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bbydoll18xx · 9 hours ago

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A Glorious Sunrise

There’ll be happiness. Paige makes sure of it.

Paige Bueckers x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Themes: angst with a happy ending, paige is flirty and i love her for it

A/N: hiii i've been MIA but i'm back and omg guys i lowkey kinda love this. this song has been my hyperfixation for the past two months and i've been dying to write a fic to happiness but i didn't want it to be paige-angst so this is what i came up with instead.

also i'm lowkey exposing myself with this fic, and i clearly need therapy sooo PLZ BE NICE

please enjoy and lemme know what you think ;)

A single tear slides down your cheek as you close the last box of your belongings, landing on the brown cardboard with a wet plop of harsh finality. You gaze around the room, which is now nearly empty, and a sob that you had been suppressing all day manages to break through your normally tough exterior.

Seven years of love and laughter gone just like that.

And now, here you were, dividing all of your shit into boxes and contemplating if this feeling was even worth the seven years in heaven.

The empty space where the bed once stood leaves a lump in your throat. Images of being pulled into a warm, strong chest every night bombard your consciousness, and you turn away, unable to stomach it any longer.

It was a simple story, really.

You and Jake were high school sweethearts, turned college sweethearts. He had taken you to prom and twirled you around in a sparkly, pink dress. He had taken your virginity, and you had imagined your entire life together with bright, starry eyes.

College was spent between your dorm rooms, crammed into twin beds and talking about kids and houses with white picket fences. You had moved in together after college, and the two of you were blissfully in love.

But last week, Jake had come home late at night with empty eyes and shaky hands, and he had quietly told you that he was done.

And in the blissfulness of being in love, the words did not even register for a moment.

You were still dancing when the music stopped. And the world went cold, the sunshine in your life suddenly burnt out like a candle that was blown out by a bitter wind. The smoke was engulfing your cold frame, curling around you in dark, taunting tendrils.

You shiver now, looking back on it all. Your sweatshirts were all packed already, and instinctively, you go to the closet to grab one of Jake’s.

The realization hits you like a truck, and you stop in your tracks. What is his is no longer yours.

He is no longer yours.

Fuck.

No one had taught you what to do when a good man hurts you, so you were going to pick yourself up piece by piece.

“Baby, please just listen t’me,” Jake slurs, his voice coming through the speaker of your phone in loud, drunken drawls, causing you to wince. It was the first night in your new apartment, and you were already struggling with the fact that it was just you and the four walls that surrounded you.

Your voice wavers as you try to remain level headed. “No. I’m not doing this anymore,” you whisper. The other line is silent for a moment, and you think he has given up. But the delicate swoon of a woman’s voice cuts through the phone, and your stomach lurches with both dread and anger.

It had been a week, and here he was, filling the divide with random women.

Well, two could play that game.

It didn’t take long to fall back into old habits. As they say, old habits die screaming, and it had become nearly impossible for you to hold back from the distraction the steady stream of men and women provided.

It was deeply unhealthy, and you knew it. Once they would leave, you’d seek solace in the steaming shower where the water both hid your tears and washed away the filth of last night’s activities that had lingered on your soft skin.

No matter how hard you scrubbed, you could not manage to rid yourself of the bruises and the overwhelming shame that seeped out of every pore.

Your body, which was once worshipped with soft kisses and gentle touches, was quickly becoming a way to numb the pain of having the rug pulled out from under you. Dark marks litter your skin in swirling, chaotic patterns that remind you of how little worth you have.

And in the darkness, the cruelest words taunt your inner psyche.

‘Maybe this is all I'm good for anymore.’

Those very words echo in your mind as you stumble into your apartment building on an unseasonably warm morning in April. The doorman gives you a sly look as he notices last night's mascara caked into the waterline of your eyes, smudged from the long night and the rough sex that followed.

You duck your head, wanting to disappear, and you hurry through the lobby, wanting to get out of the sparkly dress that was still adorning your body.

You reach the elevator, pressing the button to go up impatiently. The doors open, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Wait! Hold up, I’m coming,” a voice shouts, and you turn to look in the direction of the girl.

It was like a scene out of one of those ridiculous hallmark movies. Blonde hair gleams in the early morning sun, reflecting off of the large glass windows of the lobby. The girl’s blue eyes shine with amusement as you stare up at her, momentarily forgetting your desire to remain unnoticed.

She steps into the enclosed space with you, and you let out a shaky breath. Her presence was intoxicating, and it was quickly becoming very apparent that you looked like a goddamn mess.

“Fun night?” She asks with a teasing lilt to her voice, and you blush.

“Not really,” you say blandly, surprised by your own candor. “But it was a good distraction.”

The girl studies you, her eyes raking over your collarbone where a large hickey now resided.

“I’m Paige,” she says, and you tell her your name as the flush extends over your chest, settling into it.

“I’m in apartment 555. Let me know if you ever want to talk,” she winks, walking out of the elevator. “Or if you need a healthier distraction,” she adds over her shoulder right as the doors close.

Your face blooms with color again, and your belly erupts in the feeling of excitement.

Because in that moment, you had unconsciously decided to leave it all behind.

For there was a glorious sunrise looming over the black hills that had risen in your heart, blanketing a warmth you hadn’t felt in months. And her name was apparently Paige.

Paige was on the forefront of your mind all day, and you welcome the giddiness, inviting it into your heart like an old friend.

A new motivation pours into you as you walk into your apartment, the bare walls emulating the blandness you had been feeling since the breakup. Your eyes glance towards your storage closet, and without a second thought, you begin to decorate, the pieces of you that you once had to keep hidden were now proudly out on display.

It was the first step to healing. And damn, did it feel good.

Healing is never a linear process. And as your thumb grazes over your phone screen, open to Tinder, your mind fights with your heart over falling back into bad habits.

You huff, looking around to make sure no one watches you as you stand near the elevator waiting to go back home after the gym one afternoon. Your thumb swipes across a few profiles, almost instinctively, as you mindlessly scroll to find someone worthy of your time.

You weren’t even going to fuck them this time, you tell yourself. You just needed a little attention to fill the void.

If you repeat it enough times, surely it’ll start to ring true.

“She’s cute. Why’d you swipe left?” A husky voice murmurs in your ear, and you jump, immediately closing out the app on your phone and whirl around to face the familiar sound.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Paige chuckles, looking you up and down, and you flush.

She just had that effect on you.

“If she’s so cute, why don’t you date her?” You ask, almost defensively, feeling the heat of her gaze. Damn her and those eyes.

“Prefer to meet pretty girls in person,” she smirks, clearly noticing the blush on your cheeks.

“Did you think about my offer?”

You fight a smile. “Maybe,” you shrug, wanting to keep your cards close to your chest. Even if you had been internally fawning over her the past few weeks, she did not need to know that.

Her smile widens, and you swear you can actually see a twinkle in her eye.

“And…?” She goads, leaning in closer to you as the elevator opens, and she leads you in with a hand ghosting across the small of your back.

“I just got out of a really long relationship,” you start to explain, faltering as she steps even closer into your space.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Her eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to yours, tracking your face expertly.

“I–” you begin, her breath fanning over your face distracting you from being able to put words together. You lean in, your eyes nearly fluttering closed before the elevator pings and the door opens.

You suck in a breath, the realization slamming into you.

Paige squeezes your hip, as you look back up at her wide eyes.

“8 tonight. Alright?”

You nod dumbly, enthralled by the trance she had put you in. The elevator doors close, and you’re met with your own reflection staring back at you, and in the silver chrome, you watch your smile come back to life.

You arrive at her door that night, your palms slick, and you wipe them on your pants just in case she holds your hand tonight.

You were lying if you said you hadn’t spent the entire day fantasizing about Paige. You had thought about the way her hair was tucked up in a bun this morning, practically begging you to take it out and run your hands through the soft, golden locks. And you had thought about how her pink, plush lips had formed into a smirk, making you want to tell your funniest jokes just to see the curve of her smile widen.

You had thought about her hands and the way they had grazed across your skin, setting every nerve ending in your body ablaze with a feeling you hadn’t felt in months.

All of the people you had hooked up with in your sickening conquest to forget about your ex-boyfriend could not hold a candle to Paige.

And that fucking terrified you. But here you were, at her door, ready to face whatever the universe was going to throw at you.

There’ll be happiness. You just knew it.

You shake your head, scolding yourself for the internal gay ramblings, and you knock, waiting for that gorgeous face to appear on the other side.

The door opens, and your breath hitches as Paige smiles at you, reaching for your hand to pull you inside.

Thank god you had wiped them off.

“Welcome to my crib,” she jokes, leading you to sit on her couch.

You scan the room, surprised at how well it was decorated before landing back on her.

Paige had sat next to you, drawing her legs up in a way that felt strangely intimate. She crosses her hands dramatically. “So, tell me why you’ve been using Tinder to cope.”

You splutter, not expecting her to be so blunt.

“Damn, you don’t need to roast me,” you giggle, a faux pout on your lips, drawing Paige’s attention to them.

“Is it cuz of your ex?” She asks, and you nod.

“Yeah. I–I guess I just wanted to feel like I had some sort of worth still.”

Paige stares at you with a somber look on her face. She reaches up to cup your cheek, running her thumb across the smooth skin of your jaw.

“You do. Promise,” she whispers genuinely, and the simplicity of her words rip every single bit of cautiousness from your body.

And you lean in and kiss her.

Your lips move in perfect synchronicity, like two dance partners who could see inside each other's minds. You lean into her touch, her hand coming up to rest on your waist, as you nearly squirm onto her lap.

She moans as your mouth opens, letting her fall into you, as two becomes one.

It was perfect and poetic, just as new beginnings tend to be.

Time slows as you sit with each other, exploring and indulging before you finally pull away, your chest rising and falling in quick, staccato breaths.

Paige places a kiss onto your cheek, brushing her thumb across your lips to sweep away the extra spit that had accumulated amidst the sudden passion.

“Well, I’d say that was a pretty successful first session, huh?” She teases.

“When’s the next one?” You ask, a giggle bubbling up in your chest, as you lean back into Paige, who just laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

You were going to be just fine.

Paige would make sure of it.

welllll what'd you think?? thanks so much for reading

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half, @patscorner, @tndaqlifwy , @ch12334 , @double22-k , @inthedeathofherreptuation , @authentic-girl03 , @blueredg52 , @kmoneymartini , @mrsarnold , @ittiwdwysylm @hobbybound @makethemhoesmad @moshuka @jnkbueckers @bridgetloveswomen @melpthatsme @onlyhereforpazzi @cierraonline @paigebuckets6 @glamourdaya @avvwritesstufff

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message :)

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #paige x reader #paige bueckers x you #uconn huskies #wlw yearning #wlw #happiness #angst with a happy ending

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sandyca5tle · 2 days ago

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Was having a semi-serious conversation with some friends, and accidentally found myself quoting RWBY in a way that actually helped the discussion at hand, which got me thinking, there's a good few lines in RWBY that are just generally good things for life, so i decided to write a post about it 'cause fuck it. Some'll have commentary some are self explanitary enough. "I'm not any one thing, I'm somewhat of a lot of things" - this was the one that actually sparked this, was talking about identity with a friend, and found this quote very applicable - you don't always have to neatly fit in a box, you can be somewhat several things at once, if that's what fits for you. "Well that embaressment, that desire to go back and tell yourself not to be so stupid, that just proves you're not the same person you used to be. And you're not done growing yet" "You don't have to look cool all the time"

"Of course you are [a real girl]. You think just because you've got nuts and bots instead of squishy guts makes you any less real than me?" - This is less a general life lesson, but more of a 'just because someone is different to you, doesn't make them/their experiences any less real'. And obviously there's the trans angle on this, not being a 'real girl' is an anxiety many trans girls have struggled with, or is something people throw at us to put us down. But just 'cause we're built a little different than cis girls, doesn't make us any less girls "Pyrrha thought that, if there was even the smallest chance of helping someone, that it was a chance worth taking" "I'd be lying if I said that it didn't hurt, that I didn't think about them everyday since I lost them. That I didn't wish I had spent more time with them. If it had been me instead, I know they would have kept fighting too, no matter how dangerous it was, so that's what I choose to do. To keep moving forwards." - Mostly putting this here 'cause it's always nice to have a talk like this regarding grief/loss, and yeah, i just think this is nice and fairly honestly reflection of how a lotta people feel when they lose someone, coupled with the adivce to keep moving forwards. "I'm not asking you to stop. Just please, get some rest, not just for you, but for the people you care about," - I like this one 'cause a) self care is important bitches! Burning yourself out isn't gonna help whatever you're trying to do and b) hurting yourself like that is also gonna hurt those who care for you, 'cause no one wants to see those they care for suffer. So remember to take a break from time to time. "You think you're being selfless, but you're not. Yeah that chameleon friend of yours got me pretty good, but I'd do it all again if it meant protecting you... and I promise Yang would say the same. You can make your own choices sure, but you don't get to make ours. When your friends fight for you, it's because we want to, so stop pushing us out. That hurts more than anything the bad guys could ever do to us," - Obviously the parts about fighting can be taken a little more metaphorically for everyday life, but I like this quote 'cause yeah, the people who are there for you *want* to be there for you, so deciding that you're a burden on them and hiding away/pushing them away is gonna hurt them because they *want to be there for you* - don't decide something for other people. "My losses, my failures, those, more than anything, are what have shaped me into who I am; showed me how I need to grow. If there's something I'm missing it's not because I've lost it, it's 'cause I haven't found it yet" - I just think this is a beautiful line. We've all wished at moments to undo the mistakes we've made, however those mistakes made us the people we are now. And yeah, I love the idea that something you're missing is not because you lost it, it's because you haven't found it yet. "One small kindness, in one small moment, lead to such a marvelous transformation, just like one act of dishonesty caused an unfortunate change" - Reminder that even small actions can mean a lot to others "What happens if I chose me?" "Then maybe, that girl is enough,"

But yeah, all of this to say I love RWBY, it has so many amazing and emotional moments and yeah, if you haven't given it a watch I would highly reccommend (and if you've heard bad things, i'd maybe give it a watch yourself first, a lotta people like to hate on the show in bad faith). But yeah, love RWBY and love all the wonderful moments and messages within it

#rwby

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niniwritesxo · 3 days ago

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‘tell me to stop and i will’

kang dae-ho x fem reader

part two of ‘please’

——————————————————————————

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of Dae-ho’s ragged breathing. His hands lingered at his sides, clenched into fists, as if he was trying to hold himself back. But his eyes, his eyes were locked on yours, intense and unyielding, pulling every thought from your head until all that remained was the weight of him standing so close.

“I should go,” he muttered, though he made no move to leave. His voice was low, uneven, and the way his gaze flickered to your lips betrayed every word he’d just said.

“Then go,” you replied softly, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.

He let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. “You don’t mean that.”

Your stomach twisted, and before you could respond, he took a step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hands hovered near your waist, like he wanted to touch you but didn’t trust himself to.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. “Tell me, and I will.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse thundering in your ears. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. The words wouldn’t form, trapped somewhere between your mind and your heart.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “If you want me to leave, just say it.”

But you couldn’t.

His hand rose slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek, and the tenderness in the gesture made your chest ache. “You don’t want me to stop,” he said, almost to himself, like he was trying to convince himself it was okay.

Your skin burned where his hand touched, and you felt your face heat as the weight of his words settled over you. “I—” You faltered, the sound of your own voice foreign and unsteady.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re so damn stubborn,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your jawline. “Even now, you won’t admit it.”

Your breath caught as his hand slid to the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful. The air between you felt impossibly thick, and the tension was so sharp it almost hurt.

“Dae-ho…” you started, but your voice betrayed you, shaking just enough for him to notice.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to go insane y/n.”

You swallowed hard, the words tangling in your throat. The weight of him, his presence, his intensity, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him standing was almost too much.

“I’m not going to stop unless you tell me to,” he said again, his voice low and steady, his lips just a breath away from yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And then, like a dam breaking, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the feel of you, as though this moment was something he couldn’t let slip away.

Your hands moved without thought, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if to keep yourself grounded. The world around you faded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything else fell away.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “I just… I couldn’t stop myself.”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “Don’t apologize,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find some kind of reassurance. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly.

“You won’t,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “You won’t lose me, Dae-ho.”

The relief in his expression was subtle but unmistakable. And as his hand lingered at the nape of your neck, you knew that whatever came next, you weren’t letting go of each other.

#kang daeho #kang daeho x reader #player 388 #light angst #squidgame fanfic #kang haneul #i am just a girl

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theonly-agere-bunn13 · 2 days ago

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🎒 - paci for sure! A cute sippy-like bottle (the adult sippy cups that you take with you to the gym), a mask to hide the paci :3 one of my favorite stuffies, maybe some coloring pages and crayons or colored pencils or markers, some fidget toys, and smth like chap stick or lip gloss

🪼 - SPERM WHALE!!! I think they're so stupid cool and big and how deep they can dive is incredible and like so impressive especially for an animal like that big? With all that water pressure? SHEESH

🦑 - i do not like looking at myself in mirrors when im regressed .. it really puts me out of it and makes me feel really insecure about my little space bca i physically feel and imagine myself as so small but then i see myself looking normal and like my normal age and it gives me anxiety wjabsj

🐡 - honestly .. i don't think i have an "exotic" hobby. I can't think of this one wjsbdj

🐟 - my aesthetic when im big is a mix of coquette and soft cottage core, so when im regressed its really just a more .. babyish version of that in a way? I feel like it's a lot more whimsical and imaginative when im regressed than when im not, and i like to think im a fairy when i regress :3

🐋 - they're pretty much the same both when im regressed and when im not. The typical bunnies, kittens, dogs/puppies, but when im regressed, i identify a lot more with raccoons and foxes ..

🦈 - im 50/50 .. my sister really loves sharks and i think the pictures and videos they send me are so silly and cute, they're like little water puppies :3 but then i see a video of a shark and blood and bleh ..

🦭 - i don't have a specific pattern or schedule .. it kinda just happens when my body feels it needs time to relax and my brain feels like it needs a factory reset. I'd say like once a week at the most .. if even that.

🦦 - I haveeee 3 stuffies :3 I have Crybaby, a pink bunny with a rattle that i got in the baby section of the Walmart, my bear King, who i found in my grandma's closet a couple years ago, and then Kitty :3 my hello kitty squishmallow stuffie .. i want more tho

🌿 - PINK!!! Specifically pastel baby-pink and like a light coral pink .. i really love the light baby pink when im regressed, and the coral pink for when im big. It's kinda how i differentiate myself from when im regressed VS when im big. If my favorite color is baby pink, im feeling little, if it's coral, im feeling big

🐚 - i used to collect sea shells when we would go visit family down south more often .. but we stopped a few years ago and i lost my sea shell collection somewhere during a move :< I'd love to collect more things but idk what I'd want to collect specifically ..

🪷 - My bedroom :3 it has a lot of twinkle lights and soft warm lighting .. so i turn everything on when im feeling regressed and i tend to just stare at everything when im little. My bedroom is my main sage space <3

🌊 - this is gonna sound a little weird but we listen and we don't judge .. when im big i like to put lime flavored beer salt in my water BUT IT HAS TO BE LIKE ICE COLD otherwise I'll hate it. And when im little it's usually just milk or orange juice if im feeling like i want smth sweeter :3

🫧 - i don't knowww .. honestly i don't really have the ability to do much when im regressed. Really i just sit in my room on call with my boyfriend and babble and talk and stare at my bedroom lights while rocking back and forth. Although i do love sleeping and being all cozy .. i guess that could be counted as an activity :3

aquarium—themed regression ask game !!

not all of the questions are regression—oriented , but they’re still good get-to-know-me questions ^_^

[ ⭐️ ] it is appreciated that when you reblog this post , you send some questions from this post to whoever you reblogged it from ! /gen/nf

🎒 — what are the items in your ideal agere / caregiver bag or backpack ? how often would you have it with you ?

🪼 — favorites aquatic / semi—aquatic creature ?

🦑 — is there anything your especially scared of when regressed ? ( alt : is there anything you especially dislike when regressed ? )

🐡 — what’s your most “exotic” hobby or interest ?

🐟 — do you identity with a particular aesthetic when regressed that’s different than your big self ?

🐋 — favorite animal when big vs. regressed ?

🦈 — thoughts on sharkies ?? friend or foe ? cute or scary ?

🦭 — how often do you regress ? do you notice any patterns of when you regress like times or days of the week ?

🦦 — do you have or want to have plushies ? ( if you do , what are their names ? )

🌿 — what’s your favorite color ? ( be as specific as possible ! )

🐚 — do you like to collect things ? if so , what’s something you love to collect ?

🪷 — do you have a specific area you like to regress in , or that makes you feel safest ?

🌊 — favorite thing to drink when big vs. regressed ?

🫧 — what’s your favorite activity to do when regressed ?

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foone · 1 day ago

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Annoying edge case for lycanthropy: a dragon who is also a werewolf.

(A short story I wrote back in 2022 for twitter. I've slightly re-edited it, but it's still "twittery" in how it uses linebreaks (because there used to be post-boundaries there). Sorry! )

So on the full moon, they uncontrollably turn into… A much smaller and squishier humanoid. They can't wait to get their scales and fire breath and wingspan back. They're so vulnerable in their werewolf form!

No one at the werewolf support meetings is sympathetic.

They're all humans or nearly, so one of them is like "it's just so scary. I'm huge, and inhuman, and I feel like I'm made of weapons, with my claws. Everyone fears me, and I fear myself sometimes, never knowing what I might do, if I lose control and just let the rage out…" And the werewolf-dragon is like "and then you turn into a werewolf! It's so annoying, I agree"

Everyone else just turns to look at them, slowly

They do take some tips about werewolf safety. They just do it backwards, because instead of making sure they can't get out and cause death and destruction, it's more about making sure no one can get in and attack them in their merely nigh-invulnerable werewolf form. When you're a dragon, turning into a nearly unkillable rage monster of claws and fangs is a major downgrade. It's a real moment of weakness, and who knows if your ancient enemies or some upstart knight is going to try to take advantage of that moment of weakness?

They get infinitely more annoyed when they finally find a witch who can do the right ceremony and lift the curse of lycanthropy. "there… With the burning of this silver candle, you are finally free. You're human in all moonphases, now." "WAIT A FUCKING SECOND, HUMAN?!"

They got turned into the humanized version of their werewolf form. Permanently.

Always read the fine print before asking a witch to do a complicated magical ritual on you.

"also, question: how the hell did you burn a silver candle? Isn't the melting point of silver…" "one thousand eight hundred degrees, yes. It wasn't easy. Look. "

She pulls back a curtain and points. There's a complicated bellows system being vigorously pumped by a bunch of little black cats, each wearing a tiny witch's hat. They're sweating with exertion and the heat.

"we're done, my lovelies. You can stop now" The kitties hop down off the bellows and lie down at her feet, or wander off looking for food. The witch looks down at the former dragon, now barely 5 feet tall. "why do you think I asked for my fee in cat food?"

"but it was ALL cat food. Don't you need to-" The former dragon pauses mid-sentence, as the witch pulls off her traditional witchy headwear to reveal two pointy feline ears. "you were saying?"

"nevermind. Thanks, I guess." The dragon walks to the door, then turns around. "hey, I need to find out how to be a human, would you happen to know anything or anyone I can ask?" The witch looks up from sitting on the floor with a leg behind her head, licking the inside of her thigh "wouldn't have a clue, sorry love", she says with a smile.

The witch has to show up later and bail the former dragon out of jail. Apparently they accosted a city guard after being told "you can't just wander around the city naked". The dragon told them to contact the catwitch because it's not like they know any other humanoids.

The guard wasn't physically hurt, but getting jumped by a small naked human after merely pointing out you need to wear trousers or a dress or something in public is the kind of thing that leaves mental scars that'll take a while to fade.

Even if your tiny nude opponent was mainly trying to scratch or bite you with claws or fangs they no longer have

The former dragon ends up living with the catwitch. She could use some help with the bellows, and even if the dragon can no longer provide her own fire, they still know a lot about it.

And even if they're now a short little weakling who has to be reminded to wear clothes, they are a bit better at pumping the bellows than a pack of kittens.

Plus they can help with making potions and such in ways the cats can't, what with having thumbs.

They live together for a while, until the grumpy now-human finds out that another dragon has taken up residence in their former hoard.

And that will just not do!

So the dragon convinces the catwitch to come with them on an adventure to raid their own hoard and defeat (or at least evict) the dragon.

So they set out, the former dragon having to figure out the weaknesses in their own defenses and how to navigate a space built for dragons, not tiny humanoids. They're wearing the minimum in clothing they can get away with, and wielding a sword almost bigger than they are.

And following, the catwitch with a broom and a big sack of magical devices and reagents, and a little procession of kittens in their hats.

(the former dragon uses they/them pronouns. Their human body does have a sex, but when gender was explained to them they called it a "foolish human thing" and never bothered with it, just like their opinions on silverware and public indecency laws)

As far as anyone can tell, dragons have only one gender, and it's dragon.

Anyone who has asked further questions about dragon gender, sex, or reproduction has ended up crispy and good with ketchup.

They manage to evict the squatting dragon, and the witch is like "well, I guess you got nearly everything you want now. I'll take my cats back to the city…" And the ex-dragon is like "WAIT… I was thinking, maybe you could… Use my hoard as a new shop? There's plenty of room"

"are you asking me to stay?" "n-no… I mean, yes? Shut up. It's just because it would be a good place for you. After all, your shop has that leaky roof, and you were running out of storage space, and the mayor always wanted you kicked out…"

"oh I see, so it's just for me? How kind. You don't care either way, right?" "right! I don't care! I don't need or want you around! I don't care about silly human things" "human?" she asks with a smile, wiggling her ears on the top of her head. "shut up you know what I mean"

"so you don't want me to stay around you? You don't have a reason why you want to be near me, to be with me?" she says "with" with a certain slant on it, as she rests her arm on the shoulder of the former dragon, having to lean over her to reach. "n-n-n…"

The witch switches to cupping the former dragon's face in her palms. "and your face is so warm, little one. Are you trying to breathe fire? You're turning red, so maybe you are…"

"stop it! I… I just…" "yes?" the witch lets go, but her tail curls around the waist of the former dragon, like they are walking hand in hand down a beach.

"I like you, alright? I want you to stay. I want to be with you! Is that so wrong?"

"nope!" says the witch, happily pulling them into a kiss.

We zoom out, past a pile of gold coins and goblets and scepters, as little black kittens in adorable hats play in the hoard, ambushing each other in play-fights from the high ground of a treasure chest.

#human dragon and catwitch are fun characters and I should do more with them #my writing

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staylovesmiley · 2 days ago

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Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 9

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

��Are you…going to be okay?” Jeongin asked softly, hand reaching out towards you to gently brush your hair back from your face where you lay facing him. The moonlight filtered in through the thin gap of the curtains casting a soft glow on his face that made him look almost angelic. You smiled softly, nodding as you leaned into his touch when he hand cupped your still slightly bruised cheek where Jason had struck you earlier. “Will you?”

The fox took a deep breath, thinking for a moment before responding. “I don’t…really know yet- I think I’m still in shock that I actually-“ He couldn’t bring himself to say it, as if not speaking the words would make them any less true. You both had killed someone that night.

It was still early in the morning, the sun had yet to rise and Chan still lay asleep behind you with his chest pressed against your back firmly in a way that comforted you with the physical contact of his bare skin against your own. “I know…it will be a while before things feel normal again, I’m sure.” You tried to reassure the hybrid, turning your head to press a kiss against his palm.

The two of you lay in silence for a while, just watching over each other before he spoke up again. “I-I’m afraid..” Jeongin’s voice trembled slightly and in the dim light you swore you could see tears brimming his eyes. Quickly, you moved closer to him as you wrapped your arms around him protectively. “Afraid of what, innie?” You could hear his racing heartbeat, his scent souring lightly as he hid his face in the crook of your neck before mumbling against your skin. “That you will think less of me because of what I did-“

A deep frown settled on your face as your hold on him tightened. “Jeongin I could never think less of you, especially not for that. It would be hypocritical of me…” He shook his head, the tips of his fluffy ears tickling you lightly. “But it was so- so savage…I was like a monster-“ You let out a huff, one hand coming to comb through his hair gently. “Innie you were protecting us, you saved Hyunjin- there is no telling what Jason would have done if you hadn’t stopped him.”

The fox let out a quiet whimper and attempted to burrow closer to you. “But I didn’t have to kill him- especially not like that.” You sighed, placing a kiss to the top of his head before responding. “And I didn’t have to kill my mother…but it happened. It’s done now- there isn’t anything we can do to change it or bring them back….its- it’s for the best that we try to move past it as best we can. The fact that you feel guilty means that you aren’t a monster, you were just trying to keep us safe.”

Jeongin sighed, knowing that you were right but he couldn’t shake the unease he felt every time he pictured the man you had married lying bloody and marred in the snow. “I was so angry…I could feel he had hurt you and when I saw him attacking Jinnie I just- I couldn’t stop myself and that scares me.” You nodded in understanding, giving him a gentle squeeze before pecking his lips softly. “I know- but you are not a monster….if anyone is a monster it was him.”

You laid there for a while longer in a comforting embrace, silently trying to cope with the weight of your actions when a soft knock sounded at the door before it opened to reveal a very tired looking Minho. “Guys…I know it’s early but- we all need to talk.”

You both sit up slowly, you holding the blanket up against your chest while Jeongin allows the fabric to fall and pool around his waist. “I’ll leave waking the beast to you both.” The cat teases, clearly trying to lighten the mood before backing out of the room. “If you wake him up I’ll go get us some clean clothes from our room-“ The fox states as he stretches before getting up from the bed. You nod silently as you watch him leave you alone with Chan still sleeping peacefully beside you.

Your hand comes to touch gently where the wolf hybrid had bit you earlier in the night and you blush lightly, turning to watch him sleep for a moment longer before gently nudging his shoulder.

“Chan- Channie it’s time to get up.” You keep your voice soft, just above a whisper as you lean down to place a kiss behind his ear. The hybrid groans, wrapping his arms around your waist where you sit on the bed and his face nuzzles against your hip before leaving gentle kisses at your exposed skin there. Your flush deepens as you giggle nervously and nudge at him once again. “Come on, Chan…need you to wake up now.” He sighs, shifting a bit before his eyes open and he’s blinking up at you. “I know- just….wanted to stay here with you a bit longer.” A soft smile finds your face as you lean down to kiss his cheek. “You know if you ever want me to stay with you like this again you just have to ask…” Your words cause him to blush furiously and bury his face in his pillow. How could you be so gentle with him, so kind? It still didn’t feel real to him and now he could feel your heart and soul tugging at his own in a way that made him dizzy and sated at the same time.

Jeongin returned shortly after, clothed once again, with a neatly folded outfit for you as well. He held the clothes out to you and you took them with a soft thank you before standing from the bed to get dressed to face the consequences of your actions. Chan rose as well, dressing in a pair of loose sweat pants and a long sleeved tee before ushering both of you out and into the dining room where everyone was sat waiting for you to join.

Your eyes flitted over to the kitchen where what must have only been a few hours ago your mother lay lifeless in a growing puddle of her own blood and you flinched, quickly closing your eyes tightly to rid yourself of the image when you felt hands gently take hold of each of yours and give you a reassuring squeeze.

When you opened your eyes again you saw Chan and Jeongin at either side of you, pulling you to sit down at the table sandwiched between them protectively. “Okay, I’m not going to dance around the issue here- we need to figure out what to do with the carnage we have on our hands.” Minho said bluntly, his tail flicking anxiously behind him though his deadpan expression tried to hide how on edge he was feeling. Felix who was sat to his left hit his shoulder lightly with a disapproving grunt but the older cat shrugged, knowing that no matter how they tried to sugar coat it they had a double homicide currently weighing over them and something had to be done about it.

You winced a bit at his words but nodded, thinking for a moment before speaking up. “I’ll write a letter to my sister Esther…I’ll-“ You think for a bit, brows furrowed as you concentrate on a good story for them to believe. “Jason left me and was having an affair with Mama- that they ran away together. I can add some other stuff too…make it seem like a letter to update her on my life, something normal- we were always so close so it wouldn’t seem strange for me to want to share stuff like that with her.”

Minho thinks for a second, letting your words settle in his mind before nodding. “That’ll be good. Changbin, Chan- gonna need your help setting a big fire pit in the back…we have to get rid of them where there isn’t gonna be identifiable traces.” The pair grimace a bit at the mental image of what they are about to do but they nod and head for the door, Chan giving the top of your head a kiss on his way out and then you are left sitting there feeling like something is missing.

Jeongin seems to feel your concern, hand coming to squeeze your thigh to gather your attention. You look up to meet his eyes and his gaze softens instantly. “What’s going on in your head, pretty?” He whispers, his forehead resting against your own. “I just- feel like we are forgetting something important….” You frown, closing your eyes as you think harder and then your eyes shoot open wide. “His car- we have to find it and get rid of it….um- the river! Do you….do you think you could sniff it out and help me?” The fox huffs a bit before giving you a teasing smile. “Shocked you didn’t ask Minnie, he’s the scent hound after all.” The beagle hybrid pouts at the younger’s words, turning away to hide behind Felix’s shoulder and you give him a soft smile in hopes to make yourself seem less scary before rising from your seat. “Come on, Innie…we should try and get this done before it’s too light out. I know that there isn’t anyone in the area but it’s better to be safe.”

It was done.

The bodies of your mother and husband burned to ashes by the time the evening was washing over the sky and painting it a pale, muted shade of blue. The car they had driven to your once peaceful little cabin was sunk to the bottom of the river by late afternoon.

Now, you sit in your room on the bed, knees pulled to your chest and eyes closed as you focus on breathing in slow and deep through your nose before exhaling slowly through your nose as you couldn’t seem to shake the memory of the knife sinking into your mother’s stomach, her words still echoing in your mind though you tried to expel them.

You had told Jeongin you wanted some time to yourself, and although you could feel his disappointment and worry wash over you through your shared bond he had respected your wishes and left to curl up in Felix’s bed as the cat hybrid held him close for comfort.

As you were beginning to feel like the room was closing in on you and your breathing became less of a rhythm and more uneven you heard a knock at the door that snapped you out of your thoughts and back to the present. Before you could answer the door was pushed open to reveal Hyunjin, the ferret hybrids beautiful face littered with bruises and small scrapes and his head hung in a sheepish manner as he carefully approached you. “P-Pretty….’m sorry to bother you but I need your help-“ His voice sounded so small, hesitant and you softened at the sound. “Oh Jinnie…come here?” You motioned for the hybrid to come closer and once he was sat on the bed you immediately crawled to embrace him. Hyunjin melted against you, head resting atop yours as you snuggled into his side while being mindful of his bruised ribs and stomach.

“What does my angel need help with, hm?” You asked, voice gentle as you rubbed soothing circles into his back with careful hands. “Can you….would you help me cut my hair?”

Oh- his request shocked you. Everyone was well aware of how much the ferret adored having his long dark hair played with, allowing anyone who was willing to card their hands through it as he drifted off into a peaceful nap or letting you and Felix weave pretty braids into it to keep the hair from sticking to his neck when working out in the garden due to the hot sun beating down on him despite the growing chill in the air. “You want me to cut your hair, baby? Are you sure?” You gently ran your fingers through his silky locks and he nodded, a little sniffle coming from him and causing you to pull away enough to catch the few tears that dropped from where they had rolled down his cheeks and hit his lap leaving little dark spots in their wake.

“Okay, if that’s what you want I can do that for you.” You smiled softly, assuring him that this was not a burden for him to ask the favor and you slowly got off the bed and took his hand into yours to lead him out of the room.

Now, the ferret hybrid sat calmly on the closed seat of the toilet as you stood between his parted legs. You ran your fingers through his hair a couple of times before bringing the scissors in your hand up to carefully cut away his dark locks. Piece by piece the fell silently to the floor by your feet, the sensation tickling softly as you continued and the slowly piling hair grew around you. Once you got to a short enough length, you pulled out the clippers you had bought not to long ago from the drug store in town, the original purpose having been to trim the back of Jisung’s hair as he had been complaining about how long it was getting and not liking the feeling of it tickling his neck and behind his ears. Now, they were used to carefully buzz away the ferrets mane as he had requested, being very cautious not to harm his soft little ears or nick the back of his slender neck or ears.

The moment was silent, soft, as he sat still for you and you hummed softly while you worked. You were reminded of a memory from your childhood, giving your baby brothers their first haircuts as they squirmed and wriggled around still trying to play while you attempted to cut their soft baby curls into a style that wasn’t too garish for the toddlers.

Once the task was finished you turned and sat the clipper down at the edge of the sink, moving to the claw footed tub to turn the water on so you could help Hyunjin wash what fine hairs were now clinging to his skin and the tightly cropped hair on his head. When the tub was full you helped him undress, letting him lower himself into the water carefully with your assistance. Nudity was not foreign to you in this family, the hybrids having to shift back into their human forms completely bare meaning you had seen all of them nude at least once in the months you had lived with them. Still, this moment felt so soft and intimate it caused your heart to flutter and your cheeks to flush as you gently began washing the hybrid’s bruised body.

“I never got to thank you…for protecting me.” You said after sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity, gently massaging his now fuzzy head with a small amount of shampoo as Hyunjin practically purred at the touch. “It’s what you do for the people you love.” He said, as if it was the most simple thing like brushing your teeth or getting dressed in the morning. “You love me?” Was what you responded with, genuine surprise in your voice as you used the cup kept by the tub to rinse his hair and with one hand block any suds from getting into his tightly shut eyes. He nodded once you were done, turning to give you a shy smile. “We all do, though some of us are too shy to admit it yet…you are precious to us, our pretty. I don’t doubt at all that any of us would have done what I did, and I know you would do the same for us.”

His words resonated deeply with you, something to finally take your mind off of everything from the day previous.

You were still thinking about it when Chan came to you where you were curled up on the couch after dinner and sat down only to pull you up and into his lap before burying his face in the side of your neck where his bite was slowly healing under the bandages you had applied. “Channie? You feeling okay?” You asked, sudden concern washing over you although you couldn’t feel any distress coming from the wolf hybrid. His ears tickled your cheek where they twitched slightly at the sound of your voice. “I’m okay, but I could feel you earlier. You’re hurting.” You let out a soft sigh, not having the energy to deny it when you knew he was right. “I’ll be hurting for a while, probably…Chan you-“ Hesitating for a moment, you wondered if this question would be pushing too far despite how close you had become. “When you used to fight…did you ever have to kill anyone?” Your voice was quiet, just loud enough that his enhanced hearing could pick up the sound and he froze, arms tight around you before relaxing again. “Yes, I did…” You let out a little whimper, turning to hide your face in his soft curls as tears welled in your eyes. “It’s so awful…I’m sorry you had to go through those feelings alone.” The wolf couldn’t help but chuckle, placing a few soft kisses against your neck before pulling away to cup your face in his hands. “Oh pretty…you are too kind for this world. Going through everything you just did and you are more worried about what I had to endure in my past than how you are feeling in your present.” A light kiss was placed on your lips, more of a peck really, and you couldn’t help but preen at the attention from the oldest.

As you still sat cuddled up with the wolf hybrid, Minho entered the room and paused to take in the scene before him with curiosity. He took a few tentative sniffs at the air and realized your scent had once again shifted slightly, just as it had when their youngest had mated you. A smirk curled at his lips and he leaned against the wall with arms crossed over his chest. “Well what do we have here, hm?” He called out to the both of you causing you to look at where the cat began sauntering over to take a seat on the hearth of the fireplace. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you somehow mated with our pretty.” Minho teased, not meaning much behind his words but at the shocked expression on both of your faces he faltered. “Wait- you…you didn’t- you couldn’t, well shouldn’t-“

Confusion was clear in your eyes as you looked between the bewildered Minho and sheepish Chan. “What do you mean shouldn’t? Is that- Innie didn’t seem to be bothered that Chan mated me too…” You assumed the second oldest was inferring that your first mate would be upset by your bond with Chan, when that wasn’t what was causing his jaw to drop in shock as he rose from his seat to pull you up from the wolf’s lap and examine you closely.

Minho gasped, peeling back the bandage at your neck carefully to inspect the bite healing there. “No way…and it worked? You’re bonded?” He asked Chan, looking over you and to where the older sat squirming in his seat under the interrogation from the cat hybrid’s sharp eyes. “Y-Yeah…I wasn’t expecting it- I just bit her out of instinct but I didn’t think it would actually stick.” Chan confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck as you looked between the both of them. “What is going on? What do you mean you didn’t expect it to stick?” You frowned, worry creeping into your mind at the thought that Chan hadn’t intended or wanted to mate with you. As if sensing your unease, because he quite literally could, the wolf hybrid was up and wrapping himself around you instantly as he peppered sweet kisses to your head and face. “Pretty I didn’t mean it like that…just- hybrids aren’t typically able to mate more than one person. The fact that both Jeongin and I bonded to you is- it’s not common, unheard of really…” You frowned a bit in your confused state, looking up into Chan’s eyes before turning to Minho as if asking him to confirm the oldest’s words.

The two oldest hybrids shared a look before sitting you back down on the couch and taking a seat on either side of you to try and explain how hybrid mating worked. “So, just like most canines, canine hybrids form life long bonds with one another….but only in pairs. You being able to form a mating bond with both Chan and Innie is not something we would have thought possible.” Minho said carefully, watching your face to make sure you understood him clearly. Chan nodded, speaking up after a moment to let the information sink in. “The only reason I can think of that my bond stuck after you were already mated to Jeongin is…you aren’t a hybrid.” You blinked at him, taking it all in before nodding slowly. “So does that mean any of you could mate me too? Or do you think it stops at just two…?” Minho snorted as he tried to contain his laughter, hand coming up to cover his face. You pouted at him, worried you had just asked a stupid question when suddenly the cat leaned in close to your face. “Would you like to be mated to more of us?” He teased, a playful smirk at the corner of his mouth and you felt your breath hitch as Chan held back his chuckle from behind you.

“I-I” you stuttered, not sure how to respond as heat rose to your cheeks at the close proximity and attention from the cat hybrid. Minho gave you a sweet smile before pulling back to sit up straight beside you once more. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you test out your hypothesis. Only canine hybrids form mating bonds, cat hybrids are a whole other story.” You exhaled slowly, not realizing you had been holding your breath all that time, swallowing hard before nodding. “I see…so- only Chan and Innie could have mated me.” Chan pressed his chest up against your back, nipping lightly at your jaw before whispering lowly in your ear. “You’re forgetting someone, pretty.” Your eyes widened as you realized he was right, there was one more canine hybrid you had left out and you blushed furiously at the thought of the one member of the little family who had yet to fully let his guard down around you. “Seungmin-“ You said quietly, causing Minho to smirk as he rose from his seat and made his way over to the couch. “Don’t let him know you left him out, our puppy would be so upset. You know, he’s secretly very fond of you.” With that he disappeared to get started on prep for the next morning’s breakfast, leaving you stunned and confused in Chan’s strong embrace.

author’s note; hehe did I scare ya?? (To those of you who didn’t read my last ramble post…I tried to play a little prank-) To make up for the last chapter being so dark and the lil heart attack I seemed to give some of you- I give you some very sweet moments in this chapter~ sorry it’s a bit shorter than normal but if you read into things a bit you’ll see that I’m setting up for what is to come~~~ I hope you all enjoyed! Happy sleuthing and theorizing hehehe

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @wolfo2027 @kiaralynn3838 @ateez-atiny380 @daceyena @bookswillfindyouaway @blackcatpandora @popcatx0 @corgilover20 @marshmelonie @sassy-snassy @straykidslover2024 @xgridx @y4yayael @dreamerwasfound

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oldsoul007 · 6 hours ago

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unexpected

joel miller x pregnant!reader

summary: y/n finds out some unexpected news and is nervous to tell joel

joel miller masterlist

I paced the small living room, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. I could hear Sarah in the other room, humming to herself as she worked on some school project. The sound was sweet, grounding, but it didn’t stop the anxious flutter in my chest.

I glanced at Joel, who sat on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He’d been unusually quiet since I asked him to sit down. He hadn’t spoken a word since I said, “I need to tell you something.”

I bit my lip and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” I began, my voice trembling slightly, “so… this isn’t something we planned. At all. I know we’ve been trying to keep things stable for Sarah. She’s still so young, and I know things have been hard, and… well, I just—”

“Y/n.”

I froze, his voice cutting through my rambling. Joel looked up at me, his dark eyes steady and waiting.

“Just say it,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I took another breath and blurted it out before I could lose my nerve.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and terrifying. I searched Joel’s face for a reaction, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable.

My stomach twisted. This wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for.

“I know it’s not what we talked about,” I said quickly, my voice rising in panic. “I mean, we never even talked about having more kids, and I don’t know how Sarah’s going to feel, and—”

Joel stood up, cutting me off mid-sentence. He took a step toward me, and for a moment, I thought he was angry.

“Joel, I—”

Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as he kissed me. It wasn’t a soft kiss, but a fierce, overwhelming one that stole my breath.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and I could feel the smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re pregnant,” he murmured, almost as if testing the words.

I blinked, my eyes wide. “You’re… not mad?”

“Mad?” Joel let out a soft laugh, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Y/n, I’m… I’m so happy. Damn happy.”

My lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

Joel nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know I could get this lucky twice. First Sarah, and now this.”

Tears stung my eyes as relief washed over me. I let out a shaky laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“God, I thought you were going to freak out,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

Joel chuckled, holding me close. “Nah, I’m not freakin’ out. Just… thinkin’ about how we’re gonna tell Sarah.”

I pulled back slightly to look at him. “You think she’ll be okay with it?”

Joel smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Sarah’s got the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. She’s gonna be a great big sister.”

I smiled back, a weight lifting off my shoulders. In that moment, with Joel’s arms around me and his quiet reassurance, I let myself believe everything was going to be okay.

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mintakablue · 3 days ago

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rarely do i comment on posts directly, but i definitely felt this as a grad student who Absolutely did not have the support net. despite going to grad school in-state for a program that lasted nine months and receiving a stipend from my school... i still had to take out student loans, rack up some credit card debt, and use everything i had saved from three years worth of previous jobs.

i went to grad school in one of the most expensive cities in the united states. we went to a conference early on in a different state and the school only provided us a stipend of $500 for a flight, hotel, and transportation. other students were in a similar boat as me or worse off: with unstable living situations, scrounging up money from freelancing or trying to score paid internships, making tough choices about budgeting for food and travel.

but even in our relatively small cohort, other students seemed to put on the airs of poverty, complaining alongside us about the cost of groceries, living, and gas. still, those students managed to pay for vacations to other countries over the break. took expensive additional classes unrelated to our curriculum. paid for bills with nary a drop of sweat. in retrospect, it does seem like they felt like we were all in the same boat, that if things got REALLY hard, we all could just embarrass ourselves temporarily and ask someone for money--when in reality, most of us needed to do extra work to earn what we needed.

i cannot fault these people, young people like myself, for living their lives with the money they had. lord knows i could fall back on my savings and occasionally splurge for temporary luxuries. but like you said, the perception they had of themselves--as people scraping by, like the rest of us--was divorced from reality in a way i struggled to understand. i think your post articulated a lot of it though so i'm sharing my experience and also saying thanks for talking about it. i felt kind of isolated as a grad student still paying off so much of my debt; like i had somehow failed to acquire enough scholarships or earn grants. but understanding that other people had more of that financial safety net made me stop moralizing about not having the same resources they did.

it's so funny how influencer types are like My Day As A Working Artiste Creative Type, by which they mean that they do artiste creative work and it's completely irrelevant to the source of the money they live off, which is their parents

#i hope this isn't like Crazy intrusive on your post #i just felt a lot of what you were saying as someone who put themselves through a relatively short grad program #that i absolutely would not have been able to do without scrounging up money for several years #mintakablue speaks

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sabsberries · 2 days ago

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manners - h.s.

summary - Harry teaches his girl the importance of manners

w.c - 803

warnings - smut, swearing, use of y/n, the usual blah blah blah

“Don’t stop, I’m so close. Harry,” Y/N moaned out, her fingers tightening their grip on Harry’s curls as his tongue dove into her pussy. “No, no, no, no.” She chanted, her head lifting up to stare down at him. “Why did you stop?

“Where are your manners? Huh? Here I am, on my knees eating your pussy, and all you do is boss me around? Good girls use their manners. Do you know what good girls get when they use their manners?” Harry asked, his fingers digging into her thighs and hips, and his teeth nipping at the plush of her leg.

“What?” She panted.

“To cum. Do you want to cum?”

“Please Harry. So bad, I need it so bad. I need you so bad. Please just make me cum.” She whined, her fingers digging into his hair and pulling his head towards where she needed him.

“I think you can do better than that, darling.”

“Harry please. I’m fucking dripping for you. I need you so bad, please, baby.” She cried, her hands grabbing his to put them where she needed them most.

“There we go. There’s my good girl.” He smiled, his tongue darting out to lick from her hole to her clit, before his lips encased it, sucking harshly.

Y/N yelped, her spare hand dropping to the mattress below her, and her other tangling itself into Harry’s curls, guiding his head.

Harry’s left hand reached up, his middle finger sliding right into her, his index joining shortly after, before curling them up inside her, reaching around for the spot he knew made her go wild.

“C’mon, darling. I know you can do it. Let me see your pretty pussy cum for me.” His lips dropped back down to her clit, his eyes looking back up at hers with a small grin on his face.

Y/N’s back arched off the bed as she moaned out Harry’s name in a chant, her fingers clenching and unclenching in a fist in his hair, and her other hand reaching up to squeeze at her tits.

“Harry, baby, please. I’m so close.” She whined in a high pitched tone, her legs attempting to close against Harry’s tongue’s assault on her pussy.

Harry’s spare hand pushed her legs back down, before kneading the supple skin of her inner thighs, fingertips dancing around the softness.

With his mouth sucking her clit just right, and his fingers curling up into her spot inside her, Y/N couldn’t help the loud moans escaping her lips, begging for him to let her cum.

“I know you can do it, Y/N. Cum on my fingers like the good girl I know you are.” He sighed, pressing gentle kisses around her cunt before diving right back in.

“Fucking- Fuck! I’m cumming,” She yelled out, her hips grinding up to Harry’s face in an attempt to ride it. Y/N couldn't help the tears escaping her eyes as she felt the coil deep inside her belly finally snap as her orgasm washed over her.

She was encased in pleasure; from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, her whole body was ignited with the feeling of Harry. His pace never slowed, his fingers continuing their thrusts and curls, and his tongue continuing to trace figures of eight along her as he coaxed her through it.

“There we go. What do you say?” He teased.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” She mumbled, her hand dropping from his hair to his hand to hold it, seeking comfort from him. Harry didn’t stop, though.

Infact, his tongue sped up and his fingers’ thrusts got stronger and stronger, massaging her g-spot once again.

“No, Harry please. It’s too much, I can’t.” She whined, her legs attempting to close at the overstimulation.

Harry finally slowed down, pulling away from her after a few gentle pecks to her clit, before crawling back up her body and collapsing on top of her. His mouth attached itself to hers softly, a shocking difference to the roughness of the way he kissed her cunt.

“Taste so good, I just can’t control myself,” He mumbled against her lips, his tongue reaching out to brush against hers, before they pulled away. “I’d eat you out all day if I could.”

“Feels so fucking good.” She giggled, her hands locking behind his head. “You alright down there?”

“Just give me a minute.” Harry closed his eyes and turned his head to the wall next to them, mumbling something about sandwiches and pimples for a few moments until she felt the hardness of his dick on her thigh slowly go down.

“Really?”

“It worked, didn’t it.” He grinned, his eyebrows raising for a second before his mouth dropped down to slot back into place with hers.

#harry styles #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #so hot and sexy #lhh supremacy

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not-neverland06 · 3 days ago

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𝚂𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝

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

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Tensions rise as you continue to pull against Dutch's taut leash. You seem to be the only one who sees him for the trickster he is. Infuriatingly, that means you and Arthur butting heads about the man. But you don't expect your latest fight to end with him coming back to you nearly dead.

As much as you’d love to bask in the newness of whatever this is that you have with Arthur, the law has other plans. While the gang has grown comfortable, fat in their complacency, the Pinkertons have gotten closer. You are beginning to realize just how rare these moments of peace are in the life of an outlaw.

“I’m gonna sell her, I swear,” you tell Arthur angrily as you try and get a stubborn Lady to obey your commands. You finally feel comfortable enough to head back into Valentine, you know the woman he’d been with is gone, Arthur told you as much. You doubt he’d have any reason to lie about something as silly as that.

Arthur laughs and leans down, smoothing over Diablo’s mane. “No, you ain’t, you like her too damn much.”

“You’re right,” you acquiesce. “I’ll sell her to a glue factory, instead,” Lady lets out a stubborn noise, flicking her head back and forth. “Unless you start to listen, you insolent little bastard.” Arthur brings Diablo to a slow trot while you relentlessly tug on Lady’s reins to no effect.

He watches you struggle, laughing as he hitches up Diablo. When Lady comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the road, he lets out an amused sigh and comes forward to take her reins from you. You hand them over easily, nudging the horse with your spur in retaliation.

He hitches her next to Diablo and rounds her to stand at your side, holding his hand out for you. You take it in your own, relishing his touch as he helps you down from your saddle. Your movements are still clumsy but you’re starting to get a little bit better at riding her. Even if she still refuses to listen to you.

“If you stopped insultin’ her, I’m sure you’d get along better.” Arthur leads you towards the general store and you glare up at him.

“Whose side are you on, Mr. Morgan?” He chuckles and leans down, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek. It’s chaste and near prudish, but you still find yourself flushing.

“Not on anyone’s side, sweetheart. But if you want to start getting along with her, you’ll just have to learn to trust her.” You nod, not listening to anything he’s saying, too busy admiring how handsome he looks.

He seems to realize what you’re doing, rolling his eyes and pushing you forward. A man’s voice booms through the air, interrupting the both of you. “Well, isn’t this a pretty picture?” You pause, turning to face the man watching you from the porch of the hotel. Men with large guns move around the side of the store and come to stand in front of him.

Your brows furrow, eyes roving across the street, suddenly noticing the stark lack of people out and about. You’d been so distracted by Lady that you hadn’t realized just how dead Valentine was. Something glints in the sunlight on the roof beside the hotel. You narrow your eyes, peering through the glare and seeing a man with his rifle pointed at you and Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” the man calls out, sounding wholly unapologetic. Arthur’s hand tightens around yours and he drags you slightly behind himself. “I should introduce myself,” the man drawls.

You take note of his finely tailored clothes, and the way he’s not fully leaning against the wall because he doesn’t want to dirty his suit. The pocket watch attached to his vest is real gold, something you haven’t seen a whole lot of in Valentine. He’s too prim and proper for a low-down town like this. He could easily have been one of the men from the city you grew up in, upper-class and elite. He’s not from around here and he seems to, at least, vaguely recognize Arthur. You don’t see this going any way but bad.

“Leviticus Cornwall, I believe you’ve heard my name before.”

“God dammit,” Arthur curses under his breath, he nudges you further back in the direction of the horses. Your foot freezes in the air as you hear the familiar click of a rifle being loaded right by your ear. Swallowing hard, you risk the slightest glance back and see another black-suited man with the tip of his rifle pointed squarely between your eyes.

Arthur sees him in his peripheral, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Cornwall. “I know what you want,” Arthur calls out, one hand raised in surrender, the other still holding yours. “But leave her out of it, she’s got nothin’ to do with any of this.”

Leviticus laughs and tilts his head patronizingly. “If she’s with your ridiculous little gang, then she’s got something to do with what happened to my train.” Your eyes flutter shut, dread filling every crevice of your body as the realization finally sinks in. In your last days in the mountains, the men had gone off to rob a train.

They’d mentioned the same name a few times but you’d never cared to pay attention to it. It comes back to you now. Leviticus Cornwall. He was here to collect what they’d stolen.

“I know you are your master’s favorite little lapdog, so why don’t you go fetch Dutch for me and I won’t have my men splatter your lady’s brains against your boots.” Your nails dig into Arthur’s palms, body tensing with fear as you lean further into him.

Arthur gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, keeping you firmly tucked into him. “I’m afraid neither of those things is gonna happen, Mr. Cornwall,” Arthur calls out to him. He leans slightly towards you, voice lowered so even the man behind you can’t hear, “When I tell you, make a run for the horses.”

You so desperately want to look towards where you know Lady and Diablo are hitched by the saloon, but it would only give your plan away. Instead, you force yourself to focus on the man with the rifle pointed at you. You maintain eye contact with the barrel of his gun, refusing to look away.

You try and force your heart to be silent and still, hoping you’ll be able to hear Arthur’s order over the rushing force of your blood. Arthur keeps a tight grip on your hand as the men begin to close in.

“I’ll only say this once, Mr. Morgan. This will be your only chance to escape my wrath, alive.”

“Right,” Arthur moves you in front of him and you suck in a shuddering breath when you see just how many men surround you now. They’re everywhere, on the roofs of buildings, on horseback pacing the streets, and the worst of them have their guns trained right on you. “Well, I’ll say this,” he rips his hands out of yours and practically tosses you to the side. “Run!”

You don’t think, just blindly follow his orders and take off towards the horses. The shots start going off instantly, mud flying up around you as bullets narrowly miss you. You run in a wild pattern, trying not to be such an easy target.

“The times of outlaws is over, Mr. Morgan!” Leviticus calls from behind you, voice tainted with wrath as it penetrates the air. “There’s no place for you anymore!”

You’re running with the instinct of a prey trying to outwit a predator who's actively snapping their maw. It feels futile, though, when you’re so wholly surrounded. Arthur comes up behind you, hand snatching up the back of your shirt and dragging you faster behind him.

Your feet scramble to keep up with his pace as you make for the horses. The men seem to catch onto your plan faster than you’d hoped. One of them jumps in front of you but his body topples to the ground before he can say a word. When you turn, Arthur’s got his revolver out and the end of it is smoking.

You’d barely even had time to process the threat before Arthur had shot him. You’d never seen what a quick draw he was in person before. If you weren’t feeling the breeze of bullets whistling past you, you’d have time to be impressed.

You reach Lady and she’s already stomping and kicking her legs out, terrified by all the noise. You grab her reins, hands shaking as you try and keep yourself steady. You don’t have time to let Arthur help you up. You place your foot in the stirrup and jump, you’re barely seated before she goes flying.

You lean forward, holding on tight as she moves like fire’s licking at her heels. “Come on, Lady!” You shout, not once looking back to see how many of them are after you. The sounds are getting closer and you swallow bile down as you risk a look over your shoulder.

Arthur’s just behind you, turned in his saddle, and shooting at as many of them as he can. Lady lets out an odd squeal and your brows furrow, glancing back at her. You see a streak of red across her side and feel your blood rush to your head.

They’d shot her. They’d shot your damn horse. You don’t even like her all that much, but right now she’s the only thing between you and a bullet through your head. Forcing yourself up, you slip the revolver out of your holster and turn like you watched Arthur do. It’s disorienting, feeling your hips rocking forward while you try and keep a steady aim behind yourself.

There’s no way for you to know which of them actually managed to knick her. But if they can hit your horse, they’re not far off from hitting you. You don’t have time to take in deep breaths and settle yourself, you can only start wildly shooting and hope you hit one of them. You don’t care to spare your bullets, firing off without any real aim and spotting a few drop from their saddles. You don’t know if it's you or Arthur that claims the kills but they eventually start to slow down and the space between you all grows wider.

Arthur tucks his gun away and rides up closer. “We need to get back to camp,” he shouts. You nod your head and follow along the path behind him. Your gaze drifts towards the wound across Lady’s side and you run your fingers through her mane as she races back home.

You brush out Lady’s coat as you wait for Arthur to finish up with Dutch. Hosea had promised that Lady would be fine, horses were sturdy but she’d have to make it through a lot worse if she wanted to stay with the gang. You understood what he meant but you didn’t appreciate it.

It’s only as you finish up with her that you realize what happened on the way back. You’d seen and, possibly, contributed to more killing and you hadn’t felt a thing about it. Not only that, Arthur had seen you shooting at men with no remorse.

Your heart flips itself into a knot in your chest as you look over to where he’s speaking with Dutch. He was quiet on the ride back and you’d assumed it was because he was worried more people would show up. What if it was because you ruined your image for him? The only former lover of his you know about was a lady like you. But, now, he sees you as someone who’s perfectly fine riding around and shooting at men without question. What if he doesn’t want you now?

You swallow down the lump in your throat and try to get your fingers to still. You’d been shaking from the adrenaline for the last few minutes. Your blood is still rushing so fast you’re getting dizzy standing still. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the nerves of the day getting to you, but you’re not so sure.

Arthur finally turns away from Dutch and heads back towards you. You give him a shaky smile but he doesn’t return it. Instead, his brows are set with anger and he’s glowering at you.

You feel your stomach drop as you scramble for a way to explain why shooting at those men was so easy for you. “Arthur, I’m sorry-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands. Your face falls flat and you feel like you might throw up. Has he somehow found out about your husband? “I didn’t realize they’d hit you,” he reaches forward and you frown with confusion. His thumb brushes against your upper arm and you hiss.

Off instinct, you swat his hand away, fingers stinging at the force. You glance down and notice blood soaking the sleeve of your shirt. One of the bullets had done a little bit more than graze you, leaving a deep gouge in your arm. “So you touch it?” You ask him, only now starting to feel the pain of the wound.

He stutters over a defense before rolling his eyes. “Come on,” he sighs and places a light hand over your back. He presses you forward, herding you towards his tent. “Let’s clean it up.” He sets you down on his cot and begins rummaging through the chest he keeps next to it with all his supplies. Glancing up at you, he asks “What were you apologisin’ for?”

“Oh, um,” you feel a bit silly now. You almost don’t want to say it but that doesn’t feel fair to lie straight to his face. “I feel sick that you saw me shoot at those men.”

His brows furrow and he pauses his rummaging. He glances around like he’s waiting for you to finish but you just shrug. “Oh,” realization dawns on his face and he looks a little stunned. “That’s it?”

“Well,” you stutter and stumble over your words as he walks over to you with a cloth and some alcohol. “Yes,” you finally land on.

He tips the bottle over, soaking the cloth in the liquor. “Darlin’, I’ve seen death more times than I can count to. I don’t care about a little shoot-out. I only care about you bein’ alive.”

He presses the cloth to your wound and you jerk back, hissing in pain. He mutters small reassurances to you, soothing you like a bucking horse. “You mean that?” You ask through gritted teeth.

He laughs a little, kneeling and smiling at you. “Kill as many men as you like, sweetheart, just don’t point that gun at me.” Despite the aching pain in your arm, you find yourself smiling back at him.

The new spot for camp isn’t awful. The town nearby isn’t much to write home about. Two families have been feuding here since before the war. They haven’t seemed to fully accept this new society you live in. And you’re sure that their crops thrive on Braithwaite and Gray blood rather than water.

You weren’t allowed to go into town with Arthur and the others. None of the ladies were. Dutch had said that the people here wouldn’t react well to so many unmarried women. Especially not women like Karen. She hadn’t appreciated the dig, but she hadn’t argued with him.

You found it difficult to follow along blindly to Dutch’s whims. Sometimes it feels like you just traded one master for another. Your father, then your husband, and now you can’t do anything without Arthur constantly running to Dutch to get his approval. As much as you’d like to pretend you have a newfound freedom, you know that Arthur will never leave the gang behind. Dutch has practically brainwashed him into a loyal soldier. So long as you love Arthur, you’re stuck under Dutch’s thumb- and he knows it.

“I said go and get another slab. How hard is that?” Pearson’s voice carries through camp, his tone tight and irritated. Your brows furrow and you turn in your seat to see what he’s fussing about now.

“It would be a lot easier if I wasn’t havin’ to fight with a goddamn fool the whole time!” Sadie picks up a slab of deer meat and hurls it at the man. He throws his hands up, just barely managing to catch it in time.

You stifle a laugh, figuring you should have known what was causing him so much grief. Sadie’s been having to follow his every order ever since Dutch changed her over from Mrs. Grimshaw to Pearson. You know it’s driving her mad, same as you, to do nothing but cook and clean all day.

Even when she was married she had gone out hunting and fishing with Jake. They’d always taken care of your land, they were never house servants. She only knows how to cook because she’d had a husband to take care of, not an entire camp.

You place your book down on the table before you and get to your feet. You figure you should step in before this gets nasty. Again. You’re worried Sadie might actually stab the man. You can see them both considering it as you approach. Neither of them are happy with the arrangement. Pearson thought he was getting a quiet assistant and Sadie just plain hates him.

“Mr. Pearson!” You call out before they can say anything else. You lift your hand in greeting and he grunts noncommittally. “If you wouldn’t mind, I need Sadie’s help with a task.”

Sadie’s lip curls up at him and he crosses his arms, leaning back like he has any power to hold over you. “Oh, yeah? What would that be?”

You glance away, eyes down like you’re flustered. Your hand hovers over your stomach and you grimace, “I’m afraid it may be more feminine in nature.” His face blanches and he turns back to the slab of meat before him.

“Get.” He waves Sadie away and refuses to look at either of you.

You grin at her, holding your arm out and nodding towards the trees around camp. She chuckles slightly, looping her arm through your own and following alongside you. With Dutch and most other men out of camp today, you can afford to explore a little further than you might normally be allowed.

“Has he been giving you much grief?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a scoff and sets you with a deadpan look. “What the hell do you think?” She doesn’t actually give you a chance to answer and continues with an angered tone. “He seems to be of the belief that women are of better use quiet and obedient.”

“Well,” you tilt your head in consideration and nod. “Most men think that. We haven’t yet reached a point in society where women hold much power, Sadie. Do you expect a group of outlaws to be fighting for our rights?”

“I don’t want none of them fightin’ for me. I just want to be able to take a ride, go huntin’,” she throws her hands up and sighs, “somethin’.”

You realize you do have a slight bit more freedom than she does. Arthur often takes you into towns with him or, at the very least, on some rides for space away from everyone. She’s been holed up with all these strange people since they first rescued you. You purse your lips and give her a sympathetic look.

You lead her further towards the grove of trees and hope some new scenery will help her calm down.

Arthur’s white button-down shirt lay across your lap. Needle in hand, you check it over to make sure you didn't miss any holes or tears. Satisfied with your efforts, you get to your feet and walk towards Arthur’s tent.

You don’t sew or fix anything up for the others unless they’re willing to pay. You find yourself doing this naturally for Arthur, without telling him. You're not sure if it’s because your finishing school teacher had ingrained into you the good qualities of a wife, or it’s simply because you want to.

Part of you will always resent the fact that you can’t recognize your own actions versus your training. You try to keep those thoughts at bay most days, but sometimes, when you do something like this, it’s a little more difficult.

Orange light glares into your eyes and you lift a hand to block it. Peering through one eye, you watch as the sinking sun sets against the horizon. Orange, red, and pink swirl and dance around each other to create a scene so perfect it almost doesn’t feel real.

It makes you think of Arthur, of how he would draw it. He’s incredibly gifted with art, even if he won’t admit it. Even with a piece of charcoal, he manages to capture the life of the animals he sees or the people around him.

After working a few odd jobs in camp, writing a letter for someone or doing some tailoring, you have some meager savings. You’ve been considering buying Arthur a proper drawing kit. You’re sure it would be foolish to spend it all on him, but you’d think he’d like it.

The people in camp only think he’s good for shooting and providing muscle. As much as they care about him, they don’t see the value in some of his finer skills. And you know it affects him. Anytime you catch a glimpse of one of his drawings he immediately starts tearing his work apart, always calling it trash and a waste of time. You wish that he could see the beauty of his creativity like you do. But a skill like that isn’t rewarded around here and you know he’ll never truly understand just how much more he’s capable of than what he’s been told.

Your gaze moves from the setting sun to the table in his tent. His journal rests on the edge and you frown. He doesn’t normally leave it behind. Reaching forward, you snag it off the edge and tuck it under his pillow. There are a lot of nosy people in camp, you doubt he’d want anyone getting their hands on it. While you fuss with that, you notice the picture on his table. Or lack thereof.

It’s been a while since you’ve paid attention to the interior of his tent. Most of the time you’re here, you’re focused on him. But you can’t help and snoop, just a little. The picture of his mother is still there, along with a folded-up one of the gang. But the picture he used to keep of his former lover is gone.

Curious, you take the shirt and turn towards the chest at the end of his cot. You bend over slightly, undoing the buckles and propping the edge up.

You lay the shirt flat, straightening out any wrinkles, and your hand accidentally slips toward the turned-over picture frames beside his clothes. You lift the first one and find another one of his mother. Pursing your lips, you debate if you should dig any further. Glancing over your shoulder, you don’t notice anyone watching you or coming close. You bend over a little more and rifle through another frame.

There it is- the picture of the woman buried beneath the rest. You don’t blame him for keeping it. You know how much she meant to him. You’re just curious as to why he went so far as to bury it below the rest.

Someone clears their throat behind you and you let out a squeak, slamming the lid of the chest shut. You whip around and find Arthur leaning against the post of his tent. “Arthur,” you're breathless as you clutch at your chest, not having even expected him back in camp yet. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“No,” he lets out an amused huff, “I don’t imagine you did.” He nods towards his chest and you flush with guilt. “What’re you doin’ in there?”

You tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and shrug innocently. “Just putting away a shirt I fixed up for you.” He moves away from the post and takes a slow step towards you.

“And that’s all?” He looks completely serious, as though he’s about to start interrogating you, but you can hear the slight tease lingering at the end of his words.

“Yes,” you lie, “that’s all.”

“Alright,” he stops in front of you and chuckles a little. “I’ll pretend to believe that. How ‘bout next time you want somethin’, you just come to me?” You nod your head and he steps around you. He takes his hat off and places it on the table, running his hands through his hair.

“Actually,” you grin at him as he turns around, “there is somethin- wait, what is that?” You demand, pointing to the deputy’s badge on his shirt.

He glances down with a sigh and rolls his eyes. “Bill went and got us deputized. Don’t know how, but Dutch seems to think it’s best if we want to stay here.” You try not to sigh at the mention of Dutch. He’s been getting stricter ever since the incident in Valentine and Arthur’s obeying him like a leashed dog. It’s beyond frustrating.

“I can’t believe they gave you all badges,” you can’t help but laugh. The sheriff has got to be touched in the head to have looked at those men and thought they were anything but outlaws.

“Buncha fools,” Arthur grumbles. He sees the look on your face, the way you bite your lip to keep any more laughter from escaping, and sighs. “Quit laughin’ at me, woman. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” You shake your head mutely and he rolls his eyes. “What did you want?”

“Right,” you clear your throat and let out one last huff of laughter before straightening up. “I need you to do a favor for me. Sadie’s been itching to get away from camp, especially from that old bastard Pearson. Could you take her out for me, tomorrow, or sometime soon? I’m worried she’s going to drive a knife through his skull if we don’t deal with this.

Arthur doesn’t look convinced, eyes narrowed and head tilted in a way that makes you think he’s going to say no. You risk a step forward, taking his hand in your own and pulling him close. “Oh, please, Arthur. It would mean the world to me.”

His eyes meet yours, and you widen them, giving him your best pleading look. He holds out for a minute longer than you thought he would before letting out a rough sigh. “Alright, alright, fine. But she better not cause any damn trouble, she’s got a worse temper than Bill.”

You can’t promise she won’t, so you just lean up and press a kiss to his cheek in thanks. He rolls his eyes and takes your chin between his fingers. He tilts your face up towards his, narrowing his eyes at you, “Come on, give me a real kiss,” you smile slightly and wind your arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet you halfway. You suppose there are worse ways to have to pay him back.

Arthur and Sadie were both out on a supply run before you even woke up. By the time you’re properly dressed and cleaned, you can see the wagon cresting over the hill. Your eyes widen with alarm when you see Sadie with the reins, driving the horses even worse than you do.

You know she’s driven a wagon before. You think she might just be trying to give Arthur a heart attack. You can hear them shouting at each other from where you stand and you snicker. You wonder if those two were separated at birth or something, they get along about as bad as most siblings you know.

You go over to Arthur’s tent and rifle through his bullets until you find a few extra for the revolver in your holster. Eventually, you’ll have to start buying your own supplies. But he doesn’t seem to mind much. Either that or he hasn’t caught on yet.

You load the bandolier on your hip and walk out to meet them as they return. Sadie doesn’t quite park the wagon in time, nearly taking out Bill’s tent as she drives them back into camp. “Enough!” Arthur barks, ripping the reins out of her hands. “I am never lettin’ you drive again.”

“Didn’t know you were such a coward, Arthur,” she taunts, hopping out of the wagon. You find yourself grinning when you see the clothes she’s sporting. Pants, a new hat, and some fresh boots. You’re sure Dutch won’t appreciate her use of camp funds but you applaud her latest show of rebellion.

You round the horses to greet Arthur as he gives Sadie a bewildered look. She hauls a sack of flour out of the back and tosses it at Pearson’s feet. “Have fun?” You ask airily as you greet him.

He whirls around on you and points an accusing finger towards you. “I said no trouble.”

“She couldn’t have been that bad,” you admonish, swatting his hand away.

He purses his lips in irritation and crosses his arms. “She nearly killed me drivin’ back. Women can’t drive!” You gape at him as he hops out of the wagon and begins storming towards his tent. “They can’t!” He shouts and you gasp, face twisted in a bewildered smile.

“Arthur!” You admonish, chasing after him. He shakes his head, not looking at you.

He scoffs and shakes his head, looking for all the world like a madman. “Think I don’t remember how you drove when we came down from the mountains?”

“You broke the wheel,” you throw back at him. With his shoulders nearly up to his ears, he continues his stubborn march towards his tent. “Oh, Arthur, come on.” You catch up with him and dart in front of him so he can’t get around you.

“How about a ride to calm you down?” He looks to Sadie and then back at the wagon with a sickened look and you laugh. “On the horses,” you laugh and grab his arm, dragging him to Diablo and Lady. “Sadie ain’t the only one feeling cooped up,” you tell him.

His low sigh sounds a little apologetic but you hadn’t meant anything against him. It was Dutch keeping you under lock and key. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. But we can’t risk too many of us bein’ seen.”

“Dutch can’t risk it, you mean,” you grab onto the saddle’s horn and swing up, glancing down at him.

He frowns, mounting Diablo with more grace than you can manage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You bat your lashes and shrug, leading Lady towards the edge of camp. “Nothing really, just that it seems to be Dutch forcing us all to lay low.” You take the lead through the trees, ducking underneath a few low-hanging branches. “No one else seems to be as worried, or even know what’s going on out here.”

Arthur slows down and you’re forced to match his gait if you want to hear what he says. You turn back in your saddle and give him a questioning look. He’s looking at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s distant like he’s gazing at someone closer to a stranger than a lover.

“You’re doubtin’ Dutch?” His voice is low, tone giving nothing away to you.

“Well,” Lady shifts restlessly underneath you, seemingly sensing the change in your mood. “Not doubting per se. I just don’t think things are as dangerous as he makes them out to be. It just seems to be-”

“Do I need to remind you how you got that scar on your arm?” Arthur snaps, pointing towards the slight bullet wound left behind by Cornwall’s men. You blanch as he nudges Diablo forward, quickly surpassing you.

“No Arthur, I think I remember getting shot at pretty damn well.” You’re getting angry now too, you really hadn’t meant much by the comment. But he had to realize how out of proportion Dutch was making everything feel. The “threats” surrounding you, the grand plan of escape, it was all too magnificent.

“Look, you can’t be questionin’ Dutch like that. If we stop trustin’ each other or start turnin’ on each other, it’s all gonna fall apart faster than you can blink.” He slows slightly so you can catch up with him but it doesn’t seem as natural as it normally does.

“That’s not what I was trying to imply Arthur. I’ve been in camp for too long. The world outside seems so distant to me. It’s just hard to believe we’re in any real danger.” You try to downplay what you said. Pretend you hadn't been suggesting exactly what he’s accusing you of. Playing the ditzy little lady used to get you out of trouble in the past, but now, he sees right through you.

“Well, we are,” he snaps, “and you’d do your best to remember that. Just because you can’t see it, don’t mean it’s not real.” There’s a sense of finality to his words that tells you the conversation’s over. Whatever hope you’d had of a peaceful ride is gone.

It’s a difficult pill to swallow, knowing no matter how much you care for Arthur, he’ll always pick Dutch over you. And worse, he’ll pick Dutch over saving himself. He’ll never understand just how much he’s worth, or how much he means to everyone around him. He’s a martyr through and through. Always prepared to make a sacrifice, even when it’s not needed.

You tighten your grip around Lady’s reigns, eyes cast down as you follow along silently beside him. He leads you onto the path towards town and you wonder if you should just head back. You could lie, say you’re feeling sick, and be done with him for now.

You’re already upset by how the day’s turned, no point in prolonging either of your misery. “Arthur,” you call out. He hums, turning slightly, just barely facing you. “I’m going to go back to camp.”

He pulls on Diablo’s reins, turning him around so he can properly face you. “I thought you wanted to get out?” He asks, sounding on edge and a little snappy.

You shrug dismissively, not bothering with an excuse. “Changed my mind-”

“Told you it’d be worth a pretty penny,” your brows furrow as a strong Irish accent starts talking a little further up the path. It sounds startlingly familiar.

“Those wagons are always worth the trouble,” Arthur’s quick to ride up beside you. He doesn’t hesitate as he takes Lady’s reins out of your hand and leads you both off the path. You’re silent as you follow him off the safety of the trail. He tucks you both behind some trees. You have just enough coverage that they can’t see you but you can still see them.

There’s a sharp pain slicing up and down your back the closer the Irishmen get. You hiss through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as they continue to talk. Arthur keeps his head low, hat tilted down and you follow suit. They pass by without much fuss and Arthur picks his head back up to watch them go.

“O’Driscolls,” he curses and the painful familiarity suddenly makes sense. “We need to tell Dutch,” he says, already making his way back to camp. You follow him without much argument, as eager to get back as he is.

Your heart sinks to your stomach, toiling in hurt the whole way. You know Dutch has instilled a paternal familiarity into Arthur but it hurts knowing the man you chose will always choose someone else.

Pearson’s ambling back into camp just as you and Arthur arrive. You’re tempted to just go back to your tent but you follow Arthur, knowing he’ll probably need someone else to back up what he saw. “Dutch!” He calls out, interrupting whatever scheming conversation he’d been having with Micah.

Dutch walks towards you both, Micah following slightly behind, coughing into the crook of his elbow. You grimace at the wet, choking noise. He’s been looking worse and worse everyday. The circles under his eyes are so dark he looks like he’s been knocked across the face.

“Something the matter, Arthur?” Dutch asks, eyes briefly darting to you before looking back at Arthur.

“Saw somethin’ out on the road.” You cross your arms, mind drifting as you wait to be called into the conversation. You’re roughly jarred out of your reverie as a strong, clammy hand lands on your shoulder so suddenly you’re nearly dragged to the ground.

The smell of sweat and moonshine sours your nose and nearly makes you gag as Pearson leans against you. “Gost ‘ome news,” he slurs, eyes barely open as he gestures vaguely towards Dutch.

You struggle under his weight, doing your damndest not to fall into the mud. Arthur frowns and knocks Pearson’s arm off your shoulder. “Get off ‘er, you damn fool,” he grabs him by the bicep, roughly jerking him straight and relying on his strength to keep them both upright.

“Now, Mr. Pearson, Mr. Morgan, I believe you both have news to share. Seeing as Mr. Pearson is close to toppling over into the mud, he can go first.” Arthur’s lips purse in irritation but he says nothing, only shakes Pearson to wake him back up.

“Met ‘ome fine mens in the bar. O’durshels, wanna purl.” You narrow your eyes at him and your face twists with confusion. You’re not the only one, the other men around you already look tired of having to deal with Pearson’s inebriated state.

Sadly, years spent married to a drunkard means you’ve learned the language of liquor quite well. “He met some O’Driscolls in a bar, they want to parley,” you translate, looking to Dutch.

His brows set with something you don’t recognize and Arthur scoffs. “It’s a damn trap.”

“‘Course it is,” Micah snaps. “Don’t mean we can’t use it to our advantage.”

Arthur drops Pearson’s arm and the man goes tumbling face-first into the mud. He takes a menacing step towards Micah who only grins up at him. “We’d be a bunch of fools to go anywhere near this.”

“Arthur,” Dutch barks his name out like an order and Arthur pauses, still leering over Micah. “I believe Mr. Bell might be right.”

“Oh,” you glare at him, smiling with disbelief. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Those men are bastards,” you spit the word out with venom you didn’t know you possessed and step towards Dutch. Micah darts forward, protecting him like you’d actually try something.

“Arthur,” Dutch warns lowly, intense stare set on you. Your skin crawls with the weight of his gaze. You feel like he’s pulling you to pieces, digging around to see which parts of you are weakest. He doesn’t have to say anything more, Arthur walks forward. He’s gentle as he grabs your arm, but he leaves no room for argument as he leads you away from Dutch.

“Arthur,” you admonish. “You can’t be thinking about this.”

“I’m not,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder at Dutch. “But I ain’t got a choice.”

You laugh in disbelief and shake your head at him as he parks you beside his tent. “Of course you do. You’ve got the same choice as any of us. Just say no.” You’re praying that he sees sense, that he doesn’t go along with what is a clear trap.

He only shakes his head and turns back towards Dutch. You should have known. Even if he knows there’s danger, he’ll ride in headfirst so long as someone else doesn’t get hurt. You feel something like disgust twisting you up and irritating the anger already present.

You look towards Dutch and he’s already got his eyes on you. He doesn’t wear it plainly, but you see the satisfaction on his face as Arthur comes to stand beside him and leaves you. As if you were ever a threat to his authority.

You turn away from them all, unwilling to watch them ride off as you storm back toward your tent. If they want to go be a bunch of fools, so be it. It’s not your business what mistakes men make with their freedom.

It’s Sadie that wakes you, her hand on your shoulder, shoving you insistently. Your eyes are slow to flutter open, your mind racing to remember where you are and who you’re with. “What?” You slur, one eye open as you try to orient yourself.

“They’re back,” she hisses, tossing away the blanket and getting to her feet. You sit up slowly, hands landing in your lap as you let your head sink between your shoulders. You listen to Sadie’s rushed footsteps as she runs away from the tent.

You’re moving slowly as you rub your eyes, trying to force yourself awake. Whose back?

You try to remember the events of the day and then the realization hits you like ice. Your heart palpitates as you scramble to get up. You chase after Sadie, feet bare in the mud as you run to the entrance of the camp. You’re not looking to give Arthur a happy welcome back, you just want to make sure he’s okay.

You see The Count’s white head parting through the trees first, then Baylock. You come up behind Sadie, peering around her to see if you can spot Diablo through the trees. You know it’ll be hard with his striking black coat, but you figure you’ll manage some hint of him, even through the dark.

Dutch and Micah are slow as they amble up to you. Your brows furrow and there’s an intuitive gnawing feeling in the back of your mind. John comes out of his tent at the sound of hooves, moving to stand beside you. A few others join the welcoming party but you’re not paying any attention to them.

You move away from Sadie and take a step closer to the men now broaching the perimeter of camp. Your hand balls into the fabric of your night dress and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize they’re riding back alone.

Red-hot anger hits you like a hammer knocking a blade into place. You run towards Dutch, not even waiting for him to be fully off his saddle before you start hollering at him. “Where is he? Did he have to stay behind? What’s going on?”

Dutch holds his hands up, lips curled back in irritation as he skirts around you. “There were some complications,” Micah snipes as he jumps down from his horse. His lips are twisted up, humor coating his rotten voice.

Your chest heaves with panic, heart tapping an odd pitter-patter as you try and process what the hell that means.

“Complications!” You shout, uncaring for the way the others are staring at you. “Where the hell is Arthur?” Dutch tries to walk away from you, giving you a bewildered sort of look. He’s looking at you like you’re some sort of ranting madman wandering in from the woods. You may be ankle-deep in mud, wearing nothing but a nightgown, but you are not crazy. And you will not let him treat you like you are.

You shoot forward and shove at the back of his shoulder. You catch him off guard and he stumbles slightly. You reach for him but Micah rushes forward, snatching up your left wrist before you can try again. You don’t see anything but red as you whip around and snap your hand as hard as you can against his cheek.

You hear the sound your skin makes against his, see the bright burning mark on his face, but you feel no sting. You rip your wrist out of his hold and turn back towards Dutch. “You wicked little-”

“You left him, didn’t you?” You interrupt Micah’s low-brow insult and wait for Dutch to answer. He’s got a surprised look on his face as he takes you in. As if he hadn’t expected you to do anything but sit back and obey.

His silence is the only answer you need as he tries to turn away from you again. “After everything he’s done for you! You just leave him!” You sound more heartbroken than he looks and it’s devastating. He left him to the mercies of O’Driscolls and he doesn’t seem to care at all.

“We didn’t leave him!” Dutch shouts, voice cracking slightly. He snatches up your arm, dragging you away from Micah and trying to isolate you from the others. He’s pulling you to his tent, trying to keep you silent so you don’t cause a big scene in front of the rest of camp. You won’t let him do this, you refuse to let him keep his perfect mask of the unfaltering leader.

You dig your feet into the ground and feel the cold wet rush of mud filtering around your legs as he tries to drag you forward. “This is childish,” he snaps, glaring at you and letting your arm go. You know there’ll be a nasty purple bruise where he’d held you but you could care less right now.

“You didn’t leave him? What the hell do you call this?” You gesture around wildly, not fully comprehending that this isn’t just one bad dream. “You don’t understand the cruelty of those men. What you just left him to-”

“Excuse me?” Dutch’s voice is low now, no longer is he shouting. Instead, he stalks towards you in two easy steps.

“Easy,” John warns, coming up behind you both.

Neither of you pay him any mind. You take a step closer, nearly nose to nose with Dutch, refusing to be intimidated by him. “This isn’t your fight, Mrs. Rowe. These aren’t your people, how dare you-”

“Arthur is my people,” you interrupt, voice a deadly whisper. “How dare you leave him. Fearsome Dutch Van der Linde,” you taunt and his nostrils flair at your impudence, “can’t even keep his people safe. Tell me, if you’re such a great leader, a man who’s always got a plan- what is it? What is your great plan? How are you going to get my Arthur back from this?”

Dutch’s face blanches and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen anything genuine appear. He almost looks concerned. And not for himself or his image, but for Arthur. It makes you hesitate for a moment, startling a step back from him with a furrow between your brows.

“I’ve got a plan,” he whispers, eyes wide like he’s trying to convince himself. He turns and looks at the rest of the gang, most of them having woken up while you’d been shouting. “I have got a plan!” He yells, turning back towards his tent and storming off.

Micah follows behind him, shoulder slamming into yours as he passes. You grunt, tripping forward and glaring at his back. You wouldn’t mind putting a bullet between that bastard’s eyes.

Your mind races with everything the O’Drsicolls had put you and Sadie through. Your skin crawls with the way their hands and weapons had felt against you. You swallow the bile in your throat and turn towards the horses.

John is right behind you, having been lurking at the edges of your and Dutch’s fight. “Where’re you goin’?” He asks with a tired sigh.

“Where do you think?” You snap, reaching for Lady.

Charles calls out your name and you turn to see him standing behind John with Hosea. Out of everyone in camp, you’d think these would be the three men joining you, not trying to stop you like they clearly are.

You scoff in disbelief, a sardonic smile on your face. “That's it?” you demand, a disgusted glare directed at each of them. “You’re just going to abandon him too?”

“We’re not abandoning him,” Hosea objects, taking a step closer. You flinch away from him and he frowns. “You don’t know these men-”

“The hell I don’t! I’ve got the scars from what they did to me. I barely survived it.” Hosea winces away from your words.

“Dutch has a plan,” he tells you, but it doesn’t even sound like he believes himself. “We just need to wait.”

“What’re you going to do?” Charles adds, and it feels remarkably like they’re circling you, herding you away from your horse. “You don’t even have a gun and you’re just going to ride into an O’Driscoll camp.”

“I will,” you tell him, all the sincerity in the world backing you up.

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” John snaps. “I want them dead just as bad, but you are only going to get yourself hurt or caught. We only need some time, we’re not abandoning him. But we can’t just go in guns blazin’.”

“When has that ever stopped any of you?” You snap. You feel all your anger, all your determination, slip right out through the bottom of your bare feet. You know from their faces there’s going to be no arguing with them. They’re just as bad as Arthur, just as blind.

They truly believe that Dutch has any clue what he’s doing. How could you possibly be the only one to see the truth of what he is? He’s a conman, decorated as a friend, father, brother, leader. He takes whatever form he wants and he knows how to use it against those around him. There’s no plan, there’s no grand escape to some tropical paradise.

“You’re not leaving tonight,” Charles tells you and you wish you had the energy to cry. You want to weep for Arthur. Here stood the people he would sacrifice himself for, and they aren’t going to kill a few O’Driscolls to save him.

You let them lead you back to your tent and look toward the horizon. You’re not going to be allowed to leave this camp. And even if there was a plan to rescue Arthur, you’d never be told of it. All you can do is wait.

You stay up all night, sitting by the fire and forcing yourself to tolerate the feeling of Charles watching you the whole time. You don’t know what it is that makes you look away from the flames and towards the trees, but something pulls at you.

As the sun crests the horizon, you place your cup of coffee down and turn. Over your shoulder, barely visible, a horse struggles along the path. You squint, head tilting this way and that so you might be able to better make out what it is. You get to your feet and hear Charles follow you.

“Oh, god,” you gasp, making a run for the horse just as the rising sun illuminates it. Arthur is slumped over Diablo’s head, blood soaked through his shirt. You don’t make it to him before he slips off the saddle and lands in the mud. Diablo stands over him, nosing at his neck and cheek.

Charles races behind you as you slide into the mud, hands roving over Arthur’s chest until you find the burned-over wound on his shoulder. You press your fingers to his throat, holding your breath while you pray to feel the beat of life within him still.

“Oh, thank god,” you whisper when you feel the faintest thud against the tip of your fingers. Charles kneels beside you and you both throw an arm over your shoulders, lifting Arthur to his feet. “Susan!” You scream the old lady's name until you see her stumble out of her tent.

A few of the other’s still awake all stand, Dutch included. “He needs help!” You shout, Charles helping you drag him towards her.

“Bring him over here!” She shouts, clearing off Arthur’s cot and motioning for you to lay him down. You stumble under Arthur’s weight, ankle rolling the wrong way as you struggle to keep up his limp body. Charles helps as much as he can but you can barely stay standing. Dutch runs over to you, you share a brief look before he slips Arthur’s arm off your shoulder and carries him the rest of the way to Mrs. Grimshaw.

You turn towards the tent of women and by now they’re all up, watching everything with wide horrified eyes. “Tilly, help me,” you demand, rushing towards the water boiling for Pearson’s stew. She snaps into action, racing behind you and passing you a cloth to lift the scalding pot off the fire. You both carry it over to Mrs. Grimshaw and she barely spares you a glance, too focused on Arthur.

You can’t look at him for too long, can’t bear to face the way his eyes stare up at nothing. He looks too much like the corpses you’ve seen. But you know you felt life inside him. You couldn’t have made something like that up.

Mrs. Grimshaw slices through his shirt and hisses at what she sees. You move past Dutch and peer over her shoulder with Tilly. “Oh, you fool,” she mutters. You shake your head when you see what he’s done to his shoulder. You know he did the best with what he had, but gunpowder is a risky move to close up a bullet hole.

If you’re not careful with how you treat his wound, it’s more than likely to get infected. Besides the gunshot, judging from the bruises on his body, you can tell he was beaten to within an inch of his life. He’d barely been there a day and they’d nearly killed him. If what they’d done to you wasn’t reason enough to want the O’Drsicolls dead, this was.

“Susan,” Dutch whispers and he sounds so disappointed, “sit by him. Take care of him. Keep him alive.” You refuse to look at Dutch, dipping a cloth into the purified water and wringing it out. You pass it to Susan who only nods her head.

Tilly draws the tent flaps closed, pushing Dutch the rest of the way out. Susan presses the cloth gently to the area around Arthur’s wound and his shoulder jerks slightly. “He’s burned himself up,” Tilly mutters, rooting through his supply trunk and ripping up some of his clean shirts for extra cloth.

“Closed up the wound,” Susan mutters, “but we’ll need to watch for infection.” Her hand drifts down his chest, pressing down on one of the purple and yellow splotches along his ribs. His eyes shoot open for a moment, a pained groan coming from his cracked lips.

“Broken rib?” You ask, rooting around in his table for some of the ointment Hosea had made for him. She hums an affirmative and you hear Tilly rip up some more cloth for binding.

“It’s gonna be a long night, you best listen to every damn thing I tell you,” Susan snaps, not taking her eyes off of Arthur. You nod your head silently, pulling out the tin of salve and presenting it to her. Your eyes drift towards Arthur and you let out a shuddering breath, not willing to look at his broken form for more than a few moments.

Susan helped the most the first night Arthur was back. It was because of her that he made it. Tilly and you assisted her the best you could. But she had the knowledge only a doctor should as she staved the infection away from his wound.

She wasn’t capable of a miracle, but this seemed damn close. Still, even with all the work you’d put in, someone had to stay by his side at night, make sure he didn’t slip away quietly. You volunteered yourself, opting to let them watch him during the day while you slept.

His recovery was a slow one. You have to make sure his ribs are wrapped tight enough to encourage them to heal again. You need to ensure he doesn’t flip around in his sleep and do any more damage to himself. More importantly, you have to do everything you can to keep his fever down.

Despite the heat of the day, it seems worse at night. Sweat soaks through his clothes and blankets, he’s constantly twitching with shivers. You try and make sure the cloth along his brow stays cool, but he seems to heat them up like a fire.

There’s no puckering green skin around his wound, none of you can figure out where the infection is stemming from. You don’t have the medicine he needs to fight it, only sheer will and prayer.

You lean forward in your chair, pressing the back of your chilled fingers to his cheek. Same as the night before, it’s hot to the touch. You’re surprised your skin doesn’t sizzle as it touches his. His breaths come in short pants as you slip the cloth off his head and dip it into the bucket of water beside you. You wring it out and place it gently along his brow again.

Standing, you perch yourself on the edge of his cot and peel back the bandages on his shoulder. It sticks slightly to the skin, yellowed and bloody as the skin works to heal itself. He’d done the best he could with the gunpowder, but all it had done was stop you from getting below the surface and healing what needed it.

Your eyes are fighting to stay open after being awake all night. You know the sun will rise soon, that you’ll have an opportunity for rest. But you haven’t been able to sleep well, not since he was brought back. You nearly drift off and then you think of him dying while you’re dozing away.

He might have made it through the first night, but there are no promises with things like this. Your hand slips into his and you let out a heavy sigh. You take in his sallow face, the gauntness of his cheeks, the circles under his eyes. His beard has grown longer than you’ve ever seen it, his hair nearly reaches his shoulders. You don’t recognize this beaten man below you. This isn’t the Arthur you know.

You squeeze his rough hand in yours, “You better not stop fighting, you stubborn bastard.” You feel a familiar burn in the back of your throat and look away from him, choking down your tears. You can’t cry over him again. You’ve done it so often your eyes have run dry.

Just as you’re about to get up to leave, his hand twitches ever so slightly in yours. Your brows furrow and you glance down at his hold on you. It was nearly imperceptible, a barely there movement. You watch his arm carefully, seeing if anything else happens. When he doesn’t move again you dismiss it as your mind playing tricks on you.

Again, almost as if he knows you’re going to leave him, his hand twitches. This time, you can’t dismiss it as a reflex or simply something your addled brain has conjured up. The movement is deliberate, purposeful, as if he’s trying to hold on to you in every way he can. His fingers squeeze your palm weakly, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips.

“Arthur?” you breathe, voice trembling as your heart skips a beat. You turn back to his face, ragged and pale, the shadow of the man he once was. But there’s something in the faint wrinkle of his brow and the uneven parting of his lips. It’s the most life you’ve seen in him in days.

You’re practically shaking as you move further up the cot. You stick yourself as close to his side as you can. “Oh, Arthur?” you plead, leaning closer, searching desperately for any sign that he’s still fighting. A low mutter slips from his cracked lips, the sound so faint it’s almost lost in the silence. You freeze, straining to hear, your breath caught in your throat.

You’re so close you can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest against yours. His lips move again, his ribs quaking with effort. It’s a whisper, barely audible, but you hear a cracked version of your name slip through his lips.

This is the most you’ve gotten from him in days. There had been moments where, as hard as it was to accept, you’d begun to realize he could be dying. His lips move again and if you weren’t watching him so intently, you might have missed it.

Your heart shatters and mends all at once. “Arthur,” you choke, nearly crying with relief. Your body slumps over his with the relief that he’s not been lost to you yet. You clutch your hand in his as though sheer will can keep him with you. For a moment, the unbearable weight of your fear is lifted.

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you press your forehead against his. “You’re still here,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Just keep fighting for me.”

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t have the strength, but his fingers twitch again, his grip just a little firmer. It’s enough for you. You hold on to him like he’s your lifeline, and in a way, he is. You can’t let him go, not now. “I’m here, Arthur,” you promise, voice shaking but just steady enough for him to understand you. “I’m not going anywhere. Just, don’t leave me. Please.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a flicker of hope in the darkness. It’s fragile, so fragile, but it’s there.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to start coming back around. Most nights, he’s still groggy and spends more time asleep than awake, but the fever has broken, and that’s enough for you.

You no longer go to sleep every night worrying he won’t be there in the morning. Now, when you check on his tent, you find him waiting for you, even if it’s with little more than a tired glance and a hoarse word or two. Tonight is one of those nights. He doesn’t have much energy for anything beyond picking at some stew and lying down, but you don’t mind.

You stay by his side, fussing over him as you fluff the pillows behind his head. He’d teased you the other day, comparing your fretting to Mrs. Grimshaw. You’d laughed, too relieved he felt well enough to joke to take offense. The memory makes you smile as you smooth the blankets over him.

“Quit,” he mutters weakly, swatting at your hands.

“Oh, hush,” you retort, tone light as you sit back down in the chair by his cot.

His hand catches your wrist before you can settle. When you glance down, you find him peeking up at you through one half-lidded eye, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Come on,” he mumbles, tugging gently.

“Arthur, I’m fine right here,” you reply, hesitating. His cot isn’t exactly spacious, and you’re worried about jostling him or hurting his still-healing ribs.

He doesn’t answer, just tugs again with what little strength he has.

“Oh, alright.” You laugh slightly and shake your head. “You’re so stubborn,” you grumble, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. Carefully, you climb onto the cot, curling into the space he makes for you on his good side. His head tucks into the crook of your neck, his arm settling around your waist like it belongs there.

You comb your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, thinking that maybe you’ll cut it for him when he’s stronger. His breathing slows against you, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s nearly asleep when he rasps out a question, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“Why didn’t they come?” He rasps against your shoulder, nearly asleep as he asks.

Your hands still in his hair, and the quiet around you feels suddenly heavy. His arm tightens around your waist, as though he senses your hesitation. You close your eyes and draw in a shaky breath.

How are you supposed to answer that?

You could tell him the same tired promises Dutch fed you, that there was a plan, that he was never really abandoned. But you’ve been here, tending to him alone for days. You’ve watched Dutch only appear when Arthur’s too far gone to notice, his visits perfunctory and brief. And you know, deep down, what Arthur would never admit, if he keeps believing Dutch’s lies, it’ll kill him.

You swallow hard and take his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Arthur,” you whisper, voice trembling but firm enough to hold his attention. “You’ve given Dutch everything, and he left you there. He left you to die.”

You hear him exhale, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. His grip on your hand loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” you continue, leaning closer so your words sink in. “I just- I need you to know the truth. He’s not the man you think he is. He never was. Please, Arthur, when you’re strong enough, tell me we’ll get away. We’ll leave this all behind before it’s too late.”

You fall silent, letting your words settle in the quiet. He doesn’t respond, his breaths deepening as sleep overtakes him again.

You tighten your hold on his hand and rest your forehead against his temple. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “You deserve better.”

You doubt he’ll remember this when he wakes, and maybe that’s best. But you had to say something, you had to try. It feels wrong, though, to try and twist Arthur’s loyalty. You’ve barely had a chance to know either of them the way they know each other.

Still, you can’t shake what you’ve seen. Dutch’s words, his cleverly painted lies, they turn into nooses, and he’s got a rope around everyone in camp. You know his kind, once he sinks his claws into someone, there’s no letting go.

You glance down at Arthur’s face, softened and unguarded in sleep, and your chest tightens. He deserves to be free of Dutch. At the very least, he deserves to see the truth and to live for himself instead of chasing someone else’s dreams.

Doubt still creeps alongside you. Did you have a place to say anything at all?

You brush a hand through Arthur’s hair one more time, listening to his breaths as they even out. Curling closer around him, you drift to sleep with your heart heavy, praying he sees the truth when he wakes.

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thiccpersonality · 19 hours ago

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5 Times Bruce Was Protective of His Pups (+2 Times They Were Protective of Him)

2: The Gala

Bruce doesn't really like parties, he's not prone to throwing them nor is he likely to go to them, especially with all the loudness, the music and...the people. Which is quite redundant to say as a party is made up of people--anyway, Bruce hates parties, more specifically: useless parties around people he either doesn't know or doesn't like-and for what? Just to watch and wait as the guests flock around him like birds to a lone breadcrumb? Just to wait on them to kiss his ass?

Plus, the omega doesn't need parties when he's got his hands full with a loud one named Jason, and in Bruce's unbiased opinion, his new pup is the best party he's ever witnessed.

An excited yip pulls Bruce from his brooding, the displeased scrunch of his brow smoothing out to look relaxed, his frown turning up to a happy smile at the sight of Jason posing in his new suit. "How do I look, B? Good you say? I know. Thank you." A humored rumble escapes from Bruce's throat, the sight of the pup's messily done tie causing the omega to frown and pull Jason closer to him. "You do look good, very good, great even. Your tie is just-" Bruce raises a brow at small teeth gently digging into his fingers, Jason growling in a way that he thinks is intimidating, but in fact is just adorably soft and squeaky...like a puppy trying to bark for the first time.

"But Alfred said I could tie it on my own. And I thought you said I looked good?"

At Jason's imploring look, Bruce just sighs softly in defeat. "Yes, very good, great even is what I said-"

Jason smiles and interrupts the omega again, nuzzling into the other's chest and looking up at him with satisfied baby blue's. "So...were you lying to me, mom?"

Those two words seem to do the trick for Bruce, the omega melting at the cute display and nuzzling his pup's head and neck. "No...I wasn't lying to you. You look really good, and I mean that. Your tie isn't bad at all-" he pulls away to look at the tie, beating down his instincts to clean the messy loops up in favor of smiling at it-"it just has character."

Jason gives a toothy smile and puffs his chest out proudly while patting the tie.

"His name is Rick Astley."

Bruce can't help but to chuckle in surprise at the name, "You mean...like the singer, Rick Astley?" At Jason's enthusiastic nod, he decides to give the pup what he wants and ask him why choose that name. "And of all the names you could choose, you chose Rick becaaaause?"

"Because I never gave up on this tie!"

Jason smiles happily at the genuine laugh he pulls from the usually stoic omega-his mom. "I thought you'd like that one! I've been working on that since I asked to tie this thing myself. I'll be here on Thursdays." Bruce covers his mouth with his hand to hide his smile, it's something he always feels embarrassed about, especially as he's used to fake smiling anyway...he never expected to laugh this much when adopting children. "So, you'll only be here on Thursdays? I thought you liked this place enough to stay with me?"

Even though it's just a joke, Jason can't help but to get defensive at the mere thought of leaving Bruce's side, the death of his biological mother still too fresh in his mind and causing him to hug onto the omega's leg tightly. "I love it! I feel safe here and no one can take me away!"

The slightly distressed scent coming from Jason causes Bruce to churr softly, the sound immediately causing the younger to slump in relief, the boy's eyes closing at the feeling of fingers gently gliding through his hair. "Shh~ I know, Jay, I know. No one could ever take you away...I wouldn't allow it, you hear me?" A small knock on his bedroom door causes Bruce to sigh softly, "We'll be right out, Alfred-" he stops to turn to Jason, fixing his pup's hair one last time and holding back a smile at the child's displeased grumble at being doted on-"Are you sure that you're ready? You don't have to go out there if you aren't comfortable yet."

It's been something gone unspoken all evening, but Bruce knows Jason is nervous to go out there to people who are nothing like him. Especially as they are the same people who would turn their noses up at the sight of kids like Jay, thinking they are better than them just cause they have lavish lives and the money to flaunt around whenever, that's something the omega knows his pup has been cautious about ever since he told the boy he's hosting an event.

And it's with humor and corny jokes that the pup has been hiding behind this whole time, all to not let Bruce know just how scared this is making him.

Jason-as per usual-just smiles wide and straightens his suit jacket with small, clammy hands. "What? You just want to keep me all to yourself? I was born ready, B. Let's go!" Bruce watches his pup slip out the door and immediately show Alfred his tie with pride, desiring to desperately answer, 'yes', he wants to keep his baby all to himself because he's selfish and desperate in the presence of Jason's mischievous grins and sincere laughs, that he's greedy for that piece of light in his life. So desperate that he wants to hoard it all to himself like a dragon with its most prized treasure.

Because, if Bruce feels like he doesn't deserve a son like Jason, he knows that none of those suck ups out there deserve to even be anywhere near Jason's innocence.

————°————

Lois looks at her wristwatch impatiently for the thousandth time in a row, causing Clark to sigh exasperatedly at his friend. "Lo, no matter how many times you glance at the time, it won't make it go by any faster."

The female omega clicks her tongue impatiently, "No duh! But maybe if I do, our very special host might appear quicker?" She glances at her watch once more, looking back up expectantly towards the staircase. "Has he arrived yet? Do you see him, Kent? Why is he even taking this long-" Clark opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by Lois answering her own question-"I bet it's a power move, huh? He's doing this to show how we wait for him and not the other way around. Rich kids, am I right?"

Clark pushes up his glasses to distract himself from covering up the woman's mouth, his ears flushing in embarrassment on Lois's behalf at the socialites that look their way for her outburst.

"Shh! Be a little more quiet when...stating your opinion, maybe? And Mr. Wayne is only taking so long because he's introducing his new pup tonight, you know how protective he was about Richard Grayson. Why wouldn't he be about this one?" Lois softens at the mention of Bruce's eldest child, "Oh yeah...I forgot about that. Do you think this kid will be just as cute as the other one? I've heard some speculators say that this new pup looks similar to Bruce and Richard, they are convinced that our gracious omega host is the one actually giving birth to these pups himself and he just doesn't remember who the father is."

"Lois-" Clark grumbles in displeasure at the piece of gossip, doing his best to keep the alpha out of his tone-"Those are just rumors and gossip as far as you know--and, I don't want to hear about how 'I know his reputation'. Someone that dedicated to their kids surely doesn't sleep around that much."

At his friend's prolonged silence, he turns to look at her, blushing red at the raised brow he gets. "I-I mean...not saying that he can't not sleep around. I just-"

Lois snorts and pats Clark on the back, "Stop putting your foot in your mouth. You're up to the heel. And I get what you're saying, okay? I was only stating what I read and heard from different people, and despite how harsh I was with Bruce at first, after seeing him with his family...I don't believe those rumors anymore."

Clark rolls his eyes, "By: 'after seeing him with family,' do you actually mean, 'when I saw how the papers don't do his face justice?' That was when you started to not believe the rumors?"

Lois's impish smile is answer enough for Clark, the beta simply sighing the woman's name in exasperated fondness.

The two turn back to looking in anticipation at the staircase, Clark slowly frowning at realizing how casually Lois referred to Bruce, what is that about? But before he can turn to ask her about it, the crowd of reporters push ahead of them at the sight of Bruce Wayne, their cameras flashing and voices rising as they each try to get the omega's attention, Lois shouting above all of them towards Jimmy. "Push harder, Olsen, harder! Get the good spot!"

"Aaand I lost her." Clark watches as Lois claws her way to Jimmy's side, helping the timid beta make his way to the very front.

That's fine. Clark will patiently wait his turn until things are calmed down enough for him to approach Bruce without the fear of being pushed around...of course he can't be hurt, but the thought of accidentally hurting someone with his super strength stresses him out, so waiting the eager reporters out it is.

Luckily enough, the crowd seems to have learned some sort of lesson from the last incident when they startled the omega in the desperation to catch pictures of his new pup, the photographers standing at a decent enough distance as they snap their pic's, their eyes practically shining at the sight of the small pup holding onto Bruce's hand and curiously lifting his head to sniff out who exactly is in the crowd. Everyone grows quiet at the omega's protective glare being shot to the crowd, a tingle shooting down Clark's spine at the feeling of déjà vu the look gives him.

Bruce ignores the loud click of the cameras as he bends down to whisper to the pup, his voice a soothing rumble. "Jay, do you want me to introduce you?"

Jason squeezes onto the warm hand in his own cool one's, stepping out from Bruce's side with a wide smile, his hands lifting to rest on his hips as he uses all the confidence he witnesses his mom having to lift up his nose to the sky as if he owns the place, as if he belongs here around everyone else. "Nice to meetcha folks! I'm Jason Peter Todd!" The crowd goes silent before pushing forward slightly to ask Jason questions, the pup posing for the cameras while Bruce looks on in a mix of fondness, pride and worry, he still doesn't trust the media fully after all these years.

Vicki Vale manages to push herself forward at the same time Lois Lane does, the two glaring at each other before turning to smile at Jason sweetly.

"A word from you Mr. Todd?"

Lois taps her foot impatiently at Vicki beating her to the request, the boy turning to them and sniffing at them curiously. "They put ya in a suit and suddenly you are known as Mr-" the pup holds his hand up in a 'wait' gesture, tugging on his suit and clearing his throat-"Please, ladies, Mr was my father. Call me Jason...or cute, I wouldn't mind the latter from you beauties."

Vicki and Lois look at each other humored, both remembering their professionalism even though they wish to ask the boy exactly who his father is.

"Well, these beauties definitely wouldn't mind having a word with you-" Lois looks up at Bruce with a relaxed smile-"that is...if your mom wouldn't mind us asking you a couple questions? I'm sure...Ms. Vale and I can share you for a couple minutes? Again, if Mr. Wayne doesn't mind?" Jason looks excited at the thought of talking to them, a questioning call slipping from his throat to easily catch Bruce's attention, the omega responding with his own answering chirp. "Jason? What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

The boy nods quickly, causing his waves to bounce wildly around on his head despite how many times Bruce has tried to smooth it down to something tameable. "They wanna ask me questions, can I go with them?"

Bruce stands next to his son's side, placing his hands gently on the small shoulders as he nods his head in greeting of the two women. "Vicki, Lois, it's nice to see you both here tonight-" his eyes rove over the women distrustfully, even though he knows he can trust these two with his pup, he still can't help the protective instincts that come about whenever anyone is near his kids-"I'm glad you could make it. You...want to ask him questions?"

Lois nods, "If you'll allow us to? I know you gotta make your rounds greeting everyone first, but, we were hoping to get a word from the new guy-" purple eyes search the room briefly before focusing back on Bruce-"Speaking of guys, where's Richard? The media would be eating him up about now, and I'm sure he could watch over Jason while we talk to him." The mention of the eldest Wayne causes Jason to pout, "He has these things called...responsibilities and obligations right now, for some reason? I asked him to come tonight but he's doing school stuff and 'friend' things right now."

Bruce chuckles at Jason quoting 'friends' and murmuring something about stupid older brother's, his hands gently fixing up the boy's hair as he speaks. "Well, Dickybird will be here for plenty future events, and do you really want him here right now? He would enjoy embarrassing you in front of everyone."

Jason blushes and bats Bruce's deft fingers away from his hair, "Yeah...just like you're doin' to me right now?" He grumbles in embarrassment, never knowing how to treat the omega's affections openly in front of other people, especially in this sort of crowd...he doesn't want them to think Bruce chose wrong when taking him off the streets, he just wants to prove how good he is and can be. "So, can I go with them or not? I can bring Alfie with me!" Bruce hesitates, sighing softly at the insistent tugging on his pant leg. "Pretty, pretty, pretty please!? With a Jason on top!"

Bruce raises an amused brow, "Why a Jason on top? You know it's usually cherry, right?"

The pup nods, "Cause you like me better than cherries. That's why."

Hm...he can't exactly argue with that. Bruce turns to find Alfred, holding back a shout as the alpha materializes from thin air right next to him, smiling softly at his son. "Don't worry, sir. I'll keep a good eye on the young Master for you, shall we head along?" Jason squeaks happily and kisses Bruce's hand in thanks before tugging Vicki and Lois along, loudly asking about how his tie looks as they take their conversation to the dessert table.

As soon as the small group leaves his side, Bruce inhales deeply, preparing himself for the vultures he already knows will flock to him like birds to a worm. Smiling charmingly at the cameras, even going so far as to blow a kiss at another.

"Mr. Wayne, what is your eldest son doing tonight!?"

"Mr. Wayne, how attached do you feel to tonights event!?"

"Mr. Wayne, who exactly are Richard and Jason's fathers? Are they biologically related or only half?"

"Mr. Wayne-"

Their voices start to blend together as the stupid questions start rolling in. Now that Lois and Vicki took the professionalism out the room with them, Bruce curses his fate as he's left with only the gossip hungry leeches, not headstrong people like Lane and Vale who actually care about their work and-

Bruce blinks away the spots in his vision from the bright flashes at the sight of a very tall, very imposing man-reporter, maybe?-that is patiently standing behind the rambunctious media.

Hm...his curiosity has been piqued.

Especially as something in his chest scratches in familiarity at the sight of this random reporter-or who he hopes is a reporter-and his lost puppy kind of look. There's something that is oddly endearing about this man and Bruce wants to find out why.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, but I would like to talk to..." Bruce draws out his words, making a show of his 'indecisiveness' as he looks over the group of reporters, biting his lip in thought as he evaluates them all, slowly reaching further back in the group until his eyes land on his target."You! The man with the-" he squints his eyes at the sight of elbow patches, scrunching his nose in distaste at the sight of elbow patches, who the crap does that anymore?-"elbow patches."

Clark adjusts his glasses on his face nervously, a habit he's taken to over the years that he finds oddly comforting when he feels embarrassed about something.

"Uh...me?"

Bruce smiles, flashing a bit of his omegan fangs as he does so at the nerves radiating from this man, looking more like a predator with its prey rather than the thoughtful host Clark thought he was. "Yes, you. Don't look around for someone to replace you, I want you and only you. What? Do you not want to talk to me?"

Clark flushes red at the words, and from the way Mr. Wayne's eyes seem to pierce into his soul with how...icy they look. Not in a bad way, but the color makes Clark feel like every inhale is like breathing in a breath mint, maybe and Altoid due to the strength of it? Ah! When did the omega get so close to him? Clark does his best not to breath in the shorter man's alluring scent, his face growing redder at the interested sniff the omega directs at him. "Well?"

Right.

Mr. Wayne is deserving of an explanation...I guess?

"O-Of course it'd be delightful to speak to you, Mr. Wayne. Do you have somewhere more-"

Bruce pulls away from him suddenly with a surprised look, shaking his head softly and messing with his shirt cuffs with an amused smirk stretching his lips. "Metropolis...I should've known that's where you'd be from. Though the people there are usually more forward, aren't they?"

Clark's eyebrows furrow at the comment, what's wrong with Metropolis? But before he can answer the question, Bruce cuts him off again.

"Like one Ms. Lois Lane, for example. Though-" icy blue eyes rake up and down the tall figure, his eyes stopping at the press badge clipped to the fashion disaster that is...Clark Kent's suit-"I detect a hint of farm boy in your tone? So, maybe not from Metropolis?" Bruce presses in closer to try and catch a scent from Clark, casting aside his growing disappointment as the man doesn't smell like alpha as he suspected, just mothballs and innocence.

"Smallville."

Bruce looks up at the beta, immediately regretting it as he's met with the deepest blue gaze he thinks he's ever seen on a person, do eyes even get to be that color?

It feels as if Bruce is looking into the night sky...not that he knows what that's like, living in Gotham and all. But, if he could, he could imagine it being like this, the reflection of light in Clark's eyes reminding him of twinkling stars up above.

Bruce looks away suddenly, cursing the heated feeling in his ears and spreading to his cheeks, he hopes it's not visible? Though with how pale he is...he can't imagine hiding the blush.

Well, this is stupid.

Bruce feels like abandoning his self proclaimed mission at his own reaction towards Clark, though...there really is something familiar about the other man, and he can't place his carefully manicured nails on it.

Fine. He supposes he can bring out the bit of professionalism Brucie Wayne shows sometimes, only because he has no desire to tease the poor beta anymore and definitely not because he's feeling shy. "Right...I've...never been to Smallville before. Why don't we talk about it more this way." Clark startles at the hand gently wrapping around his elbow and tugging him over to French doors that lead to a balcony, looking over his shoulder as the omega quickly searches for someone and scents the air before stepping outside.

Clark relaxes himself and allows his senses to spread out, his nose twitching frantically to smell exactly what Bruce did.

Expensive colognes, sweet smelling perfumes, natural scents coming from both alpha, beta and omegas alike-ah, there it is! Something slightly milky with a hint of baby oil and spice, a pup that's trying to develop their own scent but still in the puppy stage.

"Your son-Jason, that is-seems really sweet."

Bruce's scent turns pleased at the compliment, releasing Clark's arm and turning to give him a genuine smile that is all proud mama. "He is! And he's very smart too, he enjoys reading books that not even I read at his age, I'm very honored to be his parent." Clark feels himself softening up at the genuineness on the omega's face, at the love in his tone, that feeling from before growing stronger for some reason at the other's affection towards Jason.

"So, Smallville?"

Clark pushes up his glasses and smiles, "Yup! It's a small town, but it's peaceful and has genuine people in it, s'more than I could ever ask for."

At Bruce's nose scrunching up again-a little trait Clark is quickly noticing about the other that he's finding adorable-he can't help but to question the man. "What? Did I say something funny? I don't think growing up in Smallville is that funny, farms may stink to high Heavens, but they sure are fun and teach you the importance of hard work."

Bruce shakes his head and covers his twitching lips with his hand, "No...your accent slipped and is just...amusing? But in a cute way! You said 's'more', aren't s'mores those little snacks you squish between your fingers?"

Now it's Clark that looks at Bruce like he said the funniest thing. "Are you being serious? You've never heard of a s'more?"

The omega rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, "Obviously I've heard of them. I wouldn't mention it if I've never heard of it, Kent, I was just making sure I had it right-" his brow twitches at the full blown smile the beta gives, coupled with a deep chuckle-"I don't think that's funny. If I can't laugh at your farm life, you can't laugh at me for not having a s'more. After all, it teaches you the importance of eating healthy foods."

The offended gasp escaping Clark's lips causes Bruce to look over his shoulder for what could have brought out that sound, the taller pulling out his recorder and waving it in his face.

"You've never eaten s'mores!? I think that's worse than never hearing of one! You mind if I interview you about this?" Bruce huffs at the defensive tone, his chest being tickled with humor at the other wanting to interview him about a snack he's never had before. "I don't think I mind? But, shouldn't you reporters be asking me about tonights event? Getting the reason for it and why I hosted this specific one? Don't your people usually poke at me about my kids?"

Clark sets down his recorder after switching it on, raising an inquiring brow at the omega. "Is me asking you questions about your family something that interests you? From what I gathered, you hated my people asking you about your pups, almost just as much as you get tired of hearing us ask you are you dating Batman."

At Bruce's irritated grumble, Clark smiles and gently guides the other closer to the tape recorder, not noticing just how much the simple touch effects the smaller man.

"Good evening Mr. Wayne, thank you for inviting me here tonight and accepting this interview. There have been some crazy rumors out there-" Clark has to pause to whisper to the other about not laughing, his heart pounding at the happy scent wafting from Bruce-"that you've never heard of s'mores. Would you care to clear those accusations up?"

Bruce sighs softly, not believing he's playing along with this, but clearing his throat and answering with all the seriousness he can muster into his voice.

"Yes, Mr. Kent, I would like to address those rumors about me...because they just aren't true. I have heard of s'mores before, it's just that I haven't ever eaten them." Clark hums, "Would you care to elaborate on why that is? Some people out there would think you never tasting it as worse than never knowing about it, what do you say to those people who could possibly feel that way?"

"Hm? Are one of those people from the Midwest? Cause if so, I'd tell him that there's worse things in this life than me not eating junk."

Clark's offended, 'hey', causes Bruce to grin. "Well, if there happened to be some lovely gentlemen from the Midwest who felt that way, I think he would politely disagree with you...even though you are technically right-" The word 'technically' causes Bruce to sputter, "What do you mean by that!? You just said you-I mean, this man 'technically' agrees with me by you stating I'm right. He's been around animal sh-poop for too long, it's causing him to spew crap from his mouth."

"Technically-" Clark smirks teasingly down at the smaller-"I said, technically. That's not out right admitting you are in the right."

Bruce narrows his eye at the taller man's beautifully smug smirk, "Do you not know what the word technically means? Technically: according to the facts or exact meaning of something; strictly. That's what that word means, so, 'technically' you and this Midwestern-ahem-gentleman are agreeing with me."

Clark freezes at that itching feeling returning to his mind, the scratching feeling of close familiarity this argument brings to him.

There's someone else he knows that takes simple jokes like this and turns them into mini battles, but-"Kent? Hellooo? Did a chicken escape the coop in there?"

Clark frowns at the omega shutting off his recorder, "Why did you turn that off? I was interviewing you."

Bruce holds the device in his hand, suddenly looking shy and embarrassed, his smile awkward as he fiddles with the metal tool. "Well, you were pausing for five seconds too long for an interview. And-" he glances away-"don't you think this was a bit silly of us? I'm not supposed to answer questions like this...no one even asks these kinds of things anyway, they're too...trivial for my work."

Clark steps closer to the omega, reaching out to grab the recorder from the shorter, finding himself daring enough to stay in the other's personal space while his hand rests in the smaller one. "Why is asking you about things you may enjoy trivial? Have you ever thought no one cares enough about the simple things you do? It makes you seem...more approachable, Mr. Wayne." Bruce feels like his heart is trying to fly out of his chest at how close they are, his cheeks growing a soft pink at the sincerity from the other. "I-I...I'm not usually supposed to be approachable, Mr. Kent. Not unless I want something."

Clark sucks in his gasp at how close Bruce's face is, it would be so easy to bend down and kiss those pink lips...but that wouldn't be professional, would it?

"And...what do you want from me, Mr. Wayne?"

At Bruce's shocked look, Clark gives a small smirk. "You didn't think I noticed you looking through the audience of determined reporters? I saw you already look at me before acting like you were indecisive about who you wanted to interview you. You were going to pick me the whole time."

Bruce purses his lips at being caught, though his inner omega is fascinated by how smart this potential mate random stranger is to notice such small details.

"What would Mr. Wayne say to the Midwestern man who wants to know what tonight's special host wants? Especially from a reporter trying to blend into the crowd."

Bruce can't help the entertained smile as-even though it's not turned on anymore-the recorder is pushed up to his mouth. "I...you were being still-" at the beta's intrigued look, he continues-"Do you know how rare it is to see someone who isn't trying to crawl all over someone else just to get the scoop on Bruce Thomas Wayne? You looked like the calm in the midst of a very bothersome, very loud storm, Mr. Kent. So...what I wanted was to...see who you are."

Clark stares down into icy blue eyes, being drawn further into the crystalline gaze, swallowing down the urge to call out to this wonderful omega with his own alpha and whispering softly instead.

"And did you find anything worth your time?"

Bruce's eyelashes flutter, "I did. You are a great conversationalist, Mr. Kent. If-if people from Smallville are anything like you, maybe it isn't so bad?"

The two seem to lean in closer to the other, their private bubble popping at the sound of boisterous laughter coming from inside. Bruce gasps and pulls away, both him and Clark blushing as the beta apologizes for being unprofessional, the whine being choked down the Wayne heir's throat from the loss of warmth as their hands separate.

Clark stands tall as the omega steps close again, his smile back to suave as he slips the recorder back into the suit pocket, his voice betraying how he actually feels as it's incredibly soft and hopeful. "You can keep this interview for yourself-" his finger taps the device now snug in Clark's front pocket-"And...maybe you can finish this interview at a better time? When I don't have to greet my guests, perhaps? I think I've kept them waiting on me long enough."

Lois's voice echoes in Clark's head about power moves and everything, his lips twitching up in amusement as he nods gently and leads the omega back inside.

————°————

Jason doesn't know how it's happened. One second he was being interviewed by two lovely women-his new friends-and then the next thing he knows he's somehow separated from them and doing his best to greet the guests while waiting for Bruce to return.

Luckily enough for him, there's been a nice group of high class attendees that waved him over, their sparkling jewelry catching the pups attention. "Looky here, ladies, we have a lovely gentleman in our midst. And isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?" Jason stands taller as the group of older women assess him, their lips stretching into fond smiles as they stare down at him. "My name is Margareta Hewley, young man, though I prefer Margaret, Marge or Greta cause my name sounds like the alcoholic drink-oh! I got off topic. I may have forgotten your name already...but what was it, Johnson?"

Jason goes to respond, but a middle-aged woman with sandy blonde hair interrupts him with a frantic hand wave.

"No, no, no. You've got it all wrong, Greta. He said his name was Jensen, isn't that right, honey? My name is Dahlia Nugat, though it sounds a lot like the thing you put in-between chocolate bars."

The group of women burst out into a loud laughter, Jason growing increasingly amused by these women and how silly they are and how they make fun of their names. "Nice to meet you, my name is Jason actually-" the women 'ah' as he kindly corrects them, causing Jason to giggle-"But it's okay! Everyone makes mistakes."

A brunette reaches down to pinch at his cheek, "Well aren't you just so forgiving? It's very nice to see another one of Bruce's pups, he definitely has a type, doesn't he girls?"

Dahlia hums and leans closer to Jason, "What do you mean, Grace? This one has the most lovely shade of baby blue eyes I've ever seen." Grace sips at her champagne, nodding in agreement. "Of course he does! But that's not what I meant. He sure does pick a lot of strays up, doesn't he? Dearie, may I ask where you came from?" Jason swallows nervously as their attention is suddenly drawn to him, their smiles still open and inviting, like aunties scrambling to look at their favorite nephews new child. Though there's something in their gazes now that cause him to feel like he needs to stand a little taller as they question him, "Y-Yes ma'am. Bruce found-" the affronted gasps cause the pup to frown-"What? Did I...did I say something wrong?"

Greta waves a delicate hand. "Oh, of course not! Just...you were found? It makes it seem like you were lost, dear child. Did he not collect you from the adoption agency? He has lots of them due to his mother's bleeding heart-ah, rest her soul of course."

Jason furrows his brow in confusion at the term 'collect'. What is he? A trophy?

"Well, no...he found me on the streets. So, I guess I was kind of lost without him, though I knew my way around them!"

Greta, Dahlia and Grace share a look with each other. The sandy blonde looking him up and down before her eyes land on his tie, her smile returning at the sight of it. "Oh my! Look at this lovely tie, girls, isn't it cute? It has...character to it."

Grace raises a thin brow, "Is this character named Jason? The tie looks about as lost as he does."

It takes a moment for Jason to process the comment, the delivery of it was said so syrupy sweet and complimenting that he chirped happily, his mood souring slightly at the biting remark. "Hey! Bruce and Alfred said I could tie my own tie for tonight and even said it looked great."

Greta clears her throat to get her friends under control, "We only jest with you. This is how we...play around here, you're one of us now, aren't you?" At the boy's quick nodding, her smile returns full force. "There's a good pup! We are only recognizing you as a part of our...pack you could say. And sometimes packs tease each other in good fun, surely you must know this?" Jason looks down ashamed at the memories of his small, very broken pack consisting of just himself, his mom and his dad...there wasn't really any good fun in those times, so he doesn't know how it's supposed to work.

The women practically purr at the downcast look they receive for the specific question, itching forward in excitement as they practically smell the juicy story emanating off the child. "Jason? Why the long stare? Surely it isn't that hard to tell us if you had fun with your biological family."

The pup looks back up at Greta, his throat feeling tight as he tries his best to remain brave, neglecting the urge to look for Bruce.

"I...don't wanna talk about them. Y-You have any other questions?"

Dahlia croons softly at him, "Don't you fret your adorable little head. I'll just state the obvious here: you don't know how a pack works, do you?" She waits for the boy to shake his head, clicking her tongue when he does so. "Well there we have it! You don't know how a pack properly works, and we-as your kind new aunties-just want to make sure you know how it functions. And in packs, you share things about yourself with each other, I mean, you need trust in a family don't you?"

Jason bites his lip. That...is true, isn't it? And he has been working on being more open about his feelings, even the bad ones.

"Y-Yes, you do. But...I don't know h-how."

The three croon to him at the same time, drawing him in closer as they pat his head and back comfortingly.

"There, there, puppy. Being open and honest about these things is healthy and perfectly normal, even if it doesn't seem like it is. Since this question is bothering you so much, why don't we ask where your mommy found you?"

Jason inhales shakily, balling up his pants in his tiny fists as he calms himself. "U-Uhm...B found me in Crime Alley."

Grace looks at him in disgust, "Ew! Who would be in a place like that? And why would our Brucie visit there anyway? That place holds no good memories for him, his parents were murdered there."

Jason feels ashamed from the intense reaction, the womens faces scrunching and curling up in disgust at the place he was born in. I mean, he can understand the aversion to wanting to be there, but do they have to be so...mean about it? However, he remembers Dahlia saying that being honest is normal, even when it seems scary to be so. But since he can't be truthful about the way he was actually found, he'll share a different kind of truth instead.

So, here goes nothing.

"I was born in Crime Alley. B found me on accident when visiting to help the folks down there...and I may have stolen something of his, but-."

The three women gasp, Dahlia literally clutching at her pearls while the other two jump away from him, a sharpness to their eyes that wasn't there before. "You mean...you are a thief? Are you sure you didn't just slip into Bruce's car and by his kindness he kept you?" Dahlia hisses out at him. Grace sniffles and lifts her head high, as if he's no longer worthy enough to look at. "First it was a circus freak and now a street rat? Where does Bruce find such creatures?"

Greta pulls out a handkerchief and wipes her hands on it, her lips curled up in absolute revulsion towards him. "I can't believe I touched it. And here I held out hope that this one was something...more?"

The women continue to insult Jason, causing the boy's eyes to grow watery as he tries to remember to breathe, maybe even apologize for whatever he did. He doesn't want to get sent away if Bruce sees and realizes he didn't make a good impression, he wants to stay, he wants to have this family so badly that it hurts. Nothing is worse than being alone, he'd take as much pain as possible if it doesn't mean being left alone with nothing but himself, and just the thought alone is panic inducing. "I-I wanna...s-stay."

The women turn their gazes towards the pup, their faces morphing into one of fear as they try to quiet him down, their smiles returning as they try to get him to calm down and breath. Their heads swiveling left and right in search of Bruce.

"I-I don't wanna go!"

Jason cries loudly, a sob ripping its way out of his throat as he attempts to wipe away the tears.

His head lifts instinctively in search of Bruce, his nose sniffing frantically for the omega and a whine cutting through the jovial mood and replacing it with the scent of distressed pup. There's only one person he wants right now and he doesn't see him, the memories of his mom clutching onto a pill bottle even in her death assaulting Jason suddenly, why did she leave him? They were supposed to survive together but she left and now Bruce-

Bruce?

Where's Bruce?

Where's-"M-Mommy!"

————°————

Bruce and Clark smile awkwardly at each other as they walk inside, Lois immediately rushing over to them and complimenting her fellow omega for how beautiful Jason is. "Thank you! He really is beautiful, isn't he? But, you do know I didn't actually give birth to him? I can't take credit for creating his beauty."

Lois rolls her eyes and growls at another reporter trying to interrupt them, straightening her deep purple suit jacket when they rush off.

"Why does it matter? He seems like a very sweet kid...and you took that sweetness in and-as far as I'm concerned-cultivated his kindness into something even more. You're good for him and he's perfect for you. Especially since he grew up in Crime Alley, you wouldn't imagine there'd come any good from that, hm?" Bruce blinks in shock at the other omega, "Jason...he told you that himself? That he grew up there?" The woman nods proudly, "Both me and Vicki...but it was a really nice interview. Especially when Vicki was called elsewhere-" she digs around in her inner suit pocket before pulling out a notepad and tape recorder-"Oh yes! I jotted down some extra notes in here and recorded our interview with Alfred's permission. I know how protective you are and thought that you'd like to take a look and listen over these? Contact me when you know what you want to be shared with the public, if anything at all."

Bruce feels his chest warm at the thoughtfulness, surprising even himself as he hands the notepad and recorder back to Lois.

"I...trust that you'll use good judgement? You don't win a Pulitzer for no reason, Ms. Lane."

Purple eyes shine in victory, an omegan call escaping her as she thanks Bruce and immediately gets distracted at Jimmy passing by them looking at his camera, Lois immediately hounding him to show her the money shots.

"Well, I guess you have to go find your son now?"

Bruce looks up at Clark and nods, sniffing the air quickly and smirking at the smell of his pup being around the whole room. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy tried his hand at talking to everyone in the room by himself, but before he can turn to go find his son, the scent of slightly sour milk stings the omega's nose. An ear piercing cry causing Bruce to instinctively turn towards the sound of scared pup, not just any pup, but his own.

"M-Mommy!"

An aggressive snarl is torn from Bruce's throat as he shoves his way past the guests, ignoring the pained cries of anyone unlucky enough to be in the way as he forces his way to where his pup is, his eyes narrowing angrily at the sight of the three women who constantly give him headaches at these sort of events.

"Jason-" Bruce trills-"it's okay, baby, it's okay. Move!"

The three women bare their necks in apology as they slowly back away from the Wayne's pup, the scent of their fear stinking up the room and causing Jason to react worse than before, his small hands squeezing onto Bruce's shirt as he gasps around his words. "D-Dont...go! I'm sorry!" Bruce wraps his arms securely around Jason, the different scents of alpha, beta and omega overwhelming him. His arms wrap tighter around his child as he snarls at the flashing cameras, the room descending into chaos as the media wants good pictures and certain attendees are trying to send out their own soothing scents in response to the smell of a scared pup.

Jason whimpers as someone shouts an inappropriately timed question, that being the last straw for Bruce as his omega takes full control and growls at everyone, even going so far as to start hitting at people in his protective state.

Pretty sure someone's camera broke.

"Get the fuck out of my home!"

The flashes stop suddenly at the sound of a feral and protective omega mother, the crowd has further incentive to keep moving when they see Bruce secure his hold on Jason and squaring his shoulders in preparation to start fighting anyone and everyone still in his nest.

"Mommy, d-don't give me away. I promise t-that I'll be good."

Gentle hands rub at Jason's nape to try and soothe him, his inner omega restless even though there's no one else he senses in his home but Alfred, Bruce whimpering pitifully as he nuzzles the boy's neck. "But you are good, you're so good, Jay. Better than I could have ever asked or hoped for, who told you that you weren't?"

Jason just whimpers and tries to scent Bruce's neck, whining at the equally distressed scent of his mom.

Why can't Bruce calm down? He's failing as a mother. He's just supposed to stay calm long enough to comfort his baby and then he can be furious, but something in him is shaking, snarling and fighting against enemies that aren't even here. His eyes flickering around the room for threats, covering Jason in his scent so no one can find him and take him away-

A strong hand cupping the nape of his neck firmly, but not without kindness, causes Bruce to melt with a whine against his pup.

"D-Dad."

Alfred softly shushes both Bruce and Jason, giving a couple firm rubs to induce the omega's serotonin, gently rumbling to the two and scenting them to soothe not just them, but himself as well. "There you go, Bruce. Will you both be alright while I head into the kitchen to prepare some warm milk?"

Bruce nods and nuzzles Jason, cooing to the pup as he hiccups softly. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll go to my nest, okay?"

Bruce stands up with a slight stumble, petting Jason's fluffy hair softly as he rushes towards the steps, stopping in surprise at the sight of a frazzled Clark Kent, shocked at the fact he doesn't get too defensive at the other man's presence. "C-Clark? Why are you still here?" The beta looks down at Jason worriedly, sighing in relief at seeing the boy seems to be fine for the most part, though his nose twitches at the lingering scents of distress in the air. "I was helping to clear everyone out the house a-and I couldn't help but to stick behind even though I told myself to leave. I'm sorry, Bruce. I-I know that this is crossing some sort of line, but I just needed to see that you both were okay."

Bruce purrs softly in response to Jason shifting around with a whine, his omega not enjoying the fact his baby is feeling intimidated by the alpha, even if it is an alpha he feels comfortable with himself.

This time it's Clark that interrupts Bruce before he can say anything, "Look. Um...you're taking him upstairs, right? I-I don't want to go into your nest, but...can I...geeze-" he cards a shaky hand through his hair-"If it's allowed, may I escort you both to the room? I promise to stay in front so you can see me at all times." It looks like this situation isn't the only one to shake Bruce up, seems like it's startled the poor beta just as much as them.

Bruce slowly nods and gestures towards the staircase, watching cautiously as the man ascends the steps.

He continues to scent his pup with his now relaxed scent, gently massaging Jason's neck to relax the boy more while purring softly and peppering the sweaty face with kisses. "We're almost there, baby. You are so good, no one is taking you away from me, no one at all. You're mine and I'm your's cause we chose each other, and I would never trade that for anything."

Jason squeaks softly against the omega's neck, inhaling the familiar scent desperately as he slumps in Bruce's arms.

"Thank you Clark for making sure we got here safe. I'll just-"

The beta bends forward slowly to open the door for Bruce, his smile embarrassed for crossing into the omega's space again, his voice a quiet rumble as he speaks. "Your hands are full." Bruce hums in response, too tired to pay attention to the familiarity of this interaction as he quickly settles Jason down onto the bed, heading back to the open door and hesitating before closing it softly, a tired but thankful smile gracing his face as he whispers an extremely grateful, "Thank you."

The door softly clicks shut in Clark's face, his mouth hanging wide open as he realizes that Bruce Wayne is Batman.

————°————

It's late into the night, Bruce purring loudly at his pup's now milky and safe smelling scent. He can't find it in himself to sleep after tonight's events, so lying in bed cuddling with his baby it is.

A small, sleepy squeak escapes Jason, the boy twitching in his sleep, only being soothed by Bruce pressing kisses to his cheek and purring even louder. Why is it now that his mind chooses to think about the familiarity Clark Kent gives him, as if he's met him before? His sleep-addled brain sluggishly replaying every interaction between him in Clark, so much so that he starts to drift off to sleep.

However, the way the beta opened the door for him, stuck around for him and the pup, as well as announce that, 'your hands are full', is strangely uncanny to the way Superman stuck around for Richard and-Oh my gosh! Bruce opens his eyes quickly, any trace of exhaustion gone as he comes to the realization that Clark Kent is Superman.

"Hush, pup, I'm right here, it's okay." Bruce croons to the pup he disturbed in his surprised revelation, rubbing the boys back and cocooning the boy tighter into the blankets as he settles down to sleep.

(Here's the Link to Part 1: The Interview. I hope these stories are able to be enjoyed by someone? Either way, you guys are amazing. So please remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛

P.S. The three rich hags views on Jason are not my own personal opinion of those in poverty or otherwise. They were written to be jerks/upsetting, so I hope I achieved my goal? I myself grew up in poverty and it sucks (absolutely would not wish it on my worst enemies), again, I just wrote them in the attempts of what rich people may think sometimes about those with less. Don't be like them guys! Be kind to everyone, okay? Alright, bye bye. 😘💛)

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xmads-omensx · 3 days ago

Text

Part 2

Word Count: 1,724

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: Fake dating, swearing, mentions of mild harassment, mentions of toxic ex

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @chey-h @amelia-acero @thisbicc @dominuslunae @enemiestolovershoe @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp

“So, I’m your boyfriend?” Noah asked, breaking the silence that had overtaken the car as he parked in the McDonald’s car park, McFlurry in hand.

“Yep pretty much.” I responded with a sigh.

A beat of silence returned to the car before Noah’s infectious laugh shattered it. I looked at him, stunned before joining in on his laughter.

In fairness, the situation was hilarious.

I mean, who lies about their best friend being their boyfriend without telling said best friend?

“Okay, okay let’s actually talk about this.” Noah sighed heavily as he tried to stop laughing, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Sure.” I sighed back at him.

“I’m pretending to be your boyfriend so that your evil boss, Stephen, will leave you alone and stop harassing you?” Noah asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep.” I nodded.

“Wow.” He said.

“Yep.” I whispered in response.

“Stop saying ‘yep’.” Noah laughed.

“Why!” I replied with a laugh.

“Because it’s weird.” He said.

“You’re weird.” I replied, feigning irritation.

“Wow.” He said, faking shocked offense.

“Yep.” I replied defiantly.

“I hate you.” Noah shook his head with a laugh.

“I hate you more.” I replied, kissing his cheek like I usually did to thank him.

He smiled at me, making my heart flutter.

No.

Stop that, stupid heart.

“So, do I have to do anything? Or just keep picking you up?” Noah asked.

“Just keep picking me up for now, but make sure you get out of the car to open the passenger door and kiss me or something.” I suggested, waving my hands in front of me as if that helped me explain my point.

“Sounds good.” Noah nodded with a laugh, taking my now empty McFlurry carton from my hands and exiting the car to throw them into the trash.

He got back into the car and drove off in the direction of his house.

It was Wednesday, which meant it was games night and all the rest of the guys would be there.

The drive back was filled with a comfortable silence as I pondered if I had made the right decision by lying to Stephen about Noah, but I didn’t exactly have much of a choice anymore.

Noah seemed to be cool about it, but I couldn’t be sure until we had a proper conversation about it. Admittedly, I felt guilty for cornering him into this situation, but a deeper part of myself was secretly happy about the situation.

Now that was going to be difficult to navigate. I shouldn’t be happy that I forced my best friend into a situation like this, but he didn’t feel like my best friend. He felt like more.

The house was crowded, as it usually was at games night.

We could already hear Folio yelling from outside the house, causing Noah and I to share a look before bursting out into laughter.

“He’s so loud it’s honestly impressive.” Noah commented on his drummer’s antics and lack of volume control.

“You could take a few pointers.” I laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noah said, feigning offense.

“You talk really quietly.” I shrugged, opening the front door.

“Wow.” Noah laughed.

“Stop saying ‘wow’ weirdo.” I said with a giggle.

“No.” Noah replied defiantly.

I simply laughed at him as we entered his house to join the rest of our friends.

Looking to the left, I saw the source of the noise we could hear from outside. Folio and Jolly were tangled up in a game of Twister. A game so intense that Nicholas had stepped in to attempt to separate the two men whilst they argued and accused the other of cheating.

It was nice to see that this games night would be the same level of insanity as it usually is.

As soon as Nicholas had managed to untangle the two idiots, Folio demanded a rematch seeing as Jolly had apparently cheated, when he looked up and saw myself and Noah standing in front of the door.

“You guys are back!” He called out in way of greeting.

“Please make them stop.” Nicholas pleaded, clearly fed up with the bickering between the drummer and the Swede.

“How do you expect us to do that?” Noah asked.

“I don’t care how you do it, or what you do, just please make them stop.” Nicholas begged a second time, squeezing my bicep to further demonstrate his urgency.

Noah simply chuckled and walked to the kitchen, grabbing two water bottles and handing me one of them.

I offered him a smile in thanks.

“So how was work?” Jolly asked once we had sat down on the sofa.

“The usual.” I sighed with a shrug, the rest of the guys knew about Stephen and his antics and all despised him. In fact, Folio had even told me that he once prayed that he would get hit by a car on the way to work, which had lightened my mood after a particularly gruelling shift.

“Stephen causing your problems again?” Matt asked.

“Yep.” I sighed, making the rest of the guys groan obnoxiously.

“She even had to tell him we’re dating, and that still didn’t do much to deter him. Even when she kissed me.” Noah said with a smirk.

“WHAT!” The guys erupted in unison.

“Noah!” I shouted at the same time.

“What? We’re just going to act like it never happened.” Noah shrugged.

Irritatingly, he made a good point. There was no point hiding this from the guys. Besides, it would probably just make it more complicated in the long-run.

The guys all turned to look at me expectantly, making me sigh.

“Stephen wouldn’t leave me alone, so I had no choice but to pretend that Noah was my boyfriend.” I explained.

“So you kissed him!” Matt shouted.

“Well, she had to sell it somehow.” Noah added in my defence with a shrug.

The guys stared at us in a shocked and disbelieving silence until Nicholas spoke up.

“So let me get this straight, you and Noah are going to fake date to get your evil, slimy, greasy, gross, disgusting boss to stop hitting on you and harassing you at work?” He asked.

“Yep.” Noah and I both responded in unison.

“And this benefits Noah how?” Nicholas asked, leaving me confused.

“Benefits Noah?” I queried.

“Yeah. I mean, from what I gather, this arrangement benefits you since it gets good old Stephen off of your back, but Noah doesn’t get anything out of it.” Nicholas went on before pausing, a look of realisation crossing his delicate features. “Does this have anything to do with she who must not be named?”

An awkward silence consumed the room as everyone looked down, making me confused.

“Who?” I asked, looking at Noah.

He didn’t say anything, but pulled me up from my seat and guiding me upstairs to his bedroom.

Part of me was nervous about what Noah was going to tell me, but I was mad at the same time. I felt betrayed. How could he have not told me something that was , based on the guys’ reactions, very bad.

My heart raced with fear and anticipation as Noah closed his bedroom door behind us, before turning around and placing his hands on my shoulders and directing me to sit on his bed.

Noah followed suit and sat beside me, crowing his legs before he turned to face me.

“Do you remember that girl I was with like, I think three tours ago? Grace?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said, nodding.

“Well, we have kind of had this off and on thing ever since. She wanted commitment, I didn’t, so I ended it.” He explained, not quite able to meet my eyes yet. “But she’s been kind of, I guess following me around since? She comes to parties she isn’t invited to and scares off women I’m talking to, regardless of if I’m flirting with them or not. She’s just making my life very difficult right now.”

“So why didn’t you say anything to me?” I asked, still hurt he had never mentioned it to me before.

“Honestly, I didn’t want you to fight with her, because I knew you would. I love that you defend me, but she already hates you enough.” Noah explained.

“She hates me?” I asked, slightly hurt despite the fact that I barely knew her at all.

“I don’t get it either.” Noah went on. “She has no reason to hate you, you’re literally incredible.”

I smiled at the compliment, but was still unsure of how to react to this new information.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” I asked again.

“It just felt like a stupid thing to tell you, I don’t know.” Noah finished.

“Noah, you can tell me anything, you know this.” I said, rubbing his arm gently.

“I know, it just felt weird seeing as Grace hates you.” He laughed.

“But I tell you all about everything, so why should that matter?” I asked, still trying to understand Noah’s thought process.

“I don’t know, okay Y/N. I just didn’t tell you.” Noah sighed, frustrated.

“Fine.” I sighed.

“Good.” Noah replied.

“Can you at least explain why this would help you out, just so we’re on the same page?” I asked.

“If you and I date, she will back off for a bit. I just need space to breathe.” Noah said, clearly relieved that I had stopped pushing for an answer on why he didn’t tell me.

“Stephen backs off, and Grace backs off.” I finished.

“Exactly.” Noah agreed.

Something felt missing from this conversation. Like we were forgetting to talk about something.

“We need ground rules.” Noah suggested.

“Agreed.” I nodded my head.

“No dating other people while this arrangement is going. We don’t want to confuse things.” Noah began.

I nodded, humming in agreement. It wasn’t like I was going to be with anyone else any time soon.

“As far as anyone is concerned, outside of the guys, we are together. Friends, family, coworkers. They all must believe that we are together.” Noah added.

I agreed.

“No PDA outside of what is completely necessary.” He suggested.

I nodded.

“If either of us catch feelings for the other, this ends.” Noah finished.

I hesitated before agreeing.

Something was telling me that this rule was going to be a lot harder to follow.

#bad omens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian #fanfic #noah sebastian bad omens #noah bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #just for tonight #just for tonight noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfic #fake dating #noah sebastian fake dating

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captainlunaxmen · 3 days ago

Text

Dragon's Healer

Chapter 3

Daemyra x female!reader

Dark!Aemond x fem!reader

This chapter is shorter, mostly in preparation for the next one... which is going to be hard...

Chapter summary: Viserys' death creates more plots than expected

Chapter wantings: none in particular, maybe being locked, threat of forced marriage.

Tag list

@k1ttybean

@tojisrealwifey

@sinarainbows

I walk quickly to my chambers, I can't help the feeling of being watched, the way Aemond talked to me was anything but sweet. Almost terrifying.

I close the door as quietly as possible, hoping to finally get some proper rest, I couldn't even leave with Rhaenyra and Daemon, I did promise Alicent to stay with her.

"Why being so sneaky, my love?" Daemon's voice startles me.

"Shit!" I exclaim and put my hand to my chest to calm my heartbeat.

"Hey..." he says softly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I say immediately, "nothing, where's Rhaenyra?"

"She fell asleep... a lot happened today." He walks closer, "love, is something wrong?"

"No, of course not." I chuckle.

"What did he say to you?" He asks, turning serious.

"Nothing, my love." I say, not meeting his eyes, focusing more on my dress, eager to just take it off and get some sleep.

I can sense him considering me for a moment before he stops my movement, gently making me turn to look at him.

"You're not staying here." He firmly tells me, I let out a deep sigh, turning away from him again.

"I promised Alicent." I say, sitting to take off my shoes.

"Like I give a fuck about that bitch." He scoffs, "you're not staying here."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much." I snap back, catching myself remembering Rhaenyra's sleeping not far from where we are, I lower my voice, "I can handle whatever crush he might think he has."

"Oh... so I was right, wasn't I?" He smirks, but the clench in his jaw tells me his demeanor is far from playful.

"Yes, fine... you were right." I wave him off, "but it's simply a crush, Daemon, I can handle it."

"Well, I'm not comfortable with you staying here on your own." He says firmly.

"Gods, Daemon!" I whisper yell at him, standing to face him properly, "I'm not a child anymore."

"Exactly." He says, softly. "You're a woman. You're my woman, and it's my duty to protect you."

"I don't need protection here, Daemon." I take his hands, "you taught me how to defend myself, do you not trust your own teaching?" I tease him, to ease his nerves.

"Oh, I trust them very much, I simply don't trust the snakes inhabiting this castle." He makes me hug him, so our faces are closer.

"I know, my love, but I gave my word." I say firmly, "I'm staying. Stop worrying."

He sighs, he kisses me then looks mw dead in the eyes.

"If I hear... that something happened... I will burn each one on them. You hear me?" He tells me.

"I do." I give his lips a peck, "I know you will."

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

I managed to sneak into my chambers before someone could notice me sounding the night with the Princess and her husband. We said our goodbyes before they left too.

I also managed to get some more sleep before a bad feeling woke me up suddenly.

I decide to just sit by the window and take some time to think. I feel like something wrong, but I can't seem to put a finger on it.

It could be the conversation with Aemond yesterday, but it doesn't seem to be all.

There's some tension in the air too, I look out the window, down to the stairs, there's no one. It's empty.

My eyes catch movement, I quickly look up noticing I can see Rhaenys' chamber from mine. She too is looking out and she too looks tense.

We lock eyes. There's some warning in hers, she even motions me to look down, to pay attention. Like on cue, people start to walk down those stairs, taken somewhere by the guards.

I look up at Rhaenys again.

"Check your doors." She tells me, a sense of dread invades my body as I immediately rush to the doors. I try to open them.

Locked.

I rush back to the window.

"Locked." I tell her, "what's going on?"

"I have my theories... and I think you'll agree." She says, with heavy tone.

I nod and look down one last time, and when I notice Rhaenys is not there anymore I go back to the doors, giving it another shot at opening them.

I push and pull with all my strength, but unfortunately it definitely, definitely locked.

"Fuck." I curse. I go to my own luggage and look through my things. I must have something to help me open the doors.

Something must've happened to the king. It's the only explanation I can think of. But those people being moved somewhere... something worse is happening.

I stop my movements as I hear the doors opening. Finally.

I turn around, my eyes landing on Alicent, and her look is enough to explain everything to me.

"Lady Y/n." She says, I can hear the grief in her voice.

"Your highness..." I nod, "don't tell me."

"I'm afraid I can't accommodate you." She says, she tries to keep a strong appearance as she gets closer, taking my hands, "lady Y/n, I have a favour to ask."

I see her desperation, I squeeze her hands to reassure her.

"Anything." I say softly.

"I... I'm..." she stutters, "I'm here to ask your support."

"My... support?" I ask, the dreadful sensation is back, so I retreat my hands.

"Your support for Aegon's claim to the throne." She finally says.

"Aegon..? What... what are you talking about?" I say putting distance between us.

"Y/n, please..."

"No." I shake my head, "what..?"

"It was Viserys' wish." Alicent states.

I look at her, shocked, I don't believe her words. It can't be.

"I don't believe you." I say.

"It's true." She insists, walking to me, forcefully grabbing my hands, "please, you have-"

"I don't have to do anything." I grit out, "you want to usurp Rhaenyra's birthright. Are you listening to yourself? That's your father's idea, isn't it?"

"Y/n, in memory of our past friendship, I'm asking you for help." She squeezes my hands, almost scared I could run away, "your marriage to Aemond wou-"

"What?! Marriage?" I finally get my hands free from her grasp and once again distance myself, "I'm not marrying your son. And especially, I'm not supporting an usurper."

Alicent collects herself, takes a deep breath and fixes her dress.

"I'm..." she clears her throat, "I'm sorry, I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice."

I look at her confused, not having the faintest idea of what's going through her mind.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, putting myself on guard.

"The wedding will take place after Aegon's coronation, I'm sure we could find a dress that will fit you." She says, emotionless. I scoff, loudly.

"Why are you so adamant to make me marry your son?" I ask, "is this a way to make your children love you?"

"It's a good way to show your support in front of the people." She explains.

"I will not be used to support, basically, a robbery." I say, walking to stand in front of her, "I'm not a pawn in your conspiracy."

"You leave me no choice, Y/n." She whispers, forcing herself to move back to the door.

"You always had a choice, Alicent." I tell her before she exit the room. Having it locked. I could hear her say something to a guard, probably to stay put and not letting me leave.

"Fuck." I curse as I pace around the room, trying to find a solution, and maybe not to panic. I want to hit myself for not listening to my bad feelings about Aemond, and for not leaving with Rhaenyra.

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

I don't know exactly how long it's been since I've been locked in my chambers, I haven't seen Rhaenys either at the window, I don't if she was let out or not.

Maybe the moment they let me out for the wedding I can take the chance and run. Unlikely. Too many guards. Also, I can't wait that long.

I look out the window for the millionth time probably, and it's still to high for me to jump.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I mutter under my breath, "why haven't the gods gifted me with wings?"

It's dark outside, if I manage to get out I could easily escape, but I need to exit this room first.

"Fuck!"

Before I can start to panic again, the commotion from outside my chambers startles me. I move closer to the doors, cautiously, to get a glimpse of what might be happening when suddenly the door opens and one of the twins of the King's guard enters, cloak in hand.

"Come, lady Y/n. We don't have much time." He tells me handing me the cloak, I take it confused.

"What... what's going on?" I ask, and in that moment Rhaenys comes into my view.

"Ser Erryk is helping us." She says.

I nod and put the cloak on and follow them out, noticing as I walk out the passed out guard near the doors.

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

Morning comes rather quickly as we walk through King's Landing.

"I won't leave Meleys" the Princess declares, "if I could get to the Dragon pit, then..."

"No." Erryk is quick to shut her plan down, "they'll expect you there, princess. You won't get past the gates."

"He's right." I agree, "he's right, and we can't risk losing you like this. Meleys knows you're not abandoning her, and they won't lay a hand on her for sure."

She looks at me, sadness filling her eyes. I can't understand the bond between a dragon and its rider, but I can understand it's strong. I gently take her arm and lead her with Ser Erryk, letting her squeeze me to get some comfort.

"Come, you must make for the riverfront and find a ship. Before they know you've gone." Erryk explains and I nod my head in understanding.

As we walk through the stroll of the city we hear guards screaming, ordering people to move. A sea of people almost surrounding us, we try to find another way, Erryk takes our hands to safely lead us away, but the amount of people pushing and walking separate us.

"Stay close to me." Rhaenys tells me, grabbing my arm painfully tighter. I don't intend on losing her here among the people so I ignore the pain. I try to look back and see if I can catch a glimpse of the Knight, but he's too far and too stuck to get to us.

We have no choice but to follow the people.

"Where are we going?" I ask and Rhaneys looks up and around.

"Dragon pit." She says, I looked at her, sensing the determination in her and I sigh.

"The coronation..." I say, "well... maybe we can use the distraction then."

"Indeed."

So we walk with the rest of the people towards the Dragon Pit. Once we get there almost the entire building is filled with people, curious to hear what happened, what the news is.

"People of King's Landing." Otto's voice resound inside, "today is the saddest of days. Our beloved king, Viserys the Peaceful, is dead" everyone in the audience lets out sad and surprised noises, but Otto continues, "but it is also the most joyous of days, for as his spirit left us, "I roll my eye, always the theatrical one, "he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon should succed him.

I sigh and look at Rhaneys, her having the same confused look as me. The audience is just as confused, but eventually starts to applause while the guards enter, creating a path for Aegon to walk through.

I take an attentive look at him, he seems nervous, almost reluctant too. One thing was certain: he himself didn't ask for it. Though, I'm afraid of what power could do to him. What scares me the most is how easily his dear Grandfather could manipulate him.

"It's our chance." I feel Rhaenys pulling me to the sideand down the stairs to where the dragons are kept.

Not being very familiar with the place I let the princes lead me down and once we get to Meleys I can't help but freeze.

"Come." She tells me as she gets ready to ride her dragon.

"I..." I stutter a little, "is that okay? Will she be okay with me riding with you?"

"You sell yourself short, my lady." She tells me, "you got an affiliation with dragons, they can feel it. Now come, we have no time to waste."

I take a deep breath as I follow her up on her dragon.

"Let's go, Meleys, fly." She orders in Old valyrian and her dragon immediately complies, "hold tight."

The dragon takes off and I close my eyes waiting to be out of the caves... out in the Dragon pit.

The dragon's roar is mixed with screams of terror from the people taken by surprise as they run to safety.

I open my eyes, I look down the the royal family standing there.

"Open the doors!" Otto screams.

"We have to go." I tell her.

She doesn't respond, only stares at them. I loom down again, my eyes catch Aemond's. He looks furious, hurt too, but there's something more sinister in him now, something that makes my skin crawl.

I see Alicent stand in front of Aegon, expecting Rhaenys to burn them all. Instead Meleys only roars loudly, making them tremble in fear, then she turn around and flies out.

To Dragonstone.

#hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd aemond #hotd daemon #hotd imagine #dark!aemond #daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #daemyra x reader #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader

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