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not-neverland06 · 9 days ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it.

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again.

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important.

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-”

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging.

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks.

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence.

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.”

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging.

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can.

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him.

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins.

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand.

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.”

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp.

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him.

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore.

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same.

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear.

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here.

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow.

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder.

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time.

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway.

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading.

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot.

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer.

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits.

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp.

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied.

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge.

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely.

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about.

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that.

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been.

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men.

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed.

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about.

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud.

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him.

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death.

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day.

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver.

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless.

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him.

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face.

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth.

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns.

And runs.

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips.

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out.

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him.

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger.

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face.

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy.

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die.

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back.

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies.

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together.

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse.

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace.

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable.

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him.

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again.

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man.

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be.

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun.

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile.

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment.

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you.

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man.

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose.

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly.

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world.

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time.

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent.

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing.

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much.

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you.

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit.

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more.

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening.

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him.

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it.

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day.

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin.

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk.

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you.

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you.

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man.

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him.

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his.

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation.

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his.

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench.

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt.

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you.

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would.

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone.

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly.

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off.

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks.

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face.

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going.

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls.

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!”

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell.

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.”

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast.

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door.

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them.

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming.

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this.

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground.

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares.

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers.

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him.

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business.

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness.

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone.

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night.

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back.

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long.

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him.

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind.

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is.

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them.

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur…

Arthur has to see this through.

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned.

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world.

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to.

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs.

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim.

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest.

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers.

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn.

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side.

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. “I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots.

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand.

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first.

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running.

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in.

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand.

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again.

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore.

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest.

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego.

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does.

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot.

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free.

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting.

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him.

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you.

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply.

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face.

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up.

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own.

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you.

Next part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x you #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 #Hell Hath No Fury

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mininiamh · 4 months ago

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ln4 drabble #1

pairing: lando norris x reader

scenario: you're hungover, lando is there to help you

warning(s): fluff

MASTERLIST

“Oh, you're still alive then.”

You didn't feel very alive.

The night before you had gone out with some of your girlfriends, girls’ night being way over due thanks to conflicting schedules and daily life, and god did you enjoy it. But now, you were heavily regretting those extra shots.

You leant against the door frame while squinting due to the brightness of the room, hair sticking up in all directions and last night's mascara slightly smudged around your eyes. Your head pounded against your skull and you were pretty certain that if you didn't have the assistance of the door frame that you'd probably be on the floor due to the room swaying around you.

Lando gave a soft smile as he kept a close eye on you from where he sat in his gaming chair. He wasn't streaming, not after your drunken escapades last night as he knew you'd need him to fight through the hangover. He loved the sight of you all soft and small, his shirt hanging off your body and ending at your mid-thigh, but he hated it when you were clearly battling the after effects of the alcohol you had consumed.

“Don't sound so disappointed,” you grumbled, resting your forehead against the door frame with your eyes closed as another wave of pain wracked through your skull, “I might think you don't like me.”

Lando pushed up from his chair and walked over. His hands gently brushed over your arms before wrapping around your body, holding you firmly against him with your head tucked into the crook of his neck. You clutched at his shirt as if trying to ground yourself through the migraine drilling inside your head.

Lando pulled back just enough to look in your e/c eyes, gently combing his fingers through your hair. “You okay?”

“I feel like there's a stampede in my head,” you groaned as he carefully dragged his fingertips over your tender scalp. It felt like heaven, a relief you didn't want to part with.

“It's alright, baby, I'm here now.” He leant down and pressed his lips against your hairline before giving you one last squeeze before taking your hand in his. “Come on, I know just what you need.”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #f1

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milswrites · 10 months ago

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The Trials of Aphrodite Part Four

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: A chat with Rhysand and an unexpected encounter.

Warnings: Angst (not going to give it a level because you guys will come for me and say I'm wrong).

You should have known nothing would get past Rhysand.

Your High Lord had been alive for long enough to know when someone was sneaking around behind his back, even if it was the elusive shadowsinger.

So despite the fact the sudden appearance of the Lord of Night at your door had your palms sweating and heart beating in distress, his arrival wasn't entirely unexpected.

With a long exhale and a quick tap to your mental shields in order to make sure they're in place, you open the door, a synthetic smile working its way onto your face as you greeted your waiting friend.

"Rhys, how wonderful to see you!" you simpered, praying the male wouldn't be able to hear the irregular pounding of your fluctuating heartbeat. Rhysand provided you with his own sickly sweet smile in return, violet eyes twinkling knowingly as he began to speak, "Azriel -"

You didn't allow him the time to finish his sentence, interrupting the Lord in an attempt to draw the conversation away from your rule breaking best friend, "Az isn't here unfortunately, maybe you should try -"

It was Rhysand's turn to cut you off, the male casually raising an inquisitive brow as he did so, smirk only growing wider at your flustered manner, "The market?. . . With Elain?" you blanched at his words, "hmm quite unusual how he seems to be able to talk to her now, isn't it? You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

"Awh Rhys I'm hurt," you pout mockingly, holding a hand to your heart as you step aside to allow the male to enter, "Here I thought you came to see me, and yet all you want to talk about is Azriel's lousy ability to talk to females."

Rhys scoffed at your reply as you busied yourself with making tea, avoiding his pressing stare for as long as you could until your reluctant eyes finally met his own. Sighing at his persistent glare, you held your hands up in defeat, "Fine, I helped him! He practically forced my hand, what was I supposed to do?"

"He made you?" Rhysand asked unimpressed, your eyes already rolling at the lecture which was no doubt about to ensue. Yet his next words were enough for you to spit out the tea you had just consumed, "Or your feelings did?"

"This has nothing to do with that" you snapped in defense, body recoiling at Rhysand's sympathetic stare, "Az needed me Rhys, of course I had to help him."

Your friend stretched his arm across the counter, resting a heavy hand onto your own to stop the slight tremble which his words had triggered. "At the expense of your heart?" Rhysand questions, his face contorted in empathetic pain, "You don't have to do this Flower. You are your own person, there's no shame in saying no to him."

Your eyes began to water as you stared at Rhys's comforting hand, head shaking hopelessly in denial. "What kind of friend would I be?" you miserably ask, "If I can't overlook my childish feelings in order to make him happy."

"It's not your job to make him happy," Rhysand reasons, gently squeezing your hand in order to pull your saddened gaze to his own, "you being there is enough to do that."

"But I am not enough" you shout, Rhysand's arm retracting in surprise at your sudden burst of anger, "I will never be enough for him. I have offered him everything; my friendship, my happiness, my heart. And what do I have to show for it after five hundred years other than his unreciprocated feelings?"

Rhysand came to stand before you, pulling you into a crushing embrace, lips coming to your ear to whisper words of consolation as you cried into his chest. "It's ok" he promised, cupping your head to press you tighter still into his hold, "You're ok. Feelings pass, it just takes time."

"It's not just feelings Rhys" you wept into his shirt, thanking the cauldron that your tears didn't show on the dark material, "I love him."

"So why?" Rhysand asked, moving his hands to your face in order to wipe your tears and draw your eyes to his own begging ones, "Why are you doing this? Why help him?"

"Because I'm tired of loving" you confessed, hiccupping as you spoke, "I want to move on. And if moving on means I have to help him fall in love with somebody else . . ."

Your friend sighed in defeat, a wave of disgruntled understanding beginning to pool in his violet eyes. "You are so unbelievably selfless" Rhys said with a sad smile as he came to place a soft kiss against your brow.

"Are you mad at me? . . . For helping Azriel go against your orders?" you sniffled, voice wavering as you spoke. Salty tears still making their way down your cheeks. "I could never be mad at you Flower" Rhysand consoled, "I'm only disappointed that Azriel would bring you into this mess in the first place. You deserve so much more."

So you continued to cry.

And whilst you were wrapped within the loving arms of the Lord of Night, you could have sworn you had never felt more alone.

Leaving your house was a trial in itself nowadays. Having to force yourself to vacate the sanctuary of your home in order to stir some feelings inside of you that weren't just hopeless despair.

Yet you were unable to shake your loneliness as you walked through the streets of Velaris without the shadowsinger by your side. Azriel having regretfully told you that he had training to make up for with Cassian after having spent the morning alongside Elain.

So, aimlessly wandering around in a melancholic state, you opted to grab yourself a treat in the hope of lightening your mood. For that there was only one place to go, the charming little bakery which you and Azriel had discovered together many years ago.

It was a difficult decision, choosing what pastry to buy, your hungry eyes scouring over the selection until you saw something you liked. The smiling shopkeeper making polite conversation as you pondered your options. Her words bringing your thoughts back to the male you so longed to forget, "now where's that handsome friend of yours today?"

Your heart twinged at the mention of his name, smile dropping slightly as you focused your attention back onto the baked goods before you, "Oh you know, the life of the shadowsinger is a busy one."

The keeper nodded in understanding, wide grin still plastered across her lips as she spoke, "would you like to grab something for him too? On the house for such loyal customers."

You wanted to say no, to prove that Rhysand's words were true and show yourself that your life didn't revolve around Azriel. Yet the flash of his grateful smile appeared in your mind, the warm buttery feeling of the male hugging you in thanks already growing in your chest.

Yet before you even had the chance to answer the waiting lady, a hurried figure bumped into your side, spilling the contents of their steaming cup onto your shirt.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" flustered apologies flowed from the male's mouth, his hands flying to rub the newly formed coffee stain with a napkin.

You found yourself incapable of answering.

Unsure of whether it was the shock that had stunned you into silence, or the dark ruffled hair and deep hazel eyes of the mysterious stranger. Unfussed by your lack of response, the male continued to ramble, "gods I'm so stupid, I should have watched where I was going. I'll buy you a new top I promise."

Stirring to your senses, you grabbed the male's hands to stop his hastily-done cleaning, allowing a reassuring smile to grace your lips as you promised him it was alright, "Don't worry, I was wondering what this top would look like with coffee all over it."

He barked out a laugh, lifting a hand to muss his short black hair, "I suppose I can only be grateful for running into someone as wonderfully forgiving as you."

It were as if he had you under a spell, his sharp jaw and strong features working to draw you in. "If you wanted my attention you could have just asked me for it" your jaw snapped together as soon as the words slipped out, eyes going wide at your unabashed confidence.

Your words seeming to please the male, a smirk crossing his face as he leaned into reply, "Can you blame me? Getting the chance to run into the most beautiful woman in all of Prythian doesn't come too often."

Unable to stop the blush which flushed across your heated cheeks, your eyes looked to anywhere but his own hazel ones in an attempt to escape the intensity of his gaze.

"I'll tell you what," the handsome stranger started, gesturing his head towards the counter, "I think I owe you a drink after that accident, if you want to join me that is."

All thoughts of getting something for Azriel forgotten, a smirk of your own worked its way onto your face as you reply, "hmm, I'm not sure. I only drink coffee with males I know the name of."

"Deimos" he eagerly replied, the glint of an unknown emotion shimmering within his hazel eyes, "My name is Deimos."

Part five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: I would apologise for the lack of Azriel in this part but honestly I think you guys would thank me for it at this point!

Big thank you to @sarawritestories who waved her magic wand and made me love my writing again.

Taglist Part 1:

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa88 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2 @leeknows-wife @riorgail @eve175 @evergreenlark @anuttellaa @daily-dose-of-sass @jesus-is-me @tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel series #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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thewertsearch · 1 month ago

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TG: none of that really meant anything but ok TG: also you have me confused for somebody else we never talked […] TC: as if i'd forget to do my chucklevoodoos to you too. TC: TO FUCK UP YOUR DREAMS. TC: make your worst fears come alive and get up on their haunts in your naphappy pan. TG: what TG: what fears TC: YOU MOTHER FUCKING KNOW, BROTHER. TC: its the fuckin puppet.

Seriously? You made Dream Cal, too?

...wait! Wait, son of a bitch!

That means you created Doc Scratch!

The architect of Alternia's demise was born directly from Gamzee's rage - twice over, actually, since we already knew he made the HONK code. Scratch's trolling, his malevolence, his disturbing personality... it all makes perfect sense now. Cal may be his father, but Gamzee is his grandfather.

I can finally see it, now. Gamzee really is the most important character in Homestuck - and his Aspect is now the most menacing thing in the entire comic. It caused everything.

TG: did my bro put you up to this […] TC: YOUR BRO'S DEAD BRO. TC: couldn't keep my new friend captive no more. TC: RELEASED YOUR NIGHTMARES RIGHT INTO MY WARM FUCKING EMBRACE. TC: and now i listen at what they whisper through my hear ducts.

Gamzee’s been listening to Cal’s voice - but now that we know the truth behind Cal's origin, it's clear that Gamzee is just being fed his own rage, amplified and reflected. No wonder he's so fucked up.

This might also be why Bro was so... like that. He was exposed to Cal for his entire life, and this awful miasma was probably seeping into his brain the entire time. Dave's lucky he's even alive.

TC: I'M ALL HEARING THESE AMAZING MOTHERFUCKIN THINGS. TC: i think he'll help me refigure out what's the real reality about the miracles. TC: HE'LL HELP ME TO MOTHER FUCKIN DISCOVER THE TRUTH OF WHO THE MESSIAHS ARE. TC: the real messiahs, not the false mess a lies, hahahahaha.

Cal is inspiring Gamzee to seek greater heights – and lest we forget, Gamzee is a bard. He’s inspiring himself, consuming a rage-warped reflection of his own worldview, and it’s clear he’s been reborn as some sort of zealot, determined to seek the truth at the heart of the universe – and potentially, at the heart of the comic.

This is going to be really, really bad. I'm not sure if there’s any of the original Gamzee in there anymore.

TC: hey, before you go TC: HOW ABOUT THAT WE TC: slam a little. ;oD TG: uh They both then proceeded to have one of the best rap-offs in the history of paradox space.

Aside, perhaps, from the dying embers of a terrible rapper.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s172 #4031

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mx-pastelwriting · 1 year ago

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Thrown Blood

Carlisle Cullen x GN! Reader

Summary: Being pregnant with Carlisle still new things to learn from having a hybrid child.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Pregnancy, Vampire & Human Relationship, Throwing Up, Being sick, Blood drinking

Your lips squeeze tightly around the straw, not wanting to let a drop of blood go to waste. Only a few days from when you found out that Carlisle was going to be a dad once more. Still remembering how he looked up to you from his work, you wanted to smile, but your child's hunger kept you tame.

Knowing what Bella had gone through, Carlisle relaxed to the news, but it still didn't help his staring at you like death was behind you. Cutting you from your thoughts, a wave of nausea made you pause and lift your lips away from the straw.

The room stilled as you did, but not for long as all the blood you consumed came up and onto the light rug. Carlisle quickly brought a trash can under as you continued.

Throwing up, every drop that you had consumed from that day burned your throat, but a cold hand caressed your neck and cheek, knowing it was Carlisle trying to cool you down, but nothing helped the pain that came from your stomach after.

Crying out, Carlisle kneeled with panicked eyes, only imagining what he saw when he looked at you. His bloodied lip lover, pale as a ghost, is carrying his child that is slowly killing them.

After being done, he wiped your lips before letting you lay back on the couch. The panic in his eyes never left; it only went to Bella, who shook her head knowing this was a new experience.

"I'm hungry," You whisper in a hoarse voice, making everyone's attention snap to you once again. "I don't think that will help," Alice said sadly, but Carlisle moved to the kitchen grabbing something from the fridge without a word.

Finally, he came back handing you some food, quickly taking it from him, then digging in feeling as your body felt alive again and your stomach aching for more. Feeling a kick in your stomach of enjoyment makes you smile, knowing today you wouldn't die from Carlisle's love.

Part 2

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#carlisle cullen fanfiction #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle imagine #carlisle cullen imagine

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blueboybot · 3 months ago

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Lovestruck!

Billy didn't mean to follow Danny...

That was a lie, he totally did mean to follow him BUT he didn't intentionally make himself show up all the other times. It was just that Danny had a habit of being in the area whenever disaster struck in Fawcett City and Billy has picked up the habit of having Danny in his arms more times than not.

......

The first time he met Danny it was a Captain Marvel. A building down town had caught on fire after some faulty wiring and he managed to get everyone in the building out safely with the help of a few firefighters. He thought he did until his super hearing caught the sound of a sudden heart beat, slower than a regular human but definitely still alive. He wasted no time flying back into the building and reaching the fifth floor with relative ease where he saw him.

Now Billy could admit that this was not the time or place but as soon as his eyes landed on him his heart felt as if it was struck by lightning. There in a room was one of the prettiest boys he's ever seen with dark locks and sky blue eyes rushing to grab papers before the flames of the ongoing fire could consume them. It took Billy and embarassing amount of time to snap out of it and grab the boy before flying out of the building.

As Billy floated in the air he couldn't help but to stare at the other.Travelling his eyes down from the other's face he noticed that the boy was wearing and all black outfit, the shirt being cropped and having the design of a purple seedling, his pants were a little baggy and adorned with chains and zips all while sporting black combat boots.

"Uhh you can put me down now," A voice said pulling him out his thoughts. The other boy looked at him with a raised eyebrow, still clutching the papers close to his chest.

Against his will his cheeks started to heat up "My bad."

He quickly descended and placed the boy next to the nearest firefighter before flying off once the fire was put out.

The second time he met Danny and got his name was as Billy Batson. Billy was doing a run in the park as part of his daily exercise, because Captain Marvel shouldn't be the only strong one with muscles, when he turned his face for a few seconds to enjoy the scenery and collided with another body, sending the person backwards and onto the ground.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see where I was going and–" As he was reaching out his hand to help a pair of familiar blue eyes halted any further actions. This time he was dressed in a red bucket hat, a yellow vest with a white long sleeved undershirt and a long green pants with brown shoes.

"No worries you apologised so that counts for something," He held out his hand and Billy quickly took it, pulling him up onto his feet "The name's Danny."

"Billy."

Before another word could be said a loud explosion shook the earth followed by the terrified screams and frantic running of people around them. Billy opened his mouth to say something to Danny but when he looked all he saw was air in the place Danny was supposed to be standing. He had no time to dwell on that so sped off to more secretive place before transforming and flying off to where the trouble resided.

When he got there Billy was absolutely dumbfounded because in the villain's hands was none other Danny himself in all of his annoyed and squirming glory. The villain finally noticed him and started their monologue while holding Danny in the air, displaying him like the helpless and slightly angry captive he was.

It took a total of five minutes for Billy to knock the villain down and catch Danny before he hit the ground.

"Nice to catch you again Danny," He teased.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him "How do you know my name?"

"Uhh super hearing," He nervously replied.

"...Are you stalking me?"

"Nonono it was really super hearing, I promise."

.....

After a while it sort of became a routine for them but Danny only ever seemed to be willing to talk to him as Billy rather than Captain Marvel for some reason and he's not sure why. In all honesty Danny was much nicer to him as Billy, he would always be close and open to him as possible to the point where it leaves Billy's cheeks heated. While as Captain Marvel Danny is quick to shut down any conversation and leave as quickly as possible after thanking him for the rescue. Billy's not sure what he did as Captain Marvel to offend Danny but he hopes to figure it out soon.

Deviating from his regular patrol route to follow his crush was probably not the best option but he's working on it. As soon as Danny gets home safely he'll go back to his regular program.

Just as Danny turned the corner a nearby pillar from a building under construction started to crumble and just before the giant chunk of stone could harm Danny Billy swooped in and saved him from becoming one with the ground.

"I'm sensing a pattern here Captain." From within his arms he saw that Danny wore a teal headband, a black long sleeved shirt, teal pants and black shoes. Despite his scowl Danny really did look good in anything.

"Just doing my job," Billy smiled back.

......

This was supposed to be Danny's vacation from fighting ghost and he was not enjoying it to his fullest like he hoped. You would think that after a reveal gone extremely well with his parents and being given some promised time off by Clockwork he wouldn't find himself in no more trouble but here he is, constantly being saved by a man who refers to himself as 'The Big Red Cheese'.

On the plus side he got to meet a cute boy named Billy who he definitely is crushing hard on and will be in his thoughts for the rest of his stay here. Now back to Captain Marvel. Danny found the superhero to be weird in a creep kinda sense, sure the man is constantly saving him but that's because Danny is on strict vacation time and will not be using his powers while there is a well established hero in the area. What he means is he's caught the man multiple times staring at him and raking his eyes over his body and it makes the ecto-infused hair on his body stand up when he does it.

He hasn't done anything to him yet and despite Danny's best efforts to follow the man he can't. For someone who wears such bold colors he does manage to slip away from him very easily. If the man does try anything with him Danny will take pleasure in showing him why he picked the wrong one.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #billy batson #captain marvel #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc au #dc x dp #misunderstandings #did yall catch what i did with the clothes? 🤭#billy batson x danny fenton #dp x dc prompt

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meadowfics · 10 days ago

Text

stand by me

kang no-eul x f!reader

in which you had no idea on how you are still alive

warnings: mentions of death, guns, r being shot at, r replaces player 246

the last thing you remember is the cold barrel of a gun pressed against your forehead.

your knees ached against the concrete, hands trembling as you pleaded, voice cracking.

suddenly you regretted joining hyun ju and gi-hun in this whole gun fight thing.

you told the guard you had a daughter waiting for you at home, that she needed you, that you couldn’t die here. you weren’t ready.

"I'm sorry, please? I-i-i w-won't do anything like this again!"

you pleaded.

the guard holding the gun wasn’t hesitating out of mercy.

no, she was waiting for you to stop talking, as if your voice was the last thing tethering you to life.

then, the gunshot.

a burning, searing pain in your thigh.

your body slumped to the ground, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as darkness consumed you due to some blood loss.

when your eyes flutter open, you’re not where you expect to be. no cold, hard floor of the arena. no piles of bodies.

instead, a sterile blue room, quiet except for your own breathing.

a figure stands above you. a guard.

mask still on, hands behind her back, unmoving.

for a moment, fear seizes your chest.

is she going to finish the job? torture you for daring to resist them?

then, you glance down.

your wound is wrapped tightly in fresh bandages.

you’re alive.

in front of you, neatly folded, is a pink jumpsuit.

the triangle symbol stares back at you, an order, a fate waiting to be accepted.

the guard speaks, voice clipped but distinctly female.

“put it on.”

your fingers tremble as you reach for it.

“what is this? what’s happening?”

she doesn’t answer immediately, just tilts her head slightly. then, in that same robotic tone, she says,

“if you want to stay alive without getting caught, stop asking questions.”

something in you cracks, just a little.

maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of still being alive when you were sure you had died back there.

there’s something about her voice...firm yet careful, like she’s choosing her words cautiously.

so you do as she says.

you slide the suit on, feeling the fabric cling to you, the mask cold against your face when you finally put it on.

the guard watches you in silence.

you can feel her eyes on you, even through the mask.

you exhale shakily.

“why are you helping me?”

she doesn’t answer. just turns sharply on her heel and moves toward the door. before she leaves, she pauses, voice quieter this time.

“don’t talk too much. don’t stand out. please do anything you are assigned to do. don’t let them know you’re different.”

she’s gone, leaving you standing in that room, your heart pounding against your ribs.

you're alive.

you're a guard now.

somewhere out there, your daughter is still waiting for you.

three months earlier, before the games, you were on guard duty

you step outside into the cold air, your breath visible in the dim glow of the parking lot lamps.

the weight of your uniform feels heavier tonight, the exhaustion settling deep in your bones.

across the lot, in the same familiar spot, you see it..

an old van, the windows slightly fogged up from the cold.

inside, no-eul sleeps, curled up in the driver’s seat with a thin blanket draped over her.

she looks exhausted, her face relaxed in sleep but shadowed with worry.

technically, you should tell her to leave.

she’s not supposed to be here, not supposed to sleep in the lot overnight.

rules are rules.

you don’t. you never do. you will never tell the woman to leave.

instead, you make slow rounds near the van, pretending to do your job while keeping an eye on her.

making sure no one else bothers her. making sure she stays safe.

you don’t know much about her, only that life hasn’t been kind to her.

you’ve heard rumors—people whisper about how she lost everything, her own daughter back in north korea, how she keeps showing up at the amusement park where she used to work, as if hoping things will magically go back to normal.

you don’t ask questions. you just watch.

when she stirs in her sleep, shifting slightly, you step back into the shadows so she doesn’t see you.

however... no-eul knows.

in the mornings, when she wakes up and finds no ticket on her windshield, no security shoving her away, she knows you were there.

she knows you were on shift instead of that other man.

she knows because she’s seen you before...

no-eul has seen you at the amusement park, running toward your crying daughter, pulling her into your arms after she got lost.

no-eul remembers crouching down, wiping your daughter’s tears, telling her everything would be okay whenever your daughter lost you.

your daughter trusted her. and somehow, that trust extended to you, even without words.

so she never thanks you. never acknowledges it outright.

some nights, before she falls asleep, she glances toward the shadows where she knows you’re standing.

you stand there a little longer, just to be sure she’s okay.

what you don’t know is that months later, when it’s you lying in that blue room, wounded and helpless, that she will be the one standing guard over you.

#kang no eul #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #meadowfics #squid game x reader #squid games #guard 011 #sae byeok #squid game x y/n #squid game x fem!reader #squid game x you #no eul x reader #no eul squid game #squid game 2 #squid game 3 #squid game season 3

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sanguineterrain · 1 year ago

Note

Hii so for the requests if this is too dark please just ignore 💜 how about jason x reader with "[ BACKUP ] sender calls receiver panicking after committing a crime" where maybe reader gets assaulted and in self-defense kills the criminal and is panicking and calling jason because she knows he can help her and is the only one who won't judge her. Thank you for considering 💖

hey anon! i really liked this prompt, not to worry. it reminded me of that scene in the punisher when amy shoots the guy, but frank "kills" him, so i ended up incorporating that here 😅 thanks for requesting!

i also combined this with another request i got for the prompt "hide. hide now." with jason bc i felt they went well together :)

jason todd x gn!reader | tw: gun violence. reader shoots a man whose intention is to harm them. panic attack, blood. you are in charge of the media you consume! | 843 words

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

You don't know how you get back to your apartment. All you can hear is your pounding heartbeat and the footsteps of one of Two Face's men.

You shouldn't have been out this late. You shouldn't have been out alone. So many shouldn'ts run through your mind.

"Run all you want! I know where you live now, snitch! You ain't making it out tonight!"

You take the stairs two at a time, tripping over your feet. Sweat pours down your face. Your chest is tight with fear.

"Yoo-hoo," the goon sing-songs. "Where are ya, birdie?"

You unlock your phone and duck into the laundry room. Quickly, you pull out your phone and tap on your first contact.

"Todd."

"Jason," you whisper. The phone shakes in your grip.

"What's wrong?" he asks, instantly on alert.

"There's a—I was—I'm at home. I-I didn't know where else to go. Two Face's guy saw me, he chased me—"

"I'm on my way. Are you inside?"

"In... in the laundry room... Jay, I'm so scared."

"I know, I know, it's okay. I'll be there in two minutes. Go to your apartment and lock it. There's a gun taped behind the pantry cabinet. Don't hang up."

"I don't remember buying a—"

"I put it there. Go."

You don't even have the thought to be mad; Jason has always been protective of you, and right now, it might be the only thing that'll keep you alive.

"You there?" he asks as you stumble on your feet to your apartment.

"Al-almost—"

"I know you're up here, snitch!" the goon shouts from two floors below.

You gasp and nearly break your key in the lock. But you manage to get it open and lock it behind you, just how Jason ingrained in you to do. You find the gun exactly where he said it is.

"Okay. I have it. Jason, I've never—"

"I know. Listen to me—shit—okay, you see the safety? You remember what I taught you about taking the safety off?"

"Yeah, y-yeah." You take the safety off. The gun is heavy, way heavier than you remember it being when Jason had shown you how to fire it in a field outside of town.

"Alright. Now take the gun and hide. Hide now."

"Where? Jason, he's coming—" You're crying now, face slick with sweat and tears.

"Listen to me. I'm three blocks away. I will be there, okay? I won't let him do shit to you. Go to the bathroom and lock it. Be careful with the gun. Finger off the trigger."

You walk on jellied legs, half-stumbling to the bathroom. You do what he says and press yourself against the tub, gun under your palm. Your phone is on your other side.

"You still there?" he asks. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"I'm here. I think he's—"

You flinch hard as your apartment door splinters. You cover your mouth to hide your cries. The light is off, but you doubt this is the first time this guy's hunted someone in their apartment.

You hear the squeal of tires through the phone. Jason's close; he'll be here soon, he'll—

The bathroom door tears from its hinges. The doorknob makes a hole in the wall.

You don't think.

The shot is louder than you expect, and your ears ring from the sound. Blood splatters on your bathroom tiles. The goon hits the floor with a shout.

"Oh my God, oh my God," you babble, still squished against the tub.

"You bitch!" the goon shouts, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Jason runs in then. He quickly kicks the goon's gun away and steps on his chest when the goon tries to get up. Jason cocks his gun in warning.

"Stay down, shithead," he snarls.

"I killed him," you say, tears flooding your eyes. "I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

Jason kneels in front of you and gently takes the gun from you. You look at him, stomach rolling.

"I killed him," you say again, cringing as the goon yells in pain.

Jason shakes his head. "No. Hey, you didn't kill him. You defended yourself. You just shot him, okay? See, look—"

He fires a single bullet without looking. The goon is instantly silent. You wince.

"Okay? You didn't kill him. I killed him. Me. Not you."

You whimper, face falling into Jason's chest. He holds you tightly.

"I was so scared, but I didn't want to—I thought he was gonna—"

"Shh, shh. You didn't do anything wrong. Okay? I got you. You did good. You defended yourself. It was you or him and you made the right choice."

"Don't leave," you cry, clinging to Jason's tactical vest.

He squeezes you tighter, shielding you from the body.

"I'm not going anywhere. I got you, sweetheart. Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

You sit like that for a long time, Jason whispering gentle reassurances in your ear as you cry into his chest.

"I promise you'll never be in this situation again," he whispers when your cries have become sniffles. "I swear."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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winterarmyy · 2 years ago

Text

Promise Me | Part I

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Summary: Y/N kept being reincarnated into the world for seemingly endless of lifetimes with the lasting, vivid memories of her past lover during the 40's, Sargent James B. Barnes. While she thought this was a 'punishment' for her sins, she was also unknowingly oblivious to the fact that James was still alive somewhere, almost forever frozen in the time.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.5k++ (hella long bc lots to cover in the story building part)

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just slow induced angst for your daily consumption (i guess?) It has a hopeful ending so don't let the first warning chase you away. reincarnation concept. an attempt to follow exact mcu timeline (forgive if i'm wrong at certain parts). slight religious contents. grief & loss. graphic violence. deaths. mention of suicide. a lot of reader's pov, story building > dialogs (sorry guys).

P/S: Another impulsive writing from me y'all. I hope you don't get bored of this tendency of mine lol. I just need to let the fantasies out before it consumes me. So... anyway, it's gonna be another 3 parts fic cause for the love of god, I cannot commit for more :') Also, my first attempt of writing 40's bucky!!! I'm honestly scared. I hope you like it!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Italy, 1943 – His return

If there was one thing that Bucky should have expected when he decided to be in a relationship with Y/N was it would be that he had to accept her for who she was; stubborn, clumsy, bold, clever, sweet and most certainly the prettiest dame he ever met.

He might have unknowingly signed up for it the moment he quite literally fell for her at one of those Stark's science expo. Bucky had been stealing glances at this one pretty lady in the crowd; adored in soft mint dress that falls right below her knees.

It wasn't even a scandalous dress to wear in public but somehow Bucky was more than ecstatic to marvel at her beauty. There was no such thing as a too long of a stare, especially when she laughed like that; throwing her head in amusement, the loose strands of her curls fall back across her shoulders as they slightly shook to the rhythm of her laughter.

A careless misstep – that Bucky could see from a mile away – had caused her to stagger backwards and twisted her ankle into an inevitable fall. Somehow, Bucky managed to slither his way through the crowd towards her, almost jumping forward to catch her before she landed on the ground.

Not only that he was the one who fell first, but he also fell hard.

So, it was expected that Bucky knew what he had got himself into. At least, that was what Y/N had been repeating in her head to convince herself for what she had done. Now that she was sitting at the back of the wobbly military truck, the fear had slowly started to seep into her, causing shivers to crawl all over her nerves.

Y/N just knew it in her guts that Bucky would be absolutely furious when he sees her but what does he expect her to do when she hadn't receive any letters from him for months now. So, when she heard that they needed more medic volunteers at the Italy base, she signed up without thinking twice about it.

"There has been a recent attack on the 107th. Too many casualties and much more whose heavily injured. You might have your hands full the moment you arrive to the base. There are few rules..." The lieutenant's voice was as rigid just as his demenour when he continued to inform the situation to the troops of medical staff.

No matter how much she wanted to pay attention to his words, Y/N couldn't help but to tune in only at his first few sentences. Casualties and heavily injured. Her hands moved to search for the cross pendent hanging from the necklace around her collarbone, gripping it tight as she prayed that her lover was not categorized under any of those dire circumstances.

What the lieutenant said in that truck could never be more true; as the moment they stepped into the medic tent, Y/N and the others were quickly pulled to assist the fallen men. It was truly heartbreaking and horrid to witness the dreading truth behind what the public posed as the "heroes of the country".

Surely they were proud to fight for the nation but then again no human being should ever had to suffer the consequences of war; not the civilians and certainly not the soldiers.

After seemingly hours of continuous stitching, wrapping and patching up; surrounded sound of groaning pain and the endless cycle of inhaling the distinct scent of fresh blood, burned flesh and the bitter of anticeptic odor; the injured soldiers were finally taken care of and had been put to rest.

Y/N looked around the tent, noting the unorganized mess around the patients; the result of the panic and chaos of the whole situation. A thought came to her mind, she might need to do some cleaning up before writing down medical record for each one of the patients.

That was when the lieutenant entered into the tent, and his stern gaze swiftly analyzed the much calmer scene, "Thank you for your service, everybody. I assume the soldiers are stabilized?"

"Yes, sir." One of the battalion doctor replied as he approached, while the rest of the team watched from where they stood.

The lieutenant simply nodded, "Good." He paused for awhile and looked around, "Now, have any of you met Captain America before?"

There were bunch of no's murmured around the medical staff, some of them just shook their head as an answer and the lieutenant nodded again, "Well, I guess you are all just darn lucky cause he's here to perform. You are invited to come and join the others to watch, if you want to." He informed.

"Steve's here?" She thought to herself.

As the lieutenant continued to explain some things about accommodation, food and medical supplies, Y/N's head were filled with thought that her dear friend, Steve.

"I wonder if he gotten any words from James."

"Maybe he got letters from him?"

"Or could it be that he was here to find James too?

There were so many questions kept circulating in her head that by the time she snapped out of them, the lieutenant was already long gone and some of the volunteers went out to untangle themselves from the hours of stressful tension.

As a nurse herself, she felt the need to take care of her patients and finish her job before anything else. So, she started to clean up the shredded clothes, bloodied guazes and the other medical tools that needed to be sterilized and put away.

By the time she finished, it finally dawned to her that there was no trace of Bucky in the medic tent. Which means he didn't fall into the heavily injured category. So, there was two left; the one she prayed for and the other that dreaded her to even think about.

Y/N quickly made her way towards the tent where she can find the soldier in charge. However, if she was focused during one of the lieutenant's speech in the truck, she would've heard that she and the others were not authorized to enter certain parts of the base, which include the higher ups' tents.

When she was turned down by the soldiers, she sadly walked away towards the main area where Steve was supposed to perform. The drag of her feet across the dusty sand was heavy; but no more heavier than the burden in her heart.

She watched as her black pump shoes gradually covered with light sand. Finding it odd that a few weeks ago she was standing on the shiny tile of a hospital in Brooklyn and now she was halfway across the world in the middle of the chaos of a war.

The things she'd do for love.

Soon enough, the dry ground was wet from the sudden down pour, turning it into a murky soggy path. Y/N quickly ran towards the main area; where apparently the show was long over. "Did I missed Steve?" She thought as she stepped into the tent where the performers supposed to be.

The tent turned out to be empty as she suspected. There was only the sound of drizzling raindrops above it was left behind.

She looked around the area and saw the costumes for the performers were still there; the pleated white and red skirt hanging on the rack, white gloves clipped with them, the captain's shield with notes sticking at the back of it and the iconic blue helmet-mask plastered with the obvious letter of A.

She peeked a little to the right only to see Steve hunched down on the floor, curling into himself just as he always did back when he was left beaten up in the alleyway somewhere in Brooklyn.

A thought passed through her mind; maybe the upgrade of his size doesn't really change his habits.

Y/N walked closer to see him holding his sketchbook on one hand and another was a pencil pressing across the paper. The tip scribled up and down, lining the drawing of a monkey on a unicycle. "I guess the serum does not amplify your art skills huh, Stevie?" she teased as she approached the blonde man.

Steve lifted up his head as he turned towards the familiar voice, "y/n?" His face lit up as he recognized her face. He stood on his feet and pulled her into a tight hug, "It's so good to see you." He sighed, he haven't seen her since his departure to be paraded around the world as the 'symbol of freedom'.

He clearly remembers what he wrote in the letter regarding her wish to volunteer as a medic for the war; practically begging her to not do this and stay home.

But alas, it took awhile for him to process it but when it came to him, he gently pushed her away, "Wait.. what are you doing here?" His brows creased into a worried frown.

Y/N simply smiled as she responded, "They needed help, so I volueentered."

Steve shook his head in disbelief, "I know that." He sighed as a frown deepened across his feature, "Bucky made me promise not to let you do stuff like this."

In which Y/N countered, "And he remind you not to do anything stupid until he get back; so..." she purposely trailed her words for him to draw the conclusion on his own.

He let out a long sigh before concluding, "Bucky's gonna kill us."

Since, Bucky was in the topic, Y/N wanted to take the oppurtunity to asked Steve about him, "About that, have you heard--"

A woman's voice came from her back, cutting in between her words, "Steve?"

Steve nervously distance himself from Y/N as he shyly greeted the brunette, "Hi."

The woman continued to stare at Y/N trying to figure out her role and relationship to Steve but before she could get any strange idea, he quickly introduced her, "This is y/n. She's a good friend of mine at home."

A spark of realization glint through her eyes "I see. I'm Peggy. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand towards Y/N, in which she gladly shook it in hers as she reintroduced herself, "You too. I'm y/n."

After the brief exchange of smile between the two ladies, Steve continued to ask Peggy, "What are you doing here?"

Peggy sighed as she explained, "Officially, I'm not here at all." She paused as she picked her words, "I just came by to oversee the situation after the recent attack."

Although Y/N knew what Peggy meant, she was one of the medic staff that had been stitching up the aftermath of that attack after all. However, Steve on the other hand seemed to be lost.

Peggy further explained, "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano, more than 200 men went up against him and less than 50 returned." She paused, "Your audience contained what's left of the 107th."

Steve's blues widen in realization that almost looked much like panic, "The 107th?"

"What?" Peggy prompt quickly.

Steve then turned his head to Y/N, "Bucky?" He questioned shortly.

But even she was hoping that he'll know something about Bucky, apparently she was wrong, "I tried to ask but I'm not authorized to enter the tent. I was hoping you heard from him."

Seeing the panic in Steve's eyes, she knew that her lover was no where near the safety that she prayed for. But before fear could set in, Steve sprinted out of the tent, "Come on!" he shouted as Y/N and Peggy ran closely behind him.

When they arrived to the tent, fortunately they had the permission to enter with the help of Peggy. "Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?" Colonel Philips greeted in a teasing manner.

Steve didn't even bother to greet the colonel as he demanded, "I need the casualty list from Azzano." In which the Philips responded, "You don't get to give me orders, son."

Knowing that arguments won't help the situation, he control his tone of voice and spoke, "I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th." He took a short breath and insisted, "Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

Colonel Phillips stood on his feet as he walked towards a table behind him, "I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count." He paused before turning around to eye on Steve and briefly on the very worried looking nurse next to him.

"But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry." There was a flash of sincerity in his eyes when he looked towards Y/N.

The optimistic Steve continued to insist more about other possibilities than casualties, "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?" They went back and forth about the what is the 'right' thing to do, "Yes, it's called 'winning the war'. "

And suddenly sound of the heavy rain fall was all Y/N could hear, then comes the booming of her heartbeat as the panic started to deprive her of any optimism; clouding her judgment to think of anything near to positive outcomes such as Steve.

It was getting harder to breath and the anxiety slowly choked her from within, forcing tears to pool in her eyes. Peggy swiftly took a hold on Y/N, before her knees managed to fall to the ground. The muffled sound of Peggy's voice managed to come through but not enough to wake her from the despair.

Before she knew it, Steve was already gone for an unauthorized rescue mission with the help from Peggy. And ever since, Y/N had spend every waking moment digging her knees into the uneven ground under her tent. Her elbows were bruised from how hard she propped them on the steel edge of the army green cot. Her palms almost dented to shape of the silver cross as she desperately squeeze it between her hold.

She prayed and prayed for his return. For both of her dearest to be safe, to find their way home.

Every part of her body was numb and all she hoped for was to have her prayers be answered. And it seems like God heard her whispers of the night.

Like the others, Y/N was drawn to the commotion as the crowd was getter louder. At first she noticed a few, then the circle of soldiers were geting thicker when the survivors joined the rest of them. There were chantings of "Captain America" that echoed throughout the base and that gave her relief to know that Steve was safe.

But it was not enough to tame her anxiousness. Y/N's focus has never been sharper when her eyes scanned the crowd, she slithered her way between the jumping joy of the soldiers, grabbing onto some men who she mistook as Bucky; until she saw him.

Her heartbeat ramped increasingly as she pushed through the soldiers, finding strength from the blood pumping excitement when she recognize those steel blues and that cheeky smile. Not long before she managed to grab onto his hand and pulled his attention to her.

It was brief but he knew that face anywhere; and suddenly his whole body was engulf into a familiar tight hug that he thought he could never be able to feel again. "James." her voice stuttered even if it was just one word that came out of her lips.

"y/n?" Bucky called her name, almost in disbelief.

God, she never knew that she was able to miss his voice this much.

"Doll, what you doing here?" He gently lead her away, which she reluctantly followed, "I'm here for you." There was no need of lies now that Bucky was here in her arms.

His gaze soften with a mix of concern and joy, "What do you mean you're here for me?" Bucky couldn't help but to let out a short laugh, "Sweetheart, you do realized that you're in the middle of a warzone?" His brows quirked as he reminded.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course, she realized that. The moment she saw that form for the volunteer enlistment, she already knew that. But, it didn't stop her to sign up, does it?

She laced her fingers into his, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James." she whispered as she leaned closer, "So, please just shut up and kiss me."

Bucky might have just realized it now; what a stubborn, demanding, crazy little lover got himself. Though at the same time, he had never been more charmed.

Bucky sighed in defeat before running his tongue on his lower lip, "Well then, come here you little minx" he took her by the head and gave her the most desperate yet sweetest kiss she could never forget.

Brooklyn, 1944 – Promises, promises

It was the day that Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos were depolying to the Austrian Alps for one of the biggest mission since Captain's impulsive rescue mission in Italy last year.

Apparently, Zola was on the move and predicted to be passing though the location while travelling on a train.

This wasn't the first time she had sent Bucky away, but the fear of each departure always felt like it was her first; especially when she thought about the promise of death that's chained to a soldier's fate.

The closer the time of departure, the stronger her grip on Bucky's uniform becomes. And Bucky didn't need to say anything because he knows her too well; she won't take any of his sweet words as a cure for her distress.

Instead, Bucky slowly swayed her from side to side as their embrace tightens with need; her face hidden in the crook of his neck while his arms secured around her waist. He had to smile as it reminded him of their late night dance, barefoot on the kitchen floor of his tiny apartment.

He could feel the teasing gaze coming from his back as well as the whistles of the Howling Commandos playfully making fun of him. Bucky was also well aware of the fact that everyone had made theirs bets on when will the Sargent James B. Barnes finally get down on his knees for his little nightingale of a nurse.

Unsurprisingly, Steve might just win the bet afterall. That punk just had know everything about him.

Y/N snuggled closer into him, "Come home to me, James." She whispered against his skin before pulling away. Teary eyes threatened to spill its salty liquid as she looked up at him, "Promise me."

Bucky's charming smile lighten his features as he leaned to press a kiss in her forehead, "I promise."

Brooklyn, 1945 – Loved and lost

Months gone by, entered the new year, and it always felt like eternity for Y/N. She spent nights kneeling next to her bed and days on the church's floor; practically begging to God for the life of her lover, for keeping him away from death.

And the letters from Bucky also come and goes within those few months' time, with his promises of coming home; laced in the words of his longing and love for her.

But, little did she knew, that promise met it's end of the bargain when the dreaded letter came to her hands. It came from the man she met back in Italy base, Colonel Phillips, sending the words of condolences for the death Sargent James B. Barnes during his honourable mission at the Austrian Alps.

But the first time she read to words, it didn't even register in her head. It was as if her brain failed to translate the text; unable to make it so she understood what they meant. Y/N had been re-reading the same lines over and over and over until it finally clicked.

The usually bright eyes of hers were now slowly filled with tears, she was in the state of shock; that even if her brain knew exactly what had happened but her heart wasn't ready for it.

The tears started to fall down onto the letter. Drip by drip. And all of the sudden she lost every word that she could ever think of. Her silent scream; suffocating her with each breath she took desperately gripping onto the fragile piece of paper, holding it to her chest hold as if that would help to ease the pain in her heart.

Y/N could feel it in her ripping guts. How all the threads of every joyful memories she could ever once recall; they unraveled in a way that broke her to pieces until they were all but a rumpled of strings scattered about her feet.

A sharp fall had forced Y/N down to her knees, skin digging into the hard floor as her hands trembled silently, clutching onto the letter.

At first when she opened her mouth, there was not a single sound came out as her breath ripped from her lungs. Each left her with scars of loss and every waking minute in this reality was just pure pain.

Her body bend forward until her forehead meets the cold floor; that was when she wailed – an agonizing scream that left a haunting memory to the neighbours around her apartment.

She cried like there was too much raw pain inside that she could never contained. She cried like her soul needed to break loose from her skin, desperate to release a loathful rage on the world.

But it was more than just crying, it was the sobbing of a woman that drained of all hope. She sank on floor, willing herself to be swallowed by the dread and loss. Just screaming out the agonies that been dancing across her vulnerable veins.

Her chest violently quivered as she was desperately trying to catch the air. She collected every last energy that she had to call out the name of the lover she had loss, "James.." Her gasping breath whispered against the floor, "You promised."

A month later the nation celebrate to the announcement to the end of a war, but to Y/N it was just another wave of mourning grief to a loss of another precious person in her life; Steve.

Amidst the loud sound of cheering and laughter, she rushed away from the crowd to the place that she had put all her faith into. Stumbling through the empty church and falling at the feet of Jesus' statue, Y/N looked up at the face of God; not with her usual admiration but instead with so much loath, rage and despair.

The night sky was brighten to the flashing light from the firework but all she could think of was how similar the sound of it to a firing canon in the war.

And the thought of Bucky and Steve run through her mind.

She had been nothing but faithful to the lord, religiously prayed for no more than saving the life of people she held dear to her heart.

But, God thought it would be merciful to let them die.

Y/N harshly ripped the cross necklace from her neck, tearing her skin apart in the process. She gripped on the cross in her hands, much like she would few months back but for completely different reason.

The crimson of her blood tainted the white collar of her nurse uniform as she she cursed the all mighty God for what he had done. Ever since, she swore to herself to never be naive to the illusion of God's mercy ever again.

Washington D.C., 2014 – An old friend

Fate is full with irony and God has his way of twisting them for his own pleasure.

When Y/N died in the 60's, old and unmarried, even if she doesn't believe in God anymore, her dying wish was to be able to meet her lover and friend again.

At least one more time.

But lo and be hold, he had different plans for her. Y/N's body did die that night on the hospital bed but her soul never did. It was as if she was woken up from sleep in another body with the same face as her, that's when she realized she has been reincarnated.

Apparently, she was only born in the same family lineage as her original life; whether coming from her younger brother or cousin or anyone related back to her bloodline. And sharing even the tiniest amount of blood of her own, triggers every single memory from her previous life.

This wasn't what she wanted.

She didn't want to live knowing she cannot be with Bucky.

So on the second life, she did the unthinkable. She took her own life, thinking that she would finally leave the world behind but she didn't.

It happened again.

And again.

So, when she reached her sixth life, she realized that she will never able to meet James and Steve ever again; that was when she went rogue.

Her sixth life was filled with rage and vengeance; to the point that she took the idea of life very lightly. So, instead of living until the old days, she searched for revenge and got herself tragically killed in the process.

Now, the 18 year old Y/N was in her seventh life, with a new name that was given by her seventh parents, "Evelyn" , and the spitting image of her first life. From her dark raven hair to the light brown of her eyes. This time, she decided to try to accept the cruel fate; the cursed that God had placed on her for the sin that she made decades ago.

Y/N walked around the Smithsomian Museum, specifically at the American history section where they put up Captain America's exhibit. It's been how many lifetimes since she surround herself with knowledge of a past that she once lived.

This was the first time, since her first life. And most probably the last time since she was going overseas in a week to continue her studies in Asia.

She walked along the line up display of the Howling Commandos suits, remembering the living flesh of them as she took steps forward to each, stopping in front of Bucky's.

Flashes of him appeared to where the figure stood; the memories was so vivid that she could still feel fabric of his suit against her, the electrifying feeling on his skin on her own.

She ripped her gaze away just to be greeted by the portrait of Bucky, plastered so huge and proud on the memorial of one of the Howling Commandos section. Despite the cracking of her heart, her body move on its own; as they knew that deep down, Y/N's heart will always be yearning for her lover.

Her gaze soften with longing and nostalgic as she slowly blink at his features. His considerably messy hair, that little frown that he does to act mysterious for the ladies, and the thin layer of beard that she loved to leave her lipstick marks on.

Y/N's daydream were cut short when someone pulled her by the arm, startling her into a defensive mode. Her sixth life's habit almost broke through when she nearly flipped the man on the floor but thankfully she stopped herself as she recognized those blue eyes.

The man's face looked pale like he had seen a ghost, as he uttered a name that she haven't heard for decades, "y/n?"

"Steve..." she called his name wordlessly.

She knew he was alive. Everybody does.

When the news came out in 2011, she was merely a 15 year old kid back then. Apparently, the super soldier serum helped him to survive the ice.

She remembered how her parents rushed to her room when they heard the sudden cluttering sounds of panic upstairs, only to find their daughter on the floor looking pale while her cup of iced coffee spilling in all over her study desk as the viral youtube video of Captain America running through New York city barefoot playing on the screen of her computer.

She remembered the feeling of both disbelief and joy that rushed through body as her parents helped her to sit up on her bed. The moment that it sunk into her head, she began to cry. Streams of joyful tears broke from her shaky body, each drop washed the painful burden in her heart as her parents lulled her to sleep.

Y/N never made an effort to meet him after knowing truth. Because who would believe her?

She wasn't Steve.

There wasn't any super soldier serum in her blood. There wasn't any tank of chemical that drown her with power.

She was cursed and now she had to live with it.

Meanwhile, Steve seemed to be trapped in a spiralling confusion of his own. He examined each of her features and he had not a single doubt that she has the same face to an old friend in the 40's.

The same friend that he knew died of old age in the 60's.

But, how come the person managed to have the exact same face to hers. Now that he looked closer, she was younger than the last time he saw Y/N.

She looked like she was in her late teens, "Are you really y/n?" His voice was soft as he muttered.

Y/N bit the insides of her cheeks, holding back the urge of telling him the truth, "Sorry, I think you got the wrong person." she tried to untangle his grasp around her arm.

Even her voice was similar to Y/N, and she was looking at Bucky's photo like she knew him.

How could she say that she's was not Y/N?

Steve reluctantly let go of her arms and took a step away after seeing the distress on her face, "I-I'm sorry. You remind me of someone I know." He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She was just too similar looking to someone precious that he left behind.

"It's okay, sir." She smiled gently, like the way she usually does when Steve apologizes for his impulsiveness of picking a fight in alleyways. She looked up to the taller man as she continued, "Thank you for being alive..." she hesitated to call him by his name so instead she called for his other name, "...Captain."

She thanked him sincerely before walking away, leaving Steve to reminisce the memories of his life with Y/N and Bucky as he stared at Bucky's memorial.

The next week, she left the United States for Asia where she planned to spend 4 years studying at the National University of Singapore, leaving her past behind in hopes of moving forward with her life, refusing to care about the avengers shenanigans anymore, including her dear friend, Steve.

New York, 2018 – New norms

When half of the population was wiped out from the earth, two of them was Y/N's parents. And like every other people who had lost their loved ones during the blip, her parents sudden absence truly take a toll on her, especially when she was planning to live a long life with them.

After graduating and getting a decent job in Singapore, she was forced to go back to New York when it happened. Y/N couldn't just let her childhood house left abandoned, she simply can't let that happen.

You would thought a person who had multiple lifetimes would be used to losing someone they love but no. It only gets worst as the years go by.

The more Y/N tried to fit into the new norms, the more that she could feel herself slipping into old habits of her sixth life.

Until that one drunken night when she visited the Smithsomian Museum again after years of forcing herself to forget about him; it took her one look at the potrait of Bucky, she knew what she had to do.

Germany, 2023 – An old nemesis

Nearly 5 years into the blip and Y/N was already becoming a legend in the underground scene. They called her the Deathstalker. She never really knew the origin of it but nevertheless she chooses to stick with the newly founded identity.

With the skills she picked up on her sixth life, she easily became the most deadly assassin in the business. Seemingly in a constant competition of reputation with the highly popular, black widow assassins.

Though she couldn't care less about who was winning the battle, she only cares about tracking anything or anyone related to Hydra.

After that fateful night at the museum, she couldn't help but to think that this must be her calling.

If the curse made her technically immortal, then why not became the hunter destined to slay the monster. They said that Hydra will never die, but so was she. And if anything good came out from this curse, then she might as well use it to avenge Bucky.

And bring the old nemesis to the ground.

Her sixth life was similar to this but she wasn't going to make the same mistake. The flaming greed to have her revenge was too strong back then, it lead her to be hasty and clumsy, which then let her to an early death.

But, she's grown out of those immaturity.

Nowadays, she takes her time and still get the job done flawlessly. Just like she is now, when the soft but dark sound of her chuckle, interrupted the silence that had claimed the room.

The poor man was sitting limp on the chair with his body tied with it. He had been like this for seemingly hours with a knife in one of his thighs, which trembled with the vibrations of his body.

More so, when Y/N twisted them, causing a keen of pain to clawed up his throat and spilled out a hoarse groan.

"Where is it?" Her fingers wrapped around the handle, as she watched the man tossed his head, more with fear than trying to answer.

"I don't like to repeat myself." Y/N slid the blade free, causing a noise he would not forget. The man sagged against his bonds, panting as he watched the blood surged and dribbled out of the wound.

But then he felt the prick against his other leg, wide eyes turning to watch as the knife was held above his skin, Y/N's hand flat against the top, ready to push in. "Where the fuck is it?" her tone was eerie as the voice changer in her mask produced an emotionless robotic effect on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The thick german accent seethed through his voice as he grunted in pain.

There was only boredom in Y/N's eyes as she gazes straight into his. A stab of the knife went through his thigh without a warning, until the tip of it almost met the flat surface of the chair beneath it.

The whole room echoed with the sound of the whimpering and cries of his struggle, "Please, I swear to God I don't know what you're talking about." He pleaded as fast as he can, when he felt the shortage of breaths in his lungs due to dealing with the excruciating pain.

"Playing dumb isn't going to help you, mutt." She twisted the knife, pulled out and stabbed it again causing him to fall into an almost delirious state, "Please, please please, I swear I don't know anything about the serum." He blurted out of misery.

There it was.

The thing she wanted to hear.

Y/N's eyebrow quirked in interest, "I never mentioned the serum in our conversation, no?"

He fucked up.

He knew that he fucked up.

But, does it matter when his body was searing in pain?

By the end of the intense interrogation, Y/N finally got the intel she needed to find and destroy whatever was left behind by Wilfred Nagel, who was recruited by the CIA to recreate the super soldier serum.

Those greedy fuckers just cannot stay away from things that shouldn't be meddled with. Even Y/N could see the potential threats of a successful recreation the super soldier serum; they were practically asking for Hydra to revive to its glory days.

And she would not allow that to happen.

She needed to destroy it before its finished.

A loud wail left the man's lips, almost sounded a little strained as he had been screaming in pain for hours. Y/N mercilessly grabbed him by his sweaty chin as she pried his mouth open. Knowing exactly what was coming, the man begged, "Oh lord, please please help me please."

Leaning closer she coldly spoke, "The gods doesn't care about you. Trust me I've been there." With a swift strike, she forced her knife down his throat, and a splash of red tainted her mask, nearly got into her eyes but she managed to blink before it does.

She stood still as she watched him gurgle on his own blood as death collected his soul. Wiping the blood away from her eyelid, she walked out of the abandoned building with a mission to finish; all the while blissfully oblivious to the war that the avengers were fighting to their death on the other side of the world.

Madripoor, 2024 – The most prized asset

The returned of her parents were as sudden as the lost. Though she was glad that they were back, however she had to live a double life now that they kept asking about her job and personal life as they wanted to catch up for the lost of time in 5 years.

Y/N felt bad for lying to her parents but it was for their own good. Now, that she had sent them to a honeymoon to travel all over Europe, she felt better in pursuing her mission without concerns.

Besides the joyful return there was also the awful ones.

Now, that Wilfred Nagel was back from the blip. The serum was perfected to its finest version. And was stolen by bunch of kids protesting for equal rights.

What a fucking mess that was.

But, she would deal with that later. The main focus right now was to find the man itself. There would be no more serums if the source is eradicated.

That was her priority.

With her face hidden behind her signature mask, Y/N walked through the messy crowd as she searches for Shelby's men. This should be a short meeting, since Shelby and her had history together; or more to a favour that she owns to Y/N.

However, when she tried to tune in into the hushed conversations in the crowd, she noticed that the murmurs seemed to be divided into two hot topics; one about the sudden appreance of the Deathstalker, which was herself, and second was surprisingly about the return of another notorious assassin.

Then when the conversations died down, a fight suddenly broke out. Y/N hold on the handle of her blades from the side of her thighs, as she stiffed into a defensive mode.

While on the other hand, the crowd seemed to be more interested in recording the fight, than avoiding it.

She seemlessly weaved her way through the people, only to see that the action ended with a man choked onto the bar table. The was attacker's face turned away from her, she could only see his figure from the back.

Then, a gleam of gold caught her attention, Y/N squinted her eyes as she analyzed the man's left arm.

It was not the pattern of the sleeve from his suit.

It was his arm.

A black bionic arm.

Which reminded of her of someone she came across in her sixth life; but his arm was a tin foil silver with a red star on his upper side. At the time, he was Hydra's most prized asset, they called him the Winter Soldier.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: yes, I am well aware that left y'all hanging but I still hope you enjoy this one. Tell me what you think so far, I'm curious if y'all cry at the part where she received the letter or maybe you can comment of something else, I'd still love to hear them ♡

#winterarmyyfics #promise me au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #40s!bucky #1940s!bucky #tfatws!bucky

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abii-reb · 12 days ago

Text

Kang Dae-ho

"Stay Behind Me" pt3

❥ summary: (THIS IS PART 3, READ PART 1 AND 2 IN MY PROFILE) where our ex-marine can't help but feel strangely attracted to the beautiful girl with blonde hair and cute freckles.

❥ word count: 3.1k

❥ warnings: fem!Reader, +18, minor dni, blow job (man!receiving), tit squeeze

❥ authors note: Hi! I'm Abi. This is my first time writing on Tumblr :) and my first language is not English, so if I misspelled anything please let me know!

That night, like every other, the silence was unsettling. Darkness enveloped the place, and the distant murmurs of the other players were the only thing breaking the stillness. Dae-ho woke up from a restless sleep, his stomach twisting from the nightmares that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He sat up, feeling the weight of his tired body, and walked toward the bathroom. Though fear constantly accompanied him, something felt different this time. What was happening to him? Why did he need her close? Maybe she was the only person who, when looking at him, didn’t see a monster. Maybe, for once, he could feel… alive. Not just a survivor, but someone capable of loving or being loved.

He returned to his bunk, his mind still unsettled. He didn’t expect to see her awake at that hour, but when he arrived at the dormitory, he saw her standing beside his bed. Her slender figure, wrapped in a blanket hanging from her hands like a small child, looked so vulnerable—so different from the girl he was used to seeing. Her eyes, slightly dull from exhaustion, met his with a softness he couldn’t ignore.

"Can I sleep with you?" she asked, her voice barely trembling. "I’m afraid someone might decide to start a midnight massacre."

Dae-ho let out a small laugh, though the situation was far from funny. It wasn’t the first time fear had taken hold of them in the darkness, but seeing her there, so unprotected, awakened his protective instinct with full force. He didn’t think twice—he simply lay down, making space for her beside him.

"Of course," he responded without hesitation, his tone soft but firm. "I’m not going to say no to that."

She climbed onto the bunk with slight clumsiness, as if unsure whether she was doing the right thing. She curled up close to him, and Dae-ho wrapped his arms around her, feeling her small body against his.

The scent of her hair, still fresh though slightly messy, filled his lungs, and for a moment, the memories of the past faded. The echoes of screams and orders that had haunted him for years went silent for a while, replaced by the soft sound of her breathing, deep and calm. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth she unknowingly provided.

She, in turn, felt completely safe in his arms. The fear that had gripped her all day disappeared the moment she felt him by her side. There was no need to say anything. She was okay. Everything was okay. Everything that had happened—all the deaths and the games that had consumed them—didn’t matter at that moment.

"Thank you," she whispered, as if she couldn’t stop being grateful for his presence.

Dae-ho didn’t respond immediately, but he let out a deep sigh, pulling her a little closer. He didn’t know if they would make it out of there, if they would survive, if fate would leave them alone, but for now, in that instant, all that mattered was that they were together.

(...)

Dae-ho woke up first, still feeling a warm, small presence curled up against his chest. Gently, he lowered his gaze to find her relaxed face, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as she breathed evenly. He couldn’t help but think about how peaceful she looked, completely unaware of everything.

She started to stir. Her eyes slowly opened, and before she could even focus on him properly, she seemed to realize her morning appearance. Instinctively, she brought her hands to her face, covering it as if that could hide her completely.

"Don’t look…" she murmured, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Dae-ho raised an eyebrow, amused by her reaction. He propped himself up on one elbow and, with no effort at all, gently pulled her hands away from her face, holding them between his own.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked, a sly smile playing on his lips.

She tried to look away, but he didn’t let her.

"You still look just as beautiful as the first day," he said sincerely, his eyes tracing her features. His tone carried no teasing, no joke. It was simply a fact.

She felt her heart race at his words. She hadn’t expected him to remember that moment… much less mention it so naturally. Without knowing how to respond, she acted without thinking.

She leaned slightly toward him and, quickly, pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips.

The warmth of his lips barely registered before she pulled away immediately, her eyes wide with shock at what she had just done.

Dae-ho froze completely.

Feeling the heat rush to her ears, she clumsily scrambled out of bed and climbed down the bunk ladder with impressive speed. He didn’t even have time to react before he saw her disappear, running straight toward the women’s bathroom, where she locked herself without a second thought.

Dae-ho, still bewildered, brought a hand to his lips, where the ghost of her touch still burned.

(...)

For the rest of the morning, she avoided Dae-ho at all costs.

During breakfast, instead of sitting with the others, she chose to eat alone on her bunk, head down and tray resting on her lap. Every time Dae-ho tried to approach, she pretended to be too focused on her food or simply looked away.

The other group members noticed the tension in the air.

"And what’s up with your girlfriend now?" Jung-bae joked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Dae-ho shot him a glare.

"She’s not my girlfriend."

"But she looks at you like she is," Gi-hun added with a teasing smile.

Dae-ho sighed, running a hand over his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness.

"She kissed me," he admitted bluntly.

The other three men went silent for a second before Young-il let out a suppressed laugh.

"What?!"

"Yeah. This morning. She kissed me and then ran off like she’d committed a crime."

"Well, technically, it is," Jung-bae quipped. "In this place, having feelings for someone is a risk."

Dae-ho didn’t respond. He knew that all too well. But it was already too late.

"And what did you do?" Young-il asked.

The ex-marine shrugged.

"Nothing. I didn’t have time to react. By the time I realized what had happened, she was already running to the bathroom."

The other three exchanged looks before bursting into synchronized laughter.

"Poor girl, she must be dying of embarrassment," Gi-hun said.

"And you’re not helping by just sitting here instead of talking to her," Jung-bae pointed out.

Dae-ho frowned at them.

"And what do you expect me to do? Corner her and say, ‘Hey, about the kiss… no worries, okay? You can do it whenever you want’?"

"You could at least make her feel less awkward," Gi-hun said. "Clearly, she likes you, and if she keeps avoiding you, it’s going to be weird for everyone."

Dae-ho sighed again, setting his tray aside. He didn’t need them to tell him. He already knew he had to do something.

The hard part was figuring out the right way to do it.

(...)

The music echoed throughout the room with the rotating platform, a repetitive melody that had become unbearable for all the players. Around them, doors of different colors waited to be opened, but until a number was announced, no one could move. Several rounds had passed, ranging from easy numbers to form groups to smaller ones that made it more difficult.

She had returned to the group for the third game, but her attitude toward Dae-ho hadn’t changed. Though she was with them, she didn’t speak a word to him. She stayed close to Jun-hee, talking with her or pretending that Dae-ho’s presence beside her didn’t affect her in the slightest.

But of course, it did.

And he noticed.

What he didn’t notice—at least not immediately—was someone else watching her.

Thanos.

That bastard had gotten too close to Y/N, though keeping just far enough away for her not to notice. But Dae-ho did notice. And his jaw clenched at the sight.

The music stopped abruptly.

"Two" announced the voice over the speakers.

In the blink of an eye, Thanos lunged at Y/N, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forcefully toward one of the rooms.

"Come on, Y/N!" he said with a smile that was meant to be charming but only managed to churn her stomach.

She struggled, but her size and strength weren't enough.

Dae-ho reacted without thinking.

A precise punch, delivered with all his strength, landed on Thanos's face, sending them both straight to the ground.

"I warned you" Dae-ho growled, glaring at him with pure contempt. "If you touch her again, I won't show any mercy."

Y/N, still on the floor, looked up at him with wide eyes. The way he stood in front of her and how he protected her without hesitation made her chest feel strangely... warm.

But there was no time to stay there.

Without any effort, Dae-ho scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing and sprinted toward one of the empty rooms. He crossed the door just before the timer hit zero, and it slammed shut behind them with a loud bang.

He set her down gently, but as soon as he did, all the anger, fear, and frustration he had been holding back exploded at once.

"Why have you been ignoring me all morning?" Dae-ho asked, his voice filled with emotions he couldn't even name.

Y/N bit her lip, lowering her gaze.

"because I was very embarrassed..." she admitted softly. "For kissing you like that... without thinking."

Dae-ho stared at her in disbelief.

"Embarrassed?"

She nodded, feeling even more foolish at hearing the disbelief in his tone.

He shook his head, stepping closer.

"You shouldn't have run away."

Y/N lifted her gaze just in time to see him move even closer, until their faces were dangerously near.

"Because the only thing I've wanted since I first saw you was for you to kiss me."

She barely had time to react before he closed the distance and kissed her.

This time, there was no embarrassment.

Their lips met with desperate intensity; after all, they had been waiting for this all along. She clung to his neck, losing herself in the friction of their bodies, while he held her by the waist, pulling her even closer-if that was even possible.

There was no one else in that moment.

Just the two of them.

And oh, they were going to enjoy it...

(+18)

The nearest wall witnessed absolutely everything. Dae-ho cornered her and let his hands run over her curves—respectfully—carefully. He really touched her as if she was going to break. As if she were just a porcelain doll in his hands.

"How much time do we have?" He parted slightly from her lips to speak and at the same time regain the air he was missing.

She looked over Dae-ho's shoulder and saw that the guards were just beginning to pick up the bodies from the ground, and this time there were many.

"Enough." She said while smiling with her breathing heavily.

Dae-ho didn't hesitate for a second and attacked her lips again with hunger, with desire, with something that not even he knew what it was, but he needed her right there.

His hands slipped under her clothes and he moved away from her lips only to look into her eyes, asking her permission to continue. Once he saw that she nodded her head quickly, he allowed himself to get to know her more. He unzipped her jacket and she did the same with his. A few seconds later both were already on the ground. They were definitely not necessary.

Dae-ho put his hands under her shirt and felt her hot skin calling out to him. It ran down her waist slowly as it climbed a little higher, reaching the sides of her breasts. His eyes again met hers, seeking approval.

"Just do it." She said, laughing with desperation in her tone.

He laughed lightly, but his attention was really elsewhere. He took off her shirt and dropped it on the floor along with the other clothes.

His sight unconsciously slowed down on her breasts, but out of mere respect he pretended not to have delighted you to attack his neck with wet kisses. His hands cradled both breasts carefully, giving them a small squeeze. They were big, they didn't fit into his hands, and that drove him crazy, he wanted to take her completely.

He left kisses and marks all over her neck while she just let out sighs with the occasional moan, running her nails down his neck and pulling slightly at the hair that fell from the back of his neck.

Y/N's bra ended up along with the rest of the clothes. Dae-ho began massaging one breast as he slowly lowered his kisses down to the other, running all over her warm skin and reaching her already prominent nipple, taking it in his mouth and biting it lightly. She no longer held back, she simply moaned without any shame.

He switched to the other breast while massaging the previous one, and a few seconds later it went back up to her neck, passing through her jaw and reaching her mouth again.

Their lips met again in despair and they both made sure that their bodies were completely together.

Dae-ho quickly pulled away to hear a loud groan from her. He looked at her confused and she, with her red cheeks, looked down. He followed her gaze and understood the reason for her sound.

He had felt a pressure in his pants but he didn't think it was so noticeable. Before he could say anything, she kissed him again, grabbing his neck with one hand and the other down from her chest to his stomach, and slowly moving closer down.

He shyly brushed the hem of Dae-ho's pants, feeling the heat his body emanated.

She lowered her hand further and ran the tip of his finger along the length of his cock that was already too marked through the fabric. Dae-ho stifled a moan shyly as he hid his face in her neck.

"I want to hear you... Don't hold back." She said as she ran her free hand through his hair, tugging slightly from time to time.

She took his cock completely. It was thick and quite long compared to the ones she had already —tasted.—

She began to use the palm of her hand to massage it from top to bottom, making a constant friction.

It was then that she felt the fabric get slightly moist that she realized that she could now go down.

Slowly she knelt in front of him, never taking her eyes off his eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears. Dae-ho noticed it and quickly untied the ponytail he had and used it to hold her hair in a messy bun that made her look sexier than she already was.

With just one look he understood her and began to pull down his pants along with his boxers. His cock, already completely hard, was present in front of her face, who did not take long to notice every vein, every mole he had.

She began by kissing Dae-ho's pelvis and then reached the base of his penis, looking up to delight in the expressions of pleasure he made.

She left kisses all the way, reaching the tip already moistened with pre-cum, which she did not hesitate to lick.

Y/N began to kiss the tip of the cock while slowly taking more and more in her mouth until she reached a point where she already had it completely inside her. That's when she began to move her head slowly from front to back, sucking faster and faster.

Dae-ho didn't care about anything anymore, he simply moaned while he held her hair, urging her to make her movements faster. He quickly moved his hips from front to back intensifying the blowjob, while her eyes became watery from the overwhelming sensation of having him completely in her mouth, without letting her breathe. Damn, she loved that feeling, it was something she could get used to.

She choked a few times but it was just a matter of pulling her mouth away from him, catching her breath while jerking him off with her hand and then spitting on the length of his cock and then taking it back completely with her mouth.

Dae-ho's hard cock began to tremble slightly as his muscles contracted, and in a guttural moan he snatched his cock out of her mouth and ended up on her face.

"Damn, I'm sorry. Come here." He said as he took her by the shoulders so that she would stand up and after pulling up his pants, he bent down to look for a disposable tissue that he had in his jacket, carefully cleaning any trace of his —you know— that had fallen on her delicate face.

She only laughed while her hand was attached to his wrist.

"Players, you can go out now." It was heard over the loudspeaker.

Dae-ho and Y/N looked at each other with a knowing smile as they both arranged their hair and clothes, returning to the painful reality they had managed to forget for a while.

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