were dismissed for the night; and the fact that it was three in the morning.

I rolled onto my side, pulling the covers over me. My eyes stayed open as I saw the light from the hallway illuminate the room, but we were shut in darkness again. Closing my eyes to seem asleep, I heard Tommy fumble around, sighing a couple of times. After a few minutes, the bed dipped beside me, but I knew he wasn’t lying down yet. When we were first married, I had tried to lay near him, wishing he would hold me just once. And it was extremely rate for him to even be in bed, not that it made any difference. Over time, I had inched further away from him, creating a huge space between us. I hadn’t cried myself to sleep in a while, and tonight I seemed to be falling back into that habit, whether it was due to what Charlie said or because Tommy yelled at me. But I couldn’t cry freely tonight, not with Tommy in the room. It wasn’t something I could control, so I subtly buried my head into the pillow, hoping that my shoulders weren’t shaking too much. Even if he did see me in such a state, it wouldn't phase him. He would probably slip away to fund peace elsewhere.

I could feel how puffy my eyes were in the morning, dried tears masked on my cheeks. My hand ran down my face, before flopping down to my sides. I didn't need to check if Tommy was there, he was never there in the morning.

Not bothering to dress for breakfast, I tied my robe around me, head hung low as I walked down the hallway. The only time I looked up from the ground was to see if Charlie was awake, but he had already been taken out of his room. I had to see that boy again today, I had to hear him call me 'mummy' again.

As I sat at the table, waiting to be served breakfast, the head housekeeper, Frances, approached me. She didn't have any food with her, nor anyone following her.

"Mrs Shelby, I have been asked to pass on a message from Mr Shelby." she started, seeming nervous.

My mind instantly jumped to the worst thoughts, panicking that something terrible had happened."What is it?"

"He has...demanded that you stay away from Charlie."

"Stay away?"

"He says you were told before that you weren't to interact, and apparently you have violated that."

"And leave that boy without a mother?"

"I'm sorry miss, it's what he ordered. My staff would be in trouble-"

"I understand." I accidentally snapped, regretting my tone."Is he here? Of course he's not, when is he ever here?"

"No, he isn't."

I could stand to be in that room anymore, not with all the tension I had caused. Frances backed away when I stood, and I left without a second glance. No matter how big this house was, I always felt like I was in a tiny box, like it was being crushed and no one cared if it hurt me. Sprinting out of the front door, I ignored the sharp gravel digging into my feet, heading towards the open field we had for the horses. I looked like someone who had escaped an asylum.

Everything around me was Tommy's, there was nothing of value that I owned here. He was in charge, he had control. I no longer had a life here, that had disappeared as soon as the ring was put on my finger. I tugged at my wedding band, desperate to take it off my finger, as if it was burning me; but it was stuck there, refusing to budge. I screamed out in frustration, slamming the ground with my fists. Tommy Shelby was a cruel man, and for what? I wasn't Grace, I understood that, but why did he have to be so horrible?

With my arms crossed over my chest, remnants of dirt still on my hands, I paced around Tommy's office. I didn't care if I wasn't supposed to be in here, he was going to answer my questions. I still wasn't dressed, and it was well into the late afternoon now. If I had to, I would wait all night in that room. Luckily I wouldn't have to, because his care had pulled up on the driveway, and it was only a matter of a few minutes when we would face each other.

He didn't hold back his deep sigh when he opened the door."Why are you in here again?"

"I want to speak to you." I confidently said.

"It'll have to wait." he headed towards his desk, and I scoffed at him.

"No, it won't wait. I won't wait. What made you think that you could stop me from seeing Charlie?"

"(Y/N), I am not about to argue with you."

I raised my voice, my emotions getting the better of me."He's only a baby! He needs a mother figure. You know, that boy is my only source of happiness in this hell hole, and you've taken that away from me!"

"Stop trying so fucking hard!" He yelled back."He's not your son, he's mine! You didn't give birth to him, my dead wife did! You don't do anything to benefit this family, I could have easily taken over your father's territory, but instead I chose the peaceful way, which I regret every day of my life!"

My bottom lip trembled, tears streaming down my face."You don't mean that."

"Oh but I do." he seethed."You don't understand what I do out there to keep us protected, to make sure I can feed us, to make sure no one dies!"

He quickly walked towards me, and I was too scared to stand my ground. I cried out as I fled for the door, clumsily opening it before escaping. My sobbing was loud through the spacious halls, footsteps heavy on the stairs, slamming the bedroom door as hard as I could once I was inside. My shaking legs managed to carry me to the bed before I collapsed, finding myself crying there once again.

It must have been an hour later when the door clicked open. I tensed up, slowly backing up against the headboard as Tommy stepped in. He stared at me, and I thought I saw a moment of sadness in his eyes, but told myself I imagined it. Cautiously approaching me, I stayed still as he stood at the end of the bed, hands in his pockets with his head bowed.

"I'm sorry."

"W-what?" I was in disbelief, he had never apologised to me.

He raised his head, looking me dead in the eye."I'm sorry for shouting at you, I know I scared you. I never want to do that."

I said nothing, hoping he would add onto that.

"I don't like being horrible to you. You don't deserve it."

"Then why do you do it?"

He seemed surprised that I had spoke."I do it to protect you."

"What do you mean?"

"I fell in love with Grace. I let her in, I told her things about the business. And she died. She took a bullet that was meant for me, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I had set up a life that wouldn't involve another woman, it would just be me and Charlie. And then this happened. I couldn't hurt or kill your father, I didn't have any reason to, it was more beneficial to make a deal. And you were a part of that."

"You didn't want anymore blood on your hands." I mumbled.

"Although I was desperate to not marry you, not just because we didn't know each other, but I didn't want to put you in the same danger as Grace. By not getting close to you, not taking an interest, I didn't have the chance to gain any feelings, even a friendship."

"You took Charlie away from me. It tipped me over the edge."

"I know."

"You've hurt me a lot Tommy."

"And I wish I hadn't. It seemed the only way to keep you safe."

"I wasn't asking you to love me. What I really wanted was at least a friendship. If you didn't want Charlie to see me as a mother-"

"I know what he called you the other day."

"The maid who told me about you sneaking in, she mentioned it."

"Are you mad?"

"No. But I'm angry that my son has been able to move on faster than I have."

"He hasn't moved on, he doesn't fully understand what happened. Charlie will remember Grace if we talk about her."

"You would want that?"

"If you want him to remember, who am I to take that away from him?"

He raised an eyebrow at me."I thought you would be screaming at me more."

"I don't want to do that. I don't want to be sad anymore. We have a lot of problems to fix, a lot of things to be talked about. But I'm tired, I can't deal with it now, not tonight."

He rounded the bed, coming to my side. Still apprehensive, I watched him closely. There was nothing to be scared of now, not when he was reaching his arms out to me. Reluctantly sitting up on my knees, I glanced into his eyes one last time, before practically engulfing him in the tightest hug possible. It felt good when he squeezed me back. It wasn't as if we had just suddenly fallen in love, we had made a connection, we were wiping the slate clean. Feelings were still hurt, there were things that needed mending between us, but it was a start.

"Can you forgive me for how I've treated you?" He whispered into my ear.

I sighed, tightening my grip."I will, over time."

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagines #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby one shot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders x reader #bbc peaky blinders #Peaky Blinders bbc

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inkandpen22 · 4 years ago

Text

Not Playing Nice

Request: a transman!reader x protective!Spike after the reader gets insulted or invalidated

Pairing: Spike x transman!reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting, mentions of violence, bullying

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Scoobie gang and attends UC Sunnydale with them. When Spike walks Y/N home after a group meeting, he notices some marks on his skin and gets concerned.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time writing a story with this POV and it was such a fun new experience! I hope I did the story justice and I hope you enjoy it! X

Masterlist

Curled up in the armchair, I struggle to not doze off. Buffy and the others discuss the latest Big-Bad that’s been ravaging Sunnydale. When Xander called this meeting at his and Anya’s apartment after he spotted the demon earlier at the construction site, I almost lied and said I was busy in the library. Usually, I’m of greater help than this, but classes have me drained and last night was a long night. The idea of having to walk back past the frat houses on the way to the dorm keeps popping into my head every time I close my eyes, so at least I have that to keep me alert.

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey Y/N?”

I hum, too tired to open my eyes. Spike is squatting in front of my chair, studying my face.

“You seem tired. How about you head on home?” He suggests.

I shake my head, sitting up to prove I’m awake. “Nah, I’ll stay until everyone calls it a night.” A yawn escapes me accidentally.

“If you’re worried about walking back with Mr. Munchie-Man out and about, I could join you,” he offers, referring to the toothy demon we’ve been hunting.

“It’s not that, thanks though,” I offer the blonde vampire a weak smile.

“Yeah, Y/N, you should get some rest,” Willow agrees. “I know you’ve had a lot of projects this week. We’ll bring you up to date tomorrow!” She offers enthusiastically.

I yawn again, “alright, maybe you’re right.”

I shift in my seat to stand and Spike’s hand remains on my arm kindly.

“Come on, Mate,” he mumbles, guiding me to the door. “I’ll walk you home just in case.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m human, not a defenseless puppy.”

“Doesn’t mean the Hungry-Hungry-Hippo won’t make you into a chew toy,” he insists.

Spike is always so uncharacteristically protective of me. He’s not that way with Xander. I suspect it’s because Buffy and the others treat me the same. I’m the ‘empathetic one’ of the group.

Everyone says their goodbyes and repeat for us to stay safe. Buffy adds a request, for me to call when I get back to my dorm room okay. I promise her to do so.

As Spike and I arrive at my dorm room, I go to unlock the door. Considering how late it is everyone on my floor is asleep and the only lighting in the hall is the emergency lights.

“Well, thanks for playing bodyguard,” I start to bid the vamp farewell as my door swings open. “I’ll see-”

“Wait,” Spike grabs my wrist suddenly.

I jump, thinking he says something in my pitch-black room. “What?!”

“What’s this on your neck?” He releases my wrist and his fingers brush against my neck.

Shit.

“Oh, I uh...” I stammered, struggling to think of an excuse. “Willow was messing around and tried flat ironing my hair! She kinda got to close ya know,” I laugh nervously, moving to step inside my room.

Spike grabs my forearm and I wince. Noticing my reaction, he frowns and swiftly raises the fabric of my sweatshirt’s sleeve.

“Spike, don’t-”

His sight lands on the massive, hours old, scrape that travels from my elbow to my wrist on the outside of my forearm.

“What the hell is this?” He mumbles, peering up at me with hooded eyes.

“From the last time, we fought a Big-Bad,” I explain plainly, taking my arm back and lowering the sleeve. “I’m not vampy like you, don’t heal as quickly.” I force a smile.

Not buying the story, he nudges my shoulder aggressively and I bump into the wall of the hallway. He presses his palm against the wall beside my head and reaches for the hem of my hoodie. I swat at his hand away and he slaps it back like a cat.

“Stop that,” he orders sternly.

I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw. I focus on a single piece of wood positioned at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, to distract me as Spike picks up the hem of my hoodie hesitantly. He shifts on his feet as the dark-colored bruise that coats my rib cage becomes fully exposed. For a moment that feels like an eternity, he examines the many clustered marks around my abdomen.

He clears his throat and drops the fabric. Pushing off the wall, he paces away to the opposite wall. There’s a prolonged silence between us as I protrude far within myself.

Spike spins on his heels to face me. “All of these marks from one fight where you had me, two mega witches, a Slayer, an ex-vengeance demon, and her lapdog to help you? What are you, a human or a peach?”

I toss my head back in annoyance. “Just leave it, Spike!”

“So, you’re just not going to tell me what happened?” He clenches his jaw.

“I did tell you,” I defend calmly and go to enter my room. “Now, goodnight.”

He rushes to the doorway and slams his hands against the frame. “I’m going to find out!”

“See you tomorrow!” I dismiss, shutting the door in his face.

Finally, alone, I slide down the back of my door and bring my knees close to my chest. Releasing a deep breath, I do everything I can to relax, even in the slightest bit. I’ve gone this long without any of my friends finding out, I just hope Spike doesn’t say anything. I’ve just never wanted to trouble them. I mean, considering we fight demons and forces of legitimate evil each day my problems don’t exactly match the level of priority. I can handle this. Besides, I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’m used to it.

_________________________________________________

The following night, we all gather at The Bronze to celebrate another win against a demon. I really didn’t like this one, he gave IT vibes this his racks of teeth. Gives me the heebie-jeebies!

At the bar, I wait patiently for my drink while the group is around our usual table just a few yards away.

“Jack Daniels please,” a familiar English accent requests the bartender.

I glance to my right and sure enough, there’s Spike in all his glory. He turns to face me directly and I stare ahead, watching the bartender make my drink.

“You were good today, you know when you picked up Xander’s ax and whatnot,” Spike compliments awkwardly.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“So you’re still not going-”

“Nope,” I nod. “Still not gonna tell ya.”

“Right then, fair enough,” he sighs, spinning on his heels to face the bar.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him tapping his black painted nails against the bar. After a second of fidgeting, he reaches into his coat pocket and reveals a pack of cigarettes. He slips one between his lips and holds the pack out to me. I give him a knowing look, he can’t be serious.

“You know I don’t smoke,” I remind him.

“You know I don’t smoke,” he mimics my voice, stuffing the cigarettes back into his pocket.

I suppress my amusement, biting down on my lip. That impersonation was just horrid. Spike notices and continues his act.

“Oh Spike, you’re just the best!” He says in a sing-songy tone. “You’re the evilest, most vicious vampire I’ve ever met. I just-”

I swat his arm and he whines, rubbing the wounded area.

“I don’t sound like that!” I laugh.

“You’re right.” He takes a quick smoke of his cigarette and clears his throat. “Let me just get in tune here-”

I whine, “Spike, I-”

“Well if it isn’t the SheMan!”

My heart stops as soon as I hear the eery insult. It’s nothing original, I hear it almost daily, that’s not what makes me anxious. The part that has me so worried is I hear from the same group of asshole every day. They’re all in the same frat at UC Sunnydale. I have to pass their house to get to my dorm, that’s how I ran into the first time. They were are their porch and one of them recognized me from our English Literature class.

The douchiest one of them all, the leader, appears at my side rubs against me. “We missed you in class today!”

I turn my body to Spike, putting my back to the Frat guy. His friends circle us like a wall of steroid driven rage. Spike clenches his jaw, switching his sight between me and the group of guys.

He removes the cigarette from his mouth and barks past me at the Frat leader. “Piss off you wanker!”

“Ooh, got yourself a boyfriend?” One of his minions purrs, making the others laugh.

“Trying to compensate for something are we?!” Spike insults the group, unfazed by the dickwad’s insinuation.

“Just ignore them,” I grumble to Spike.

“I’m sorry? What was that you little tranny?” Another one of them snickers and shoves me into the bar top.

The wind gets knocked out of me as I grip my bruised side. Sweet Lord, that hurt like a bitch!

“Okay, this should be fun,” Spike remarks, having had enough.

I push off the bar weakly, still suffering the shooting pain in my abdomen. I grab the vampire wrist pleadingly. “Spike, don’t!”

He won’t always be there to play bodyguard and I’ll be the one left to deal with the consequences at school. Next year I’ll live in a different building and I’ll never have to see these pricks again.

Spike is ready to drop-kick each of them and huffs when I stop with him. He opens to argue with me. “But-”

“Let’s go!” I repeat sternly.

We go to walk back to our friends, leaving the group of Abercrombie models by the bar.

“Must you always be so patient,” Spike grumbles, his cigarette balancing on his lips.

I can tell it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself. It’s not in his nature to leave a fight, baby steps.

“I thought you liked that about me,” I laugh lightly.

A faint smile appears on Spike’s lips, at least he’s easing up a little. Soon, we’ll be back with our friends and it’ll be fine.

“Oh yeah, you run!” One of the boys shouts over the chatter of the club.

Spike shifts to turn around and I press a hand to his back, urging him to keep walking. “Ignore them!”

“You sissy!” Another adds, earning a series of laughs from his friends.

“Alright fuck this nice-person bollocks!” Spike snaps, dropping his cigarette and smashing it with his boot. His face morphs into his vampy one as he allows his frustration to consume him. “I’m evil for Christ’s sake!” He spins on his heels and marches toward the group of guys gathered by the bar.

“Spike!”

Before I have the chance to stop him, he grabs one of the guys by the collar of his polo and punches him right across the face. The college boy falls into his friends then the floor with a grunt. He covers his face, his nose bleeding excessively.

Spike leans over him with a wicked snicker. “How’d you like that you gutless tit?!”

He stands up straight to address his circle of friends. “Anyone else what a goat it?! Suddenly I’m very thirsty!”

Taking one look at Spike’s face, all of them scatter. I watch as they shove each other out of the way to get away and sprint up to the exit. They leave their friend on the floor moaning and groaning in pain. Spike brushes his hands over his gelled hair, sleeking it back.

“Well, that was refreshing,” he sighs, dropping his arms at his sides.

He rejoins me and presses a hand to my back to walk me back to the bar to where we were peacefully before.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I mutter, nonetheless appreciate.

“Of course I bloody did,” he debates. “If there’s anything I hate more than sympathetic, humanitarian namby-pamby, self-righteous prats! It’s weak high-and-mighty bullies!”

Spike playing defender instead of the offender? What an interesting turn of events. After a moment, the bartender brings us our drinks.

“Thank you,” I say to Spike before I forget.

“Eh, don’t mention it,” he waves his hand, dismissing it as nothing. “And the next time any other prep-fest frat boy gives you trouble you tell me, alright! Promise?!”

I nod, taking a sip of my drink.

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell the others about any of this,” he assures me timidly as a side note.

That truly comes as a relief to me. I wouldn’t want to deal with the constant questions and fussing that I’m sure would ensue.

“So...do you wanna go join the others?” I suggest.

“Nah,” he makes a disgusted face as he lights himself a new cigarette. “They all annoy me.”

“I don’t annoy you?” I laugh, raising a brow.

“No, you’re quite pleasant actually,” he compliments to my surprise. “You think I’d punch someone for just anybody?”

“Umm, yeah?” I argue, not hiding my amusement.

“Okay maybe you’re right,” he concludes. “But if it were Xander I’d let him get hit!” He rushes out to maintain his tough facade.

“Oh, of course, certainly,” I agree, snickering at his sternness.

There’s a comfortable silence between us as Spike finishes his cigarette and I sip on my drink. Then, out of nowhere, Spike pops off like a rocket, causing me to jump a little. Evidently, he’s been going over the events of the conflict with the boys.

“I just don’t get why people get their knickers in a twist about some things?!” He complains to me. “And it changes with every bloody decade! One minutes it pre-martial sex and every other woman being called a harlot! That was real a drag for many centuries, let me tell ya! I couldn’t shag a girl without her panicking after! I was going through villages like I was on a damn pilgrimage! Then, a lot of the focus was shot at the gays for a couple decades following Stonewall and AIDS! I was in New York for that whole thing and people were down right bonkers! And the same people who were so pissy about it also blasted Freddie Mercury and Elton John from their boomboxes! Bet it came as a real shock to them when those closet doors swung open!”

Resting my chin my hand, I just listen to him rant and sip on my drink.

He goes on, “it’s just a load of bollocks how you humans are so quick to attack one another! It leaves us vampires and demons with little work to do! Most of the time, we just sit back and watch the bloody shit show!”

An amused grin appears across my lips as the decades old vampire bitches about closed-minded humans. He’s preaching to the choir here.

“For thirteen years everyone was up in arms about alcohol! Alcohol!” He repeats, peering at me with raised brows. “Of all things! So, for thirteen fucking years we had to hide and sneak around because a group of Jesus loving women decided alcohol was the reason their husbands didn’t like them! Well, I have a hunch that it might of been their constant nagging and preaching!”

He pants, catching his breath after his tangent. Honestly, it was quite amusing. I hope he has more.

“My point is Y/N, if I’ve learned anything from my many years on this planet, it’s that humanity constantly evolving along with the world. In this point in time, you’re who you’re meant to be,” he tells me as he fidgets with the paper from his straw. “Only you can define who that is and fuck anyone who tries to do it for you. Be yourself, people will learn to fucking deal.”

I sit quietly, processing his words and wait to see if there’s more. Then, he meets my gaze for the first time since his tangent.

“Would... would you mind if we just sit here, have a few drinks maybe?” He requests. “Those nitwits have me all moody.”

I struggle to hide the smile that’s forcing itself across my lips. “I’d like that.”

For the remainder of the night, Spike and I sit at the bar. We talk about a ridge range of topics from my major to his life before vamping out. I try imagining Spike as William the poet, it doesn’t quite work out in my head. He tells me some funny stories about his experiences during Woodstock, and we laugh about them for a good hour or two. It’s unspoken between us, but it’s evident that this is the start of a real friendship.

__________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles

#spike x reader #spikexreader #spike #spike x buffy #spike fanfic #spuffy #buffy s5 #buffy summers #buffy #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagine

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captainsolare · 4 years ago

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Can I request Julius + "surprise" for the event? Thank you!!! 💙💙

A/N: Hello lovely! I hope you enjoy it!!

Julius + surprise

Julius Novachrono was terrible with surprises. He’s the type of person who is so excited about a gift he buys for someone that he accidentally blurted it out, or when he hears a secret he gets this burning feeling in his chest and just has to tell someone, anyone about it. But your anniversary was coming up and he was determined to surprise you, and have it actually be a surprise. He sat at his desk, fingers thrumming on it as he racked his brain for just how he could surprise you without giving it away.

Marx walked in, stack of papers in his arms, and that gave Julius an idea. “Hey Marx!” He said, familiar twinkle in his eye. Marx raised an eyebrow as he set the papers down, hands settling on his hips as he studied the Wizard King carefully. “Yes?” He asked, he knew what that look meant, it usually meant there was going to be a massive amount of trouble created for him to clean up.

“I want you to erase a memory of mine.” Julius said, eyes fixed on Marx with an excited gleam. Marx blinked, trying to process what exactly was asked of him. “What? Why?” The questions tumbled from Marx’s mouth, landing at his feet in a jumble. Julius sighed and slumped back in his chair. “I just really want to surprise Y/N this year for our anniversary. I always end up spoiling things so I just wanted you to take the memory of the surprise I’m planning after I plan it so I won’t spoil it.”

Marx could already feel a headache coming on. “Sir, I don’t think you recognize the flaw in your plan. How are you supposed to remember what the plan is if I remove the memory?” Julius’s face fell as he realized Marx was right, he couldn’t exactly surprise you if he didn’t know what the surprise was about.

Seeing Julius’s crestfallen face made something stir in Marx’s heart. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Alright. I will help you, but I’m not erasing your memory.” Julius looked up at him, eyes sparkling with excitement once more, “You will?!” “Yes, I will.”

And with that, Marx helped Julius plan every meticulous detail, and then forbid him to speak a word of it. “If you spoil the surprise, no outside privileges for a month.” He threatened, foot tapping loudly on the marble floor.

It worked like a charm, every time he almost spoiled the surprise, he remembered Marx’s words and became quiet or changed the subject.

For your part, you were charmed by the fact that he was trying so hard to keep a surprise from you, but you also were trying not to laugh. Julius looked like a sad puppy when he suddenly became silent, eyes downcast and lips in a pout.

The fateful day arrived, and you were whisked away to a secret destination after being told to pack a bag. You arrived at a mountain hot spring resort, the whole place rented just for the two of you. Your eyes were as wide as Julius’s smile as he showed you around, whatever you had been expecting for your anniversary it certainly wasn’t this.

You sank down in the water, enjoying the scenery around you as the warm water relaxed your muscles. “Did I do a good job surprising you?” Julius asked, his eyes reminding you of a puppy. With a smile you patted his cheek lightly, “Yes, you certainly did.”

#300 followers event #julius x reader #gender neutral reader #julius novachrono x reader #julius fluff #planet 300 #aurora borealis

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esthyradler · 4 years ago

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I am Dungeon anon, djdjdjf. I hope submit is OK to use. But I didn't want be creative in attempting to fit everything in one post or in several posts. That might have the misfortune of being eating by the blob that lives inside all post boxes.

So here's the vague I'd I've had for a while now. Ok, not this one, this one only sprung to life by with that other anons writing story ask.

I have lots of IZ OC's only 3 are flushed, however, and only 1 is Irken and would work in accidentally finding Dr.Zam.

So, my Irken OC used to be a Elite Invader top in his smeet class, not as a whole, but among his smeet siblings. Since, I'm not sure of Zams age, but given my own Irkens timeline and what I gathered of Zams timeline. Either mine is a smeet group before, two groups above or actually during Zams time. (Still haven't decided if smeets are born in categorized classes. Like Invader smeets to one smeetary and science needs to another.) So, unsure if their actually smeet siblings, if the same age, again.

Anyway, during my Irkens invader life he was pretty vicious, even partook in the irken gladiator arena for sport between Invading worlds. On one mission he even turned off the air support on a whole planet and felt smug that he'd outsmarted n hid in fake skin never to be discovered, as he watched them all suffocate. He was true green Irken Nationalist - you know - more power to my people above all else, kinda Irken. Belief in Irken ideals that they were superior to organic lifeforms and all other races were inferior to the Irken Empire, that by enslaving n killing other interior lifeforms the Irken empire was in fact helping them. (Yeah brainwashed zombie.)

Anyway, karma is cruel n teaches us many things, like your whole way of life has been a lie and your no more important to the empire you pleadged to give your life to then other species you enslave n murder.

He was sent on his fifth invading planet right after being honoured and gifted a new ship for his last invade. When he was captured by the planet and headed over to their leading scientist. Dubbed 'insanity' A creature so devoid of apathy n emotions he experiments on his own people without blinking, just for shits n giggles.

He tore my irken apart. Broke him down mentally and physically. But it wasn't the torture or experiments that got my irken. It was the fact The Empire had been sending their leading invaders to their planet for years without a single success. Never to hear from a single one, or ever giving warning to future invaders of its danger. Because they meant nothing, once a toy was broken it was thrown away like garbage.

In the end my Invader wouldn't break. Wouldn't spill The Empires secrets. So he was given a virus in his PAK that would create a back door into The Control system n decimate the mem frame, wrack it from the iniade out, why giving the locations to every Irken whose PAK was still connected to Irk. N even has fellow irkens eye implanted in with a camera to watch the show.

But, what the alien scientist didn't know was. My irken may not of broke for him. He broke at very idea of returning to Irk and what The Massive and control brains would do to him if they learner he'd been defeated n let go. That he was a defected irken now, because he felt wrong. Complete mental breakdown ended up running from Irken space and has never looked back since. Especially, after finding out what was done to his PAK. He may hate what The Empire stands for, but he still believes in his people n what they could accomplish as free beings.

Dxhtrxtxxu, sorry, I figured that needed to be said to understand why everything happened.

My irken has killed a fellow smeet Invader Irken who accidentally ended sucked throw a black whole to his neck of the woods n he aligns himself in The Empires eyes just by knowing n speaking to other aliens aligned with The Resistance n The Resisty. Not mention defected, a traitor, still alive and so in. Lots of racked up reasons to be an enemy now.

I figure my aquatic Bounty Hunter working for The Sub branch The Resisty. Ends up way in over their head n leading several Irken towards my Irken. Or they are together my bounty hunter n irken possibly inspecting a new planet for the plant life (my irken is now a space green witch. They deal in the healing art of plants n such. They are very sick - ill explain that only if asked.) n their scanners on their ships don't pick up an training party of irken. Ooor they were already on the planet when the party shows up.

My Irken knows he's got a better chance of being kept alive n either escaping himself or being rescued tyab an inferior alien with ties to The Resisty who more then likely be killed right away.. Not mention he doesn't have the best self esteem anymore n if he dies it's no big deal. But the bounty hunter is his friend, their more then a friend, their the glue that holds my irken together.

So they cause a distraction or fight through all they fear to allow the bounty hunter to get away. N the irkens are more invested in traitors irken then some backwater planet alien.

In order to be kept alive longest my irken tells them in exchange for life imprisonment he'll tell The Empire all they want to know about their Enemies.. of course he's not involved with the Resisty.. knows nothing.. but he know how to be an Invader. He knows how lie n bullshit n work the system at the same time. (He knows they'll kill him after they get what they want. But he has a backup for that too.) He knows even the highest ranking irken can't make this decision alone.. so they gave no choice but to return him to Irken space to contact Irk.. because let's say the Massive doesn't exist anymore.. thank you florpis n Zim.

However, when get to Irk or radio in when close he lays down n the new tallest say simply to strip him of pak n download the info. He smiles n says he's been implanted with a virus any attempt to mess with his pak will infect every online system n destroy them. (He's bluffing.. as far as he knows. But they Don't know that.) Everyone's freaking out now n what to do with him. He's worth so much more alive than dead but he's also a danger.. so the tallest is like. The dungeons.. put him in the dungeons. Their old n there's no tech down there.. no way to infect the rest if irks whole gride system hundred if feet below the surface of irk.. untill they can figure out how to either exstrack the info without him or until they can get it out if him willing as before n just leave him down there to rot after.

At some point either my irken gets out n starts snooping around for a back exist or he just so happens to be stuck in same room as zams prison box.

Also, I figured out a way to keep Zam alive for so long without food or water or nutrient.. Irkens n their PAKs can go into a hibernation like the Wolly Bear Caterpillars.. Who freeze in winter, zero body functions, meaning they are essential dead n not using any resources.. He could be down there for eons without actual death.

I figure the smallest PAK function would be scan the area for other PAKs.. So Zam can one day escape. N his PAK senses my Irkens PAK n - that's as far as I have thought.

Just know Zam is going have to deal with my Irkens PTSD n emotional moments.. Being back in a dungeon all over.. being on irk around other irkens.. woo so many triggers. There might be even moments Zam will halve to talk my irken down from attempted murder as zones n blacks out from bounty of animalistic fear. (But, l figured he's not all stupid n excited puppy scientist. He's got lots of sides to him, especially, if he's going to be able to take care of Zim. So, he should do fine with this.)

I think I covered everything. Sorry about mistakes, I'm super nervous, hard writing this on a phone n I didn't write everything down. If there are more questions about the story or my Irken or any concerns in general, please ask. Oh, utccitcut n my OC Irkens name is Kravis or Krais as an Elite Invader it was SIVARK or SIARK (Still unsure about the missing irken letters in their language.)

----------------------------

This sounds interesting so far(i have a different idea for the whole zam au thing, but I'll allow anyone to make up scenarios with my oc, its sounds cool)

#submission #dr.zam #an au for an au which is about an oc #sounds coolXD

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tsc-updates · 5 years ago

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19k One-Shot: Kit, Tessa & Jem

April 20 2013

The sun outside was setting. It cast a warm and soft orange glow through the kitchen’s ample window, onto the large, circle-shaped, wooden table. Kit squinted at the ray of light that hit his blue eyes. He raised his gaze to Tessa, who sat on the other end of the table. He softly shook his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“I have to, Kit.” Her face was impartial of feeling, and her voice had no actual tone behind it. “I have to.”

Kit leaned his forearms on the table. “No, you don’t. Please, Tessa, I am begging you. It doesn’t have to end this way. Don’t let it end this way.”

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered, and let the card fall on the table, face up. There it stood, in all its glory, the ultimate end. The black and white card flashed in mockery, the +4 sign laughing at Kit’s misery. He looked up at Tessa. Her head was leaning to the side, and she was softly shaking it, a small smile playing in her lips. “Uno.” She said.

Kit threw his cards on the table and dropped his forehead on it with a small thud. He groaned loudly. After a couple seconds, he lifted his head again and pointed his finger at Tessa. “You’re evil.” At that point, Tessa’s smile had widened into a pearly white one.

“What just happened?” Jem sat on one of the sides of the table, placed between Kit and Tessa. He was staring at the +4 card still glinting in the sunset’s glow. “That was the most intense and most dramatic game of cards I have ever seen.”

Tessa laughed while cleaning up the cards. “You think that was intense and dramatic? You should’ve seen Will and Matthew play Go Fish. The literal meaning of intense drama.”

“How bad could it be?” Kit asked.

Tessa pulled up the sleeve of her t-shirt. “See this scar?” There was a small white uneven scar along the inside of her arm. “Family game night.”

“Will and the kids were that competitive?” Kit leaned back in his seat.

Jem snorted. “Yeah, they’re the competitive ones.” He muttered.

“Pardon?” Tessa pursed her lips.

Jem shook his head. “Nothing, dear.”

“Uh-oh. Jem’s pulling the ‘dear’ card. You must have screwed up real bad.” Kit crossed his arms. Jem threw him a grin.

“I’m not competitive.” Tessa’s eyes had widened slightly, and her eyebrows were raised. Her tone was sure but daring.

Jem took a card from the table and inspected it. “Of course not.”

“Say it.” Jem bit down on his lip to keep from smiling. “Say I’m not competitive.”

“You’re not competitive.”

Tessa was staring at him with humour in her eyes, and yet this was still one of the worst fights Kit had seen them have. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me I’m not competitive.”

Jem looked up at her. “I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be lying, and I could never lie to you.”

“Aw that’s sweet.” Kit interjected. Tessa threw him a glare. “…tly horrible.” Jem looked at him, barely able to contain his smile. “I’m definitely on Tessa’s side. How could you ever think that she’s competitive.” Sarcasm dripped on every word he said, perking up one of the sides of Jem’s lips.

“That’s right, I’m not competitive.” Tessa was either too worked up to notice the sarcasm or had chosen to ignore it.

“Kit, let me tell you a story.” Jem leaned forward in his seat. Kit rested his elbows on the table and held his head upon his palms. “Once upon a time, many many years ago, on a regular uneventful night, I was called to the London Institute on a medical emergency. When I arrived at the Institute, I found our friends sitting around playing a card game. On the corner of the room, was Gabriel Lightwood, a large gash on the side of his head, and bleeding profusely. Apparently, someone had hit him on the head with a massive book. I had to give him stitches. Guess the someone.”

Kit fake scratched his chin, as if deep in thought. “Could it have been someone that goes by the name of Tessa Gray?” He turned his gaze to her. She was nibbling on her thumbnail, a faint blush to her cheeks.

“It was an accident.” She said, in a low voice.

Jem smirked at that. “Really? An 800-page book accidentally flew from your hand, and travelled two meters in the diagonal to the other side of the table, hitting Gabriel, who happened to be your partner in the game, completely by accident?”

She shrugged. “We live in a world of wonders.” Jem chuckled and shook his head.

“Wait, but why did you ‘accidentally’ threw the book at him at all?”

“Apparently he caused them to lose the game.” Jem mocked.

“That card was clearly a 3. And the bastard confused it for an 8 the entirety of the game. You would have to be the stupidest person on Earth to not see it was a 3. You would have to be the dumbest, blindest-“Tessa cut herself off when she saw the looks the boys were throwing her. “Again, totally an accident.”

Jem and Kit burst out laughing. The sun was barely visible outside, and the kitchen was almost in darkness. Tessa waved her hand, and the lights turned on, flooding the kitchen in a soft white glow. After settling down, Kit gave them a questioning look. “Wait, didn’t you say you just went there to give him stitches?” Jem nodded. Kit’s face scrunched up in even more confusion. “Wouldn’t an iratze fix that? Why would you call for a Silent Brother?”

Jem and Tessa shared a look and giggled. “Will did things a little differently.”

“He used to call me for the minimal sign of hurt.” Jem shook his head with fondness. “Even if it was just a paper cut.” He smiled widely. “The Silent Brothers keep a record of every time they are called in the Silent City. They made a separate room for Will’s records only. It’s like a museum down there.”

Kit snorted. “Seriously?” Jem nodded. “Uh. The Silent Brothers are surprisingly humorous about the situation.”

“It got even worse after the kids got old enough to join in.” Tessa rolled her eyes.

“What did they do to those records?”

“Lumped them in with Will’s.” Jem shrugged. “They could tell.”

“You must have some fun stories about this.” Kit directed this at Tessa.

Her smile turned sad. “I don’t really remember a lot. I didn’t even remember this story until you brought it up.” She turned to Jem, who stretched his hand towards her and took hers, rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “My memory of those days is like a light fog around the house. I know what’s supposed to be there, but everything is too blurry to make out.”

“Is it easier for Silent Brothers?”

Jem nodded. “Yes. We have special runes that help us remember everything in great detail. But ever since I left the Brotherhood that my memories have progressively become blurrier.”

Kit bit his lip and looked out the window. “Does it make it easier? Getting married, having kids, falling in love. Does it make eternity easier? Is any of it actually worth it?”

Tessa studied him. She noted the sharp intake of breath as he waited for an answer, noted the way his fingers fidgeted against one another, the way his gaze was focused on everything and nothing all at once. She’d seen that look before, on specific people. She could feel their presence on the pictures that hung behind her on the wall. She blinked away the tears that threatened to escape her eyes. “It’s different for everyone.”

“I’m not asking everyone. I’m asking you.”

The pearl bracelet around her wrist felt heavy and tight. She shook it off. “There is no easier or harder. There’s just time. And time is never enough. Not even eternal time. Married, single. Kids, childless. Having one true love, slutting it up around town. It doesn’t matter. Time is never enough. So why not spend it with the people you love?”

Kit breathed out slowly and worried at his bottom lip. Eventually he spoke up. “What if the people you love, don’t love you back?”

Tessa turned her gaze to the same direction he was set to. “Someone once told me ‘It’s all right to love someone who doesn’t love you back, as long as they’re worth you loving them. As long as they deserve it.’” Tessa looked at him again, a small smile on her lips. “Does he? Deserve it?”

She could feel Jem giving her a confused look. Kit looked at her quickly, his eyes widened in shock. Tessa didn’t look away, nor did she change her expression. Kit stared at her for a few seconds, before whispering. “He does.”

“Then you shouldn’t feel bad about loving him. You should never feel bad about loving someone.”

Kit gave her a small nod. He leaned back in his seat, the intensity of the moment worn off and his usual relaxed demeanour returning. “Who told you that? They sound like one of those dope motivational posters that school therapists hang on their walls.”

Tessa snorted. She racked her brain, but everything came back blank. “I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember who they said it about? Maybe it’ll jog your memory?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

“Do you remember who they meant for you?”

She smiled and leaned closer to Jem. “There’s only two options there.”

Jem grinned and leaned forward to kiss her. They heard Kit groan. “Ugh, we get it. You three have an epic love story that makes all of us peasants have impossibly high standards. Blah blah blah. I want a rematch.”

Tessa broke the kiss giggling. “Sure. I would love to watch you lose again.”

Kit raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Totes not competitive.” Tessa threw him a glare while Jem laughed.

They settled back into the fun teasing environment that reigned supreme during their last game, the memories of black haired beauties that were too far to reach lodging in the back of their minds.

#kit herondale #tessa gray #jem carstairs #will herondale #matthew fairchild #gabriel lightwood #jessa #wessa #heronstairs #herongraystairs #the dark artifices #the infernal devices #the last hours #the shadowhunters chronicles #tda #tid #tlh #tsc

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sourbat · 4 years ago

Note

3 for Charles/Pickles?

Thank you! I love me some Chickles.

A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Implied post Galaktikon

Being in the hospital this late at night was distressing, amongst other things. It hardly seemed to matter that the entire wing and waiting room was closed off to the public; Charles could not deter the anxiety that continued to prove itself insurmountable against logic and reason. He tapped a shaking finger against his watch’s lens, growing more irritated with each passing second. Across the waiting room, a hanging television displays the same breaking news that had been laying for the past week: “Recent Storm Brings Back Dethklok?”

A clear voice stated there would be more news at eleven, but if recent updates proved anything, there wouldn’t be much to go on. Charles took pride in being the first to know, to piece the clues and finalize a solution, but even now he was still trying to make sense of things: the thunder and lightning, the rain and its connection with the magic, the unknown song and the remains of a broken guitar, and, most importantly, the return of Dethklok.

The very last bit should’ve been enough to clear his mind. Above all things, having the boys back, even in the conditions they were in, should automatically put everything else aside. But while everyone was fine celebrating, crying over the unannounced reunion and sudden resurrection of the band, Charles had to consider the unknown. Since initiating the Dethsong, it had been raining non stop. Why? Charles furrowed his brows, sinking forward and contemplating the various unknown elements that kept him from celebrating too early. How did some random song reawaken the band? What would happen once the storm ended?

Would Pickles…?

Charles pushed the thought aside. No, he needed to remain calm right now and remember his role. No matter what, he needed to be the voice reason. Even if this was all temporary… no, he needed to stop this!

A heavy sigh escaped his nostrils. Charles pushed his hands into his eyes, feeling the weight of the past several days being to increase its weight and hold on him.

He had almost cracked when Nathan woke up. He had been in the middle of explaining things to a dazed, barely alert Nathan, when his hands started to tremble. It happened right in front of the Explosions and Ms. Remeltindtdrinc, and although it was only a brief deferment of his usual character, Charles worried all those involved sensed his concern, his fear of the unknown.

He couldn’t risk letting that happen again.

A nurse finally approached from the side. “He’s awake now,” she announced. “And he asked for you specifically.”

Charles closed his eyes. Fear racked his chest, clawing for release at the news. His throat dried and tightened, and Charles had to spend a few seconds in his seat, mentally preparing himself for the difficult scene ahead. He told himself he would not break this time. Nathan was already so confused when he returned, and while he expressed little during their shared conversation, Charles knew the break in character affected him.

He would not repeat the same mistake with Pickles.

Charles stood up and faced the nurse. “Take me to him.”

The walk to the hospital wing lasted longer than needed. Charles was grateful fate allotted him enough time to swallow his fear, to remove the tired visage he’d donned since discovering Nathan at the remains of Mordhaus, calling close friends and relatives to take the long pilgrimage to the hospital where all the members were carefully placed once they had finished materializing back into the world of the living, and making the necessary travel between Mordhaus, the hotel, and here–all in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. It was a heavy mask that left him worn, exhausted and lacking proper constitution. Charles wished the walk to Pickles’ room was longer, because when he arrived Charles still felt the drag under his eyes, the dry ends each time he blinked, and his heart throbbing with fear over whatever condition Pickles was in–certainly not the best!

Charles swallowed, held in a deep breath, then made his way inside the room.

“Pickles?” he called, voice coming close to cracking once he saw the curtains surrounding the hospital bed.

“…Charles?” The weakened voice tore at Charles’ heartstrings. He swallowed again, pushing down the desire to run, to tear at the curtain and snatch up the man who, at any moment, might disappear with the rains.

Charles gently pulled the curtain aside, lips pressed firmly and eyes unwavering as he unveiled Pickles lying beneath him. The man was covered up in that too-thin hospital garb and blanket combo, made all the more useless thanks to a set of casts and devices that elevated the afflicted appendages. Charles watched Pickles’ good hand lift a few inches, middle and index straining up and aimed shakenly at him, before it became too much for Pickles to control and dropped them.

Almost. Charles bit his inner cheek, fighting against the pain. Almost.

Despite his condition, Pickles managed a chuckle. “Heh, heh.” He stared up at Charles and, not detecting the man’s inner turmoil, cracked a slight grin. “Now…there’s a sight… fer sore eyes.”

Charles pushed out a smile. “I could say the same myself.” He swallowed again, choking down the surmounting tremble, but succumbed to a sniff. “You’re alive,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Must be,” Pickles replied tenderly. “I mean… only other option… is heaven, an’ I don’ see me pullin’… that off.” He licked his dry lips, eyes closing as his tongue dragged over cracked and singed flesh. “That… or this is… the start of Doc Off…” Pickled stopped to cough. Charles reached for a napkin, but Pickles shook his head into the pillow. “Doc Offdensen’s… routine check-up dream.”

The joke, no matter how sweetly intended, failed to provide Charles a sense of security. Nevertheless, he held on to his smile, nodding politely at Pickles’ remark before pulling a chair and sitting beside him.

“You must have questions,” Charles started, noting how his voice shook as Pickles’ expression turned hurt when he tried bringing his good hand up again to rest some fingers on top of Charles’. There was discomfort behind each movement, Charles thought as he juggled between the pale fingers begging for his touch, the heart rate monitor that increased with each pained attempt, and the vibrating windows revealing a slight change in the accumulation of storm clouds. He would need to call for additional assistance, perhaps an increase in morphine dosage once he was finished debriefing with Pickles.

“Yeah,” Pickles admitted weakly. “What’s… fer dinner?”

He chuckled again, only this time Charles found it too difficult to pretend it was alright. His glasses fogged with heat, and his eyes and face burned at the joke that, in any other circumstance, he’d roll his eyes at. Maybe offer a pitful laugh.

Charles hurried to fix his composure. “Pickles… you’re aware what’s going on, right now?” he asked, and watched as Pickles slowly bobbed his head, movement turning more restrained as the pain from a long battle started to return.

“Yeah, I’m back.” The answer came as smoothly as ever, lacking the heaving breaths and squinted eyes that struggled keeping it all together. Instead, Charles was welcomed with that familiar grin, toothy incisors and lively green eyes that gloweed under the intense hospital lighting. He slipped forward, hurt and captivated by that familiar look that Charles feared he’d never see again. Now close, Pickles summoned the last of his strength, and pushed the tip of his middle finger against Charles’ palm: a silent plea for him to take his frail hand in his own.

Charles bit his tongue, struggling to maintain his senses once he had Pickles’ fingers wrapped around his hand. He gave the limp appendage a squeeze, and saw Pickles’ eyes well up.

Pickles smiled up at him. “Hell couldn’… hold us ferever… Charlie.”

Pressure built behind Charles’ eyes. That stupid nickname that he tolerated, grown accustomed and learned to favor was sung again, spoken after several weeks of unending silence. Charles wanted to hear it again, to ask Pickles to repeat that statement one more time, only this time add the promise that this was it, that once the storm was over, and that Pickles and the others would remain.

But how could he know for sure? Charles knew nothing of the song that accidentally initiated the ritual, the storm that magically brought back each member just alive enough to survive the trip to the hospital before being placed on life support, and whether any of this would be forever, or until the rains ended.

“I’m glad you’re taking this well,” Charles said, fighting back the twitch of his lower lip when Pickles’ index finger gave a mild wiggle into his hand. “But, there’s a lot we need to discuss.” Pickles exhaled through his nose. Charles felt another finger shake under him, requesting for more affection instead of the usual banter of prophecies. This time, Charles chose to ignore it. “Pickles, I need your help. There’s a lot of unknown factors we need to consider, and you’re the only one awake who can help me piece it together,” he said in a semi-confessional manner. “Nathan’s awake, but he can’t talk, and the others are still–”

“Charles…be quiet.”

Charles ceased, staring eyes agape at Pickles. “Excuse me?”

“I said… be quiet.” Pickles heaved another sigh. He turned as best he could, eyes filling with tears as he painfully sucked in enough air to get him through the next sentence. “Kiss me,” he wheezed out, tears falling from the corners of his eyes. “Lemme know this ain’t a dream.”

Charles saw the tears, and pressed his lips into a thin line, feeling his heart tremble and weep for Pickles. In all the years they spent together, Pickles head never sounded so desperate, had looked so small and feeble, and Charles only had himself to thank for it.

“Of course,” he said, voice shaking with guilt, fear, and adoration as he drew near and hovered over Pickles’ weakened state. Carefully, he lowered, lightly brushing his lips against Pickles’ as a warning, a test as to whether Pickles could even handle physical contact without it causing additional pain. He felt the collective heat, the spark and drag of Pickles’ goatee, and the pointed tip of his upper lip, and in that moment, heard Pickles’ request repeat in his head, and dropped into a kiss.

Pickles grunted a sound underneath before letting it flow into a needy hum. Charles listened, feeling his head spin as Pickles filled his stiffened, awkward kiss with flaming passion and reverence, pulling Charles’ bottom lip between his own. There was barely any strength behind the move, but Charles could feel it race through his mouth, down his throat and inject deep into his heart. The trembling fingers wiggled again in his palm, and this time Charles couldn’t hold it together, and he pushed into Pickles, eyes shutting and failing miserably to keep the tears hidden. His throat locked, and though he parted his lips to allow Pickles to playfully nip and suck, to hum more pleasing, lively sounds that Charles had missed so desperately, he found that he couldn’t breathe or think straight past feeling Pickles alive and connected with him.

Pickles was alive. Pickles was here.

Charles stopped the kiss. Not by his own accord, but because the thought had proved too much for him, and despite being so happy, so relieved that Pickles was here, couldn’t keep his mouth from forming an ugly scowl, mouth agape and letting out staggered, shaking breaths. He covered it, smothering his cries as best he could, and Charles tried to take his other to wipe away the stream of tears that flowed freely from the corner of his eyes, but Pickles three fingers curled into his palm, stopping him from going any further.

“S’okay, Charles,” Pickles whispered from his bed, and when Charles looked down, saw Pickles' comforting expression stained red, and possessing a thin stream of tears that ran down the side of his face. “M’feelin’… the same. S’okay.”

Charles sniffed, blinking madly in a sad attempt to see through his wet, fogging glasses. Pain continued to pour forth, and a cathartic sense overtook him as his hand grew limp, letting the occasional curl of wiggle from Pickles’ fingers remind him that they were together.

“Come over here…” Pickles begged, massaging his index finger against the center of Charles’ palm. “I won’t… bite. I’m... too weak!”

A weak laugh broke out from Pickles. Charles let out an ugly sob, this time bringing both hands to lift his glasses away and wipe the increasing flow of tears. He dropped down, resting close to where Pickle’s hand lay, and he cried. He cried and spit out Pickles’ name between each sorry heave, and he felt Pickles’ finger continue to brush against his hair and forehead, reminding him he was still there, and that, for now, there would be no talks about gods or prophecies, about being resurrected, the storm that was drastically decreasing into typical winter rainfall, and whether their reunion was permanent, or would end once the sun arose and dried the rain and tears away.

There was just them, and now.

#Thank You #kissing prompt thing #gluku-pikron #chickles

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axther · 4 years ago

Text

hey lover!

They walked with the Universe on their shoulders, and made it look like wings.

tamaki amajiki x gender neutral!eldritch abomination!reader

a/n: thank you so much to the wonderful wonderful @what-the-censored-xd and @pixxiesdust for being my beta readers!! and thank you to @v0mpy for requesting!! finally, a story where the love interests actually get together and stay together 🥴

Sweet was the light that beyond the window breaks.

Tamaki Amajiki knew this well. Said light was always coming from the side of his best friend’s room, illuminating the side of their face. Sometimes, it didn’t need to, their own radiance showing, or maybe the light of a dual monitor system. Their eyes would flick left and right, smiling softly at the spiralling chat on the bottom right corner, as they conquered kingdoms. Their hands were fast and sharp, tapping and flying across the keyboard with a vengeance, and when they won a battle, they would lean back with a satisfied sigh. Maybe there was a streak of paint on their arms, and in spare moments, they would try to rub it off. And in even sparser seconds, they would look at Tamaki on their bed and give a sweet smile.

YN LN. The love of Tamaki’s life.

YN didn’t necessarily know that, though. Tamaki made absolutely sure they had no clue, short of him blushing when they were around. But since they knew him since he was a child, they easily brushed it off as him simply being...him.

In the late nights where the darkness was overwhelming and his thoughts were too loud, he would sneak into their dorm and watch them play in the wee hours of the morning. He would take in the scent of paint, the faceless worlds on their walls, trapped on canvas or paper. It felt almost surreal. And as he would watch them, he would wonder. Was he enough? Would he ever be enough?

Ah, but those were the late nights. The nights would bleed into days, light breaking through other windows, and YN would move from their desk into a wide room, with brick walls on three sides and floor-to-ceiling windows on the other, like a gilded cage. And YN would paint, colours of every kind sweeping across the racks of canvases, paints sliding and paints, prying off the brushes into something unfathomable. And Tamaki would watch them until the sun was done rising and the early morning fog would clear.

Sometimes, he wondered. YN had never shown a quirk nor spoken of one. They were enigmatic in all the best ways, ways that snared and contained Tamaki like a blanket. They never judged him, never differed. They were effortlessly elegant, accidentally regal, casually divine. They created and destroyed as they pleased, and none could stop them. Sometimes when they spoke, their eyes would seefade into worldsthoughts of a world that Tamaki couldn’t even begin to fathom. YN rarely spoke of home, but when they did, it was a dark place that they could only spit harsh, short words of. Thatere was something deep that Tamaki didn’t dare touch, lest he watch their friendship crumble before his eyes.

Tamaki loved them. And it could destroy him at any moment, in a single, breathless second.

He never wanted that second to come, but like most things in his life, disaster loved him. That second answered all his questions, all the wondering if he was enough. It all came to a halt as the world froze, and he knew.

He wasn’t enough.

“It’s done!”

YN stood in front of a massive canvas that stretched above them, resting their hands on their hips in satisfaction. Their accent rang through their pride, and paint was everywhere on them, but they had a small grin on their face. Tamaki was behind them, staring up at the work with quiet horror.

Before him was what could only be labelled as a monstrosity. It was pure chaos, with deep blues and greens swirling across it like the sea had risen to the earth and taken a sturdy form. There were yellow and lime green fires cast across it, thick billows of smoke rising to the top of the canvas. The main centrepiece was like a horrible streak of blood: a creature in the middle, a tall, mutilated, spectral creation. It had ribs, Tamaki could tell that much, but too many, and they were hanging out and contorting it’s entire torso. It looked up into the sky of chaos, and he could almost hear the cry from it’s nonexistent mouth.

“It’s incredible,” he whispered in awe. He took a tentative step forward and YN glanced at him.

“You think so? I’m sure it could be better, but to be honest, I’ve been working on this for months.” They glanced up at it again before turning to Tamaki. “What do you really think?”

“It’s so…” hHe hesitated, staring right at the creature. It wasn’t so terrifying up close, but instead seemed to be mourning. “It’s so sad.”

It came out as little more than a reverent whisper, but YN’s raised eyebrows said enough.

“Really?”

“I-! I’m sorry!” Tamaki recoiled his hand, not even realising that he had been reaching forward. “If that wasn’t what you were going for, then I’m probably wrong!”

“No, no.” YN paused, tilting their head. “That’s exactly what I was going for. I just...didn’t think you’d pick it up. Most people don’t.”

“Huh?” Tamaki looked at them with wide eyes and a flush. “W-Well! Then it’s...it’s great!”

“Nice.” YN nodded, though it seemed more like they were musing. “I’m glad, then.” They turned to grab a rag, wiping their hands. Tamaki’s eyes flickered across the entire canvas, trying to take in as much as he could when he noticed a figure in the bottom middle of the canvas. He tilted his head.

“Who’s that?”

YN turned, curious, before realising what he was eyeing. They faltered, turning back around.

“It’s nothing. Just...just something extra.”

“Oh.” Tamaki stepped back. “What are you going to work on next?”

“I dunno,” YN shrugged. “I need to get more supplies, but after that, it’s kinda up in the air.”

Tamaki nodded. “Okay.”

He wished he could say more, but all he could think of was the small, kneeling figure before the great calamity. They looked so hopeless, so pleading.

And quite suddenly, the painting didn’t seem to be about the monster after all.

Tamaki was walking with YN down an open mall, watching them glance at shops and talk about their latest work. There were lights strung about, and sparse boards served as a makeshift room, letting the sunlight soak through. It was neither busy nor empty, with people scattered about. YN was in step with Tamaki, sighing.

“I, uh, wanted to encompass…” YN waved their hands about, trying to tie their words to their thoughts. They couldn’t seem to focus on one thing until Tamaki ever so gently began pulling them towards a corner store with mock paint splatter along the walls. YN didn’t resist, instead electing to still try and speak their mind.

“It’s like, this thing. It’s really...opaque.” They paused, pursing their lips. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I can try...to help you get it out…” Tamaki murmured, watching a couple point at a bright blue paint through the glass of the doors. “Do you have the...the basic idea?”

“No,” YN snorted. “I just know it’s...dark. Angry.”

“Angry?” Tamaki glanced back at them, daring to raise a concerned eyebrow. “Why...why angry?”

“I dunno.” YN’s eyes grew dark for a second, unfocusing like they were somewhere else, when a distant rumble echoed through the road. Both turned toward the sound alongside most of the civilians, and Tamaki grew stiff.

“What was that?” YN murmured, a casual curiosity on their face. “Thunder?”

Tamaki stepped in front of them. “That wasn’t thunder.”

There was a moment of pure, thick tension, a tension that was palpable and making the hairs on the back of Tamaki’s neck rise, and YN put a hand on his shoulder. They opened their mouth to say something, but Tamaki stared down the cobblestone road with an unblinking stare. There was movement, barely any, and Tamaki gave a shuddering blink.

Then, it hit like a mule kick.

There was a tsunami of pure air, rushing forth in an uncontrollable tide. The lights flailed in the wind and civilians were shoved back down the street. Tamaki managed to nearly throw YN into the store before getting flung into a candy shop sign, yelping when the collision made his spine pop. As he gathered his breath, he used his quirk to manifest tentacles, staring straight ahead.

A man strutted forward, oozing confidence, purple hair pulled high in a winding ponytail. When one civilian shakily tried to dial 119, he raised his fist in a sharp motion. A square column shot from the ground and fired the poor woman into the air. It was almost comical, how she was there and then she wasn’t, but Tamaki rushed forward and caught her, placing her gently on the ground before facing the man. The man stood for a minute, letting the remaining civilians clear before focusing on Tamaki.

“Where,” the man droned. “Are your heroes, boy?”

Tamaki narrowed his eyes, wondering if the woman’s call went through. He looked over at her, only to see YN standing over the woman in a protective stance. YN glanced back periodically at Tamaki with worried eyes. He glanced back, only to see the man was much closer that he had anticipated, maybe only a yard away. Tamaki was tempted to leap back, but the man stood right before the glass windows of the paint shop, and Tamaki’s nerves were steeled.

YN was there. YN was there. YN was there.

“What is your name, boy?” The man growled. Tamaki kept his mouth sealed, keeping eye contact with the man’s blue eyes. “I am Yigrallas Initi, son of the Great Yoson. I have come to seek out revenge on my father’s killer by destroying the world they hold so dear.”

None of it made a lick of sense to Tamaki, but he realised that Initi had an accent he could place. It was the same accent YN had, the one that no one could pin the location of. He narrowed his eyes.

“I won’t give you the chance.”

Tamaki began rushing Initi, just hoping to get him away from the paint shop, and Initi waved a gloved hand. The earth beneath Tamaki spun and he nearly ran across the entire street before righting himself and seeing Initi turn and face Tamaki. He realised that thank god, Initi was looking away from the paint store. YN was inside, ushering the woman, spare customers, and workers into the backroom or under the counter. They stood near the back door, narrowing their eyes at Initi.

“Do not get distracted, boy.” Initi raised his fist again, but before Tamaki could be rocketed by the stone under his feet, he skipped to the side and narrowly missed a rock to the jaw. Initi growled.

“You are a fleeting one.”

It began a dance; Tamaki leapt back and forth, trying to avoid the wind and rocks that Initi tried shooting his way. It was strange how Initi seemed to only be mildly annoyed the entire time, but Tamaki didn’t think too hard on it.

That was a lie. He thought about it-a lot.

Was Initi planning something? Were there others? Where were the actual, licensed heroes? Were they even coming? Tamaki thought enough that he was too slow, getting smacked with a boulder the size of an outdoor table. Initi let out a laugh.

“The little bird touches the earth,” Initi mused, watching Tamaki fall to the pavement. Tamaki’s head was spinning. The rock hit much harder than he anticipated and made him go still for a moment. Everything echoed, like Initi’s footsteps, his chuckles, the bell.

The bell?

Tamaki managed to open his eyes and saw YN storming out of the paint shop with a fury in their eyes.

“Tama!”

Initi stopped approaching Tamaki and turned. YN’s eyes met Initis’, and there was an instant look of horrified confusion. Initi’s eyes widened, impossibly so, before a ferocious glare glare overtook his face.

“Z’ythras.” He growled.

“Yigrallas,” They hissed.

“You killed my father,” Initi’s voice plummeted, and his hand made a choking motion towards YN. They cooly stepped to the side and avoided the plume of fire from Init’s palm.

“He deserved it,” They reared up, putting both hands before them like they were planning to punch the villain.

“He did nothing!” Initi howled and ran towards YN. Tamaki tried to protest, but his voice was stuck in his throat, and he smelled blood.

“He destroyed everything I loved!” YN’s face was uncharacteristically enraged, running right into Initi and socking him in the nose. He yelped, grabbing a handful of their hair and dragging the both of them to the ground. It was straight, raw, hand-to-hand combat, and Tamaki watched in awe as YN held their own against Initi.

“He hunted demons. Demons like you!” Initi managed to spit out, before straddling YN and placing his hands around their throat.

“You…” YN was choking, trying to pry his hands away and kicking him in the stomach. “You have no idea...what he did…!”

“You killed him!” Initi dug his nails into the meat of YN’s arm and used his spare hand to grip their ribs. “You murderer! My father was a good man, and he ended the plague of-of!” Initi didn’t get to finish his sentence when YN picked up a piece of rubble and smashed it into his face. There was a streak of blood and dust of Initi’s face and YN scrambled away, towards Tamaki, who was still trying to get up. Initi grabbed their foot, though, and they slammed into the cobblestones. There was a groan, and then Initi climbed back onto YN and began choking them, slamming their head with as much force as Initi could muster.

“You served them! They did nothing but kill and destroy, and you served them willingly! You must die!”

Then, there was silence.

Initi stared down at YN, and Tamaki tried to yell. They were completely still, and there was something leaking from behind their head and staining the bricks. It wasn't red, but a gaudy silver that was only there for a moment before disappearing into the air.

YN was dead.

Tamaki wasn’t enough.

He felt his heart stop and a white-hot rush in his blood. Tears swelled forth, and thought the blur, Initi looked at his hands with shock. The man didn’t seem to even know what he did, standing with a gasp. It was all so suffocating, seeing YN’s still corpse and knowing that he would never hear them again. It was a horrible, quiet peace that made Tamaki choke on his own sobs.

Initi looked at Tamaki, and slowly began stumbling towards him. Tamaki felt such a deep hatred for the purple blob in his eyes, and wanted nothing more than to crush it.

Then, there was a whisper.

Initi stopped, and the tears fell from Tamaki’s eyes. It was enough that he could see someone writhing on the ground behind Initi. The man turned, and let out a gasp.

There were two YNs, and one YN rose like a puppet cut from it’s strings, breathing like they were starved for air. Their head was back in a way that seemed almost painful, until it snapped forward. The other YN-the corpse-melted like red goo until the skeleton was the only thing left and it rose, standing perfectly behind YN. The ground around them began shifting, until chunks of the pavement were uprooted, and five more skeletons crawled from the dark dirt, bugs and filth clinging to the yellowed bones. There was a second, a brief, imperceptibly chaotic and still at the same time.

The perfect eye of the storm.

Then, YN’s voice leaked through while they still faced the pavement. It wasn’t the sweet, kind voice Tamaki knew, but a sound like a thousand angry hornets if they could speak at once. It made his entire body freeze in horror.

“Sixty five million, three hundred and forty thousand, and five hundred and sixty minutes.” YN paused and sighed heavily. “Five hundred and sixty-one. One hundred and twenty two years, seven months, and twenty four days.”

YN looked up, and their eyes were a startling pitch black with bleeding red pupils. They didn’t even seem to see Tamaki, tunnel vision focused on Initi. The skeletons, which had been looking down, snapped their heads up to look at Initi.

“I am considered young for my kin. We are ageless in infinite chaos. Possessive of everything and nothing. We are the rulers of the empty voids. Your father destroyed my home and peoples for sport and was killed by the Ancient Laws, written by Father Dragon and Mother Hydra. I killed Yoson Godslayer. I am Z’ythras, the Last Great Old One, and you have hurt my love.”

At once, Initi let out a horrified yell as the skeletons ran at him, almost on all fours. It was frankly terrifying, a suffering, malicious vision of Initi being ripped to shreds. His screams were miserable but Tamaki could only focus on YN. They turned to Tamaki, brows furrowed, and ran to him. He tried to whimper something, anything, but YN simply cradled his head and blocked the bloodshed.

“Sleep, my love. All will be well.”

And all Tamaki saw was darkness.

When Tamaki woke up, he was screaming.

He was in a cold sweat, gripping at blankets and anything he could see. He felt overloaded, terrified, until the door opened (there was a door?) and YN walked in. They smiled in the comforting way they always did, and Tamaki relaxed.

“Bad dream?” They murmured, tucking some of Tamaki’s stray hair behind his ear. He panted, but the burning in his lungs was quelling. He started rambling, eyes darting across YN’s guest room.

“Y-Yeah! You died, and there was this man, and-and he was after you, and there were skel…”

Tamaki looked at the open door and saw not one, not two, but six skeletons, all curiously edged around the door like puppies. But if they were puppies, Tamaki would’ve been fine. Instead, he began choking on his breath again, and YN grabbed his face.

“Tama, focus. Focus. You’re okay. They’re not going to hurt you.” YN looked both concerned and humoured, and one of the skeletons jostled the other in what seemed to be embarrassment.

“Then-then-then you-and he-and they-and you-”

“Just take a second, Tama.” YN soothed. “Breathe. I can explain once you’re calmed down.”

It took Tamaki more than a second, but he was able to breathe normally, and if he kept his eyes on YN, he wouldn’t be able to see the skeletons in the corner.

“So…” Tamaki gulped. “What…?”

“Everything you’re going to hear is going to be…” YN hesitated. “Unbelievable. Absolutely insane.”

They stood and turned, tugging their shirt up just the slightest. Heat flushed Tamaki’s cheeks, but he noted a sticky-looking spiderweb pentagram tattoo. It had the All Seeing Eye in the middle, and he tilted his head. YN glanced back.

“I am not human. I might’ve been, at one point, but I can’t remember. I am part of a race of gods called the Great Old Ones.”

“You said...that they were dead.” Tamaki winced at the words, and YN lowered their shirt.

“Yes. I am the last one.”

“And that the guy, his dad…”

“Killed them. The Great Old Ones…we were powerful. Divine. Horrifyingly ethereal. We were the ultimate hunt. And Yoson was the ultimate hunter. He sought us out, and for the first time in millenia, someone managed to kill one of the Great Old Ones. But Yoson wasn’t satisfied.” YN’s eyes went dark, and Tamaki searched through them. There was nothing but ageless regret. “He went after all of them. I wasn’t there when it happened. I was on Earth actually. Here. But when I came back, it was all up in blue and yellow smoke. My father, he was the last one to be killed. And I saw him standing there, mourning for my mother.”

“Then the painting…” Tamaki baulked. “That was your father?!”

“Mhm.” YN hummed, sighing. “I was the only Great Old One that couldn’t be inherently killed, so Yoson went after me. And since the Ancient Laws, written by our-my forbears said that it was perfectly reasonable to fight back, I did.”

“Did he...kill you?”

“Oh, yes.” YN hummed again, looking both miffed and satisfied. “Four times. The fifth, I got hit by a car. The sixth, of course, was Yoson’s son. Who, naturally, is dead. Like father, like son, I suppose.”

“And…” Tamaki glanced at the skeletons. One waved timidly, and there was some more jostling.

“They follow me around, unless I want to be discreet. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You and the villain, you two had...have the same accent.”

“He was raised on the ruins of my home, I suppose. Yoson was from there, too.”

“And you…” Another furious flush rose on Tamaki’s cheeks, and YN tilted their head.

“You called me your lover?”

YN’s eyes went wide, and the skeletons froze. Four dashed away, one slunk behind the door, and the last literally collapsed into a pile of bones. YN themselves were bright red, scratching the back of their neck and looking away.

“Aha, well, that was...I mean, if you don’t want to, then it’s okay! But I know...it’s, uh…” YN trailed off, nervous for the first time that Tamaki had seen. Someone who was an immortal god, levelled to a blushing flower. Some he loved, blushing for him.

“Am I dreaming?” Tamaki pinched himself, and YN sat up.

“Oy! Don’t hurt yourself more!” One of the skeletons (the one behind the door) nodded fervently with YN’s cry.

“But you’re really...you love me?” Tamaki pointed at himself. “Well…” YN paused, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

There was a moment, but unlike all the others, it was kind. It was soft and gentle, like staring at the stars on a clear summer night. Tamaki’s heart pounded through his stomach.

“Well, I-! I like you, too!” He nearly hollered it, but YN lit up like a tree again.

“Then do you wanna be, like...dating?” “Y-Yes! Please!” He leaned forward. “And does that mean we…! Can we!” He couldn’t finish his sentence, he was too nervous, but YN smiled.

“You wanna kiss?”

There was a rattle and all the skeletons were back at the door again, but Tamaki ignored it in favour of staring intently at YN’s lips. He gulped and nodded. They leaned closer, ever closer, and Tamaki’s heart raced, and it was like he was going to have a heart attack.

Then their lips met, and it all paused, and suddenly, this one moment made up for the bad ones.

#tamaki amajiki x reader #bnha x reader #eldritch horror reader #lovecraft #fnjenfjeo im tired #im just glad i finished this tbh #my hero academia x reader #reader insert

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hey-hamlet · 5 years ago

Text

BNHA AU Ideas: Puppydog Tails

Also on AO3!

TL;DR:

Izuku manifests his quirk, and watches his old life burn in front of him in a matter of months. Scared the villains that killed his mother will come after him, he uses his shape-shifting quirk to hide in plain sight as Katsuki's dog. They keep each other safe and sane throughout the years, a duo people become uses to seeing as they jog down the sidewalk each morning.

Izuku doesn't just use his quirk to help Katuski. His heroic spirit can't be crushed so easily. In his wanderings, he meets and helps countless people, from heroes to Katsuki's future classmates.

Let's just say Katsuki's first day of school is a wild one.

basically, izuku is a shapeshifter, but can only change into different mammals. he needs to know their internal organ structure perfectly or he's in trouble too.

he manifests his quirk and quickly goes about learning some common but practical animals like a small cat, greyhound, mouse, bat and rabbit

he and bakugo are friends

his good times dont last long though, his mother is killed for a connection to a villain she didnt know she had (probably dad for one) and the villain group is after izuku as well

they don't know his quirk, he honestly hadn't gotten it registered yet

inko tells izuku to run, hide and be safe, right before shes practically cremated where she stands by a powerful fire quirk. izuku runs, shifts into a small dog and goes the only place he can think: the park he and bakugo play in

now, mitsuki is frantic bc inko's house is on fire and they can't find inko or izuku

katsuki doesn't know whats happening though, and she sends him off to the park in case they start pulling bodies out of the building. katsuki is happy to go, asks if he can bring izuku. mitsuki says izukuis busy

katsuki goes to the park and hears a soft whining sound, he finds izuku, hidden behind a tree, smelling like ash

izuku shifts back to a human and explains that villains hurt his mama and they want to hurt him too

katsuki, crying, tells him to change back into a dog. he'll keep him safe from the villains. izuku agrees, only if he can look after katsuki in turn.

they don't tell mitsuki. izuku is worried she'll get hurt, and part of his is also worried she knew about the villains and said nothing.

Katsuki and dog!izuku run back to the house, only finding charred bones where his mother had been

they both sob

mitsuki finds her son, sobbing as he clutches a tiny dog to his chest, seeing a sight so horrific she herself wants to throw up. when he asks if they can keep the puppy later that night, it's not even a question in her mind. of course they can. Anything to keep that broken expression off her son’s face.

katsuki changes after that. his best friend and friends mother apparently dead, he gets angry, but he's scared to go out where there are lots of people. he's scared of the villains that killed izuku's mum, scared they'll hurt them like they hurt inko

he goes to therapy. they quickly work out the dog is helping him cope, so izuku is trained as a therapy dog. he does astoundingly well, unsurprisingly.

katsuki ends up bullied for his service dog, but the amount they help each other is enough for him to be willing to put up and shut up

the only time he ever explodes is when someone hurts his dog, 'deku' and it's not like izuku sits idly by while katsuki gets hurt either

anyway, izuku likes to wander, whenever katsuki doesn't have school or is feeling particularly good, he'll go on an adventure, normally as a different animal

every animal he shifts into is green, so katsuki sometimes sees him when he's out and smiles

izuku's heroic spirit is undying, even as an animal, which kinda leads to him sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and helping out kids he thinks need the help.

he hears shouting and crying from the foster home down the road, sees a child muzzled

he goes hero watching as a kitten, sees the small child standing too stoic on the front lines as endeavour fights. he follows him home, whistling songs to the kid when he cries, perching on his shoulder when he sees him

ochako remembers the fluffy puppy with its massive paws showing up at her door when the power went out during winter, keeping her warm with its curly green-black fur

aizawa knows of the kitten that ages too slowly and keeps bringing troubled children to him

iida remembers the rabbit that used to race him on the tracks. without his quirk its was honestly a challenge

kirishima knows about a dark colour fawn that would always come over to him when he was upset and let him bury his face in its fur and cry

mina remembers the little green bat that nested in her hair and clumsily copied her as she danced, its colour making her feel better about her own

Tsuyu would often see a little green and black tanuki when she’d take her siblings out. It always kept them safe and out of danger and never failed to make her smile on a bad day.

he earns shinsou's trust as a too-small kitten, along with aizawa's (just out of school, learning to be an underground hero) , until he can drag aizawa to the house during the shouting. shinsou gets out, aizawa gains a son

shouto's best memories from his childhood are of the little cat that always showed up when he felt his worst, who purred like an engine in his arms and was never afraid of him

he also remembers seeing it the day he dyes his hair. its licks his nose

Even heroes know about the little green dog that watches from the sidelines. They’ve seen it drag civilians from danger, look for people in buried rubble and comfort crying children. It doesn’t often approach them, but it tends to do a little happy dance if they pet it, wagging its tail 1000 miles an hour if a hero so much as looks at it.

They call it little green, seeing him basically becomes a good luck charm. Even All Might feels a little better when he sees the little dog catching from the crowd, knowing it’ll keep some too-brave civilians safe from attacks and falling rubble.

When Katsuki applies for UA, his class doesn’t cheer him on. They whisper about the kid so angry, unstable and scared he brings a puppy to class. Izuku leans against Katsuki’s leg in support, unable to do anything for his friend. The teacher pays it no mind.

He’s told not to apply. He’s not normal or sane enough to be any help to anyone, they say. Katsuki flips them off and puts UA in all three slots on his form.

He takes Izuku with him on the day of the entrance exam. He tells himself it’s so Izuku can see the school at least once, if he doesn’t get in. Deep down he knows it’s because he’s scared and doesn’t want to be alone. Izuku doesn’t mind either way, he’s just excited to cheer on his best friend and get to look at some heroes.

He does leave Izuku with the teachers. He can take care of himself, but the idea of dragging him into a situation where he might accidentally burn his only friend? It makes him feel sick. Izuku understands. He’d do anything for Katsuki, but he was still scared to enter the exam location. He never did get over his fear of fire.

Izuku ends up in the monitor room. The teachers are trying not to coo over the too smart, too nice puppy. It’s All Might that recognises him.

“Is that, is that little green? The dog who always shows up at hero fights?”

Nemuri is ecstatic

“It totally is! I love that little guy! Hey little cutie, did you know you were famous? All the heroes around here love you!”

Aizawa, Nezu and Present Mic all separately notice that the dog honestly… he honestly looks flustered. Excited, yes, but almost sheepish. Aizawa draws some internal connections to the green and overly brave ‘stray’ kitten he’s seen his whole career. Nezu looks at the fur colour and thinks “quirked, like me. But was he always an animal?”. Present Mic sees the humanity in those eyes.

All three of them say nothing, filling the information away for later.

Katsuki ends up in the arena with Iida and Uraraka. He recognises both of them from Izuku’s whisper descriptions in the rare moments he let himself slip into human form.

Tall, broad, clearly the younger brother of Ingenium; that’s the stiff boy Izuku raced as a rabbit, trying to get him to loosen up and connect with those around him.

Round-faced, bright cheeks, fierce eyes and a body a little too thin from too many hungry nights? That’s the girl Izuku looked for when it got too cold, just to make sure he heating was working. She’d moved away from home, apparently. Izuku had found her new house and gave it a once over – if he figured it was safe, Katsuki would believe him. Izuku was the most paranoid person he’d ever met.

He almost went to say something. But Iida’s stern glare curdled his nerves. He shot back a snarl and focused on getting ready.

Back in the viewing room, Nemuri and Yagi are not so subtly fighting over Izuku. They are both trying to call him over, offer little bits of food, give him a good pat. It’s a little funny for Aizawa to watch as the poor pup ties himself in knots trying to please the both of them. He notes vaguely that he doesn’t take the food bribes from either of them.

Yagi is winning slightly, on virtue of being All Might, but Nemuri is not above begging a dog. It works shockingly well, with Izuku not wanting to upset a hero. She sends smug look’s All Might’s way as she triumphantly pats Izuku.

Mic yells start, the student's flood into the arena. Katsuki makes short work of the robots, racking up a score of 50 in almost record time. The teachers watch as ‘Deku’ clearly tracks his charge across the screen, whining softly when he pushes himself a little too far or gets a little too close to the robots.

Then the zero pointer is released and all hell breaks loose.

Katsuki sees Uraraka, trapped. He can’t leave her; not one of Izuku’s people. He’d never forgive himself for letting someone important to Izuku get hurt ever again.

He doesn’t realise Izuku couldn’t stand seeing him hurt, either.

He blasts the rubble apart, shielding Uraraka with his body, preventing her from being hailed with slivers of rubble. Uraraka sees not another student, but a hero, saving her when she thought she might die, selflessly giving up time to save someone he didn’t know. She vows to make it up to him, somehow.

It’s not enough, the robot looms too close. Bracing himself as best he can, Katsuki lets out the largest explosion he can muster, uncaring of the damage it may do to his wrists. If he gets crushed, his wrists hardly matter, do they?

The robot shakes, then topples backwards, overbalanced by the blast. Katsuki drops to his knees, both wrists dislocated. He’s hissing swears under his breath.

Uraraka sees a lump of rock flying to him as he sits there, prone from the attack that saved her life. She leaps towards it, leaving it weightless before it can hit him. The action leaves her hand red raw from the force of the rock.

Time is called. They both collapse.

Izuku is off of the door the second the explosion sounds. It’s so big it rattles the monitors in their room. Nemuri tries to stop him, reaching for his collar, but his collar doesn’t fit a mouse. He shifts into the smaller form, scampering out the door upon where he shifts into a greyhound.

He takes off full tilt towards his friend's exam arena. He's panicked and scared – the flash of fire and the pained look in Katsuki’s eyes have totally fried his nerves.

The doors aren’t open yet. He doesn’t care, shifting into a bat until he can clear them, diving down as fast as he can. He shifts again into a greyhound, racing though the robots – broken and sparking.

He sees Katsuki, jaw grit tightly as he fights back tears of pain, and Izuku lets out a pathetic whine, running full tilt towards his best friend, before lingering nervously in front of him, unwilling to touch him lest he hurt him.

“Oh get over here, Deku.” There are tears in Katsuki’s eyes still, but he’s smiling softly. Izuku shifts once more, into the softest dog he can, pressing against his friend as his tail wags like mad.

Present Mic calls time. If he was a solid 30 seconds late as he tried to process the whirlwind of chaos that little,,, dog? Left, well no one was going to notice. Other than Nezu, obviously, but the maybe-rat seemed just a confused as him.

Uraraka turns to her hero, only to see the little dog that would warm her on cold nights. She turns to him, wide-eyed. Izuku sticks his head over Katsuki’s shoulder, making happy yips at her.

Iida stumbles over, confused as to how a dog got in, confuses as to how he clearly saw it change between two distinct dog breeds in its quest to reach the prickly boy he’d seen at the entrance, who had just seriously injured himself to save a stranger.

The dog looks at him, then perks up. It gives a quick snuggle into its owner's hair before trotting over to him. It wags its tail. Iida looks on, confused.

Before his eyes, he watches the dog shift into what is unmistakably the rabbit he remembers from his earlier childhood, the one that would race him around tracks until it’s little legs couldn’t race anymore and would bound over to him as happily was a rabbit could.

He stares.

Katsuki watches this and laughs.

“I see you’ve both met Deku.”

#puppydog tails au #bnha au #bnha #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #iida tenya #midoriya inko #bakugo mitsuki #mina ashido #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #principal nezu #All Might #midoriya #bakugo #izuku #katsuki

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magicianapprenticelyra · 4 years ago

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Day IX & X: Memory & Familiar

Featuring Apprentice!Lyra Nguyen, the Aster-Nguyen family, Asra, Faust, and Nook the Book Mimic.

Timeline: Five years ago [takes place a few months before Accidental Sprain]

It started off as a night that was slightly off kilter.

Walterine went home a touch early to look after her family. Neha had caught the flu first, which now has James and Bảo in a strangle-hold. This leaves Walterine and Lyra as the only ones left standing within the Aster-Nguyen household.

Asra decided to stay far, far away from them all in the meantime. Walterine completely understood, though was confused when he offered to get her some of the rarer items of The Shop’s inventory while he waited it out.

“Asra, the places where these things are from . . . you’re going to be looking down, down almost to the very borders of the South,” Walt reminded him. James was the one that took on that endeavor, having been a former resident himself. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Asra confirmed as such, and Walt helped him to prepare for the journey. The task was estimated to take about a month, going both ways. This, of course, worried everyone but Asra.

Before he left, with Faust cleverly wrapped around is scarf-covered shoulders, Lyra gifted him a new necklace. The pendant’s a bright blue, teardrop-shaped thing on a decently sized cord.

“For luck and protection,” Lyra said.

When Asra accepted the gift, his hands decided to start shaking. As he fumbled with putting it on, Walt struggled to not laugh.

In the end, Lyra assisted her friend to put it on, but not before she gave him an eye-roll. As she did, Faust decided to be extra cheeky: the blue-lavender morph looped around both of their shoulders.

While this meant Faust wouldn’t be completely in the way, this drew the two young adults very close to each other.

Asra swears in a language Lyra doesn’t know, almost breaking away from her in a sprint once she had the necklace properly clasped. Walt caught him before he was out the door, handing him his pack for the journey. With that and friendly farewells to the women, he left.

That was two days ago now, leaving Lyra to guard The Shop.

The light of lamp above the front door is out, and she already performed the ‘Cross-Me-Not’ spell over the wood grains. Despite there being a bedroom up the stairs, Lyra opted to sleep downstairs. There is a precious amount of merchandise on the shelf behind the counter, after all.

To her reasoning, so long as she was within reach of a broom or the empty bottle on the counter, whatever intruder that wanted to rob the shop was in for a bruised head.

She’s setting up her sleeping arrangements on the floor when she hears a racket outside. It’s coming from the back alley.

For the past week, the alley cats had been arguing with one another more heatedly. According to Faust, she said they weren’t always fighting each other. Whatever that meant, they couldn’t figure it out.

Asra himself didn’t see much of note when he checked around, but he placed more protection spells into the walls of The Shop.

Nonetheless, Lyra herself needed to see what’s going on . . .

. . . and damn it she was terrified.

Why didn’t Walt leave Bruno with me? Lyra thinks to herself. The faerie dragon, Walt’s familiar, is a pint-sized deterrent to mosquitoes and thieves alike. He and the Stove Salamander are the best of friends, often on the brink of making a bonfire of The Shop if they laughed too much.

She grabs a hefty broom. Armed with it, Lyra reaches for the door. Her hand’s unsteady, but manages to set her hand on the handle. Pressing down on it, the door lets out a gods-awful creaking noise. The woman peers out of the doorway, squinting into the dark night.

Thanks to some lit lamps from the neighbors, Lyra can make out the silhouettes of several alley cats, digging into rubbish piles. For a few minutes, she keeps watch. After a longer while, she resolves to scoot back into The Shop. Before she could close the door however, all of the alley cats started to yowl and hiss, spitting at something from the other end of the alley.

Lyra presses herself against the door, squinting as the cats start to attack whatever’s intruding on their territory.

The sounds coming from the cats’ target however, made all her hairs stand up on end. It sounded like another animal, fighting for its life!

Lyra doesn’t know why, but she rushes from the safety of The Shop, shouting at the cats to leave whatever they’re mauling, alone! She used the brush side of the broom to sweep away the cats. When the cats round on her, Lyra summons a ball of light. Shutting her eyes, the magician turns the sphere into a starburst, effectively stunning and/or scaring away the alley cats.

Lyra opens her eyes, picking up whatever the cats left behind. In her hand, it felt like a carapace of sorts. The texture of this creature’s topside was not unlike the shell of a crab, though from what she could tell, it was very flexible.

Quickly closing the door behind her, Lyra swears under her breath, unable to see in the darkness of The Shop. The draft from the doorway must have blown out the candles . . . great.

“Hang on little buddy,” Lyra soothes as she sets down the creature on a low stool. The animal let out a wheezing, gurgling sound.

Lyra hadn’t felt blood on her hands, nor smelt it, so she hopes the poor thing will survive . . .

Upon finding a candle and lighting it, she exhales, relieved.

“Alright little one,” Lyra addresses the creature, turning around to face it. “Let's get a look at—” Lyra stops in place, unsure of what she was seeing was right. To her utter confusion, the space where she left the creature is now occupied by . . . a book?

Lyra gapes at the space. She’s soon turning around and round, searching for the creature. The magician racks her brain, trying to figure out whether or not she did place the critter on the table in the first place.

As she’s looking around on the floor, Lyra can hear movement on the table she had taken her eyes off of. Slowly, still acting as if she’s searching the floor, Lyra peers around the corner of a chair.

On the table, right where the book was, she witnesses it sprout four eyes . . . and ten spindly legs. Lyra bites her lower lip, preventing herself from screaming in terror as the . . . the thing wobbles on its appendages.

It’s then that she notices that several of said legs are severely mangled. The poor creature barely stands, almost immediately flopping back onto the table. The sound of impact is a heavy thud, and the creature, as far as Lyra can tell, has no energy to hide themself any longer.

Slowly, carefully, Lyra stands up, looking on at the pitiful thing. She summons a few orbs of light, sending them to various parts of the room to illuminate the area. With the added radiance, she can see how badly hurt the creature was.

Their injured legs are beginning to leak a strange, blue-colored blood. One of them is bent in a very painful way, which makes her heart go out to them. Lyra carefully approaches the creature, murmuring, “Hi . . . may I take a look at you?”

The creature looks up at her, eyes big and scared.

“Okay . . . do you want to eat?” Lyra asks, looking around for any possible snacks for this one. The creature has a massive set of teeth. It seems to be more teeth than anything else, to be honest. “Do you just eat meat? Well, I have some scrap vegetables and . . .” she rushes up to the kitchenette, bringing down a small metal bowl of berries.

Lyra places an orange rind, a wrinkly raisin, and a speckled, beige shell of a longan in front of the creature. They sniff the provided offerings. Lyra cannot help but note they did that without any obvious nose.

Seeing that they aren’t moving with her so close, Lyra decides to clean up a bit. As she retrieves some towels to wipe up the blood on the table, she wonders what the creature is. A sort of shapeshifter for sure, but it makes her wonder: where did they come from?

For now at least, Lyra would have a fun story to tell Walt, Asra, and the others when they got back.

#31DaysofArcana #The Arcana #Asra #fan apprentice #magicianapprenticelyra #familiars #The Shop #The Temple District #Walterine Aster #Neha Aster #James Aster #Uncle Bảo #the scribe writes #this specific mimic

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ravenpaw-93 · 5 years ago

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Denial, Self Sabotage, and Acceptance: The Three Stages of Falling in Love with Your Flatmate

3.5k words

Summary:

After forging an unlikely friendship during N.E.W.T year Harry and Draco became inseparable. It only seemed natural they should become flatmates. However, after two years of watching them tiptoe around each other, their friends have had enough and devise a plan to make them realise they're in love.

Harry sat at his and Ron's usual table at The Dragon's Den staring moodily at worn oak tabletop as he waited for Ron to return with their drinks. He looked up as a shot glass and a pint of beer slid in front of him. He immediately downed the shot with a grimace.

"Damn, mate. Rough day?" Ron asked arching an eyebrow as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table.

"You could say that." Harry retorted bitterly, taking a swig of beer. "Flatmate problems."

He and Draco had gotten a flat together after Hogwarts. They'd become close friends during N.E.W.T year and both had taken positions at the Ministry, Harry with the Aurors and Draco the Goblin Liaison Department. They figured they'd probably end up spending so much time together at separate places it just made sense to get a flat together and split expenses. They'd managed to coexist rather peacefully the past two years, until this week.

"What'd Malfoy do this time? Dirty dishes in the sink? Leave your wet clothes in the wash?" Ron snorted rolling his eyes.

"He's got a date." Harry muttered, downing the rest of his beer.

"Oh." Ron replied dully. He took a sip of beer and his eyes widened. "Oh. So we're finally acknowledging that, are we?"

"Acknowledging what?" Harry asked, waving one of the cocktail waitresses over.

"Your three year long massive crush on Malfoy." Ron answered as if it should be obvious.

"Crush? I haven't got a crush on Draco. We're flatmates, we usually hang out on Fridays. He just ditched me last minute, is all." Harry argued before turning to the approaching waitress and ordering more drinks.

"Are you really that fucking thick? Or are you in denial? It's one or the other." Ron snickered. "I mean that in the nicest way possible."

"Neither." Harry said stubbornly.

"Oh, come off it. It's me, you don't have to lie. In fact, I'm insulted that you actually think you could lie to me about this. I'm not bloody stupid." Ron argued, rolling his eyes.

"Thanks." Harry said as more drinks were brought to their table. He downed a shot before continuing. "I don't know what you're on about. I'm not lying."

"Then you are in denial." Ron shrugged, pursing his lips as he watched Harry take another shot. "We've been here less than twenty minutes and you've taken three shots and downed a whole beer. You're too bothered for it to just be Malfoy cancelling movie night or whatever the hell it is you two do."

"I asked you to come out with me to have a good time." Harry sighed. "Can we please talk about something else. Anything else."

"Fine. But sooner or later you're gonna have to face this. Getting pissed and bringing some rando home with you for a quick fuck isn't gonna make the shit go away."

"Who says I'm going to?" Harry rolled his eyes drinking his beer.

Ron stared at him, his 'shut up Harry, I know you' expression fixed on his face. He finished his beer and shook his head exasperatedly.

"Whatever, mate. So, did you get your new trainee today?"

"Yeah. Can't remember his name to save my life though. He seemed decent enough." Harry shrugged, grateful Ron finally dropped the subject. He wanted to forget about Draco and the hollow pit he caused in Harry's stomach.

"Lucky you. Mines an absolute moron. I'll be dead by the end of next week." Ron groaned.

Harry allowed himself to get lost in conversation about the trainees at work with Ron. Laughing at his stories of his idiot trainee, who by the sound of it, barely made it through the academy. He felt the misery he'd been feeling since finding Draco's note after work finally begin to leave him. After a third beer and another round of shots he was feeling rather pleasant. Everyone around him seemed much funnier and, many of them, much prettier than they had when they first arrived. Though, that was probably just the Firewhiskey talking. But in the end Ron was right, he found an attractive bloke willing to accompany him home. He was just tall enough and just blonde enough that, for one night at least, Harry could pretend he was someone else. And afterwards, when the man was gone and Harry was alone in his bed, he tried not to hate himself for it.

***

"Harry?" Draco called as he walked through the door of their shared flat, having just ghosted possibly the worst date he'd ever had. "You home? You wouldn't belie–"

He stopped mid sentence as he entered the main area of their open concept flat. All the lights were off, aside from a table lamp and there was a note on their breakfast bar. He picked it up, frowning at its brevity.

Went to the pub with Ron, don't wait up. -H

Harry's notes were usually paragraphs. He flipped the paper over, but the other side was blank. His frown deepened and he felt an unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach. He shrugged it off. Harry probably just left the note at the last minute. And even if he hadn't, it's just a note for Merlin's sake. He didn't have to write Draco a novel every time. He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself, as he selected a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen area. He Floo'd to Pansy's trying to convince himself the slight aching feeling in his heart was residual disappointment from his date and had nothing to do with Harry's uncharacteristically short correspondence.

"Thought you had a date?" Pansy asked in lieu of greeting him as he stepped out of the hearth.

"Hello, nice to see you, too, you harpy. Did I miss something? Is it 'National Shit All Over Draco Day' and no one told me?" He huffed, plopping down dramatically on her sofa.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" She asked, rolling her eyes.

"First off, Blaise set me up on a date with a total barbarian, then you can't even be bothered to say hello like a civilised human and Harr-you know nevermind. I don't want to talk about it. I just want to get wine drunk on your sofa."

"Oh come on, it couldn't have been that bad." Pansy replied, summoning a cork screw and two wine glasses.

"His manners were atrocious. He didn't even tuck his shirt in. He ordered the cheapest wine possible and he laughed like a fucking seal. Clapping and all. I Apparated home from the loo half way through my meal, Pansy. I can assure you, it was horrific." He whinged, filling his glass.

"You hardly gave him a chance." Pansy retorted.

"It wasn't going to work." He replied shortly.

"Of course not." Pansy rolled her eyes. "What were you saying about Potter?"

"I didn't say anything about him." Draco covered his lie by sipping his wine.

"Darling, I love you, but you're a terrible liar."

"Seriously it's nothing. I'm just narked off because my date went badly." Draco wasn't sure if he was saying that to convince Pansy or himself.

Afterall, it was just a stupid note. He couldn't be sure what sort of tone it was intended to be read in. He was the one in a bad mood, so he probably just read it that way because of how he was feeling. He and Harry were fine before work, Draco was just reading too much into it. Pansy merely stared at him, her lips pursed and one eyebrow arched dangerously high.

"It's stupid. The note he left letting me know where he was going to be was just really short. He usually leaves long notes, so in my bad temper I got annoyed over it." Even to himself that sounded feeble.

"You look sad, not annoyed." Pansy pointed out.

"Sad?" Draco asked scathingly. "I am not sad. It was a shitty date yeah, but it wasn't as though I thought I'd found my future husband."

"Well if it's not your bad date it must be the note from Potter and the massive fucking pash you've had on him for years." Pansy countered, smirking over the rim of her glass.

"Me–a pash–Potter?–don't be absurd." Draco coughed, drips of red wine staining his grey trousers. He sincerely hoped Pansy would think the flush creeping up his neck was from nearly choking to death on his wine.

So what if he had a tiny crush on his flatmate? Harry was handsome, kind and funny. Who wouldn't have a crush on him? It wasn't as though Draco had any intention of acting on it. In fact, the whole reason he agreed to the date Blaise arranged was to get his mind off those feelings. Only, the date was a disaster and Draco had spent the entire time thinking Harry would never do this.

"Oh don't even try it, Draco. I've known you since we were two years old. The only person who doesn't know that you love Potter, is Potter. Just how the only person who doesn't know Potter loves you, is you. You're both so fucking stupid it's infuriating." Pansy argued, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Draco gaped at her, floundering for something to say in return.

"You're barking. I think I would know if Harry was in love with me, wouldn't I? And I would certainly know if I was in love with him, which I'm not." Draco replied, taking a large gulp of his wine.

"Like I said, fucking stupid, the both of you. How can you not know? I'm surprised the two of you haven't suffocated in the sexual tension."

"Sexu–What sexual tension?! You've lost your bloody mind."

"No, I haven't. Just think about it." Pansy conceded.

"Whatever, fine, I'll think about it." Draco huffed, finishing off his wine.

And he did. After stumbling into his and Harry's sitting room at one thirty in the morning and making his way to his room he lay in bed considering Pansy's outburst. He racked his brain trying to think of any instance that Harry may have even hinted at having feelings for him, but could think of none. As far as the supposed 'sexual tension' maybe there were a few times when eyes had lingered a bit longer than what could be considered accidental, particularly when joggers were involved. Or they'd leant in just a little too close to each other. But that was normal, wasn't it? Perhaps he would just have to pay closer attention tomorrow when he woke up.

***

Harry heard Draco stumbling down their hallway, swearing under his breath. Once Draco's bedroom door swung closed, Harry opened his eyes and squinted at his alarm clock across the room. One thirty. He tried to ignore the flare of jealousy that surged through him. He had no right to it, given what he'd just done. He had no room to be upset that Draco was just now getting home from his date. But he was. He turned over sharply in his bed and immediately had to fight down a wave of nausea. Great, he thought, just what I need, a fucking hangover to wake up to. He huffed, adjusted his pillow and willed himself to fall back asleep.

His head was pounding when he woke up and he had the worst taste imaginable in his mouth. He groaned as he sat on the edge of his bed, squinting in the sunlight streaming through his open window. He took a hot shower and brushed his teeth before rummaging through the medicine cabinet for hangover potion. He grabbed one of the only two left and gulped it down. The cool soothing effect on his aching temples was instantaneous. A quick fry up and some strong tea would have him feeling much better, or so he told himself as he set to cooking. However, even after finishing his breakfast he still felt miserable. It seemed greasy food and tea had no effect on residual guilt. Harry's sulking was interrupted by Draco walking groggily past, on his way to the kitchen.

"Late night?" Harry asked, in what he'd meant to be a lighthearted manor, though it sounded more accusing than anything.

"Yeah I got wine drunk at Pansy's." Draco answered arching a brow at Harry's tone as he opened a cupboard for a mug.

"Pansy's, right." Harry snorted, he knew it wasn't fair to take his bad mood out on Draco, but he couldn't stop the bitter jealousy. And honestly, who did Draco think he was kidding? Obviously he went home with the bloke, he had every right to do so, but why lie about it?

"Erm, okay?" Draco muttered, shutting the cupboard door roughly."What's your problem?

"No problem, just don't know why you lied about being at Pansy's when I know you were on a date." Harry replied in a clipped tone.

"Why would I lie to you? Especially over something so stupid. I went on my date, he was a complete Neanderthal and I left twenty minutes in. I came home thinking we'd watch a film or something but saw your note don't wait up. So I went to Pansy's." Draco snapped flinging himself into a chair at the breakfast bar.

Well done, Harry, he thought bitterly, You've just made a complete arse of yourself. He gave Draco a few minutes to cool off before speaking again, trying to squash his own guilt.

"I'm sorry. I feel like a shit because I got pissed last night and did something stupid that I regret and I took it out on you. I'm sorry your date was terrible. He doesn't know what he missed out on." Harry mumbled apologetically.

"It's fine. I've got to get ready, I'm supposed to be at my mother's in ten minutes. We'll talk later, yeah?" Draco asked, getting to his feet.

"Sure." Harry said with a nod and with that Draco strode from the room avoiding Harry's eyes.

Merlin, he felt like a tit. He should have just listened to Ron and went home alone. Something about the way Draco had said 'don't wait up' had stuck in Harry's mind. He sounded hurt. Which at the time is what Harry wanted. A selfish part of him wanted Draco to feel as gutted as he did, he regretted that now. Fuck, but he's made a mess of things hasn't he? He was shaken from his thoughts by Ron stumbling out of the Floo.

"You look like shit." He said, taking a seat in the other arm chair.

"I feel like shit." Harry retorted.

"They make potions for that." Ron snorted.

"Oh there's a potion for guilt brought on by a spectacular display of self sabotage?"

"What did you do?" Ron groaned.

"Exactly what you said I'd do. And then because I was angry at myself for it, I picked a fight with Draco."

"Goddamn it, Harry." Ron scolded, putting his face in his hands. "You've ruined everything."

"Well I feel like that's taking it a bit far. I mean yeah I fucked up, but Draco won't stay angry long. He never does." Harry replied defensively.

"No you idiot, Blaise, Pansy, Hermione and I planned this perfectly. Blaise set Draco up on a fake date to make you both wake the fuck up. But now you've gone and thrown a wrench in the whole fucking thing."

"You did what? That's insane!" Harry replied incredulously.

"We had to do something, mate. You two have been driving us barmy for three years. Clearly, you weren't going to figure it out on your own." Ron explained rolling his eyes.

"So on a scale of one to colossal how big of a fuck up was this?" Harry asked nervously, still in a state of disbelief.

"Mega colossal. The whole plan is scrapped. Pansy'll have to come clean with Draco and then so do you. Whatever happens after that is on you."

"Wonderful." Harry grumbled.

"Just be honest. That's literally all you have to do. I'm going to Pansy's to break the news. You've got this. No more self sabotage." Ron said bracingly, stepping back into the hearth.

"I'll do my best." Harry promised.

Ron called out Pansy's address and disappeared into emerald flames. Harry sat and contemplated what he was going to say to Draco. He only hoped Draco wouldn't be too angry with him.

***

His and Harry's tiff had left Draco in a rather foul mood. He sat sullenly through brunch with his parents picking at his food and only half listening to his father drone on about his blasted peacocks. He wasn't used to Harry behaving that way. If anyone started a row for no reason it was usually Draco himself. Halfway through their meal a house elf brought him a letter from Pansy telling him to come by her flat before going home. He suffered through another hour of his parents' company before leaving for Pansy's. She was waiting for him on her sofa looking mildly uncomfortable.

"What?" He asked suspiciously, taking a seat next to her.

"You're going to be angry with me. But just know, I did what I did out of love." She began calmly.

"What did you do?" He asked slightly panicked, he prayed she didn't go and talk to Harry or something equally as stupid. Especially with the way they'd left things this morning.

"Blaise, Weasley, Granger and I may have come up with a plan to send you on a staged date to make you and Potter realise that you're in love with each other." She said quickly.

Draco was certain he didn't hear her properly. No way were they all really stupid enough to think that would actually work.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked dangerously, narrowing his eyes. "You set me up on a fake date?!"

"Well it worked, sort of. Things got a bit fucked up, admittedly, but still."

"It most certainly did not work. We had a row this morning and now we're barely speaking." Draco huffed.

"You absolute idiot, Draco Malfoy. He's jealous that you went on a date with someone that isn't him." Pansy said exasperatedly.

Draco considered her words for a moment. That would certainly explain Harry's behaviour the last two days. Merlin, how did he not see that before?

"Oh." He said in astonishment. "He was jealous."

"Fucking hell, finally you get it!"

"I need to talk to Harry." Draco said getting to his feet.

"Yes, go now. Before you lose your nerve." Pansy said encouragingly.

He clambered into the Floo throwing the powder down as he called out his home address.

"I think we should talk now." He said grinning a little, as he stepped in front of Harry.

"Yeah, we definitely should." Harry agreed with a forced, nervous smile. "Come sit down?"

Draco took a seat on the edge of the sofa next to Harry chewing on his lip nervously.

"I'm sorry about earlier, accusing you of lying. I was jealous just like I was yesterday when I wrote that note before going out with Ron. I did something stupid and impulsive and I feel horrible. But I have to be honest, I understand if you get angry, I'd deserve it." Harry paused and Draco felt as though his heart had stopped beating. "I got pissed and picked up some bloke from the pub and brought him home. I just wanted to stop thinking about you for a while and how miserable I felt that you were out with someone who wasn't me. But it didn't work, the whole time I was with him I wished it was you. I'm not proud of it, but it's true. So when I accused you this morning I was out of line. I'm so sorry, I wish I could just re-do yesterday. I would do everything so differently."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment while he digested everything he had just said. Mostly he felt relieved, overjoyed even, that Pansy had been right. He was a bit disappointed in Harry's way of coping, but it was understandable and Draco didn't intend on holding it against him.

"I mean I'm not pleased to hear that you fucked someone else, but I can't fault you for it. I only went on that stupid, apparently fake, date to try and stop having feelings for you. I'm still upset that you accused me of lying, but I forgive you." Draco replied giving Harry a hopeful smile. "And for the record, I don't want you to date anyone that's not me, either."

"I don't intend to." Harry returned, giving him a crooked grin.

"Good." Draco said leaning in toward Harry.

"Good." Harry murmured as he closed the distance between them.

Draco felt a thrilling swooping sensation in his abdomen as they kissed. Harry's lips were soft and warm against his own as they parted allowing Draco's tongue to slip past and slide delicately against his own. Draco's skin tingled pleasantly as goosepimples erupted over his body. He brought a hand up to tangle in Harry's wild hair, wondering briefly how he'd ever gone a day in his life without kissing Harry like this. He felt as though everything had fallen into place, like everything suddenly made perfect sense. Kissing Harry just felt right, and he couldn't wait to do it every day for the rest of his life.

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry flatmate au #oblivious draco #oblivious harry #i love these idiots #drarry fic

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