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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years ago

Text

Away. So, so far away.

"There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever".

Pairing/s: Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

There's 2 alternative endings, a "choose your own adventure" kind of thing.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: angst. God, believe me, this is so fucking sad. Sorry about that. Some fluff, implied smut, Odin and Frigga's A+ parenting (/s). Thor being a little bitch. Reader not wanting kids.

Total word count: 16,3K (this was supposed to be an oneshot???)

Chapter word count: 4,6K

If you had to choose the best outcome from working with the Avengers (or, more specifically, under the economic decisions of Tony Stark), it had to be the hotels he chose for the team on the missions.

The rooms were always a bliss —you would’ve never gone to such fancy places if it were up to you. You didn’t think it was worth the money at all, and you didn’t fit into the overpriced lifestyle of those who loved the five-stars everything.

But your work was something you had to do, and, let’s say the comfortable beds, big bathrooms and incredibly talented chefs making your breakfast wasn’t something you had to work hard for you to enjoy.

And now, as your sore muscles ached and your fogged head went everywhere and anywhere, you thanked greatly to be able to be there that night. Peaceful. Tranquility washing over your back in the form of drops of water.

The mirror was covered with steam and a curtain blocked your way, but you still noticed the tall figure of Loki peeping in. You heard his clothes being dropped on the floor and you kept on putting soap over your shoulders, as if he wasn’t there. You were so, so tired, you didn’t even realize that the shower was a little bit too hot for your lover. It even was too hot for you, too.

“Damn”, he gasped as he flinched away from the water. You woke up from your daydreaming and immediately turned the cold water on. The mixture of them formed a perfectly tepid temperature you both could tolerate. You learnt the hard way Loki showered on such cold water your lips would turn blue. “You alright, dear?”, he asked from behind you.

“Yeah, a little tired, not more”.

“You need some rest, take the day off tomorrow, would you?”, he purred on your ear with his hands on your shoulders, giving you a soft massage. His hands moved up to your hair, and he soon began cleaning it himself. He loved to do that for you, and you loved to feel his long fingers caress your scalp, the soap running down your body, the shampoo smell staining his own skin and leaving the shower smelling the same.

“I have to finish this mission up”, you mumbled. “But once we’re back to the compound you bet we’re taking a day off together. You must be tired too”.

“Not that much, but I can’t deny a day off with you”, you felt him smile, even though you weren’t facing him. You knew how and when he smiled; you memorized the curve of his lips and every situation it would curve. His smile did things to you. “You know I don’t get tired off of these things”.

“Yeah, it’s almost like you’re a God or something”.

You both laughed softly. He gently pulled your head back and cleaned off the shampoo. He kissed your temples, all the way down to the nape of your neck, and kept kissing each protuberance of the spine, bone by bone, as if missing one would make it feel left out. As if every inch of you, every single bit of you, deserved the same praise and the same love —it did. He made sure you knew that.

“It’ll be all over soon”, he promised in a whisper. You sighed.

“Don’t worry, my love. It will pay off”, you assured him. You turned around to face his furrowed brows. Standing in your tiptoes, you reached his forehead and planted a kiss where his frown disappeared as if by magic. “Now it’s my turn to wash your hair”. He smiled and kneeled before you, so you could reach his head.

You shampooed and conditioned his hair slowly and silently. He closed his eyes, not letting you know he was overthinking about everything he was making you do, and how much he appreciated you doing it.

“You know…”, he murmured, his deep voice almost getting mistaken by a groan if it weren’t for the clearly spoken words, “we could stop all of this, if you see it… surpassing your limitations”.

He opened his eyes and raised his head to meet yours. Those puppy eyes of his. You scoffed.

“Limitations?”, you cocked an eyebrow and smirked teasingly.

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

“You know you’re a weakie”, he said jokingly, emphasizing on how bad that word described you at his gaze. “Now, seriously. I’m aware it’s a lot. A lot, lot”.

“Love, you don’t have to keep worrying about it. I accepted because I love you so, so much. Some even could say too much”, you caressed the back of his head and sank your fingers in between the curled strands. “I may not agree with it ideologically, but I can make a little sacrifice if that means being with you for the rest of my life. And, for the record, it’s not as much as you think”.

He didn’t say anything else to that. He simply smiled again, pressed lips in the tiniest curve, as if repressing it would make it last longer, and let you wash the conditioner off him.

You could do very well with a day off, though. Between the missions that seemed to never stop and only get worse week by week, and the infinite amount of trials you had to go through by the Asgardian royals, you thought you may pass out any time soon.

The trials… ah, the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. And that was not little to say, for you had fought freaking aliens and helped supersoldier’s wounds to heal in a matter of seconds with Stark’s subdermic nanotech.

Loki had a possibility, a chance to have everything he ever wanted to have, and he could’ve taken it. They said ‘you can have the throne now’, as if it had always been that easy, and he didn’t take it right away, as if it hadn’t been the thing he most wanted.

“The thing I most want, little darling, is you”, he told you when he explained what had happened.

And you swore he was about to propose —he almost took off a damn ring off his pocket. But he didn’t, and instead, he related carefully and detailedly what had to happen before he could marry you, if he were to get the throne. You had to show your in-laws you were a good companion for the King.

And that sucked. Why did it matter so much? You loved him and he loved you, and he was going to be a great King. That was all that mattered for both of you. But the conditions were very clear, and had no room for argument. And you wouldn’t let Loki give up his unfulfilled wish to rule the realms, nor would he give it up now that he had the chance.

So there you were, balancing between the missions and the trials. Which were very sexist, in fact. Who would’ve thought royals and Gods would be so conservative? You laughed. They varied between many housekeeping duties, archery, Asgard’s history, a lot of politics, the cooking and baking of different Asgardian treats, and a lot of those idiotic kind of trainings of putting books over your head and walking in heels. They said they had to transform an avenger into royalty, and you almost laughed in their face. Loki did.

It was impossible you'd ever actually become who they wanted you to change into. A submissive and silent companion, not possessing any other ability than smiling politely and attending your husband's needs? You were so incredibly far from even being like that, that not even Strange could see a reality in where you'd do it.

But you could pretend. You passed the first dozen trials, and passed them well. Odin had started growing a certain liking to your attitude, much unlike Frigga, who was increasingly repulsed by it. She was trying her best in transforming you, a lost cause in her eyes, into whatever she found fitting to accompany her younger son.

"Your mother's idea of a 'good' partner is very different from mine", you said over a glass of wine, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. Loki was sitting over the counter reading a book. He closed it over his lap and marked the page with a wooden spoon that was on handy.

"Mine too", he sighed. "She doesn't see that you already are perfect".

"I don't think she'd see me with your eyes".

"You must remember she was raised to be the princess that would someday marry Odin. She has no other view of marriage than… changing the true self. Much as she taught me shapeshifting, we have all learnt different ways to hide underneath a veil of lies and deceiving".

You took in his sincere words and went back to silence for a while. He didn't go back to his book, instead, he looked at you. He wanted to know what you were thinking about, but asking felt like an intrusion of some sort. You looked back at him, an invitation to ask. He then asked,

"How do you feel about it?".

You nodded with no reason to nod. Pressed your lips in a line, a smile that wouldn't form just yet. Not for this.

"I sincerely don't know", you finally said. He hummed. "I love you, that's all I know. My perception of marriage doesn't mean giving everything and everyone up. But again, in my perception of marriage I never thought I would actually marry a prince. I know this is how it is. I know this is what has to be done".

"It doesn't", he jumped off the counter and surrounded your waist with his arms, resting his head on your shoulder. "Love, this can be solved. I don't want you to resign everything and everyone. This is not how it has to go if you don't like it. Say the word. Say the word and…", he sighed.

"And you'll resign your everything and everyone?", you chuckled.

"You're my everything and everyone, I wouldn't be resigning anything I don't already have".

"Liar. You want this", you said almost in a whisper. Turning around to face him, you cupped his face and kissed his chin. "You can have it. I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel guilty".

"I have reasons to feel that way".

"I'm just being dramatic".

"You're not".

"I really am", you assured him. Love sometimes was protecting him from your thoughts. Love sometimes was waking up from a nightmare where he died and not telling him about it. Love sometimes was not worrying him and lying. Or was it? Were you protecting him or were you creating a demon? "This is your big chance. Do I have a big chance here? I don't. My big chance so far has been being by your side. You make me blindly happy. I don't care if I have to change some things to please your parents, we both know I wouldn't actually change. We can see underneath the acting. You know me".

"I know you enough…", he started saying, with no need to finish it. I know you enough to know you don't want this.

"Let's have dinner", you smiled, and he kissed your forehead.

Love sometimes was accepting, he thought. Accepting you didn't want to talk about it that much. Love sometimes was sharing time. Sharing that glass of wine while sharing moments in the kitchen. Sharing the dinner you cooked together. Sharing time. Sharing. And this… Loki knew he wasn't sharing. He was taking his chance and making you go through it without you wanting it. But you shared —your life, your motivations, your fears, most of your thoughts. And you shared your thoughts about it, yet he could sense that wasn't all. You were keeping some worries to yourself, and that was what preoccupied him the most.

In the training room, you avoided Thor’s blasts and threw your daggers, trying to practice over the little things the Queen had taught you. Loki observed from afar, not wanting to distract you. He stared proudly, knowing who he was going to marry. It was not bad at all.

You had started liking that part of the training. You catched interest for Asgard’s history, politics, and the trainings of archery and dagger-fighting. You grew fonder of the idea of living in his Palace, and, to him, nothing sounded better than you calling him my King in front of everyone. But, whatever would come for the future, would come brightly.

You weren’t closer with Thor than with any other Avenger. And you weren’t exactly friends with anyone. You got along pretty well. Tony Stark liked your fierce personality, and laughed at the contrast between your bitterness in the field to your kind essence in any other situation.

Steve Rogers constantly pointed out how hilarious it was that someone like you would end up with someone like Loki. Both took it personal —Loki thought it was an offence to him, “how could someone as caring and sweet as you end up with that mass murderer”. You thought it was an offence to you, “how could someone as dull and incompetent as you end up with a literal God”.

Natasha Romanoff… She didn’t talk much. But, unlike James, she didn’t even try to communicate. James was interesting, and you were sure you would call him a friend, someday. He wasn’t very talkative, but he was always there. Always laughed at your jokes. He memorized your coffee order. He liked the same shows you did and watched them with you, in silence. He was quiet, but his actions spoke to you much more than any other Avenger. Although, James “Bucky” Barnes, was not an Avenger. Much like Loki. He was just there, he was always helping.

“How are the trials?”, asked Thor, avoiding one of your daggers without much effort. You weren’t actually good at it. Thor had learnt to avoid them for the last thousand years.

“I have a week left, and then it’s done. I think I’m doing pretty good”, you said, hiding your exhaustion. Thor was barely moving and you couldn’t catch up to him as much as you tried. He laughed when you fell, and helped you up, only to blast you again with a tiny electric wave, that at that point you felt no more than a tingling sensation.

“My son”, heard Loki from behind him. He turned around and made a small reverence to her. She smiled and stood by his side, observing you too. “I see their determination”.

“Nothing better for a King’s companion, yes?”, he said, proud dripping off his words. Frigga rolled her eyes and nodded. She wasn’t amused that Loki, from all the choices he had, had chosen a dull midgardian to follow him for less than a century. And then he’d had to choose again. Hopefully, someone who would live longer than a damn heartbeat.

“We ought to have a little talk, boy”, she finally said, and Loki’s heart tightened with nervousness. Very few people managed to get him that nervous over a couple of words. “Join me to a more… private space”.

They walked in silence until his room seemed like the best option. Room was a formal way to call it, for it was huge as an apartment. You both had managed to make a standardized-looking studio apartment into a cozy space, decorated with care and dedication. It was obvious Loki’s good taste and your inherent warmth had a big role on the decorations.

Frigga roamed around the room, observing the hung pictures and passing a finger through the white Christmas lights. She stopped at a particular photograph of Loki and you ice skating. He was carrying you as if you were a feather-weight doll, your seemingly cold hands wrapping his blue neck. Frigga stared at the actions developing at that moment. Under your cold touch, he was half transformed in his Jötun form, completely comfortable. You looked at his eyes with a glimmer that Frigga knew it to be the same Loki looked at you with. You were both laughing, and he seemed to have carried you up bridal style only to tease you into throwing you into a snow pile.

“Mother?”, Loki pulled her off of her thoughts. She turned around. “You wished to talk about something”.

“You seem… in love”, she murmured under a confusing expression. Despite Loki’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t figure out if his mother was repressing a smile or holding back a frown of sadness. Perhaps both.

“I am, mother”, he admitted, appearing a mug of tea in her hand and inviting her to sit on one of the couches. “If I must be sincere with you, as I always have been, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way for anyone”.

“For a mortal, Loki…”, she sighed and sipped her tea. “You know what will happen now. You’re so… attached”.

“As attached as you are to Father, not as one is to a puppy pet”, he clarified.

“But much more like a puppy pet, they’ll live less than a quarter of your life. Much less. In fact, you’ll blink twice and you’ll be by an empty space on your bed, my dear”.

“I certainly hope you’re getting to a point here”, he scoffed. He’s had this conversation countless times before, and his mother never gave in.

“There is this last thing in the trials…”, she said, raising her eyebrows and getting up to pace around the room once again, barely watching over the decens of good moments in pictures you had displayed on the wall. “One thing that has to be surely not optional”.

Loki sipped on his own tea, looking out the window. He watched the spider boy try the man of iron’s flying boots and crush against a window. It was a much better thing to have his mind on, than in what his mother had just implied.

He didn’t realize it, but a few tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and he had to swallow harder to speak his mind. The implication alone of what that meant… he knew all of this would crumble under his touch. Sooner or later, he would have to make a choice, and he’d choose the wrong thing.

Both options were the wrong thing. There was no way out. There was no right path to follow.

“There has to be a way out of this question. Of this decision”, he hurried. His mother chuckled.

“Given your reaction, son, it doesn’t sound like there’s much to decide. It’s an answered question, and we all know it”.

“Yet you thought it wise to pull them through all of these trials, all of these…”, his lips trembled, and he had to stop to take a breath. “To rouse us with the illusion of the better life we always dreamed of?”.

“I had warned you about it, Loki. There is no us in your daydream for the throne. And much less with a short-lived being such as a midgardian. I had warned you”, she repeated, and rage boiled on Loki’s veins.

“Why is it that everytime I get a glimpse of what a good future could look like, it gets destroyed before it arrives?!”, he lost his temper, raising his voice. The tea fell to the carpeted floor and he didn’t even look at it. Frigga didn’t flinch, and walked closer to him. She gave him an arm-length grab on his shoulders that was supposed to calm him down.

“Hush, little boy… this is for…”, she tried to soothe the wound she opened, but he interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“For my own good? Were you going to say that, Frigga?”, he hissed. His mother dropped the arms. She didn’t like when he called her by name. It implied things he had implied before, and were no less true than what he felt like. Apart. Away. “And must I remind you I’m not a little boy you need to protect and make decisions for? This is ridiculous. I’m given, once again, the illusion of the choice”.

“Oh, Loki, when have I ever given you a golden apple you couldn’t actually reach?”, she folded her arms, furrowing her brows. “I’ve taught you magic so you could be unstoppable. I’ve raised you equally, despite your roots. I’ve…”, she enlisted, and Loki’s chest hurt so tightly he thought he’d finally die. He couldn’t speak. “I’ve left everything to your reach. Your arm just wasn’t long enough. You could’ve stretched it further, yet you decided to go for another apple, and that, my son, is not our fault”.

Loki sat on the floor, and she stayed standing. The height difference that would always make her look up at him was now gone, dissolved as the confidence Loki had gathered in the past few years he’s been living in Midgard, away from all of those words. Away from what he considered at some point, the truth. And you weren’t there to hug him and squeeze the lies away —it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, he repeated himself like a machine. It wasn’t true, although it felt so much like it.

“Loki? You haven’t said a word in…”, she began saying, rotting her patience of steel.

“What would you like me to say?”, he asked, blinking some tears away. He got up, not letting her see how much smaller he felt now. Words are just words. “Perhaps you could facilitate me with a script, so I would never wrong my path again, yes?”, he spat sarcastically.

“Oh, son. You musn’t…”.

“Take this personally, I’m aware. Now, if you excuse me, my beloved will come from training any time soon now, and it would be very unpleasant for you to come across them and have to greet them, right? So I’d suggest we wrap up our little chat and you go… Queen around”.

“Now, you’re being just rude. I wouldn’t wish you to fail in anything”.

“I’ve never said that. You said that I’m just too… incompetent to reach, the apples, was it? Were you talking about Iduna’s or was it a metaphor for all the things you’ve taken from me?”.

“You’re putting words in my mouth”.

“You’re right. You’ve never taken anything from me. You’ve never given them in the first place. You’ve only put them near, so I could want them enough, and then give them to your real son”.

“You’re my son, too. You’re a real son, too, Loki”, she extended her palms for him to grab, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned around.

“Excuse me. I must have misunderstood”.

“You certainly did”.

“Perhaps it’s because I live in a world of illusions, and I’m forgetting what’s real and what’s not”.

She nodded, hiding impatience. Without saying another word, she teleported away, disappearing behind a veil of yellow lights, like a flame surrounding and consuming her.

Loki dropped to the floor again, and inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled, inhaled…

“Love?”, you asked, dropping your water bottle on the table without unlocking your eyes from him. You kneeled next to him immediately. “Love, what’s happening? Are you bad?”.

If he wasn’t in such a state, he would’ve laughed at the comparison of what caring for the other meant in your eyes and his family’s.

He didn’t let you see his face —torn apart, wet with cold tears that solidified to the touch of his skin, the blue form that couldn’t hide when he was too upset, or too broken, like he was right then.

He sank in your arms, hugging you as tightly as he allowed himself to. Grasping for your touch, for you to never leave him, for your soul to never leave your body and stay with him for the rest of his life.

His mother was right, he thought. He was all she said he was, and that hurt him. But it stung him even more when he knew how right she was about his short-lived being beloved. He was going to pull away from your hug and you would take a few more breaths, and that was it. And your worried face, frowning your expression as you couldn’t see what had taken over his lover this time, would become cold as marble.

“Please, please—I can’t live without you, not like this—not anymore”, he sobbed over your neck, sinking deeper into the embrace you would oh so tightly hold and hold —you wouldn’t let him go, not ever, not if you had the chance to. And Loki knew you would actually do it. He’d lose you because you would never agree to that, and with good reason.

“You don’t have to, I’m not leaving. I’m here, Loki. I’m here, love, and you’re alright. Deep breaths, breathe with me, love, come, breathe with me”, you helped him calm down, rubbing big circles on his back, your palms open and warm trying to cover the immensity of him compared to you.

There wasn’t a single moment where he could forget how fragile you were. How different your life span was compared to his —he wanted to give you all of his enormity, all of the years that wore too big on his bland and heavy life.

He couldn’t keep you by his side forever.

He could, on the other hand, keep you as far as he could manage to.

He was already stable, now. You cuddled him on the couch, weighted blanket surrounding his body, a few ice cubes inside a bag for his forehead and neck —you knew it would always make him feel less pushed, keeping his Aesir form costed an extra amount of energy he sometimes couldn’t handle to bare— and your hand kept brushing his hair, braiding it, letting him know he was safe.

He opened his eyes and there you were —an angel, a healer caring for his wounds. He sighed at your sight, and embarrassed himself for even thinking about it. No, no. Of course he would choose you. He would never choose the throne if he had to give you up. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

“Don’t be”, you assured.

“I… I have to ask”.

“Tell me”.

And so he asked,

“Would you, ever, at any given point of your life, want to have a child with me?”.

You stayed silent. You looked at him, every bit of his face, every expression that would tell you what he was actually thinking about. Why was he asking this now? After all of this? He knew the answer, why would he bring it up again?

And then it hit you.

“Your Mother was here”, you lowered your gaze. Your legs started bouncing.

“She was”.

“This is a condition”.

“It is”.

“Heir”.

“Not more and not less”.

“What will we do?”, you asked, raising your eyebrows. As you looked for Loki’s eyes to be wet, to have any emotion of regret, they weren’t. He was hiding them very well.

“We will stay here. No more trials. No more boring royal things for you to learn”.

“This can’t be possible”, you frowned in concern. “Loki, this is the thing you most want. You can’t give it up for this”.

“For what? For being with the love of my life? I certainly can and will”, he smiled. It was a sad smile, you noticed. His eyes couldn’t hide what his lips tried to. He noticed you didn’t believe him. “We’ve talked about this over and over. I will bargain more. But as for now, I can see the most likely option will be this one. I propose we get comfortable. You once talked about a house by the mountains and cats, right?”.

“Don’t change the topic, mister”, you frowned and he laughed. You hugged him tightly, and murmured in his ear “are you sure you want this?”.

“So, so sure, my little darling”.

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

Part 3 of the disowning fic where Sirius calls Reg and Remus tells James (with Sirius’ permission ofc) and when Walburga calls Reg, he rips into her like never before. James rushing to Sirius’ house and basically having to be restrained from going to her house with Reg in tow.

Hopefully that makes sense. Sorry it’s probably really badly phrased

This makes a ton of sense--thank you for sending it in! Writing Regulus is such a neat challenge, since he and Sirius are so similar and yet so different. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Part 1 II Part 2

TW for disownment and past child abuse (mentioned)

If Sirius ever met the person that invented showers, he would kiss them on the mouth. With tongue, if requested.

His phone hummed on the coffee table; when he made no move to grab it, Remus reached over and flipped the screen up. “Reg is on the way.”

Sirius hummed and cuddled into his chest, tightening his hold on his waist. Gentle fingers combed through his damp hair and he was warm all over in the best way. His face and eyes still itched a little, and his throat was raw from crying so hard, but at least he finally felt clean. The ache in his gut had dulled.

Remus pressed his lips to the space just above Sirius’ ear and wrapped his arms around him, tracing patterns on his upper back beneath his shirt. The skin-to-skin contact was something he never knew he needed so much—he couldn’t imagine living without it now. “We should go on vacation sometime this summer,” he mused, absently braiding a few locks of Sirius’ hair.

“Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere warm, where we can swim and you can get all sexy and tan.”

Sirius laughed against his chest and breathed in the honey-lavender smell of his soap. “As long as you promise to freckle.”

He could feel Remus smiling. “I’ll do my best. It wouldn’t have to be a long trip, either—maybe a week in Florida, or California.”

“Alabama?” Sirius teased.

“Honey.” Remus kissed his forehead. “If you take me to Alabama—” Another kiss. “—I will take the biggest spider I can find—” A third kiss, so sweet in comparison to his playful threat. “—and put it in your shoe.”

Sirius snorted. “Just divorce me, that would be nicer.”

“Mmm, no, you’d miss me too much.”

“Put a spider in my shoe and we’ll see if that’s true.” Remus’ shoulders shook under him as they laughed and Sirius kissed his collarbone, then closed his eyes. “Do we have time for a nap before Reg gets here?”

“Maybe. How fast does he drive?”

“Not as fast as Pots—”

The doorbell rang, and then kept ringing; someone knocked insistently on the door, and Sirius groaned as he untangled his limbs from Remus and wandered over.

Regulus was not alone on the porch.

“What’s her phone number?” James demanded, practically smoking with fury as he and Regulus stormed into the house. He let out a furious breath when he saw the open envelope on the kitchen counter.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him,” Regulus scoffed. “We also called Logan.”

“Isn’t he in Canada for the rest of the week?”

“Yeah, but he said he’d be here on Friday.” Regulus gave him a quick once-over and a stormy look came over his face. “When did she drop those off?”

“She didn’t. The mailman did, just after five.” Something bitter tinged Sirius’ mouth. “That was after she tried to make Remus give them to me.”

“What a bitch.”

“Reg!”

“It’s true,” Regulus snapped, though his anger was clearly directed elsewhere. “She’s a horrible coward and you deserve better.”

James held his phone up to get Sirius’ attention. “What’s her number?”

“I’m not giving you her phone number, J.”

“Reg, what’s her number?”

Regulus bit his lip for a second, then shook his head. “She won’t know who you are, and she would sue your ass faster than you could blink if you lost your temper on her. Me, on the other hand…”

Sirius put his hand over Regulus’ phone. “Don’t do this. If she disowns you, too—”

“If she disowns me I’ll throw a fucking party!” Regulus all but shouted. The room went silent. “I am sick and tired of hiding and watching them hurt you. She doesn’t control me anymore.”

“I’m not letting you get hurt for me.”

“And I’m not asking for you permission.” Regulus stepped back and dialed a number; in the kitchen doorway, Remus and James watched them in a mix of shock and concern.

The call connected and Regulus’ whole face went stony. “What is it, Regulus?” a tinny voice asked.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Walburga sniffed. “Please, Regulus, we’ve discussed this. You have to clarify your intentions—”

“Did you disown my brother?”

“He’s not your brother anymore.” Disdain dripped from her voice and Sirius’ throat constricted as cold fire lit in Regulus’ eyes.

“He’s more family to me than you ever were.” His tone was even and deadly.

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Shut up.” A protective urge jolted in Sirius’ gut and he almost smacked the phone out of Regulus’ hand. “Just shut up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a coward and a liar, and I hate you.” A fine tremor slipped through and Regulus gritted his teeth. Remus touched Sirius’ elbow gently, and he gripped his hand tight.

“Listen here, you silly boy—”

“You don’t get to hurt him anymore. Sirius is a better person that you could ever dream of being and the fact that you can’t accept when your own son is happy—”

“He disgraced us—”

“You disgraced us!” Regulus snapped. “You and your rules, your blood money, your parenting that belonged more in a prison than a house! I’m not stupid, Mother, I know what you did was wrong!”

There were a few beats of silence. “I did what I did to prepare you for the real world.”

“The real world doesn’t give a ten-year-old a black eye for breaking a plate.”

Sirius closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as Remus inhaled sharply next to him; James cursed under his breath. The plate had been one of his grandmother’s, part of a twelve-piece set that they were using for Thanksgiving. One flipped corner on the rug had sent him flying, but the porcelain shard in his hand had hurt less than Walburga’s fury.

She was breathing hard on the other end of the line. “The world is a cruel place, Regulus.”

“No crueler than you.”

“Watch your mouth, you ungrateful child, or you’ll find yourself in the same shoes as that stain on our family tree.”

A flinty look came over Regulus then; if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d say he looked almost smug. “Do it. I dare you to look the media in the eye and tell them you disowned one son for being happy and the other for calling you out on your terrible parenting.”

“We disowned him for being a failure and a disgrace.”

Grey met grey as Regulus spoke next, his gaze never flickering from Sirius’ eyes. “Happily married to the love of his life, youngest captain in the league, with two Stanley Cups under his belt? Doesn’t sound like a failure to me, and far from a disgrace.”

Remus squeezed his hand as Sirius swallowed back a few tears that had started to gather. He offered a weak smile and the corners of Regulus’ eyes crinkled slightly.

“I’m hanging up the phone now,” he said, smooth and collected. Walburga was utterly silent. “Never contact me or my brother again. If you disown me, at least have the dignity to do it in person.”

He hung up and slid his phone into his back pocket. “Jesus,” James half-laughed behind them. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“That was really brave, and really stupid.” Sirius said as he walked forward. Regulus met him in the middle, tucking his head under Sirius’ chin in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“Brave and stupid, huh? I’m turning into you already.”

Sirius flicked his ear with a grin, but never loosened his hold. “Brat.”

“Love you.”

He closed his eyes and felt Regulus’ heartbeat through his palm. “Love you, too.”

“Will you at least give me her address so I can egg her house?” James asked once they separated, already moving to give Sirius another hug. He melted into it; James had the incredible ability to make him feel completely and utterly safe, like the world couldn’t touch him as long as he was there.

“As amazing as that would be, I’d rather not see you arrested.”

“Fair point.” He pulled back a bit and James searched his face. A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “How can I help?”

“This is nice.” Exhaustion made Sirius’ limbs heavy and his head was starting to throb from his earlier breakdown. James pulled him back in and two more sets of arms followed, forming a shield all around him. He felt Remus kiss his cheek and Regulus’ hand splay over his ribs; James was steady, an anchor in the storm. “How am I going to tell people about this?”

“You don’t have to,” Remus murmured.

“If I don’t, she will.”

“Then tell them the truth,” Regulus said. “Maybe not everything, but the relevant parts.”

“We’ll be here with you.” James’ voice was soft. “Us, and the rest of the team. Anything you need.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but he did sink into the warmth of their embrace and let the weight of fear and unease lift off his shoulders. The burden wasn’t his alone; it never had been.

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aphrodite-would-be-proud · 4 years ago

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🕯Anon said : Can I request headcanons with a Modern Au Teacher!Erwin and his s/o is a slightly famous artist like a painter that’s always in the basement. Maybe have a moment where the art teacher begs him to bring them to the school when they find out who Erwin is with. ? 🕯

Teacher!Erwin brings you, a famous painter, to work.

{ Erwin x Reader | tw:none | fluff, suggestive kiss | modern }

{ "Leisurely Sunday in the Villa Comunale in Naples" 1993 by Francesco Tammaro Born in 1939 }

Grassy fields surrounded the old big building as the trees undressing of their leaves onto the sidewalks, currently being swept away by the janitor.

Students were filling the halls, the sound of chatter and laughter following after. Outside in the yard, the whistle of the gym teacher could be heard following by heavy footsteps as the football team started their morning practice. Not long after the bell rang, the halls were empty again only for some crumbled papers and snack covers left behind.

"Pigs, all of them. There's a trashcan right there." Levi scrunched his nose at the smell of axe spray and deodorant near the trophy cases. "Tell Miche to spray his running monkeys with soap every once in a while."

"Now now, what got you so grumpy this early in the morning?" Adjusting the lab coat on their suit, Hange replied. "Oh cut the kids some slack, their big game is coming soon or something."

"And he's been implenting a more strick hygiene policy." Said Erwin, holding a plastic binder with a stack of exam papers, mostly marked red. "He's trying to convince the principal to ban deodorant during practice because it's making his nose burn."

Huffing in response, Levi crossed his arms. "Yeah because the principle will definitely listen to him after that whole sniffing people scandal- Hey! Brats, don't you have classes"

As Levi went to scold the two students currently hanging a handmade poster for the upcoming game on the wall, a couple of students came up to Hange, looking in a hurry as they explained the Science lab was locked and they're getting tired of sitting on their backpacks outside.

Soon after, Erwin too made his way to class.

Upon entering the room, the talking quieted down as the squeaking sound of people going back to their own desks followed. Walking upfront, Erwin dropped the binder on his desk beside the empty mug, a couple of groans filled the room as the students realised what it was.

"Mr.Smith, didn't we just take the test yesterday? Shouldn't you like...I don't know double check or something? Maybe you rushed grading them?" One student called from the back as some chuckles and agreement followed from the rest.

Taking the stacks of papers out, Erwin made his way between the students, giving each on their graded paper. "I don't know Connie, maybe you should've double checked your answers instead?"

The playful atmosphere of the classroom was cut short as the door slammed open, making everyone freeze in their seats, none other than the art teacher walked in.

Nile Dawk, current art teacher who fails at least a quarter of his class each year. Who has oh just the most swell relationship with Erwin and anyone can tell you that.

You see, Erwin adored art, both the classic and the modern. Nile admired history and knew just how each art era had its link to a historical event.

And the pair couldn't stand each other.

Crossing his arms, Nile said "Erwin, you have explaining to do." Before dropping a newly printed magazine onto his desk,

Its cover, showing a brand new art museum that just finished construction and is hosting a lot of different paintings from unrecognised underground talents.

"Nile, I think you misunderstand. I teach history, I'm not an architect." He said raising an eyebrow, before tilting his head as if he's deep in thought, "or do you want me to explain what a museum is?"

Sneering at his remark, Nile flipped through the pages till he reached a certain one. It depicted a one of the paintings that will be displayed in the museum, a portrait of a blond man with broad shoulders and sharp blue eyes seemingly distracted from reality by the book in his hand.

The soft glow of the fireplace next to the red armchair he sat in, adding a certain orange hue to his light complexion. His long fingers holding the leather book as a glass-stained maroon vase sat on the small table behind him, containing a single red rose.

It's clear from the details poured into his eyes and the shading for each strand of his hair that whoever made this painting, held a great affection for the man.

"Now Mr.history teacher, care to explain why your face is on this painting? By one of the few promising artists of this useless generation?."

Hushed murmurs filled the classroom as students took out their phones googling the name y/n, showing each other the said painting while staring with wide eyes at Erwin.

Rubbing his temple with his fingers, Erwin frowned at the scene the other was causing. Knowing very well it won't take long for this fire to spread, he decided to add more fuel to the flames.

He took a long breath, before telling the class to quiet down with a stern expression.

"Mr.Dawk, are you really asking me why y/n, my love, the person I'm married to, paint me?" He said facing the other, looking directly into his eyes. "Maybe you should ask y/n instead if you're so insisting on forcing yourself in my private life."

Narrowing his eyes, Nile snorted. "You know what Erwin? Maybe I should.

And that's the story Erwin told you while having dinner that day.

He looks at you with pleading eyes as if to silently apologise for dragging you into this mess, his plate still half full and drink untouched.

Please reassure him that it's alright, you don't mind taking a day off to visit his work

He'll reach out to gently squeeze your hand in his, whispering a small thank you as his thumb rubs against your skin.

He also says he'll do the dishes that day, you can go rest and he will join you in bed after a while, a relieved smile on his face.

The next day, as he wakes up early like usual. He makes sure to wake you up with a kiss, stroking your face before murmuring "good morning" against your lips.

He knows because of your work you don't wake up early, so he's really patient and understanding if you happen to get grumpy for a while.

Handing you a warm drink to help wake you up, he'll make sure you eat something before changing and heading out.

You're not surprised to find him already done and dressed himself.

Hair as perfect as usual.

On the drive to school, you'll feel the cool morning air against your skin while your head leans back into the seat, eyes fluttering shut.

You can have your mini nap, Erwin will make sure to wake you up when you arrive.

When arriving, he made sure to open the car door for you. The fresh air and green scenery surrounded you both.

When arriving at the teacher's lounge, you're almost surprised to see two people already there from how early it was.

The first was sitting on the old black couch near the window, his dirty blond bangs covering his eyes. The second you could see making tea on the other side of the room Where the kitchenware was.

Both of them glanced up when Erwin called their name, staring at the way he had an arm wrapped around your waist while introducing you.

It was Miche who came first, standing from the couch you noticed just how tall he was. Offering your hand for him to shake, only for him to pull you into a tight hug instead.

He pulled away, tapping his nose before a smile slowly formed on his face, nodding in approval

The second was Levi, who ignored your offered hand only to sip on his teacup, assessing you up and down.

Not too long after, a person with a messy ponytail and a colorful lab coat arrived.

They took one glance at you, then the matching wedding rings on yours and Erwins fingers before taking an immediate interest in you.

Hange asked questions faster than you can answer them, with sparkling eyes and a wide smile.

At the first sign of you being uncomfortable, it was Levi who stepped in to tell Hange to tone it down before apologizing to you.

And it was Miche who got you some snacks from the teacher's secret stash after.

You've heard stories and one sided phone calls about them from Erwin, yet it still didn't prepare you for actually meeting them.

While overwhelming at first, the more time you spent talking as Erwin reassuringly sat beside you, you noticed how genuinely interested they were.

Levi, while seemingly cold, was actually the most considerate and paid the most attention to you. He'd step in whenever things got too much and would be really polite despite having a colourful language. By the end of it he even made you some tea, something that seemed to surprise Erwin and the rest.

"It's just...he never trusted someone this quickly before."

Hange was genuinely interested in you, having researched you and your art beforehand. They really were eager to hear even the most boring details and were capable of understanding your way of thinking. They even gave you a small rubber frog they carried around in their pocket to hand out. It would've been cute wasn't for the fact immediately after they mentioned the real human skeleton they have pinned to the lab door.

"His name is bean! I've been actually investing into getting him a human heart for Valentine's day, but all the ones I've found so far were in jars."

The most quiet of them was actually Miche, although he'd smile at you whenever you looked his way. Despite his intimidating size you learned how harmless and easy going he is, the most chill out of the three. He did mention knowing Erwin for the longest time out of them, having been childhood friends even. He promised to tell you all the embarrassing secrets Erwin tried to erase from existence as he added his number on your phone.

"He ain't as proper as he looks, I got the dirt on him."

You saw Erwin's jaw tightening before he changed the subject quickly, giving the side eye to Miche who only smiled back.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, Erwin didn't leave your side for one minute and made sure to check on you constantly.

He introduced you to the rest of the teachers and seemed only amused at any teasing he got from students passing by.

By the end of the day, as the sun began to set and the students already done with their clubs, you and Erwin had one final place to go.

The art classroom.

"Just one more thing before that" he told you, guiding you into an empty classroom.

You saw his desk, the mug you gifted him on father's day as a joke sat on his desk, several paper sketches you made were framed next to it.

It was his classroom, with only you and him, the door open.

He closed it.

You stood against his desk as he moved closer, arms circling you, not breaking eye contact.

"May I?" He whispered, licking his own lips.

As he got your permission, he pressed his lips against yours, arm stroking your back before pulling away after some seconds.

He rubbed your swollen bottom lip with his thumb, a small smile on his face before pulling away.

Your heart was still fluttering against your chest as you left the classroom, while Erwin seemed to be smiling at nothing with a slight curl to his lips, steps more lighter than before.

Right after that he took you to the art classroom. The smell of oil paint and sound of brushes scratching against paper filling the air.

Stepping inside, the scratching sound stopped as a certain black haired man stared at you, eyes wide and lips parted.

Disbelief clear in his face, Nile was quick to mask his emotions as he noticed the smugness Erwin was in.

"Nile, I'd like to introduce you to my lovely darling, y/n." There was a chipper to Erwin's voice as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

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im-a-mcsimp-for-mchotties · 4 years ago

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Hallelujah: Ghost x Soap

The moonlight streamed through the small window in the room where Ghost and Soap laid, wrapped in each others’ arms. Soap clears his throat quietly, looking his lover in the eyes with a soft smile.

“What are you smilin’ about?” Ghost asks, voice quiet. “Can I sing a song for you?” Soap asks. “Can you what?” “Can I sing you a song?” Soap asks again with a soft chuckle.

“If you want to, go ahead,” Ghost says. Soap begins, his singing filling the room. “Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don’t really care for music do ya? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah.” He takes a breath, beginning the next verse as Ghost tilts his head just slightly.

“Your faith was strong, but you needed proof, you saw her standing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew her.” Soap gently strokes his hand over Ghost’s cheek, smiling. “She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah.”

Ghost’s icy eyes fill just a little with tears as he strokes Soap’s cheek with his hand. Soap goes to begin again, but before he can, Ghost presses a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Soap. Always have,” he says, voice cracking. Soap smiles. “I figured you would know that me singing this was a confession. You were always too smart for your own good,” he teases.

————————————————————————

After a few months of dating, Soap comes up behind Ghost at the shooting range, fiddling with a small box that’s hidden in the pocket of his pants. “Turn around, I’ve got something for you,” he says softly. Ghost turns around and is met by the sight of Soap on one knee, a small silver band in the box.

“Soap- Wha-?” Ghost stutters, jaw dropping. “This is probably not the proposal you expected, or even wanted. But I couldn’t wait, I didn’t want to wait. I love you, and I always will love you. Will you marry me?” Soap asks with a gentle smile. “Of course I will you big oaf, get up here,” Ghost says with tears in his eyes. Soap slips the ring onto his finger and kisses him.

Whoops and hollers erupt from the other parts of the shooting range, and from a distance Price yells: “I’m officiating that wedding whether you like it or not!” Soap laughs and waves his hand towards Price. Roach jogs up with a grin. “I’m invited, right?” Ghost pats the kid’s cheek and smiles. “‘Course you are, Roach. Wouldn’t be the same without you.”

————————————————————————

The day of the wedding arrives quickly, and the two men walk down the aisle, arm in arm, dressed in their dress uniforms. “Let’s do this,” Ghost whispers softly to his soon to be husband. Soap smiles and squeezes his hand softly.

“Alright you two! Let’s get this show on the road!” Price says with a grin as the two of them stand in front of Price. “Do you, John “Soap” MacTavish take Simon “Ghost” Riley as your lawfully wedded husband?” “I do.” “And do you, Simon “Ghost” Riley take John “Soap” MacTavish as your lawfully wedded husband?” “I do.” “Then by the power vested in me by the British government, I now pronounce you as husband and husband!”

Soap grins a cheshire grin at the man he can now call his husband. “I love you,” he says and kisses Ghost like there’s no tomorrow. Ghost grins into the kiss and Price chuckles. “Alright you crazy kids, there’s a reception to go to. It’s downstairs.”

Soap pulls Ghost onto the dance floor to dance as soon as they get downstairs. The dj puts on some music, and they start dancing slowly, Ghost laying his head on Soap’s shoulder. A familiar song comes on, and Soap squeezes Ghost’s waist gently.

“Would you listen to that? I wonder who requested this,” Soap says. Ghost chuckles into Soap’s shoulder. “Yeah, I wonder who,” he says softly. He picks up his head and looks his husband in the eye. “From my lips you drew the hallelujah, darling.” Soap smiles. “That I did, love, that I did.”

A/N: this idea came about from a headcanon i had sent to my friend about ghost and soap being friends with benefits and then soap sings the song and then they start dating and get married :’) @satan-incarnate-666 thank u for letting me scream about this headcanon!!!

by the way this is the song i used, all song credit goes to leonard cohen :))

#call of duty #soap mactavish x ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap x ghost #fluffy goodness #Spotify

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tamagoincident · 3 years ago

Photo

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 2/10

link: AO3

Chapter Two - The Man Who Makes All the Decisions

Chapter content warning: brief encounter of sexual harassment

You awoke gasping in the night, heart pumping, heaving in lungfuls of stale air. The darkness of the Saints Hotel room pressed close. You’d dreamt about Emma and Henry again.

Frightened as you were, you whispered to yourself that you were safe, that the dampness upon your brow was perspiration, and not the spatter of blood from Henry’s gunshot wound. That the screams seeping from the peeling walls were not Emma’s, but recalled from the etchings of your memory. You collapsed back onto the sheets and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, shuddering hard against the nausea prickling in your stomach and praying for sleep to find you once more.

—

Arthur stood at the bar in Smithfield’s Saloon, casual in the way he leaned over it. How at ease he appeared, unapologetic in his taking space. You choked on your envy, allowing yourself to wonder what it’s like to do whatever you wanted, wherever you pleased, unescorted. This feeling climbed as the man seated closest to the entrance pulled his chair out fully in your direction, reclining with his thighs spread. You tightened your grip on the handle of your travel bag and kept your revulsion from showing too much. Folk like that chased any sort of reaction, like they chased down drink after drink.

Ernest waved you over, having noticed how quiet the room fell when you’d walked in through the swinging doors. Arthur remained fixated on his glass despite the change in atmosphere, spinning it idly atop the nicked wood, taking more stock in it than in his surroundings. His voice cut across the idle chatter from the tables. “You even wash these?”

“Funny you ask,” Ernest said, wiping down the bar with a rag. “We’re in the market for a dishwasher. You look right fit for the job.” He abandoned his task at your approach to reach towards one of the dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind him, but you held up a hand to stop him. You needed your full wits to do something as illogical as you were about to, potentially letting a stranger lead you to God-Knows-Where to meet God-Knows-Who, with the pistol shoved in your right boot acting as your sole reassurance.

“So you’re a comedian now, mister? Didn’t realize I was getting dinner and a goddamn show.” Arthur knocked back his shot of whiskey and put the glass down on the bar. You set your bag at your feet and settled yourself in the space beside him. Through the aroma of decades of liquor soaked into the timber of the saloon, you caught a whiff of soap and freshly scrubbed skin.

“Cursin’ in front of women,” Ernest said, acknowledging you. “Ain't your daddy ever taught you manners?”

“Say that again,” Arthur growled and smacked both palms on the counter, moments away from hopping over it. You cleared your throat before he could hitch a leg up. He turned and froze, as if it surprised him that anyone else was in the saloon at all, let alone you in your best (and only) dress.

The disturbance had caused a bit of rubbernecking your way. While Ernest rattling the clients was always an entertaining diversion, (and privately, you would have seized the opportunity to see Arthur try to throttle him, the mountain of a man Ernest was) an all-out saloon-brawl was counterproductive to anything you’d arrived there to do. The situation had to be defused, and fast.

“I’m not a delicate flower, I won’t wilt from a little profanity,” you said. “It didn’t offend me to hear him swear the first time we’d met, and it doesn’t offend me now.”

Arthur looked at you. His expression turned from confused to even more confused. Clearly he hadn’t recognized you from your previous encounter. Taking pity on him, you helpfully concealed your nose and mouth with your sleeve, resembling the scarf you’d worn when he met you. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. You dug four bits from your skirt pockets, sliding them onto the counter to Ernest. “For this man’s next drink.”

“Couldn’t tell it was you without the get-up you was wearing the last time,” Arthur grumbled, and accepted the second shot of whiskey, placated for now, “or without the rifle.”

The rifle wasn’t concealable, and it hadn’t fit in the bag with your other travel necessities, so you left it with Ernest. You’d come back to Valentine to retrieve it later, at the right moment, along with half of the train score you had hidden away in a lockbox. “Had to try to look somewhat respectable for a negotiation. If there will be a negotiation, that is. Didn’t want to show up in my dusty travel clothes.”

“You look naïve, and an easy target to swindle,” he said, sparing a glance toward Ernest, who only cocked an eyebrow in response. Arthur cleared his throat. “Not that I’d do something like that. You see, I’m an itinerant worker, laid off from a factory—”

“Save it, please,” you said. “I’m not interested in divining who you really are or where you’ve come from. What I am interested in is whether you can help me with that offer we discussed. From your countenance, I assume your friend decided to take me up on it, against your better judgment.”

“What’s wrong with my countenance?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I ain’t,” he said, scowling. You put your hands up, conceding.

“He said he’d meet with you,” Arthur said. He brought the glass up to his lips. “Still decidin’ if I want to spin him a tale that I came to Valentine, but you never showed. Or, I could just rob you. I don’t think he’d mind that as much.”

“You just said you wouldn’t swindle me,” you accused.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh, but didn’t wish to act on it for fear of appearing too amicable. “You said we’d get half the money upfront?”

“Yes. You’ll get half if we can come to an agreement, and the other half once Emma is home safe.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Arthur said. “We already went through an ordeal with that train, risking our skin to come up empty-handed. Now you want to pay us to risk it again with the score which should’ve been ours in the first place. This might end up being more trouble than it’s worth even with the seventy dollars you promised on top of it.”

“Hey lady, how much for your company?” A grunting voice emerged from behind you. You ignored it, too immersed in assessing the value of all your worldly possessions, your rifle among the other trinkets you had stashed away in different locations. You didn’t own land or assets to sell or put up for a loan. The single thing of monetary value in your possession was Henry’s wedding ring, and you’d hang before pawning that off. It’d been his dying request to return it to Emma. They’d only been married for five months when he was killed.

“I said, how much?”

Ernest jabbed his finger at him. “You best shut your mouth and sit back down ‘fore I drag you out of here, you drunken fool.”

“Weren’t talkin’ to you.” A hand clapped on your right shoulder, jerking you backwards. “I was talkin’ to this uppity bitch—”

You only had a brief moment to recognize the man as the one from earlier who’d leered at you. In the next second, he was flat on the ground, clutching his newly crooked nose. Arthur was towering over him, shaking out the soreness of the impact from his hand. He bent down and, without so much as a word, wiped his bloodstained knuckles on the howling degenerate’s shirt. Apart from his slightly mussed hair and the wild promise of barely restrained ire lurking in his eyes, an eerie calmness rolled off of him.

So much for preventing a brawl.

“You broke it! You fuckin’ broke it!”

“Hey,” someone piped up from the cards table. “Ain’t that the feller who damn near beat Tommy to death the other day when Hubert was workin’?”

“That was you Hubert was talkin’ about?” Ernest said to Arthur. “You owe us money for the window you smashed through, my friend.”

“How much was it to replace?” you said. “I can pay—”

More wailing. “I’m gonna skin you alive!”

“You know, Tommy ain’t been right since,” another person called out. “He may be an imbecile, but he’s our imbecile! You think it’s fun beatin’ on all of us?”

People were getting out of their seats. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go,” Arthur barked at you amid the jeering.

“My bag—” you said, surveying around your feet for your belongings. In the chaos, Arthur had grabbed it for you and was heading to the door. You struggled not to trip over your skirts in pursuit, casting one last apologetic look to Ernest, who seemed like he wanted to go after you.

Arthur stood outside, unhitching his horse from the post. The temptation arose to make a jest, to smooth the terse silence with something guaranteed to irritate him further. You swallowed it and instead listened to the bustle of wagons and barking of stray dogs.

“Grab your horse,” he said. “You can follow me. We got a bit of a ride south from here. Can’t for the life of me figure out why he wants me to lead you to camp, but I’m tired of arguin’ with him.”

You wondered who exactly Arthur was referring to. At the Trading Post, he’d hinted at a leader of sorts, the one who had yet to be named. You thought to ask for it, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. “I don’t have a horse. Not since my last one ran off.”

“She doesn’t own a horse,” he said to no one in particular, a moment of exasperation to the universe perhaps, if you had to guess. “How the hell you been getting around? Hot-air balloon?”

“Much less exciting than that, I’m afraid. Trains and stagecoaches. Sometimes I borrow a horse from Ernest. Sometimes I ‘borrow’ from strangers and return their horses before they’re missed.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend all that trouble you put yourself up to makes any sense,” Arthur grunted in response, strapping your bag to his saddle. “Alright, then. Come here.”

You didn’t move. In your hesitation, you considered beginning your rescue plan anew, using the train money to pay for hired guns, which you had wanted to avoid. If the first meeting between the two of you had gone well, the incident in the saloon had gone every bit as astray. But Arthur had intervened on your behalf, which you appreciated, regardless of the issue it had caused. You thought if there was any chance of a man caring whether or not Emma made it back alive, he was it. And there was the small detail of the score you lifted off his hands. You imagined it wouldn’t go over well if you offered it to another group.

Arthur placed the tip of his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up and over the saddle. He lowered his hand. This, you accepted with thanks and up you went onto the back of the horse. At this proximity, the scent of soap you’d noticed in the saloon was stronger. You couldn’t remember the last time you met a man who bathed with any regularity, let alone bathed at all.

“Might want to hold on to somethin’,” Arthur murmured. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the cantle as the horse fell into a trot.

And off you both went, past the gun shop and the train station, the muddy roads shifting into dusty trails the further Valentine receded from view. You were glad to quit the miserable little town if only for a moment, and though you hadn’t any high expectations for your destination, you hoped it smelled better.

“You mentioned you’re taking me to a camp. How big is it?” you asked.

“Suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” came the curt reply.

“Then, how many people are with you? Besides you and your friend.”

“Ain't you full of questions,” Arthur said. The pistol hidden in your boot felt heavier. It might be enough to fend off several people if they decided to take back by force what they believed to be theirs, but an entire camp? You reprimanded yourself for not thinking this whole thing through.

The horse veered left. Though you sat quietly, your mind was rife with uneasy thoughts. The sun blazed high in the sky, but it would soon begin its descent. You wish you’d asked to meet earlier, having not considered where you would lay your head down tonight, especially if your offer was declined. In all likelihood you’d end up sleeping propped up against a tree in the good company of hungry mosquitoes. Or hitching a twilight ride back to the Saints Hotel with some shifty wagoner. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done either.

Arthur said something, which you were too deeply absorbed in your misgivings to have caught. You asked him to repeat himself. “I said, it’s not too much further now.”

The horse picked up its pace. Suddenly you were aware of the soreness in your biceps from straining to grip the back of the saddle. Squeezing your thighs harder to maintain balance, you wrapped your arms around Arthur’s torso. If the unexpected contact startled him, he did not show it.

“I never thanked you earlier,” you said.

“For what?”

“Quieting that fellow back in the saloon.”

“I reckon you could’ve done it yourself. One minute you’re firin’ a rifle in my direction. Next, you’ve gone all feeble and quiet.”

“If I rose hell whenever someone pestered me, sir, I wouldn’t be here to pester you.”

This earned you a laugh. You felt sorry you weren’t able to see it. “It’s Arthur Morgan,” he corrected.

Arthur Morgan. You’d known to call him Arthur from that friend Marston of his, but now that you knew both names, you thought it sounded familiar. You racked your recent memory for it, coming up empty. It was a common enough name, anyway.

“You ain’t told me your name,” he added.

“That’s right, Mr. Morgan. I didn’t,” you said. And that was that.

—

“Coming through,” Arthur shouts as the horse slows. You crane your head to see who he’s speaking to when you spotted a man stepping into the clearing, adjusting the bowler hat atop his head with his left hand and swinging a rifle with his right. Your arms slipped away from around Arthur’s waist, back to gripping the cantle for support.

“My my, what’s this? Returning with a girl before the sun goes down,” he says with a wide grin. “You’re getting romantic in your old age.”

Arthur groaned. “Do you ever shut up? You fill every waking moment with your nonsense.”

The grin grew impossibly wider. Tilting his head up towards you and Arthur, you were just close enough to make out this man’s freckles beneath the shadow cast by his hat’s brim. “I’ve plenty of time for peace and quiet when I’m six feet under.”

“Just another reason to hasten you there,” Arthur said, then, softly to his horse, “Come on, girl.”

“He doesn’t really mean that, you know. He loves me,” the man called as you passed by, “Isn’t that right, Arthur? Like an older brother, I’d say!”

The horse stopped at a hitching station just beyond the camp entrance. Off you went from the rear of it, lowering yourself until your boots hit the grass. “Quite the lively introduction,” you said to Arthur.

“That boy is too busy cracking jokes and chasing skirts to do much of anything useful,” he said, dismounting.

“He’s amusing,” you said. “It’s a breath of fresh air from all the prickly folks around these parts. Look at them wrong and they’ll be twitching for their gun.”

“About as amusing as an insect buzzing in your ear.” Arthur led you to a table, gesturing to the folding stools. “You can sit here a moment. And don’t talk to no one.”

You peered down at the tabletop, noticing copper stains that had long seeped into the wood. “Is that blood?”

Arthur shrugged. “Or you can stand, if that’s your preference.”

You tracked him as he made his way straight to the center of camp, to the largest of the surrounding fixtures, a cream-colored tent that stood proudly over all the rest, watchful. He stopped at the entrance, waiting for the dark figure inside to turn towards Arthur as they stooped slightly, perhaps to grab something.

The figure emerged finally, joining Arthur outside of the tent’s shade. Sunlight beamed against glittering rings on fingers wrapped around a smoking cigar. You squinted.

Oh God, you thought. That’s Dutch van der Linde. You read about him in the New Hanover Gazette. Your mind ran miles per second as you put bits of information together. You had passed his face on wanted posters during your travels, passed Arthur’s too, lingering above a five-thousand dollar reward for one of the largest heists in Blackwater history. A heist that had seen a dozen or more people dead. And now you were in their camp, a camp that bounty hunters across several states would pay a pretty penny to find.

Those wanted faces turned to you. Arthur waved you over. Your legs grew heavy, rooting themselves to the ground. You had a decision to make.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan/yn #rdr2 ao3 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #tlab

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mldrgrl · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Things 14/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Sleep eludes him. He’s up most of the night punching his pillows as though they’re to blame for his insomnia or he’s pacing around his room. Several times he opens his door and stares at Katherine’s room, wondering if he should knock and apologize or burst in unannounced and demand an explanation.

It’s not quite dawn when he finally gets dressed and hitches a couple horses to the wagon, grabs an axe, and drives over to the wooded area along the creek. He’s chopping away as the sun rises, already dripping sweat when he hears the faint cry of the rooster in the distance. He can smell the smoke from the cookstove from where he is.

After two trees have fallen, he needs to take a break to drink some water and have a bit of the jerky and biscuits he’s brought with him for breakfast. When he sees Melvin riding out towards him a bit later, he takes a final dipper of water from the bucket he filled before he left and picks up the axe again.

“Them trees aggravatin’ you this morning, or what?” Melvin asks, dismounting from Faithful Jenny and leading her over beside the wagon.

“We’ll need them for the new corral,” he answers, never taking a break in his swings. “Thought I’d get a head start.”

“You want some help on it?”

“Nope.”

“You know I’m not aimin’ to get in the middle of things-”

“Then, don’t,” Mulder interrupts. He stops chopping at the tree he’s on and gives it a firm kick. The bottom tilts and cracks at a sharp angle, but doesn’t quite break. He kicks it again, but it doesn’t budge this time. So, he kicks it again. And again. And once more.

Mulder stops and drops the axe. He bends over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He takes one glove off and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket which he uses to wipe his brow. It’s one that Katherine has monogrammed for him with her pretty little stitches. She gave it to him only a few days after settling in, telling him it wasn’t much, but it was something she could do to express her gratitude.

“What’d she tell you?” Mulder asks.

“Katherine? She didn’t tell me nothin’, though it’s not hard to tell she’s upset by something. And with you here hackin’ away at them trees, it don’t make it less obvious.”

“I’ve seen to it that she doesn’t want for anything, you know. I...I took her away from that godforesaken sod house, I gave her clothes and a room and a job to do and...and I’ve been kind, haven’t I?”

“Sure you have.”

“We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation on the porch last night and suddenly it just went all sideways and then she’s throwing around accusations like I think our marriage is a farce.”

“She said that?”

“Amongst other things, yes she did.”

“Well, I guess that is reason enough to come out here and take your frustrations out on them trees.”

“What else should I be doing? Talking in circles with my fictitious bride so she can hurl more baseless accusations at me?”

“If they’re baseless, why are you in such a tizzy?”

“Because they’re obviously not baseless to her, otherwise why else would she say that?”

“Hm.” Melvin strokes his beard into a point at his chin. “Womenfolk sure are complicated, that’s for sure.”

“You can say that again.”

“Did you ask her how she come by that notion about the marriage, or did you forget how to articulate?”

“Of course I asked her and all I got was some vague implication that I was somehow disrespecting her by hiring a surveyor to come out and make plans on the expansion. It’s not like she wasn’t aware that was the plan all along. You’d have thought it was a total surprise, the way she reacted.”

“When I was gettin’ hitched to Eliza, my Mama told me that the best advice she could give anyone startin’ out was not to let the sun go down on your anger.”

Mulder picks up his axe again and shakes his head. “Little late for that,” he says, choosing his next tree to fell. “The sun was already down anyhow.”

“You know you can be a real horse’s behind sometimes.”

“I am aware.” Mulder starts chopping again, swinging the axe at a cedar sapling.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then.” Melvin hoists himself up into the saddle on Faithful Jenny’s back and turns the horse to home. He stops and turns back, passing the wagon so he’s closer to where Mulder is chopping, but still at a safe distance. “If’n you aim to prove her wrong about your marriage, it may be best not to let her stay in her misery for too long.”

“She has nothing to be miserable about. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, apologies don’t have to mean you were wrong, they could just mean you’re sorry for the hurtin’. You’re forgettin’ already what she’s been through.”

“I have not forgotten.” Mulder shoulders his axe and glares at Melvin. “Should I expect you’ll be taking her side of things from now on?”

“I’m not takin’ any sides. Just remindin’ you that you’re the one brung her here.”

“And that means I need to shoulder the blame for every argument we have from here to kingdom come?”

“Tarnation you must have about the thickest skull in the entire state of Texas. No, it doesn’t mean you’re to blame for everything, it just means that you’re the one that’s plum fool enough to marry a lady you don’t hardly know from Adam except she’s been dealt a sorry hand and then you want to go get all high and mighty about what you done like you deserve a dadgum medal of honor. Either you wanted to help her because of the goodness in your heart or you wanted a nice pat on the back. Which is it?”

“I wasn’t looking for any commendations.”

“Well, good, ‘cause folks might get an idea then of your marriage bein’ a farce or somethin’ like it.”

Melvin turns Faithful Jenny away from Mulder and clicks at her to ride away. Mulder scowls at his back. He doesn’t know why he’s being treated so harshly and unfairly all of a sudden. He’s turned his conversation with Katherine over and over again in his mind and he can’t find the logic in her being so upset. The only thing he knows is that he will clear this whole damned creek of trees before he apologizes for something when he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

↭

When Mulder doesn’t come to breakfast, Katherine feels almost sick about it. She doesn’t eat, just serves the boys their meal and pretends she has too much to do to sit down that morning. She’s sure they won’t notice anyhow, they’re always distracted with planning for the day most of the time. They don’t even seem to be concerned that Mulder isn’t there. Melvin is the only one that looks at her like he knows something isn’t quite right.

When Mulder doesn’t come to noon dinner, Katherine feels a bit exasperated. She knows by then that he’s been by the creek all morning taking down trees. While she once preferred her late husband’s habit of disappearing for long lengths of time after an argument, she can’t say it feels the same to have Mulder do the same.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that it takes her some time to realize that Melvin is washing up the dinner dishes. She jumps up from the table, mortified to have let that happen. Melvin waves her away.

“Go on, finish your dinner,” he says. “You didn’t hardly eat your breakfast, if at all. Let me do this. You can dry if’n you want.”

“I guess I’m just not very hungry today,” she answers.

“Well, I suppose I don’t got much of an appetite either when I got things weighin’ on my mind.”

She worries the wedding ring on her finger. It hasn’t escaped her that this has already become a nervous habit so quickly. To make better use of her hands, she grabs a dishrag and starts drying what Melvin has washed.

“We argued last night,” she says. “I suppose Mulder told you that?”

“He mentioned there was a disagreement of some kind. You may have already figured this out for yourself, but he can be as stubborn as an old goat sometimes.”

“Does he always do this? Avoid problems this way?”

“I haven’t known him to, but then again horse problems and lady problems aren’t really the same.”

“Should I bring dinner down to him, do you think?”

“I think he might appreciate that. If’n you think he’s stewed long enough with his thoughts.”

“I don’t know about him, but I think I’ve stewed long enough with mine.”

“Then you go ahead and do what you think is right.”

“I’ll pack something up right now.”

“Leave that dishrag with me so’s I can finish up here.”

Katherine drapes the dishrag over Melvin’s shoulder and starts to pack up some dinner to take to Mulder. She’s wrapping biscuits when there’s whistling and hollering outside. Melvin looks up and peers out of the small, square window above the wash basin.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Lord almighty,” he mutters, flinging water and soap suds from his hands as he turns and rushes to the door.

“Another panther?” she asks, following at his heels. “Should I get the gun?”

“Looks like there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?”

Katherine is out the door faster than Melvin, lifting her skirts as she runs across the ranch to where the men are shouting and the horses and wagon that Mulder had taken down to the creek are standing.

“What is it!?” she shouts. “What happened!?”

“He come rolling up just now and keeled over,” Jimmy says. “Felled right off the wagon.”

Katherine drops to her knees in the dirt where Mulder lays and immediately begins assessing his condition. His face is sunburnt, his skin is dry, his pulse is racing. She runs her hands over his head and finds a bit of a lump at the left side, but he’s not bleeding. His left shoulder is twisted under him at an unnatural angle. She looks up at the men standing over them.

“Should I run and fetch the doc?” Jimmy asks.

“His shoulder looks to be dislocated,” she says. “Which I can set back into place. And I believe he is suffering sunstroke.” She makes some quick determinations in her head about who can help best in what areas. “Melvin, go and fetch the doctor. Trevor, I’d like you to go in and start pumping water into the washtub. No need to light the furnace, we need it to be cool.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Trevor answers and runs off.

“Richard, can you find me some clean rags? Tear up some of the bedding I just washed if you have to.”

The other men leave quickly and it’s just Jesse, squatting low at Mulder’s feet and Jimmy hovering over her.

“I need you two to help me turn him onto his back,” she says, getting to her feet and kneeling again at Mulder’s left side. “Gently.”

Katherine holds onto Mulder’s shoulder and elbow to keep his arm in place as the men slowly roll Mulder onto his back. He groans softly and coughs once.

“Jimmy, you go down by his feet and just hold his ankles steady. I think he may already be in shock, but this still may hurt a bit and he might fight against the pain, but it’s best he be still.”

“What’re you gonna do to him?” Jesse asks.

“I’m going to be pulling the shoulder back into place, as gently as I can. Will you please hold him steady with a hand on his chest and right shoulder?”

When Jesse and Jimmy have their hold on Mulder, Katherine takes a deep breath and then starts to slowly draw Mulder’s arm up in an arc away from his side. As she pulls it up, she also pumps it softly until she’s reached a straight angle and she stops and looks from one brother to the other.

“Keep hold now,” she says. They nod their reply.

Katherine raises Mulder’s arm up, making small circles as she lifts from his wrist. Mulder groans again and he tries to kick his feet, but Jimmy holds steady.

“You’re alright,” Katherine says to Mulder, still drawing his arm up. “You’ll feel better in just a bit.”

Only moments later, Katherine feels the shoulder slide back into place and she lowers Mulder’s arm while cupping his elbow, bringing his forearm to rest across his belly. She feels his pulse again at his neck and shakes her head. It’s way too fast. His lips are chapped and white.

“Will you two be able to carry him in if we get him on a sheet?”

“I reckon we sure could,” Jesse says.

“Don’t move him until I come back.”

Katherine races to the house. She finds Richard at the linen cabinet in the dogtrot, ripping up pillow cases. She grabs one of the sheets and runs back to Mulder. When they have the sheet laid out the two men, under Katherine’s instruction, move Mulder onto it with as little jostling as possible. They lift from the sides per her direction and move swiftly to the house.

The wash room is not a large room, certainly not large enough to hold five people comfortably, especially when one of them is incapacited. She sends Trevor off to fetch her a glass of water with some salt in it and has Jesse and Jimmy lay out Mulder on the floor and then step away.

Quickly, and with nimble fingers, Katherine first unbuttons the suspenders on Mulder’s trousers. She then opens up all the buttons on his trousers and moves down to pull his boots and socks off. She pulls his trousers off and then calls out to Trevor to bring her the scissors from her sewing kit. When she has the scissors, she cuts Mulder’s shirt in half up from belly to chest so she can pull his right arm free and not have to move the left too much. With the remains of the shirt, she fashions a sling to hold his left arm.

She leaves his undershirt and drawers in place and then has Jesse and Jimmy lift him, sheet and all, into the washtub. The water doesn’t quite cover him so she pumps a bit more into the tub. Richard brings her the rags and Trevor brings her the cup of water and the salt tin.

“I just put a pinch of salt in,” Trevor says. “I don’t know if that was enough.”

“Thank you, that’s just fine. Will you do me one more favor and get me a spoon and one of the ash buckets? Just be sure it’s empty.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Trevor races out of the room.

Katherine kneels beside the tub and begins to dip the rags into the water and place them behind Mulder’s neck and on his forehead. She dabs his cheeks and jaw. Trevor returns with the spoon and the bucket. Jesse brings her a stool to sit on so she doesn’t have to kneel.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asks.

“Not at the moment. I’ll call for you when it’s time to get him out.”

“Alright, we’ll stay close by.”

“Thank you.”

Jesse closes the door behind him and she sits with Mulder, alternating soaking rags and patting his neck and face and spooning him salted water. His eyes slide open after a bit and roll around. His pupils are two different sizes, which worries her, and his gaze is a little disoriented.

“Mulder?”

“Where’m I?” he mumbles.

“You’re in the bathing tub. I think you may have had sunstroke and you fell from the wagon. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” She holds up three fingers and he blinks and stares at her hand.

“Three?”

“That’s good. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Cold. My arm aches.” He reaches up with his right hand to try to touch his shoulder, but she catches his hand and holds it.

“You dislocated your shoulder, but it’s fine now. It’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

“I did?”

“I need you to drink a little water, can you do that?”

“Okay.”

Katherine lets go of Mulder’s hand and brings the cup to Mulder’s mouth. She holds the back of his neck to help him sip, but won’t let him take much yet.

“I’m so thirsty,” he says, trying to bring his lips back to the cup.

“I know, you just need to drink slowly otherwise it might make you sick.”

He finishes the cup of water, slowly, with her help. She puts the back of her hand to his cheek and then dabs at his face again with a soaked rag. He lays passively for some time, almost like he’s dreaming, but then he starts to shift and seems to gain more awareness bit by bit.

“You know, if you wanted me in my underthings, all you had to do was ask,” he says suddenly, smiling a little and turning his head towards her.

“I think we can get you out of the tub now.”

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 14 #MSR #AU

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galactibabe · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request a fluffy Joe Mazzello x fem. reader oneshot where Joe surprises reader and proposes in a very sweet and romantic way?

Star Light, Star Bright

Joe Mazzello x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,117

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long lmao. I kept forgetting and then remembering at the worst times. But it’s finally done! This is the first time I’ve written anything in literal years, since like pre-covid. I’m happy I got to venture back into writing for our favorite man! These are bleak times in the world, it was nice to shut out everything for a bit and live in this little moment. Thank you if you choose to read and share! 💕

“What do I even do? How the hell do I go about this?”

Joe has spent the last half hour on the phone with Sebastian trying to figure out a way to maybe think about asking you to marry him. He had no idea it would be this difficult to plan what should be a huge moment for the two of you.

“I hate to say it like this, but get your shit together! You love her, right?”

“Yeah. Like, so much.”

“Then don’t even think about it. Stop searching for the perfect place, the perfect moment, the perfect lighting. I guarantee you’ll feel when it’s right. Everything will happen when it needs to, man. You’ve got this.”

Joe hears your keys turning the lock in the front door.

“She’s home, I gotta go. Thanks for listening to me ramble, Seb.”

“No problem. Hey, congrats, dude.”

“We’re not there yet, I’ll see you later.”

He hangs up just as you push into the house with a few shopping bags in hand and a body pillow slung over your shoulder. He wastes no time in getting up from his seat at the kitchen island to help take some of the bags from you.

“I hope you realize we don’t need any of this and you should never leave me unsupervised in a home goods store.” you say as you drop the bags you had on the floor.

He laughs and starts unpacking some of the different things you brought home; some new hand towels, a fancy-looking toothbrush holder, a matching soap dispenser, among other things. He pulls out a larger item and looks at you incredulously.

“What and why?”

“It’s a light up shower head! You can program it to different light patterns from your phone. It changes color, too!”

He watches the excitement on your face as you turn to pick up the body pillow with running cats embroidered along the bottom and he doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he falls deeper in love with you.

“I figured we could put this on the futon in the spare room, since we don’t have any pillows for when it gets used as a bed.”

“It’s adorable, just like you, Snow Cap.”

He’s been calling you that since your 4th date when he invited you over for a movie night and you brought your own candy but refused to share the Snow Caps with him.

You smiled and brought some of the things upstairs into their specific rooms. He watches you disappear and he feels the ring box in his jacket pocket, pressing his fingertips onto the corners. He catches his nail on the front seam and picks at it nervously as he stands in the middle of the room.

You come back down the stairs with the bag in your hand now filled with the now replaced bathroom counter furnishings and old hand towels, and he pulls his hand out of his pocket.

“I was thinking of giving these to my friend Dolly since she’s moving out of her sister’s place.”

“That’s alright with me. Do we have anything else to do today?” Joe asks.

You shake your head, “I’m all yours!”

Gosh, you have no idea how deeply he wants to make that statement a permanent one..

You spend the next couple hours on the couch playing video games. Joe always finds a way to squeak out a win in Mario Kart. He brings up taking you outside when it starts to get dark. The weather is at that nice stage where it’s warm enough outside to go for a walk, but there’s still a slight breeze so it’s not too warm. You end up sitting out on your patio swing in the back yard, curled into his side as you swing gently.

The sky is clear and you can see the stars. The crickets are chirping. You can hear people a couple houses down having a get together, laughing and talking. Somewhere a child plays with their dog.

Before he knows it, he’s getting up from the swing, pulling you with him out from under the overhang, into the yard so you’re completely under the night sky. He’s not thinking about it, he’s not nervous, he’s not pushing for things to be perfect, he’s just letting it all fall into place.

“I love you so god damn much, you know that, right?”

The statement kinda freaks you out a bit, you’re beginning to think that he bought something really expensive without discussing it first, or he’s taking a long acting job across the world, who knows.

But then he reaches into his pocket and he starts to get down on one knee.

“Joey… what the fuck are you doing…?”

“I can’t even begin to imagine my life anymore without you in it. I love waking up next to you every day. I love taking stupid pictures with you. I love when we judge bad movies together. I love getting to be there for you while you work on your dissertation. I love that you bring home more Lactaid pills for me when I don’t even notice I’m out of them. You are everything I’ll ever need. I could get blacklisted in Hollywood tomorrow, and as long as I have you, I’m set for life. I can do anything when I have you. Will you marry me?”

You’ve been smiling like an idiot through his whole speech, and you’ve forgotten to respond. Joe pokes you in the thigh with his finger a couple times.

“Hey, goofball, did you hear me?”

You’re shaken from your daze and you run your fingers through his hair.

“Can you say it again?”

He smiles wide and pulls your left hand in.

“Will you marry me?”

You tackle him onto the grass while yelling ‘of course I will, you dork!’

He rolls you onto your back and slips the ring on your finger, it fits perfectly. You’re so happy that you don’t even care about the dampness in the grass seeping into your clothes as you lay there with him under the stars.

“When did you even buy this? How did you manage get my size right?”

“Bought it a couple weeks ago, stole one of your rings you wear all the time to get it sized correctly. It was worth a shot that your right hand and left hand were the same size.”

The stone glitters in the moonlight, a round cut with a halo on a simple band, nothing too flashy or large. Joe turns your hand to press a kiss to your palm.

“Love you Snow Cap…”

“Gonna have to add Mazzello to that soon.”

“I can’t wait.”

#ask #borhapgirlforlife19 #J Mazz #my work #this has made me SOFT

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desiraypark · 4 years ago

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A Busy Holiday

This was supposed to follow a prompt, but per usual, I deviated lol. Characters: Chris McKay x Black Female Reader / Also: parents, grandparents, siblings, and best friends. (Note: I gave you the last name “Davis”) Content: Fluff; a little angst?; worry; overthinking; couple issues. Word Count: 1,659

McKay had been acting strange all week. He’d been avoiding you—responding to texts with single phrases or short sentences; not answering phone calls at all. The two of you were supposed to hang out during the holidays, and you’d spend Christmas Eve with your family, and Christmas Day with his. You wanted to go over your plans, but he just did not seem invested. Sure, he worked at a real estate agency, but surely people weren’t buying houses during the holidays? Or, maybe you were just an idiot who knew nothing about real estate...

Sigh...your parents always warned you about your tendency to jump to conclusions about everything, so you kept your cool. But now, it was two days before Christmas Eve, and you needed to know what was up. So, you called him, and finally, he answered.

“Hey, baby…” he said with a tired voice. “McKay? What the fuck is up?!” “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been super busy.” “Me too, McKay, but I still make time to call. We’re supposed to be spending Christmas break together. Is that still happening, or no?” “Yes, it’s still happening. We agreed to do what we did last year, right? Christmas Eve with your people, then Christmas Day with mine, then just you and me at the Ramada, right?” “Yeah, but—” “I booked the Ramada in October, remember?” he pressed. You got agitated. “Yes, but McKay, just because we’re an hour away from each other it doesn’t mean we can’t still communicate. These short conversations have me thinking that you’re up to something.” “Up to something like…working? Spending time with my family and friends? Registering for next semester? Not everybody gets to just chill on their breaks...” He had a point with that last statement, but you chose to bypass it. “Am I not family or friends, McKay?” You heard him sigh. “Look, baby. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Christmas Eve. Early in the morning. Okay?” You rolled your eyes. “Sure. Okay.”

Christmas Eve

McKay texted you the night before, saying that he would be over at ten. Of course, you sent him a dry “K.” in response. But who were you fooling? You got up the next morning, spent an eternity in the shower, slathering soap and body scrub all over your skin and shaving non-existent hair from your legs—just in case. You rubbed coconut oil into your skin, sprayed your Versace crystal on your neck, applied a little face makeup, and slid on some popping red lipstick. Maybe you were tripping…but you were going to make sure McKay got a GOOD look at what he’d been missing out on the last three weeks.

The doorbell rang at exactly 10:00AM and your dad answered it. “What’s up, Chris?” your dad’s voice boomed throughout the house. “How you doin’, Mr. Davis?” McKay said. You heard the slapping of skin in a dap. Then, the front door closed. You gave yourself another look in the mirror—lifting your boobs in your red T-shirt, rubbing your hands along your thighs, and fluffing out your white cardigan. “I’m doin’, I’m doin’,” your father responded. “She’s in her room.” You yanked your phone off your dresser and jumped onto the bed. Then, you leaned over on your side and thumbed through the phone, pretending to be unmoved by McKay’s impending presence. He walked in with fresh braids, wearing his usual blue hoodie, some jeans, and his blue and white Jordan 11s. In his hands were a bouquet of red roses. “May I come in?” he asked jokingly. You looked up from your phone with an unimpressed look. “Sure.” He shook his head, chuckled to himself, and put the roses on your dresser. Then, he leaned over the bed and gave you a kiss on the lips. You almost fainted at the smell of cologne. “You tryna act like you ain’t happy to see me?” he asked, sitting beside you. You put down your phone and lifted your body to rest against your pillows. “I usually don’t get excited about seeing strangers,” you responded. He rolled his eyes and lean back. “Maaan, come on. Cut that shit out!” he laughed. You buried your face into your knees and laughed, but he wiggled his finger under your chin and tilted your head up. Then, he kissed your lips again. “I’m sorry, baby. But I promise you, things have just really been busy,” he said. He lowered his head and rubbed your sheets. “And…I guess I have to be honest with you.” “Please do.” “I’ve had some shit going on mentally,” he admitted. Your heart sank. You really could be an asshole. You took his hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry, baby…” “No, don’t be sorry. Nothing bad, for the most part. I’ve just really been in my head about some things...” “But you know you can talk to me about it, right?” you asked. He stared into your eyes and smiled. “Yeah, I know.” He leaned forward to kiss you again, but just as his lips were inches away from yours… “Hey, McKay!” your mother’s voice screeched. You both looked up to see her in the doorway with an ugly Christmas sweater and reindeer ears on. You scoffed and buried your face in your knees again. “Mama, what are you wearing?” “Hey, Mrs. Davis!” “Hey, McKay baby. And what do you mean what am I wearing? It’s Christmas Eve!”

You and McKay started the day with some window shopping. You’d both completed your shopping, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what was left on the shelves. Next, you went on a double date with your best friend, Mariah, and her boyfriend, Johari—first some lunch at Panera Bread, then the movies. After that, you hung out at Johari’s apartment, playing board games. McKay insisted on playing Monopoly, the longest damned game in the world; then the two of you had to dash home for dinner with your family. You came home to smooth Christmas jazz playing from the radio, dim lights and candles—very different from the usual festive setup, where The Temptations would be blasting and every single light in the house would be on—with the blinds and curtains opened, too--much to your chagrin. Both sets of your grandparents were in the living room, and you gave all four of them big hugs, as did McKay. “Babe, I’m going to go change out of this hoodie really quick,” McKay said. “Alright.” McKay returned to the living room in a crisp white Polo, but you noticed he’d changed into Khakis and dress shoes, too—the Polo shirt tucked in like he was going on a job interview. You raised an eyebrow, but figured he just wanted to be respectful. You hung out in the living room with your grandparents, and when the table was set, everyone made their way to the kitchen. Plates were already made with Dad’s famous ribeye steaks, mom’s crab cakes, and green beans. A tray of potatoes—sat in the center of the table with a bowl of sour cream beside it, a stick of butter, and the salt and pepper shakers. “McKay, would you like to say grace?” your dad suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, because since when? “Um, sure Mr. Davis,” McKay agreed. Everyone bowed their heads. “Dear God, thank you for this day, and thank you for this dinner prepared by family…” Suddenly, the back door opened. You opened one eye to see McKay’s parents and brothers crept into the kitchen. You swung your head up and looked around at everyone and their still-bowed heads. “God, I especially thank you for allowing the Davis family to welcome me with opened arms. And today…” McKay removed his hand from yours, and suddenly, everyone’s head lifted. McKay stepped back and started digging in his pockets. Your hands flew to your mouth. “…I hope you’ll allow me to talk out of their home, with their daughter as my fiancée,” he said, pulling out a tiny box and falling to one knee. You stood frozen with your hands to your mouth and eyes wide. Then, tears started to stream down your face. “I can’t stand you McKay,” you blubbered. “I know,” he laughed. “Y/N Davis, will you marry me?” he opened the box and revealed gold band with a sparkling sapphire jewel in the middle—the exact kind of ring you told him you’d like when you were just two project partners for your Cultural Studies course—discussing marriages and weddings around the world. You shook your head in disbelief and wept. “Of course, I will, McKay. You know I will!” McKay took the ring out of the box and slid it on your finger, and your family—current and future—clapped and cheered. McKay rose to his feet, pulled you in his arms and kissed you on the lips. You rested your chin over his shoulders and spotted Mariah and Johari in the doorway. You let out a scream and a hearty laugh. “I hate y’all!” you shouted. They laughed and walked over to you and surrounded you both in hugs. “Is that why you had me in there playing some damned Monopoly?!” Everyone burst into laughter, and hugs and kisses went around.

During dinner, McKay informed you that he didn’t book the Ramada—but a weekend at a beach house through Noirbnb. You packed some lounging clothes, beach wear, and other necessities, hopped in the car with McKay, and the two of you made your way there. Of course, he teased you about your bratty attitude—and promised some punishment for it later—but the both of you promised to be better at communicating and understanding each other. You arrived at the beach house, owned by a lovely middle-aged couple, and made yourself comfortable. You were too full and tired to do what you both really wanted to do, so instead, the two of you wrapped yourselves in a blanket and sat on the beach, talking beneath the crescent moon, and before an endless ocean.

#chris mckay x black female reader #euphoria fanfiction

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redqueen-hypothesis · 4 years ago

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tied together pt. 1 ➳ mlqc

➳ WORD COUNT: 1874

➳ GENRE: fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: how would the mlqc boys (gavin and kiro) propose?

➳ REMARKS: this literally came out of nowhere, it’s 3am and i need to sleep. check out the inspiration for kiro’s song here!

GAVIN

he realises it on a completely average day

you’re over in his house for a surprise date-but-not-quite date, chiding him for not stocking up on his kitchen enough for you to make a proper dinner - he’s lucky you haven’t discovered his cup noodle stash in the bottom cupboard

the two of you end up ordering take in together

you’re blowing on some hot dumplings before you place them on his plate, rambling to him about your homemade food may not taste as good but is more healthy, when it hits him out of nowhere

yeah, gavin wants to have this everyday for the rest of his life

normal days don’t feel mundane in the least when you’re by his side like this, in fact, each day becomes more and more precious to him, no matter how ordinary they are

he wants to spend the rest of his life with you

this realisation almost scares him, because while he knows that he’s been in love with you for a long time, marriage is different - do you want to marry him? should he really go ahead with taking this step - making you his?

gavin is kind of out of it for the rest of the evening, just... thinking about it

imagining how you would be like if the two of you were married, his ring on your finger

his arms wrapped around you when he goes to sleep and when he wakes up in the morning

you helping him put on his tie before he leaves for work

all the cliches, he’s a sweet boy that way

gavin finds that he wants that more desperately than anything he’s ever wanted in the world, he wants to be the one that makes you happy. for the rest of your lives

the second you leave the house, gavin’s mind is scrambling to think about whether you’ll accept or not if he did propose

this goes on for a while, until one day eli calls you and asks you why gavin has been spacing out at work here and there

not enough for him to be a danger or for him to be shirking work, of course (you know how seriously gavin takes his job), but enough for eli to steal gavin’s pork chops right under his nose - and the man didn’t even realise!

that immediately has you worried

when you confront gavin about it, however, the man looks as cool as a cucumber as always

“eli thinks i’m spacing out? i noticed, i just let it slide.”

for some reason, that’s even more worrying to you (gavin giving up his meat? no way)

he’s actually panicking on the inside, oh my god eli shut up shut up shut up-

he eventually gets exposed to minor, who’s almost as ecstatic about this proposal as gavin is, this is his best bro trying to get married here!!

minor acts as gavin’s secret agent in the company, trying to figure out your ring size with the stupidest excuses

“it’s dark, i’m scared and just need to hold your hand.”

asks the most obvious questions ever like “on a scale of one to ten, how much would you like to marry gavin?”

anna, kiki and willow catch on fast enough and drag him away the second he tries to approach you in case you find out

minor has the subtlety of an elephant stomping through a china shop

plan minor is bust

gavin just gives up on elaborate planning and buys a simple ring

he doesn’t really know when the moment is the moment, so he just keeps the ring in a box in his pocket, waiting for whenever the moment shows itself

and the moment comes a few days later, when the two of you are washing up the dishes together after dinner, and he finds that he can’t stop looking at your soapy hands

part of his brain is terrified, insistent on putting it off, because what if you say no?

the other part of his brain is tired from all this wishy washy and just goes fuck it

reaches into his pocket to pull out the box and pops it open, knows he’s supposed to be kneeling but his brain isn’t working right. gavin stands there dumbly like an idiot, watching you hum to yourself as you continue soaping the dishes

even at this point, he’s still conflicted (to ask or not to ask) but luckily for him, just before he loses his nerves and shoves the ring back into his pocket, you turn around and spot the silver band in his hand

you start to tear up, shocked, while gavin internally panics because his head and tongue seem to have disconnected

forgot the script he’d spent nights working on writing and ends up fumbling out a hoarse “will you marry me?”

it’s then he realises why he’s been so terrified the entire time, he can’t chance you rejecting him, because he can’t imagine a future without you in it

you look at him as if he’s grown a second and third head, and he nearly flees out of your window before you’re wrapping your arms around his middle to tug him back into your apartment

“yes! yes, of course, yes! a million times, yes!”

there are tears in the corners of your eyes, and he brushes them away with a shaky hand before he kisses you on the lips

after the dizziness of the proposal settles down, gavin slides the ring onto your finger with gentle hands

keeps your hands together for the rest of the night

KIRO

realises it when you’ve been pouting a bit over female celebrities trying to get close to him right in front of you

he finds it cute, of course, but he feels like it’s time to settle down, to show you that he’s as much yours as you are his

the public does not know that he’s dating in secret, and the company would surely throw a fit if they know what he’s up to

decides not consult savin about this (uh oh)

has watched plenty of romance dramas, and has acted in countless of them. he knows the drill, diamond ring, tearjerker script and crying girl equals to profit!

but kiro doesn’t want that

he wants it to be special, a unique memory that only the two of you will share together

he’s releasing an album soon, it’s in the production stages, so he decides to add an unplanned song to it, one that he’ll compose and write completely from scratch on his own

manages to act pretty natural around you, although you tend to catch him staring at you with an uncommonly serious look when you’re not looking

it’s not that kiro can’t be serious, but it just isn’t like him to be silent for so long - he’s usually chattering on about something or bursting into random songs that are stuck in his head

surprisingly (to you), he consults you about the new addition to his album, asking you about your taste in music, how you feel about the lyrics

from what you can see, it’s a sweet love song with simple melodies, but deceptively emotional lyrics

he hides the full track from you though, even if you pout and whine

“you’ll just have to find out about it when it drops,” he laughs mischievously

you resign yourself to waiting for another month

the night before, kiro tells you to wait for him at the cross junction for him the next day so that the two of you can celebrate his album release together at souvenir - but he also makes you promise not to listen to the mystery track, he wants to be the first one to sing it to you, with his own lips, and his own voice

and the day it does, social media explodes into a frenzy over the mystery track, simply titled ‘sun’

while the song seems light and cheerful at first, the lyrics have a deeper meaning to them that fans can’t quite decipher, referencing memories and dates together, before bringing up hopes of a future - a future together

you don’t see all of this, however, firmly avoiding all social media to prevent yourself from breaking your promise to kiro

you’re waiting at the crosswalk for him at night after work, a little tired from your day at the office. it’s quiet from how late it is, and the streets are a rather empty, and yet, there’s still no sign of your boyfriend

kiro’s a little late

suddenly, the sounds of a guitar strumming ring out through the quiet night air, and you turn around in surprise to see kiro walking towards you slowly, playing a melody that’s both familiar, but also one that you don’t quite recognise

wait, he’s not wearing his mask or any disguises. people are already starting to turn and stare: is it really kiro? his gaze is fixed solely on you

normally, you would run to him, but the sincere, raw expression on his face glues you to the spot - others must feel it too, because not a single person dares to approach him, not with that fierce determination you see burning in his eyes

when he reaches a short distance from you, he stops and gives you a gentle smile, right before he starts to sing

“i was just one star out of infinity, but you made me your sun. this world of mine was barren, but your warmth filled me with life.”

it’s your song - the song that belongs to the two of you - of your story together, the way you’ve changed his life

“you said i belonged among the planets and the galaxy, but you held the universe inside.”

you don’t even realise you’re crying until kiro starts tearing up as well, and his voice breaks as he reaches the end of the song

“could i be selfish, reach up to pluck the stars and pull the universe into my hands?”

you know what he’s asking

“would you... be mine?”

as the song ends, kiro plucks off the ring hanging off one of the tuning pegs of the guitar, walking up to you with a shy, gentle ‘hey, miss chips’

you throw yourself into his arms when he’s halfway into kneeling, and that’s all the permission he needs to claim your mouth in front of the crowd that’s gathered at the cross junction

they scream and cheer, because it’s kiro finally getting together with the love of his life and he looks so damned happy they can’t help but feel happy for him as well

puts the ring on your finger and kisses it, stroking his thumb over it like he can’t quite believe that it’s there

the news blows up while the two of you beat an escape, kiro donning his disguise as you wrap your hand around his

the two of you have a quiet dinner in souvenir. the chef even makes a special pudding for the two of you, shaped like a small sun

savin throttles kiro the next day at work before congratulating him, and threatens to toss all his snacks in his sleep if he ever pulls such a stunt again

kiro still thinks it’s worth it

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc headcanon #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #gavin bai #mr love gavin #gavin x reader #kiro #kiro zhou #mr love kiro

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years ago

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When You Come Back to Me, pt 3

Part I ~ Part II

While Pedro’s away, the food trolley comes around, and you eat some mediocre pasta with ragu sauce. You like pasta, and ragu. You know this.

You thumb through the contacts on your phone, recognising most of them. Pedro is listed not under his name but as “Husband” with a smiley face emoticon.

You stare at the little picture you’ve chosen to go with his contact info - he’s in a soft charcoal jumper, smiling cheekily - trying to burn his strong, handsome features into your memory.

One of the kitchen assistants comes to clear your plate away. As you thank her, she says in a soft Italian accent, “It must be hard. Sharing him with the world.”

“Sorry, sharing who?”

“Your husband,” the woman says, frowning slightly. “I’d imagine it’s hard sometimes. He seems very dedicated to you, though,” she smiles. “You’re lucky to have each other.”

You must make some small noise of agreement because she leaves the room. You stare at the door for some time. Who is your husband? You pick up your phone again, go through more of the photos. And sometimes your husband is wearing some very elaborate fancy dress in the photos. In fact, movie-grade fancy dress.

God, he’s an actor. A famous one.

You feel like you might throw up again. You manage not to.

A half hour later, the door opens, and Pedro comes through it. He brings the scent of verbena with him, freshly showered, and his thick, soft hair curls damply at the collar of his short sleeved white button-up shirt. His jeans are low slung and he wears flip flops on his feet. His soulful brown eyes find yours. “Hey, mijita.”

“You’re an actor,” you say without inflection.

Pedro drags a hand over his face. “It’s how we met. You remembered?”

“No. Someone… one of the staff said it must be hard for me to share you. Is it?”

He looked away from you for a moment, then crossed to the visitors chair, eyeing it with distaste before dropping into it. “Sometimes.”

“But we still got married.”

He nods. “We decided that my job isn’t insurmountable. I’m away a lot, but we make it work. You come see me, and we video call every night if I’m out working.”

You shift in the hospital bed, running a hand over the bandage on your forehead, absently. It doesn’t hurt as much as when you woke. “Tell me about us?” You offered him your free hand, palm up, open. “Maybe we should…. Hold hands?”

He brightens, and your heart aches at how happy he is to be thrown that small crumb. He slides his hand over yours, and you close your eyes, trying to feel the topography of his palm, his fingers, hoping it stirs something.

It doesn’t.

With his free hand, Pedro digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone. “Let’s see. Why don’t we revisit some fun times we had. So…” he thumbs through the images, stops on one.

“Oh, man. This was when your sister was practicing making flower crowns for her wedding. You both thought I’d look, and I quote, hella cute in one.”

You grin. “Well, we weren’t wrong.”

Pedro frowns. “We drank a lot of tequila that night. Oh, boy, did we. You said you’d never drink again - you were lying, by the way.”

You can’t help inhaling the scent of him as he’s so close - clean soap and his verbena aftershave and that familiar, unique aroma that’s just him. “Was I?”

“Oh yeah, honey, you were.” He grins wickedly and there’s something about the way his eyes go dark that makes a ripple of awareness slide through you, liquid and hot, like butter meeting a skillet.

“Um, another one?” you ask.

“How about this video? You took this in the hotel,” he chuckled, bringing up a video of Pedro and a friend dancing to some inaudible music, both of them grinning hugely.

You drink in the video Pedro, full of life, so happy. His smile is contagious and you feel a smile spreading on your face. “You made fun of me for my dancing for literal weeks afterwards. Like yours is any better.”

“I bet it’s good when I’m full of tequila?”

He snorts out a laugh. “You certainly think so, baby.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue, and for a moment all you want is to unhook the drip and crawl into his lap, hook your arms around his neck and lose yourself in his embrace, and maybe everything will be fine.

As if sensing the change in your mood, Pedro tosses his phone on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Your mouth feels dry as questions turn in your brain. “Would you… come sit on the bed with me? Just…. Hug me?”

“You want me to?”

You meet his deep brown eyes and nod slowly. Maybe it’ll help, but if you’re honest, whether it will or not, you want him. You want this man who wears your ring on his finger, who dances like abandon and who calls you mijita in that husky-edged voice, who is patient and kind and who will be photographed with fabric flowers in his hair.

Pedro stands and eases his hip on the side of your bed, moving slowly, as if you’re going to shove him away at any given moment. Of course, you don’t. You lean forward so he can curl his arm around you, and you shuffle forward and lean into him as best you can.

And it’s…. Nice. It’s really nice.

“This is okay?” he asks, voice thick.

“This is okay.”

Pedro rests his cheek on the top of your head, and you can feel his chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

Nurses and doctors pass your room on their way around the wards. Now and again you hear an announcement or two in Italian, but mostly, except for a nurse coming to check your blood pressure and temperature, you’re left on your own for a couple of hours.

“Tell me,” you say abruptly, “about.....the first time I said I loved you.”

You feel him smile against your hair. He clears his throat. “Allow me to set the scene. The year is two thousand and sixteen. You and I have been friends for six years. I’m filming Narcos - a Netflix drama about the takedown of the Colmbian drug baron, Pablo Escobar. You fly out for a visit because that’s how we’ve rolled for the last few years; we’re close friends. I pick you up at the airport. You rip the piss out of me for the very sexy tinted aviators that my character wears.”

You smile as he tells the story, the fingers of his hand on your hip drumming idly. “Are they sexy?”

“I think they are,” he grumbles.

“Anyway, continue…?”

“It’s hot as hell where we’re filming. We go back to where I’m staying, you take a shower, and when you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a fucking enormous towel, I’m making coffee, and I say: “I’m glad you’re here. Makes me feel at home.” ”

He pauses, and you glance up to see a little smug smile playing on his face, like he’s about to drop a plot twist. “And then you say, “home is wherever we are together, right?” ”

You laugh. “I really said that?”

“God’s honest truth. And I looked at you, and my stomach was insane, like a massive, broken washing machine. So I stupidly say, “you want some coffee?” and you march over, still dripping water all over the flat the studio have rented me, and you say, “No I do not want coffee, I didn’t fly all the way here for your shitty dark roast. I flew here to tell you I love you.” ”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. “You remember all that?”

His eyes go soft as he looks down at you, smiling for a moment, lost in the memory. “A man never forgets the first time his best friend says she loves him, querida.” He frowned. “Or the first time she tells him he makes shitty coffee.”

***

Unbeta’d - we die like men. Thank you, everyone who sent me pictures/videos from Reader’s phone! I’m not done with them yet :)

Tagging: @queenofheaven (who this story is written for) @murdermewithbooks @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @spacegayofficial @starlight-starwrites @lokimostly @pedrosasscal @abuttoncalledsmalls @alldatalost @ly-canthropewrites @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @restingnurseface @scribbledghost @keeper0fthestars @criminal-cookies @agingerindenial @thisithe-way @marvel-avengers01 @fioccodineveatutunnale @thinemineours @badassbaker @snivellusim @blushingwueen @littlemissthistle @kiaralein @persephonequeenofthedead @mstgsmy

Please do ask to be added or removed from the tags!

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years ago

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Wish Granted Pt. 2

[Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black OC]

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I decided to make this a series and instead of reader, it is an original character. Strap in!

( Read Part 1 here)

That morning, Yahya and Corrine bask in the glow of the new morning sun, sharing a table by the front window enjoying eggs benedict, toast, with a stack of pancakes to share. Corrine dipped some of her bacon into the leftover egg and sauce along her plate, chasing it with the remaining orange juice in her glass. She goes to grab for more from the pitcher when Yahya’s hand surrounds hers.

“I have a flight tonight at 6,” he says.

Corrine nods slowly. “Ok.”

He looks sorry as he continues, “It got changed last minute.”

“Sure...can I ...pour my juice now?” Corrine asks, making Yahya awkwardly rest his hands on the table to allow you access to the pitcher.

“And with traffic, I should probably start getting ready to go now.”

Corrine sips her drink, wiping her mouth gingerly with the cloth napkin and sets it down. “I gave you back that ring, right?”

Yahya nods. “And your scarf is in your room at the hotel.”

“It’s not mine but...thanks.” Corrine says quietly. She pushes her fork around in the remnants of her plate, squeaking every so often against the porcelain.

Yahya leans forward. “I still want to stay in contact. Just because I live out of town doesn’t mean we can’t not see each other, you know?”

Corrine smiles with wide eyes like he just said something offensive. “If that’s what you think, that is fine. But honestly how would that work? I couldn’t keep a guy to get a proposal and I spent at least half of my 20s hanging with him. Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

Yahya sits back, looking out the window for distraction.

“I mean I am fine with a one night stand. Thank you for being what I needed at the time, it was definitely a night I will never forget but let’s not make this weird.”

Yahya sighs, looking around for presumably the waitress and pulls out his wallet. “I can’t believe you’re flipping like this.”

“It’s not a flip, just...this happens. Like, come on Yahya, we don’t know each other. Can you seriously say you want to try and make this a long term thing base don our track records?”

Yahya puts some bills on the table. “I thought you hadn’t done this before?”

Corrine shrugs. “Ok, truthfully, not since college had I done this before. Before...him,” she says with a cringe.

Yahya folds his arms across his chest looking at her with amazement. “So you really used me? I am your rebound and now you’re backing out? Or is it because I am not conveniently at your beck and call now that you’re scared to try something new?”

Corrine scoffs. “I don’t need to explain it, I made it clear. Long distance will not work. That’s it!”

“I disagree. And I want you to see that I am right and you’re wrong.”

“Yahya…”

“Corrine….” Yahya says, biting his lip playfully.

Corrine rolls her eyes, pulling out her purse to rifle through it. Not able to find a piece of paper, she takes an unused napkin and scribbles on the front with her dying pen.

“Look, I will give you my number. Do with it what you want, I’m not holding you to it though,”

She hands it to a confused look Yahya. “I could just give you my phone to put it in?”

“I’m old school. Plus, watch you accidentally use it and mess up the ink or ball it up thinking it’s trash. I wanna know you can be responsible with an important document such as that napkin with my number on it.”

Yahya looks at it, puts it down and grabs a five off of the stack of bills he had set on the table.

“Let me borrow that pen,” he asks, scribbling his number across the front of Lincoln’s face.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Corrine asks, leaning to get a glimpse for herself before Yahya gives her the defaced bill.

“And here is my number. If your theory checks out, it shouldn’t be hard to keep up with or lose, unless you accidentally spend it on some shoes or a new purse, right?”

Corrine glares at him. “Ha Ha. Here, let me at least put some money back on this since you probably just took the girl’s tip money for this.”

Yahya waves her off. “Please, it’s still 20% without it, we good.”

Corrine folds the five up in a side pocket in her bag. “Then that’s it right?”

Yahya stares through the table, nodding blankly. When he looks at Corrine he fights a smirk.

“I really had a good time.”

“I did too.”

Yahya and Corrine step out of the restaurant, parting with one last hug as his car arrives to pick him. Corrine holds him close, smelling the fresh soap from the morning shower he took just a couple hours ago. His shoulders and back solid under her hands, she imagines if she lifts her feet, he wouldn’t bend or fold even slightly.

His hands spread along her back before sliding slowly around her waist, kissing a spot behind her ear that makes her curl back and chuckle.

“I’ll call you,” Yahya says inches from Corrine’s face as she nods. “You gonna call me?”

“When you call me, I will,” she says, putting her hand to the side of his face, trying to memorize every feature and feeling it gave her. One last kiss would make her fly in the cab with him, so she backs off, waving goodbye.

A month goes by and Corrine has finally packed up all of James’s things in two boxes. She sits on the couch staring at them sat next to her front door. His life with her fit in just two boxes? They weren’t officially living together yet but he spent so much time with her that it seemed like there would be more things. Most of it is laundry that needs washing and DVDs he brought over because he refused to buy them on digital again.

Corrine scrolls through her phone absentmindedly as she waits. A message pops up that makes her jump out of the blue.

Hey, how’s your morning beautiful?

It’s fine for now. Still waiting on him.

Don’t let him bother you. Just tell him to the left and leave!

Of course girl. Why mess with a beyonce blueprint?

Works every time! Also, don’t forget to meet us for our lunch date after.

Sounds good.

Corrine gets up to check out of her patio door and sees his car park outside. James strolls across the grass, which instinctively makes her cringe. She always told him to watch doing that so he doesn’t end up walking in dog shit.

She waits for his knock patiently, not wanting him to know she saw him already. Her phone chimes again.

Outside, it reads.

Corrine groans at the rude tone of his one word text. As she opens the door he’s leaning on the frame in a way that reminds you of one of Danny Zuko’s boys from Grease. Leather jacket on even though it's 85 degrees out, distressed blue jeans that fit snug around his lean legs with some schmegular all white Adidas.

“I already packed your stuff,” she says, walking backwards to point to the left as practiced. James takes one step in with his hands in his pockets and looks to his right at the boxes.

“I could’ve done that,” he says in a bored tone, looking back at her as if she is visiting him without notice,

“I asked you every week for the past month to come get it. You think I’m going to wait for you to poke around here and find every little thing of yours on your own? I don’t think so.”

His fingers find their way around a curl of hair in his high top fade. “What’s all this energy about though? I thought we could be cool about it?”

“Why would I be cool about anything with you after you left me by myself in the city when we were supposed to be celebrating your promotion, right? But you recall what happened instead? After 5 and a half years together?”

“I wanted to talk to you in person-”

“You hadn’t done that either for a month, have you?”

James’ jaw flies open. “Because the only thing you got to say is about picking up my stuff! You never asked to talk and you didn’t answer my calls!”

“I shouldn’t have to ask to talk! I’m not the one that said I can’t do this no more!”

“Are you sure Corrine? Cuz you never acted interested in shit with what I got to do. You don’t listen to nothing I got to say.”

Corrine scoffs loudly as James kneels to look through the boxes.

“I never helped YOU? I got you into a respectable corporate job that paid BILLS for the first time in you life when your cooking career wasn’t pulling weight like you hoped it would! Now you can earn some capital so you can open your business steadily and not fall flat on your ass! I gave you so much more mercy than you ever did for me!”

James sucks his teeth and comes to a standing, towering over Corrine. “I stood by you while you worked to do this lawyer shit you got goin on. Long nights studying in the living room, out to the library, hell week after hell week to pass your bar. I barely got a kiss from you at your celebration party. You always doin the most!”

Corrine grips her temples, completely taken back. “I can’t believe you’re saying my ambition is a reason to leave me. I can’t succeed while you’re down and out or you feel less of a man? Is that it?”

James picks up his boxes in both arms. “Shut up.” He walks out the door heading for the steps.

“No, now I got it! You want me to just stay quiet and patient while you figure things out but I couldn’t carry our relationship for you! I needed your support too, whether I am studying for hours on end or you’re taking a month long business trip, only to come back unemployed!”

James was out the door about halfway down when he looks back at her.

“You think I wouldn’t know? I got you that gig, how would I not check into it? They said you never showed up. Why?”

James looked off, sighing deeply like a load was taken off even though he was carrying two very heavy boxes.

“You had to get away for a month? What were you doing for that long that you didn’t tell me?”

James continued to not look at Corrine. His mind battling with what to say and what not to say was killing her as she looked for him to speak.

“I won’t take you back James, I just want a good excuse so I can hate you less. I thought you were going to marry me when you booked that room for us at that fancy spot. But you broke my heart so bad.”

James continued to walk down the steps without a word. Corrine watched him pack his car and turn on the engine to peel out.

“Girl, and that’s what he did?” Simone exclaimed over her half eaten salad. Her pressed hair pulled back in a bun already gave her a naturally alert look, but Corrine’s turmoil made it that much more apparent.

Corrine pushed around a meatball in her spaghetti. “That is all he did. I have no closure to it.”

Bria pats you back gingerly. “You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine. It’s just because the break up is still fresh that y’all couldn’t come to an understanding.”

Corrine sits back and shrugs. “Maybe? But that’s a big ass lie he dropped on me. He was gone for a month. He could have a whole family in another state for all I know.”

Simone points at Corrine, big brown eyes bucking. “That’s why I told you he look like Cousin Skeeter if he were a real man. He is just as goofy too. Nobody should leave for a MONTH without saying anything.”

Bria nods, adjusting her tortoise shell frames. “He is not worth a thought but you take all the time you need to get past it. Just move on. You gave him chance after chance up until the last moment. It’s time you got to breathe on your own.”

“And speaking of,” Simone lowers her voice. “You hear from our hotel daddy yet?”

“Oh God, don’t bring that up now,” Corrine whines.

“Simone!” Bria hisses. “She hasn’t heard from him yet, and honestly by now, there would be some explaining to do instead of dating.”

Corrine lays her head on the table. “Why is life so hard? I can’t have a good time with nobody!”

Simone and Bria offer pats as her tears are absorbed by the tablecloth.

“Hey, you know what? You do still have his number…”

“Simone, no. I can’t.”

“But! Instead of cutesy whats up and stuff, you can tell him off maybe? Give him the lashing every wrong you’ve received deserves. It might not be constructive but a quick shot of feel good sounds pretty good, right?”

Corrine sits up, dabbing her eyes and feeling the avalanche of snot coming to her nose. Her cries put all ugly cries to shame.

“I just...it was...he said...he’d call!” Corrine squeaks out between sobs.

One month turned into two, and so on until Corrine forgot about that night at the hotel. Busying herself with work was the best thing she could do in order to keep herself feeling good from day to day. That and happy hours with her girls who vigorously scoped men out for her as her wingwomen.

Sometimes when she is turning in for the evening, she picks up the base of her little desk mirror to find the $5 bill under it that Yahya scrawled his number on. The more she looked at it, she wasn’t sure if it ended in a four or a nine, so it’s probably best she kept from calling in order to not look foolish on someone’s phone.

James and her never got back with each other either. But Corrine is more ok with that. She figures whatever skeletons he has are bigger than she can manage and she deserves a break. But Yahya seemed so good and promising, she couldn’t believe she got bamboozled that hard. He could’ve left that morning, allowing her to sleep away the future but he gave her hope instead and that got snatched away.

So Corrine filled her days digging into practicing law and running errands and not much in between. But she was ok. Without the extra baggage of men in her life she felt as if she might’ve unlocked a new level in life.

---

“As you all know, the construction on the new building is being negotiated with several architects in order to get a broad scope of what design would fit the future of our practice the best for years to come. Let me remind you all that if it weren’t for your dedication to your work around here that we would not be one of the most sought after and winningest law office in the state.”

Applause fills the conference room for Hogel of Garrett, Hogel & Truman as Corrine takes notes on the meetings main points. Most of the meetings are supplied with a bullet list of the main topics, but she does not enjoy just sitting and staring or she is liable to daydream.

When the meeting comes to a close, it is close enough to the evening and the weekend that she hopes will allow her to get off early and head straight for bed. Her feet kill her in the stiff three inch pumps she wears for ten hours straight, and her local Chinese spot was calling her name for some springfield chicken.

When she makes it back to her desk, her heart flips with joy as she sees no new files to review and archive, and since she got ahead of her projects for the week, it seems the weekend has finally begun.

She kicks off her heels to slide into her worn in athletic shoes, feeling her feet melt into the dips that the insole has created to mold to her feet. Her heart beats in the bottoms of her foot from being released from their patent leather binding which is both uncomfortable and satisfying. But even if they were chopped off at the shin, these feet would lead her to her car and get her to her home paradise.

Corrine walks down the hall to the elevators, hearing noises from people as she gets close. She feels a little anxious, preferring an empty elevator at her departure time but is willing to deal so that the exit is quicker.

As the group of voices rounds a corner leading away from her, she sees a man standing head above the whites that surround him. A navy blue suit fitting tailored to wide set shoulder funneling down to a slim but sturdy waist, made her knees buckle a moment, causing her to slow her pace forward. He walks away, laughing one of those polite laughs one gives to company they want to impress. He hits the elevator button, listening to one of the partners speak until his gaze travels over them and spots her.

She feels her brain black out and her heart fall out of her ass and flight took over in her fight or flight response.

“Corinne!” he calls after her, but she pays him no attention rounding the corner. Stairs would have to work, no matter how much her feet her from the day, anything would do over having to see him make up whatever excuse he had to not call her. And what the hell is he doing at her job? Is he a lawyer? Is he looking for counsel? What if he is a fraud that manipulates women and sues them for some old timey bullshit laws like alienation of affection.

She thanked God that coincidence didn’t find him in the parking garage as Corrine finally made it home but settled on some leftovers she had in the fridge instead of her beloved Chinese food. At this point she still hadn’t calmed down from earlier. What if he is at the Chinese place? Where the hell does he live anyway? To be in the same area as her work, he couldn’t be far. She couldn’t remember where he said he was from, if they even covered that much information but she was not going to entertain his presence, he is a ghost to her.

In her bedroom she takes the five and slips it in her purse to make sure she spends the bill, like it's the reason he is back. She will have to treat him like a ghost. He won’t know she ever waited for him or thought about him after that night.

#shakafic #yahya abdul mateen ii fic #wish granted

76 notes · View notes

axther · 4 years ago

Text

hepta

iida tenya x reader

The lord is good when the road is long.

aka. Iida tenya’s baby is locked in another world, and he has no idea how badly she’s fighting the good fight.

dedicated to @starlightedidiot

beta’d by @sugacookiies and @samanthaa-leanne

length: 8k

warnings: kidnapping, violence, war, swearing

prompt: saving the world (@bnhabookclub’s bingo challenge)

Iida Tenya was having a great day.

It was August 15th, seven days before his nineteenth birthday. He and his elder brother Tensei were walking across the stores of Mustafu, waving to civilians and keeping appearances while in public. But they weren’t there to be heroes.

Tenya stood in front of a massive jewellery container, eyeballing the various rings inside. Tensei rolled up next to him, tilting his head.

“YN probably wouldn’t like a gaudy one,” He said, noting one with a diamond that was too big for the band. “She’d probably be fine with just a band.”

Tenya’s eyes flickered from ring to ring, and the saleswoman in front of him fidgeted a bit.

“S-sir, if what you’re looking for is a wedding ring, then we have more selections over here…” She gestured to another case, but Tenya waved a hand.

“Sorry, but no. We’re just looking for a promise ring.”

“Still can’t believe that you’re gonna give it to her on your birthday.” Tensei mused, wheeling over to the wedding rings none the less. “Guess I can’t blame you, though.”

“Of course not!” Tenya walked over without thinking. “But I fully intend to marry her when I become a full-fledged hero!”

Tensei did little more than shrug. “She’s gonna feel bad.”

“Nonsense!”

Tensei wheeled away. YN was a stubborn girl, especially so for a quirkless one, and she could stand her ground until the earth gave way. “What’re the chances that-”

“Excuse me. Do you sell promise rings?”

Both Tenya and Tensei jumped when they heard a voice from the front of the store. Both whipped around to see three people-one with bright green hair, another in white-red two-tone, and the last in h/c. Tenya paled.

“Oh my god,” Tensei whispered with his jaw slack. “I called it.”

“Quick!” Tenya grabbed the handles of his brother’s wheelchair and turned to a counter, hiding behind it. The woman next to them stifled her laughter but winked in secrecy.

“Iida’s gonna be so excited!” Midoriya’s voice lifted over the counter, and Teyna peeked over. YN stood between the two of them at the counter he and Tensei were first at.

“I hope so.” She mused. “I don’t wanna scare him away, yanno?”

“You won’t.” Todoroki looked over at a black-banded and a white banded ring. “This one is matching.”

“Oh?” She walked over, and Tenya mentally took notes. “I only brought money for one, so could I please see the black one?” She went from talking to Todoroki to talking to the salesman, who gladly brought it out.

“We can get it, YN!” Midoriya scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “We kinda got you here in the first place…”

YN gave them a mix of a confused and disgusted look. “Bullshit. He’s my boyfriend. You got Sho. Take care of your own man,” She stuck out her tongue. Todoroki laced his hand with Midoriya’s and Midoriya blushed.

“Okay, okay.” He put away his wallet. “You win.”

“I’ll take it.” YN pulled out her wallet and pulled out entirely cash. The salesman baulked for a moment before nodding.

“What size, ma’am?”

“Eleven.”

“Of course. Men’s?”

“You got it.”

As the man walked away, YN stood with her back to the counter and her arms crossed.

“So, you guys got everything?”

“Yeah!” Midoirya chirped. “The venue is all set up, and all we have to do at this point is confirm with the caterers and get all of the fan‘s presents set up.”

YN frowned. “It kinda bothers me he still has to put on a show on his own birthday. For Christ’s sake, he can do it the day after.”

“Fans want involvement,” Todoroki murmured.

“Sucks.”

The man came back and their attentions were taken again. Tenya looked around, crouching and towing Tensei to the exit. “Please save the white one, in size nine womens.” He whispered to the woman before making tracks for the door. All three of them didn’t even notice someone had left when he exited into the street.

“I knew she was gonna try something!” Tensei laughed. “You two are peas in a pod.”

Tenya had a smile on his face as he walked from the store. “I love her.”

“I know, Tenya.”

“Tenya?”

Both Iida’s turned to see the trio leave the store, and YN hastily clapped a hand over her mouth. She pulled the ring out of the bag (she thought she was being slick), tucked it into her pocket, and shoved the bag into Midoriya’s hands. Midoriya took it with grace and waved and YN looked over at Tenya, letting her hand fall and giving an ear to ear grin. Tenya’s heart fluttered. There was a moment, just barely, where it felt like he wasn’t really there. It was just the three of them, like they were on paper, smiling and waving. It was beautiful.

And then, the world fell out from under Tenya’s feet.

He was falling, and he didn’t know how or where or why, but that he was facing the sky and plummeting. There was a sound like laminated paper wobbling while viscously on fire and the view changed as he smashed face-first into the pavement. He didn’t even take a second to register the pain and the blood from his nose, getting up and looking around wildly. Civilians scattered and Midoriya was with Todoroki, halfway down the street. YN had taken Tensei and wheeled him into a nearby alleyway before seeing Tenya. She had a look of determination on her and eyed the sky like it had decided to drop her boyfriend. There was another noise, and Midoriya was swallowed whole by a shining circle. It looked like what the soap from car washes did-lit up with colourful specks that melded into each other-and fizzled at the sides. It zipped shut before Todoroki could even reach for his lover before reopening up further down the street.

We’re being separated.

“YN! Don’t leave Tensei!” Tenya shouted as desperately as he could, feeling fear cool his blood. YN was several yards from his brother when she stopped, confused, before beginning to turn to head back. Tenya was sure that someone was targeting the heroes, and he got ready to shoot off the pavement. In the distance, Midoriya glowed with red and pink veins. Todoroki grew so cold, there was a chill in the air. Then, there was a voice right next to Tenya’s ear.

“Got you.”

Tenya whipped around and saw a figure in the shadows of an alley. They were wearing all black, standing as though they were confident.

“Who are you? You must stop this at once before we take matters into our hands! Why are you targeting us?”

“You?” The voice whispered. It was rough and curiously titled. “Oh, no. Not you.”

“Wha-!” Tenya’s confusing turned back into fear when he heard a scream from YN. She jumped out of the way of a portal, rolling her back and covering her face. Tensei began rolling forward as fast as he could, and Tenya went running, but even with the boosters, he was too far. YN got on her hands and knees and Tenya could see the thinly veiled horror on her face.

“YN!” He yelled, still running. “Baby! Move!”

YN looked up, but before she could even begin to run, another portal opened up directly underneath her. It was like it was all in slow-motion; Tenya jumping forward, hoping, praying to get her before she fell. Her hands and knees falling through the light. Midoriya jumping at the figure with a fist.

And like that, she was gone.

Tenya crashed again with a yell, scrambling over to where YN was and looking around helplessly. He heard nothing but yelling and a ringing in his ears. His sight blurred, and tears pittered against his glasses. He didn’t move until there was a wall of ice before him. Todoroki and Midoriya kneeled next to him.

“Iida!” Midoriya put a hand on Tenya’s shoulder, and Tenya heard the wheels of Tensei’s wheelchair. “Are you okay?”

“YN, she, she’s...what...how?” Tenya gripped at the concrete, feeling numb confusion.

“The villain’s unconscious. It looks like YN was their only target.” Todoroki mumbled, looking behind him at what Tenya could only assume to be the villain.

“But why? YN did nothing…”

“Association.”

“Sho!” Midoriya smacked Todoroki’s leg. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

“Tenya…” Midoriya took a deep breath. “I think they might’ve been part of an occult.”

“Why?” Tenya managed to rasp out before clearing his throat. “Why?”

“Their last words, before they went down.”

“And they were?”

“Hail Iilen.”

YN was confused.

She fell from a portal into somewhere that was filled with trees and green pastures, and before she hit the ground, something beneath her swelled up and acted like a pillow. She landed softly and without so much as a scratch. Then, the catgirl came, and it was an honest to god catgirl and her catboy brother (they were clearly twins). Once the boy helped YN up, the girl held her hand to her mouth in shock. Her eyes were wide and her tail flicked back and forth, and she seemed to shake a little bit.

“Your Imperial Majesty…” The girl kneeled, and the boy followed suit. YN wobbled a bit, still not having quite landed.

“I’m sorry, but who are you two?” YN looked around. She landed in a clearing of a forest, and the birds stopped in their trees and stared at her. “Where am I?”

“Y-Your Imperial Majesty, I...I am X’eches. And this is my brother, Fy’ziche.” The boy nodded, bowing his head lower. YN felt embarrassment creeping up her back.

“I-It’s fine. You don’t have to...bow. Why would you even bow?” YN tilted her head as the X’eches and Fy’ziche both hastily stood up, though Fy’ziche did it with more grace.

“Your Imperial Majesty, you...you’re in Illenya. Do...do you remember Illenya?” She twisted her hands. “Your father was the emperor.”

YN choked on her own spit and took a deep breath. Fy’ziche reached a hand out but X’eche was faster and patted YN’s back.

“I’m so sorry, your imperial majesty, I should’ve-”

“Call me YN.” YN waved a hand as X’eche baulked. Fy’ziche’s face contorted into confusion.

“Wait. Your…” X’eche paused. “But you...are you sure?”

“Yeah.” YN stood. “It...doesn’t seem like you guys have it out for me.”

“Absolutely not!” Both of them began shaking their heads fast enough their ears flopped while X’eche chirped. “We need you to stay alive!”

“What…? Why?” YN raised her eyebrow. “I mean, I wanna be alive, but…”

X’eche took a deep breath in, sharing a look with Fy’ziche. “That’s...we should get back to camp.”

“Camp?” YN took a step forward. “What camp?”

“It’s...there’s a…” X’eche hesitated until YN put a hand on her shoulder.

“Tell it all to me straight.”

X’eche took a deep breath in.

“Your father was the emperor but because of a prophecy he hid you away in another world and only a certain faction could get you and there are factions and after your father died Dragonkin Trekez took over and that was seven months ago but he’s become a dictator and he only helps the dragonkin and at first we didn’t really worry but then the Dark God Bodite possessed Trekez and now he’s trying to conquer the world but we can’t kill him and it was kinda hopeless but your family had magic powers from the great gods so you’re the only one that can kill him and so we sent my girlfriend to get you since she knows how to get to your world and-!” X’eche wheezed from the rant and YN ogled at her.

“How did you do that in one breath?”

“That’s your question?” X’eche stopped panting and looked up at YN, wide-eyed. Fy’ziche followed suit.

“Well…” YN pulled away, rubbing her arm. “I’ve been seen as useless my entire life. This is my chance to do something. I want respect.” She looked up with determination. “And goddammit, I’m gonna get it.”

X’eche and Fy’ziche’s faces lit up in sync, and she began to bounce with joy.

“Thank Iilen! Thank youuuuu, Iilen! We stand a chance!”

YN smiled at their joy and pointed into the thicket of the woods. “Which way to the camp?”

“This way!”

And as YN was dragged into the trees, something in her lit up. It was something that laid dormant for so long that it might as well have not existed, but surely, it became a flame, then a fire, then a furnace.

The Empress has returned.

It had been four days.

Iida sat in Midoriya and Todoroki’s apartment, staring at the bowl of katsudon in front of him. It might’ve been steaming at one point, but it had long cooled off, and there was just the two before him, staring with worried looks.

“Iida, we’re worried too. But you need to eat.” Midoriya frowned. “They’re doing everything they can to interrogate the villain.”

“And she can’t go anywhere.” Todoroki nodded, rubbing Midoriya’s shoulder.

“It’s been four days,” Iida whispered. “She’s quirkless, somewhere she doesn’t know, alone. She could be…” Iida’s throat choked up. “Don’t think like that!” Midoriya barked, rising abruptly with a growl. “She’s not as weak as you think she is!” “She’s quirkless! She can’t protect herself from villains! She couldn’t protect herself then!” Iida felt a new wave of tears. It was killing him, and he knew he couldn’t blame her, but he was so angry, so confused.

“She’s my best friend, goddammit!” Midoriya cut himself off at the end, but the damage had been done. Iida stopped and Midoriya took the opportunity to finish. “She’s my best friend and the toughest person I know. Even Kaachan doesn’t mess with her. No one would’ve been able to dodge that portal.”

There was a tense silence before Iida sat back down with a slump. Midoriya sat, too, and Todoroki stared with wide eyes before sighing.

“We’re all worried.” He murmured, running a hand through Midoriya’s hair. “She’ll be fine. All we can do is make sure she comes back to people that are ready to help her with anything she needs, be it support or to ignore it completely.”

Iida and Midoriya nodded.

“Sorry,” Iida whispered.

“Yeah.” Midoriya nodded. Silence overtook the room until a blaring and frankly obnoxious ‘I Am Here!’ ringtone sounded. All three of them jumped before Midoriya ran to his phone.

“H-Hello, this is Midoriya Izu-” He froze, eyes wide. “Yes. Yes. Yes, he’s with Shoto and I. Yes. I understand. Yes.” He hung up and turned to Todoroki and Iida. There was fear and concern laced over his face.

“W-What is it?” Iida rose, his heart racing. “Is YN back? Is she safe?”

“No…” Todoroki’s eyes narrowed. Iida looked at him. “It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” Midoriya gulped. “The villain’s gone.” “What?” Iida just about howled, moving from the table to Midoriya. “What? How? When?”

“Just now.” Midoriya’s voice shook a bit, but he stood steady. “They said that the villain confessed one thing more before disappearing in a portal.” “It’s not a quirk, then.” Todoroki’s eyes widened. “No. The villain made a remark, last minute, that YN was our only hope.”

“Hope?” Iida swallowed. “Hope for what?”

“She didn’t say. But the guards at Tartarus think that she might be going to YN.”

“If we can track the villain, we can track YN.” Todoroki hummed.

“Yeah.” Midoriya nodded. “We just have to get to YN before she does.”

“God…” Iida pulled away from Midoriya with a sigh. “YN…”

All Iida could think about was YN. She must’ve been hiding somewhere, waiting for someone to help her, or else she might get hurt.

“YN…” Iida looked at the ceiling. “She must be terrified.”

YN was thrilled.

When she and the cat siblings got to the camp, she was briefed a little more on the situation. Apparently, her family had been blessed by a god, and the god’s enemy decided to try and take over. The world had been segregated into seven regions, and everyone had a last name in accordance to their region.

X’eche and Fy’ziche (who YN came to find out was mute) helped by explaining that they were from the second region, Di, so they were Dia’s. The leader of the resistance against the Dark God (a grumpy man who carried healing potions like weapons) was Darq Tetra, which clearly wasn’t emo enough.

Thankfully, the camp didn’t try to coddle her for being an empress or proverbial fledgeling, but tossed her a sword and told her to kick ass or die. And so, four days after landing, she was fighting a dragon with red scales and fangs the size of her forearm.

“Glacies ventus!”

There was a bone-chilling woosh behind YN and she felt something rocket past her ear. She glanced behind to see Yennen Hexa wave an apology for almost hitting her before going back to his spellbook and flicking his star-studded cloak.

A huge ball of ice landed itself in the dragon’s eye and it roared, letting spit coat Gyrglya Penta, the dwarf next to YN. She rubbed it off with a huff and wiped it on YN’s arm.

“Ay, this overgrown fuckin’ lizard goina’ git a taste’a hûthvír, barzûln ei sol knurlaf jurgen-!” Gyrglya hoisted her axe up, spilling into dwarvish curses that YN wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was like watching a toddler throw a fit until Gyrglya leapt onto the dragon’s snout and began hacking viscously at its eyes. Some blood scattered over YN, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Both X’eche and Fy’ziche hung back, flinging arrows and knives into its side. She instead took it upon herself to prop open its jaw and spear her sword through its skull, making Gyrglya slide off with a yelp. The dragon thrashed and roared, but YN used its teeth to prop her feet and dig the sword ever deeper. There was a moment where it tried to take off flying, but a heat swelled in YN’s hands. White light crawled along her forearms like veins before funnelling into the sword. There was a bright flash and she felt a shift in gravity. Her entire body began to rise in the wet mouth as the dragon plummeted, and YN braced the sword with her body.

When the dragon hit the ground, the sword dug into YN’s shoulder but kept the dragon’s mouth held open. YN licked her lips, curiously relishing the taste of blood as she stepped out. Gyrglya, X’eche, Fy’ziche, and Darq stood before the corpse, alongside two others.

“That was amazing, YN!” X’eche cheered and Fy’ziche clapped politely. Gyrglya nodded.

“Cold’a’dun witout knickin’ me over, but das’ a mattar’ of sit’u’a’in.” She nodded, and a young man with goat horns, Caspian Tria, stepped forward.

“That was the fourth general. We just have two more to go, and then we can hit Trekez and Bodite.” He poked at the dragon as though expecting it to come alive. It shrunk into itself, slowly, and he sneered. “Selling out their own region...cowards.”

“Well,” YN grinned, hefting her sword up cockily. “He won’t have to worry about your opinion anymore.”

“Only Ilien’s.” A priest, San Septum, stepped forward. They kneeled before the dragon and began praying, and YN turned to Darq. He looked furious and smug at the same time, like an asshole father.

“What?” YN raised an eyebrow and cocked her hip. “You wanna say something?”

Darq scowled. “Stop pulling stupid fucking stunts. Look at your fucking hands.”

YN looked down with surprise and saw raised burns tipped with white. They were slowly healing, but Darq ripped the sword out of her hands and began applying a thick, vomit-yellow paste.

“I can’t fucking stand how you don’t even think. We need you fucking alive to beat Bodite’s fucking ass. And you fucking jump into Seler’s fucking mouth. Fucking idiot.” Darq shook his head and wiped away the excess paste, revealing new, flush skin.

“What’s the count here?” YN mused. X’eche smiled.

“Six!” She cheered. Darq gave a look.

“Fuck you.”

Fy’zeche held up seven fingers.

“Ugh!” Darq rolled his eyes and began stomping away. YN snorted.

“Stay mad, old man!” She called before beginning to follow. X’eche, Fy’zeche, and Gyrglya were at her side in an instant, chattering about anything and everything. Caspian and Yennen went to San and spoke in soft tones. There were several minutes of silence until they came to a cliff’s edge, and YN swung her legs over it and sat. The three sat next to her. It was peaceful, and YN closed her eyes to let the breeze overtake her face. She fiddled with Iida’s ring on her thumb.

“Ay, YN,” Gyrglya said YN’s name in a broken accent. “What’r’y doin’ wit that ring?”

“Yeah!” X’eche nodded. Fy’zeche looked over her shoulder, his tail flicking back and forth. “It could sell for a lot.”

“It’s…” YN hesitated, but only for a moment. “I have a boyfriend. Back at home.”

X’eche recoiled. “Wait. You have a lover?” “Yeah.” YN opened her eyes with a sigh and looked out at the view. “His birthday would be in...fuck? Three days?”

“Oh.” X’eche looked down. “But...but we need you. You can’t go.”

“Aye, YN.” Gyrlgya nodded. “Ye can’j’s’ leave a’ain.”

“What?” “You can’t just leave again,” X’eche whispered, though it seemed more for herself. “We’ve been waiting so long for you to come home.”

“But this isn’t my home,” YN said. It wasn’t soft or kind. It was stern and bold. A declaration.

“What?” Gyrlgya and X’eche said at the same time. YN heard someone walk up behind her.

“You don’t have a fucking choice.”

YN turned with a glare. “Fuck off, Darq.”

“We are fucking busting our asses for this.” He looked furious, fists clenched with a fire in his eyes. “People have died for this, and you want to leave?”

“I had a life.” YN stood straighter than before, almost regally. “You took me away from it.”

“No. Your father took it from you. And we brought you back.”

“Not my problem.” YN frowned. “I’ll stop Bodite, and then I’ll go back home.”

“YN, ti’i’yer home.” Gyrglya seemed uncharacteristically worried. “W’n’ee ya.”

“I know.” YN’s tone softened and her glare eased at the sight of Gyrglya’s furrowed brow. “But I’m not made to...be an empress. I’d rather leave it to someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I think you know what you’re doing.” Caspian piped in but went silent when Darq glared at him.

“This is your job. Quit being a child and do it.”

YN clenched her fists and rose. “You do it yourself. I didn’t have to agree.”

There was an acid wash of gasps.

“You don’t mean that…” Yenne held his book close to his chest.

“I do.” YN held her head high before looking Darq in the eye, e/c meeting yellow. “And the only reason I said yes was that everyone here had a better attitude than you!”

Darq hesitated, instead letting his chest swell with an angry inhale. His cheeks flushed an unnatural red, but before he could say anything, something white and colourful swirled into existence next to the entire party. X’eche leapt up with a distracted gasp. “Right!”

“Right?” YN whispered. Darq looked away.

“Right!” X’eche went running to the portal, tail flicking back and forth, and Fy’ziche was close behind. YN blinked, shooting one last glare at Darq before walking over. The portal hissed and fizzed like soda pop before someone clad entirely in black stepped out. They fumbled a bit until righting themselves and throwing off their hood.

“Right!” X’eche leapt forward, right into Right’s arms. “Sweetie! Darling!”

“Hey, kitty.” Right hugged X’eche just as tight before noticing YN standing stock still. She let go of X’eche a bit and bowed with her head. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

“You’re the one that…” YN chose her words. “Brought me here.”

“Yes. I am-”

“Right. X’eche’s girlfriend.”

“Yes.”

There was a tense silence, one that X’eche seemed immune to as she purred against Right’s chest.

“How did it go?” Darq murmured. His voice seemed choked, just barely, and YN caught it.

“I tried explaining the situation, but they didn’t believe me.” Right frowned with a sigh. “Her Imperial Majesty’s lover is spearheading a search for her.”

“Is Tenya alright?” YN stepped forward, biting her lip. “I...I just want to make sure.”

“Yeah.” Right nodded. “He seemed kinda like he didn’t know what to do with you gone, but he’s starting to pick up the pieces.”

“Ah.” YN gave a shaky smile. “I’m glad.”

“Since we won’t have backup, we’ll need to make tracks for the old stronghold.” Darq was unusually calm.

“But the rest of the generals…!” Caspian gasped.

“We don’t have time. Killing them would take another week, without help from Earth. We don’t have a week.” Darq glanced at YN. “It’s going to be your turn.”

YN nodded soundlessly. Fy’ziche clapped a hand to her shoulder with a reassuring nod.

“Have you made the pact with Iilen yet?” Darq sounded as though he was mentally ticking off a list. “If you don’t, killing Bodite will be near impossible.”

“I won’t.” YN’s brow was furrowed and a look of determination crossed her face. “I don’t trust Iilen.”

“What?” Darq spun around, as well as San, who looked scandalised. “Why the hell not?!”

“Gods are not here to help humans.” YN glanced at Darq. “I need to be able to do it on my own.”

“That’s suicide.” San whispered.

“That’s war,” YN replied. “And that’s how we’re gonna win it.”

“We won’t even have a backup!” Darq spun and grabbed YN’s shoulders, shaking her back and forth, almost foaming at the mouth. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“Ah. I was going to get to that.” YN let him shake her, letting her head roll around until Darq stopped.

“What?” Right tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

YN looked at her with a glint in her eye. It was neither good nor bad, but mischievous, as though she had one last ace up her sleeve.

“I’ve got a plan.”

The night before Iida’s birthday was like a fever dream.

He had been dragging himself all week long, thinking of nothing but YN. His hair was mussed and his body ached, but all he could do was lead a search for her.

“You need to relax,” Midoriya had said. But Iida felt like he was choking the entire time, hands holding up his head.

It was eleven at night and he was at the police station that the villain had originally been held at. He looked over at the records again and again, at the confessions, but none of it made sense. Alternate worlds didn’t exist. YN didn’t seem like anyone’s last hope, except for maybe Iida’s.

“It doesn’t make sense…” He murmured. He moved his glasses to the side and rubbed at his eyes, letting the blur overtake his vision. Frustration seemed so present, always hanging over him whenever he thought about YN.

Then, there was a noise, just outside the station.

Iida’s head popped up, staring past the sparse lights of cubicles and seeing a flash of white light. His heart raced and he scrambled to put his glasses back on and run out the door. As soon as the cool night breeze hit his face, he opened his eyes and saw the dark figure. They were standing perfectly still, as though they weren’t a wanted criminal, right in the parking lot.

“You-!” Iida didn’t know what to say, but words still oozed out. “Where did you take YN?!”

The figure reached ever so slowly into their jacket pocket, holding one hand up. Iida was about to rush them when they handed out a letter. Iida froze.

“What’s this?”

“A letter. From her. She said you’d be the hardest to convince, so she decided to write this so she could do it herself.” The figure waved a letter a bit and their other hand tucked in a pocket. “Read it.”

Iida took it cautiously and turned it around, checking for anything out of the usual. It was in a yellow envelope with a silver wax seal, and there was a blotch of black ink on the front. He looked at the figure and they shrugged.

“I dunno what she wrote. Just read it.”

Iida opened it, taking care to not break the seal, and out fell out not one, not two, but three leaves of paper. He near jumped and picked them up, still standing as he read.

He couldn’t believe most of what he saw. It verified that there was an alternate world and that YN was somehow an empress (she did write about revoking her title and returning home, something that warmed Iida’s heart), and that she was part of a revolution to free her own empire. There so many little details thrown in there that it seemed nearly unbelievable until she began writing about little things that he and YN had done. They were personal and secret, down to Iida’s fears. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he reached up to messily wipe them off.

“Do you believe us now?” The figure (who YN had referred to as Right in the letter) sighed and placed a hand on Iida’s shoulder. “We brought her back because we had to.”

Iida nodded. “Wh-when will she come back?”

“At best, in about four hours. At worst, she’ll die.”

Iida’s blood chilled. “Because of…”

“Yeah. We need help. If Bodite succeeds, he’ll come for your world next. YN said that so long as you were convinced, we had backup.” Right paused, and Iida realised that she was shaking a bit. “Please tell me she’s right.”

“Mhm.” Iida nodded, feeling a fire in his heart. “I’ll call every hero I can.”

“Do what you need. I’ll be here.”

Iida nodded. He began dialling the first person in his contact list (namely, Aoyama), and deep down, he felt sure.

He was going to get YN back.

YN stared out of Dystert Dymestra, watching the clouds swell overhead.

She was in the armoury, specifically, staring out an arched window with moss growing on the stone. Dystert Dymestra was a sad sight when they entered, but it was enough to hold every soldier that was part of the revolution, and so it was enough for YN. Darq was behind her, sorting out weapons that had long been discarded with small mutterings.

“Do you think Bodite knows?” She whispered, feeling uneasy.

“Undoubtedly.” Darq walked next to her, holding a shield. It was rusty, but even then, the moon crest of the Mono family peered through.

“It feels weird.”

“What does?” He looked at her, and she looked at him, and for a moment, it felt as though YN was looking at a brother.

“Being here. I was born here, right?”

“Yes. Castilliya Mono, crown princess.” He looked down onto the courtyard. “When you were born everyone was so damn happy. And when you were gone, Emperor Kiltus and Empress Genovia were…they were depressed.”

YN looked at him. “Why?”

“They’d been trying for years.” “Oh.” YN frowned.

Darq hesitated, almost gasping, before letting out an uneasy breath. “I was the head of the guard.”

“What?” YN’s voice was soft but confused.

“I-I was supposed to protect your parents. I’m sorry. I…” He bit his lip and YN’s shoulders slumped.

“Even you can’t kill gods, Darq.” She said softly. “You did what you could.”

“I carried you.” He gulped. “To the portal. You were so small, so fragile. Like a little star. And now…” His entire postured seemed to fall over in defeat. “You’re all grown up. You have friends, a family, a lover. A life.”

YN felt her heart stop.

‘I...I don’t blame you for wanting to go back. We’ll figure something out while you’re gone. Just...promise to visit.” Darq pulled away from the window with a sad smile. “Please.”

Before YN could say anything more, Darq walked away. YN felt her jaw drop a little and regret pool in her stomach, but when she took a step forward, someone bright glinted against what little sunlight managed to ooze into the room and hit her eye.

“Huh?”

“So she’s in a parallel universe with dragons and a god she has to kill.”

Iida stood in front of his old classmates, several old teachers, and a variety of other heroes. All seemed sceptical and tired (it was almost midnight, after all) and even the good-hearted Kirishima seemed miffed.

“Yes.” Iida stood stiff at Asui’s droll phrasing of it. “And she needs help.”

There was a shuffle amongst the crowd and unnerving whispers.

“Why the fuck would her kidnapper tell you where she is?!” Bakugou barked, despite having brought his full hero gear. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense!”

“Not only that but a different world…?” Ochako pursed her lips.

Iida frowned but knew that if they weren’t convinced, he couldn’t force them to come. “It’s enough for me.”

“Huh!?” Most of the crowd gasped when Todoroki stepped forward, dragging a yawning Midoriya behind him.

“We’ll go.” Todoroki ignored the shock and stared Iida dead in the eye.

“Y-Yeah!” Midoriya was chipper, despite the odds and time of night. “YN’s our best friend!” “What the fuck?!” Bakugou fumed. “You don’t even know if she’s there!”

“Does it matter?” Todoroki turned with a cool indifference. “Any lead is one step closer to getting her back.”

The shocked silence was back when Midoriya piped in.

“Besides, if she does need our help, how can we refuse?”

“Well, if that’s how it goes…” Kirishima stepped forward. “C’mon, bro! We can’t leave them in the dust!”

“That’s not what it means!” Bakugou yelled. “And I wasn’t fuckin’ gonna!”

“Then we should go too, ladies!” Ochako cheered, and Tooru, Asui, Mina, Jirou, and Momo all gave shouts of approval.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Kaminari slung an arm over Sero’s shoulder. “Guess we gotta go too, huh?”

Sero shrugged, and one by one (or two by two), everyone stepped forward. Iida felt a happy grin overtake his face.

“Are you guys ready?”

“Wha!” Kaminari jumped when Right appeared next to him, neither by portal or walking.

“When did she get here?!”

“Are you ready? We’re running out of time.”

“Are we?” Iida looked over at everyone, and Present Mic gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Alright.” Right turned and without so much as flinching, a portal opened. “Ladies first.”

“That means you, Kaminari.”

“Haha, Jirou. Very funny.”

“It’s a very ancient, very holy blade.”

YN was in the main hall with San, X’eche, and a centaur who apparently had a degree in history.

“Will it do Bodite any damage?” YN touched the tip of it. It was literally silver, heavy and shiny. There were moon emblems all over it, and the pommel was even moon-shaped.

“Almost definitely.” The centaur held it with grace. “This was forged amongst the high gods. This is, in fact, the best bet you have against Bodite.”

“Nice.” YN nodded and took it back. “I’ll use it when we fight him.”

“Be careful, Your Imperial Highness.” San stared at it reverently. “It could also do you harm.”

Before YN could say anything, Darq burst through the main hall door. He was panting and soaked from the rain outside. The shield on his back was dripping water, and the little moon held some like a cup.

“They’re here.”

“What?” X’eche cried. “But Right isn’t back yet!”

“There’s no time! Everyone needs to get outside, now! Banners up!” He yelled out as loud as he could, and there was a cacophony of noise. Some people began crying, while others took up weapons. One man even screamed as loud as he could before calmly reaching for his sword. YN sighed.

“Guess we’ll find out, San.”

“YN, wait!”

Despite Right saying ‘ladies first’, Iida was the one who headed the transition.

The portal was like stepping into a mixed temperature bath. Some parts were cool, and others were gently warm, and all the little lights breezed past Iida’s face.

“Keep moving.”

Right’s voice leaked through, and Iida made his way towards a little black speck. A cool, wet rush fanned him, and he stepped into the darkness.

He walked out and was instantly covered in rainwater, and he sputtered a bit trying to grasp himself. The ground under his feet was soggy, When he opened his eyes and put his glasses back on, however, he stood stock-still.

The entire view was something out of a fantasy movie. It was an army of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, all neatly segregated into seven flags. In the absolute distance, there was a mighty castle, tall and proud, and yet deteriorating at the same time. Tenya gasped.

“What…”

“Illenya.” Right whispered. “The last great wall between your world and complete destruction.”

“When did you-?!” “My own portal. The castle is Dysert Dymestra, and that’s where…” Right trailed off. “What the hell?”

“What?” Iida spoke over the others filing in, gasping in awe.

“The battle’s already starting.” Right looked pale and began searching over the army. “There, you see? On the horse?”

Iida looked to where she was pointed and saw, at the head of what seemed to be an entire nation, YN herself. Iida let out a cheer. “T-There she is!” He pointed, and his classmates were at his side in a second. “She’s alive!”

“Ah! Yes!” Midoriya cheered.

“She might not be for long,” Right hissed. “She’s not made the pact.” “Pact?”

“With our guardian god, with Ilien.”

“What does that mean for her?” Iida said nervously. Right looked him in the eye.

“She’s going against a god alone.”

YN wasn’t ready to go against a god alone.

The sword (Clymestra, she named it) was at her side and seemed to glow in all the rain. She was on top of a huge black horse with a fiery orange mane, but even then, she still felt fear creep into her throat.

“Just focus on Bodite and Trekez.” Darq, on a white mare next to her, said. “We’ll cover you.”

“Right still isn’t back?” She whispered, watching the army before her stand still. They all looked like lizardmen, but it made sense.

“No. We can only hope at this point.”

“Fine.” YN swallowed. “When...when do we start?”

“When we make the first move.” Darq stared them down. There was a tiny, minuscule hope that they would turn and never come back, but YN knew that it was never that easy. The entire field, just outside the stronghold, was so tense and quiet that YN was sure they were all already dead. Her mouth felt dry.

“Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

YN bit her lip, one last time, before drawing her sword. It cut through the air, and the men before her all rippled. She licked her lips.

“Charge!”

Right slid down the cliff, running on the mud and dirt and dragging Iida along with her. The twin armies surged forward at each other like tsunamis, and Iida felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw YN hack and slash at lizard people. There was yelling and screaming and blood and this was an actual battle, true war, nothing that Iida had actually seen.

And in the middle of it was his baby, the love of his life.

She was regal in a way that she never had been before, like she chose to bear the burden. There was blood and grime on her, but she was above all of them, and she was beautiful.

“Quit ogling and fight!” Right yelled, and their feet hit the ground, and Iida was launched face-first into a war. There were people dying left and right, and someone got beheaded, right in front of him.

“Fuck you!” He heard Bakugou yell, and there was a massive explosion behind him. Ice and fire and acid was everywhere, and he was sure that Momo had made several machine guns. Iida kicked someone off of him and looked around frantically, trying to find YN again.

“The caaalllvarry is heerreee!” Kaminari yelled, and there was a massive strike of lightning. A solid five hundred soldiers were hit, and Iida heard a cry of joy.

“Denki! Holy shit!”

“YN!!” Iida cried, seeing her race towards Kaminari. She changed her track almost immediately when she heard him, a huge grin on her face.

“Ten-!”

There was a deafening boom, a scream of ‘noooo!’, and a huge pillar of black smoke rose from behind YN. She spun around, the rain creating a halo around her. The entire battle seemed to stop when a lizard man rose up, wreathed in black smoke and screaming in agony. All the soldiers backed away, and some even ran past Iida while looking back in fear.

“Y-You p-p-p-promised-”

“I promised you nothing.” A thunderous voice came from the smoke, and Iida watched as the man inside was ripped apart. “Gods betray, little fool.”

When Iida looked at YN, she seemed to give a pointed look to someone, before promptly wiping her sword on a cloth, hanging off her saddle, and riding full force towards the dark tornado.

“YN, no!” He began trying to run to her, but a man with salt and pepper hair glared at him with intense yellow eyes.

“Don’t! She’s the only one that can fight him now!”

“Darq!” Someone called from behind the man, and he turned. Iida tried struggling some more. “She’s going in without the pact!” “I fucking know that!” He barked, and Iida heard desperation in his voice. He saw a young man decked in white on his knees, praying.

“All we can do now is wait and hope.” Darq whispered into Iida’s ear. “We’re all scared, but if she dies, we won’t be alive long enough to mourn.”

Iida stopped struggling but watched YN ride forward into the cloud like a bead of light, or dew on a spiderweb. It was glorious and painful.

She worked methodically, and as Iida watched her throw the blade and reappear where it landed, he felt his fear slowly begin to seep away. She knew what she was doing, and it made him stop and stare.

She was ethereal.

At once, Iida realised she wasn’t anything delicate to be protected. She was her own person, her own fighter, and her own defender. He had tried smothering her in safety blankets, when all she needed was to be released.

“She’s incredible…” He whispered. A young man with horns nodded next to him.

“All hail the high empress.”

YN spun and twisted, until she reached the top of the cloud. She stood on something solid before reaching down and pulling at something. It tried throwing her off, and her sword flung from her hands and became embedded into the dirt below. YN paid no mind and kept on pulling with both hands, and Iida swore that he could see the blood flushing to her cheeks in the strain of pulling. The voice came out in toxic little whispers, hissing nothings to her until she stopped pulling. She let out a loud scream of frustration before holding her hand out. The sword returned to her grip and the voice began screaming at the top of it’s lungs, begging for it’s life. It cried out, calling her everything from an insufferable speck to queen amongst men, but YN seemed to be deaf to it all.

“Fuck-!” She howled, holding her sword high above her head. “You!”

Then, she brought the sword down, and there was the sound of a bell, and darkness.

When Iida woke up, he was in bed, in his apartment.

He sat up abruptly, panting and sweating like a dog. His hands gripped the sheets and he looked around frantically. He felt something tug at the sheets around his thighs, and he looked down.

YN slept next to him, peaceful in every meaning of the word. Her lips were slightly opened, and small snores flowed out, and the sunlight from cracked curtains lit her up in a heavenly halo. It all felt like a bad dream, had she not tightened her grip on the sheets.

Iida looked down, and saw her hand was made of metal.

His froze and his smile abruptly fell. He reached for his glasses in case he was simply still tired, but he put them on, and sure enough, her arm was metal, with a little moon emblem by the knuckle of her wrist. He paled.

“Baby, YN, baby, wake up, please wake up…!” He gently shook her, and the sheets fell off her shoulders to reveal cuts and bruises. His shaking worsened until she groaned quietly.

“Can’t I just nap for...ten minutes?” She held up five metallic fingers and Iida gripped them.

“YN, baby...what happened? To...to everything?”

YN cracked open one bleary e/c eye and smiled. “Well, honey, I killed a god and paid the price.”

“Y-you-!” Iida’s thoughts ran at a million miles per hour. “Wait. What?”

“When I killed Bodite, there was this thing, ‘n’ it cut off my arms…” She murmured into the pillow. “They got me fixed up before I came back.”

“So you’re staying?”

“Yeah. I’m basically ruling remotely, which is nice. X’eche ‘n’ Darq ‘n’ all the others’ll take care of the place while I’m away.”

“But your letter said…?” “Eh.” YN laughed a bit. “I figured I might as well try.”

She sat up a bit and wrapped Iida in her arms, bringing him back down into the mattress and nuzzling into his neck.

“I missed you, Tenya.” She whispered, placing small kisses up his neck and along his jaw. “Every day.”

“I…” Iida trailed off, feeling himself choke up. He rolled onto his side to look YN in the eye. “You were so beautiful.”

“Hm?” She raised an amused eyebrow. “That’s what you got out of this entire thing?”

“N-No!” Iida felt his heart leap into his throat. “Just that...you were so capable. And you looked so beautiful while you did it…”

“Mhm. Fair. I thought you looked very handsome on all the rain.”

“Thank you…”

There was a silence, a comfortable one that made Iida hold YN a bit tighter. He nuzzled into her hair and she smelled like green things and a place with moss on the stones. He felt her smile into his chest.

“Happy birthday, Tenya.”

#iida tenya x reader #iida tenya/reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #reader insert #kinda fantasy au??#bnhabookclub #bnhabookclub bingo #ps: I never found out what the spoilers were

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years ago

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Twenty One

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Legends of the Fall

There was the sound of birds calling again; whistling and cooing. The leaves in the trees rustled gently in the breeze, and, faintly, somewhere in the distance, was the sound of running water.

Ada watched the white, fluffy clouds in the pale blue sky move slowly, her eyes tracing the shapes of them. She could feel the crisp, coolness of the morning air on her cheeks, but she felt warm, the sleeping man behind her providing it.

His arm was around her under the blanket, and she’d lightly laced her fingers with his when she’d woken, not wanting to disturb him. It was peaceful and quiet, and she wished she could capture this moment forever, just bottle it up and preserve it and hold it close to her heart.

When was the last time they’d had this? Must have been when they’d been at the cabin; and how long ago that felt. Well, it was Charlotte’s cabin now. She hoped she was doing okay. Maybe sometime in the future she would be able to check on her. Or maybe Thom would, keeping his word.

She hoped he was okay, too.

Arthur inhaled a long, slow breath, and she knew he was awake, her fingers lacing a little more tightly with his. He shifted slightly, and then she felt his lips brush against her neck before he placed a lingering kiss there. The corners of her mouth rising, her eyes closed for a few moments.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he rumbled against her ear, his voice rough from sleep.

“You sleep okay?”

“Mhm.”

Her lips rose higher as he pressed another kiss to her skin, not the most talkative of people in the morning, and she shifted carefully, turning onto her back so she could gaze at him. His arm remained around her, fingertips caressing her side, and as she met his gaze, a corner of his mouth lifted.

“You?”

Her smile softened. “Really well.”

“Good.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he lowered his head and kissed her softly, slow and lingering. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek and jaw, gliding down to the back of his neck. When it finally broke, he brushed his nose against hers in such a sleepy and tender manner that she felt her heart swell.

God, she loved him.

“We better get movin’,” he murmured, and she nodded, her fingers tracing along his jaw.

It was inevitable, them returning, but despite his words they were slow moving, taking their time eating their breakfast and gazing out at the trees that stretched on for miles and miles.

After packing up, they followed the sound of water until they came to a wide creek. Letting their horses graze, Arthur sat on the bank as she kneeled by it and pulled her blouse off. He watched her as she washed her arms, chest and neck with a bar of soap they’d taken from the ranch, lightly soaking her thin cotton corset with a few stray drops of water. His eyes drifted from the trees to her and back, knowing he needed to keep watch but... well, how could he not watch her?

The thin streams of sunlight that filtered through the trees made her hair shine, giving parts of it an almost golden glow. He liked to think it made her freckles sparkle, too, before he wanted to laugh at himself.

Romantic fool.

“What?”

Damn, she’d caught him.

Shrugging, he leaned back on his hands. “Nothin’.”

Her eyebrows rose as she smiled. “You gonna keep staring or are you gonna help me?”

“Gladly, but with what?”

“My hair. It’s very much in need of a wash.”

Pushing himself up, he pulled his jacket off as he arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that’s what I could smell this mornin’.” He chuckled as she splashed water in his direction, her eyes narrowed, and he rolled his sleeves up. “All righ’, all righ’, what do you want me to do?”

“It might be easier if I lean back, then you can just wet my hair and use the soap.”

“All righ’.”

He lowered down onto one knee as she shifted, turning her back to the water, and as she leaned back, he cupped the back of her neck with his left hand, holding her head up. With his right, he gathered water into his palm and gently poured it onto her hair. When it was wet enough, he took the soap from her and lathered it up with his right hand before massaging her hair.

She gave little hums at the sensation and the corners of his mouth lifted. It was a slow process but he didn’t care. They had this time and they would take it. He estimated they’d be back at Beaver Hollow just before sunset, which was fine. There was no point rushing, and Charles would be back there from the Reservation by now, so he and John would be keeping things calm. Hopefully.

“Look at you...” He looked to her at her voice, finding her smiling. “... Big, tough cowboy washing my hair.”

He snorted as he arched an eyebrow. “I ain’t tough ‘round you. You make me all weak.”

She laughed as he ran his fingertips through her hair, getting out the last of the suds and squeezing some water out. “Do I, now?”

“Yeah, but don’t go tellin’ no one. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret, Morgan.”

“You better, I know where you live.”

She laughed again as he ran his fingers through her hair for the last time before he dropped his hand. “All righ’, you got a towel or somethin’?”

“No, strangely enough that wasn’t something that was in abundance at the ranch.”

Lifting her head out of his hand, she pulled something green out of her skirt pocket as she sat up, and he saw it was a scarf. Scrunching some of the wetness out of her hair with it, she then wrapped it around the crown of her head before tying it under her hair.

She looked at him when she finished, her hands falling into her lap with a smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Rising to his feet, he held a hand out to her with a warm smile, and when she accepted it he helped her up.

Instead of releasing her when she was on her feet, though, his arms went around her waist and he captured her lips just as she opened them to ask what he was doing.

He felt her smile into the kiss, her hands resting on his biceps. He kept kissing her, leaning her backwards until she was gripping onto him and laughing. Pulling her back upright, he then released her, a corner of his mouth higher than the other in a lazy smirk as she shook her head at him, trying to stop her own smile from widening.

“Come on, you fool, we’ve got a journey to make.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kept his gaze on her as he pulled his sleeves down, watching her tug her blouse on and button it up before tucking it into her skirt. After pulling on a jacket she’d taken from the ranch, she then wrapped the soap back up in a small cloth before moving to the white horse she’d taken.

A sense of clarity came to him, then. So suddenly, so quietly.

Licking his lips, he pulled his jacket on.

“Hey, Ada.”

She glanced at him as she tucked the wrapped soap into the saddlebag. “Yeah?”

He cleared his throat slightly as he adjusted the collar of his jacket before dropping his hands. “When this is all over, would you marry me?”

She stilled. Her eyes darted up to him. He looked at her silently, his heart pounding against his rib cage.

“Would I marry you?”

“Yeah.”

She dropped the flap of her saddlebag, turning her body fully to him as her tongue darted across her lips.

“Would I marry you?”

He cleared his throat again, feeling his face warm as he shrugged, his hands on his belt.

Ah, hell and shit...

“Yeah.”

She stared at him. Then she released a breath.

“Of course I would. Yes. Yes, I would.”

His heart stopped. His lips parted as he smiled, it widening and widening at the sight of her own appearing.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

And then she was closing the gap between them and her arms were around his neck, embracing him tightly. His arms instantly went around her as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his eyes closing.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” she murmured almost breathlessly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t get down on one knee or nothin’—”

She silenced him with a firm kiss, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Suppose I’ll have to wait for a ring,” Ada murmured as she pulled back, keeping her arms around him with a grin.

“I can steal one off the next person we come to, I don’t care...”

He gazed at her with a tender smile as she laughed.

God, he loved her.

—

They arrived back at camp, as he’d predicted, just before sunset. He led them into camp from the way he’d exited, on the path she’d been taken on, and he either hadn’t taken a break or was back there again because John Marston greeted them.

“Well, look at this!” he called out to them, grinning, and as she remembered she hadn’t seen him in nearly two months, Ada pulled her horse to a halt and slid down from the saddle, striding towards him with a wide smile.

“Look at you!” she laughed as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

It surprised him but he returned it, one arm going around her and squeezing her as he chuckled. “Been some time, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Pulling back, she held him at arms length as his dropped from her, shaking her head as she grinned and surveyed him. “You’re all in one piece, then?”

“Yeah, just about. That new?” He gestured at the faint scar on her forehead, and she nodded, “Fairly.”

“Well, welcome to the club, you almost look like me.”

“Christ, I hope not,” Arthur sighed from behind her, off Ophelia and holding both their horses reins.

Chuckling, John shouldered his rifle as Ada stepped back, taking her horse’s reins. “Glad to see you, too.”

“Everythin’ been all righ’?”

John shrugged, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Been how it always is now. Tense, quiet.”

“Well, quiet’s good.” Arthur placed a hand on her back and was about to guide her up towards the camp when John continued.

“Dutch has, uh... Well, he asked where you was. Said to see him as soon as you got back.”

Ah, shit.

Dragging his teeth over his lower lip, he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, John.”

“You got it.” Shifting his gaze to Ada, he smiled. “Good to see you, Annie.”

“You, too, John.”

Her smile lingered as they headed up towards the camp. Of course she knew he was okay as Arthur had told her, but actually seeing him felt like such a relief. And with Arthur also telling her the man was ready to leave? It was just a matter of time, now.

Whenever she thought about the little family, she thought of Jack, of how he deserved a different, better life than this, the constant moving and running and violence. What kind of man would he become if they didn’t get him away now?

She thought of Thom. Maybe he was the man who Jack might grow into.

Yes, they had to get them away soon, in a matter of days.

“Annie!”

Lifting her head, Ada’s smile widened as Abigail ran towards her as they entered the camp, grinning.

“Oh, thank God!” the brunette woman cried as she threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“Hello, Abigail,” Ada murmured, closing her eyes for a moment. It felt nice, to be so welcomed and missed.

“How are you? Are you okay?” It was now her turn to be held at arms length as Abigail studied her, a concerned frown on her features.

“I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

Once she’d finished her study, convinced, Abigail smiled again. “If tired is the worst of it, then I’m glad! You hungry?”

“Yeah, a little—”

“All right, I’ll get you a bowl of whatever Pearson’s cooked up, okay? I’ll come find you!”

And then she was striding away, a true mother. Smiling, Ada glanced up at Arthur as the rest of the gang began to converge on her, displaying their delight at her return. Arthur returned the smile as Mary-Beth enveloped her in the tightest hug she’d ever had, bursting into tears on her shoulder, and then Tilly was hugging her, too, and Jack, and Karen, swaying a little, was clapping her on the back and grinning as Uncle laughed and Charles gave her a warm smile. It was so nice, soothing away her anxieties that Molly’s words had gotten to them.

While they greeted her, Bill, Javier, Susan, Pearson, Micah and their leader were nowhere to be seen. Or maybe they hadn’t bothered to come.

Arthur had spoken of a division forming in the camp and, if this was any indication, she was already beginning to feel it.

Gently extracting herself from the sniffling Mary-Beth and the giggling Jack, she looked between them all with a wide smile.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” Tilly beamed as Mary-Beth nodded fiercely and added, “We thought somethin’ awful had happened to you, I hate this place.”

Karen snorted. “It is so God damn weird here. I’m glad yo—”

“Well, we’re just full of reunions recently, aren’t we.”

They quietened at his voice, and Ada felt herself instantly tensing. As the group stepped aside, some moving back to their tents or whatever they were doing, others half-turning away, Dutch van der Linde approached, his hands by his sides, his eyes on her.

“Hello, Dutch,” she answered, managing a light smile.

“Hello, Annie.” She didn’t like how he pronounced her name; slightly drawn out, light. “Where you been?”

“Murfree’s took me.” They’d agreed on the way back that that would be their story, obviously not wanting to tell anyone about her involvement with the O’Driscolls. “They were lurking close-by, wanting to get their land back. I was taking a watch when they knocked me out. When I woke up I was at a camp of theirs.”

“For two weeks?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. So he had been keeping track.

“Not at that camp, they moved around a lot.”

Dutch nodded as he stood before her, holding her gaze. “They do anythin’ to you?”

“Nothing physical.”

He nodded again, and then gave her a smile. “How fortunate. And what a relief. Well, I’ll let you get settled back in.”

She returned the smile, a strange sensation prickling across her skin. “Thank you, Dutch.”

His gaze shifted to Arthur after a moment. “You tell me before you leave this camp next time, all right?”

She saw Arthur nod in her peripheral vision. “Sure.”

Dutch glanced at her again, and then he was turning and moving back towards his tent, Micah, Bill and two men she didn’t recognise sat at the table outside it, watching. Looking away, she took her horse’s reins again and moved towards the rest of the horses, Arthur following her, silent.

She relaxed with a smile as she saw Mags, releasing the reins and moving to the tall Hungarian Half-bred, stroking her face.

“Hello, girl. Did you miss me?”

Mags nudged at her chest, snorting quietly.

“I’d take that as a yes,” Arthur said, loosely wrapping Ophelia’s reins around a pole.

“Good. I missed her, too.” Smiling softly, Ada scratched at her neck gently before she looked to him, lowering her voice. “Who are those two men with Micah?”

He glanced over at them as he started to brush Ophelia down, starting at her neck. “Pals of his, apparently.”

She looked back over at them, licking her lips. One was tall and large, in a dark coat and long hair, the other was small and scrawny in a blue coat and hat that seemed too big for his head.

“C’mon,” Arthur murmured, pulling her attention away. “Let’s get some food.”

His words aptly timed, Abigail found them a few moments later and, hugging her again, Ada thanked her, squeezing her arm gently after she’d passed her a bowl of stew. Abigail left them to it and they went to Arthur’s area, sitting on his bed and eating together quietly.

Her gaze drifted across the camp. Yes, there was definitely a division growing here. People barely spoke to one another, the mood was sour, tense, and it was more noticeable with the girls, especially. Mary-Beth looked like she was constantly on the verge of tears. Tilly, while having been delighted at Ada’s return, now looked expressionless, staring off into space. Karen was drunk, leaning back against a tree, watching everyone but not seeing. And the three of them weren’t sat together.

No one was. Only her and Arthur, and Abigail and Jack in their tent.

Well, except Micah and Bill and their new friends. Though they themselves were quiet, they seemed to unsettle everyone, no one going near Dutch’s tent. Back in the old days, people would wander by, have a chat with him, bring him a drink or some food. Now, there was just an uncomfortable silence.

Sadie returned an hour or so later, cleaned up and in fresh clothes. She brought with her a deer and two turkeys, a good enough cover for where she’d been all this time.

She came and sat with them after giving the animals to Pearson, and they sat quietly, eating and glancing up at Micah’s friends periodically. Arthur had told her on the way back that he’d spoken with Sadie and she was also committed to getting John and his family out, and them. Good. They couldn’t talk about it now, though, not here, it was too risky.

Her gaze returned to Mary-Beth. Maybe they could get some of the others out, too. Dissolve whatever was left of this gang. It seemed to be splitting anyway, why not just help it along? Dutch would still have people loyal to him, and everyone else could live their lives free of running and hiding, hopefully.

“You lookin’ at somethin’, Morgan?”

It wasn’t only her head that turned at the sound of Micah’s voice calling across the camp, breaking the silence.

Arthur shrugged a shoulder beside her as he rose to his feet, stepping towards him. “Just wonderin’ why these two are still here.”

She glanced at the two new men, who remained quiet, then to Dutch as he spoke, sat on a chair outside his tent, Micah stood beside him.

“They’re old pals of Micah’s, Arthur.”

Arthur neared, his shoulders squared. “They’re gettin’ real comfortable.”

“We need guns for what’s comin’,” Micah sighed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He gestured at the scrawny man, and then the tall one. “Cleet and Joe know how to fight.” He cleared his throat as he stared at Arthur, raising his eyebrows. “It’s lucky I bumped into ‘em.”

Everyone was watching now, Sadie sat opposite her, John and Charles at the campfire, everyone else scattered around.

Arthur was shaking his head slowly. “What is goin’ on, Dutch? What is happenin’ to us?”

The older man was looking at him, silent.

“What’s happenin’ to you?” Arthur suddenly demanded, gesturing at him.

“You show him some respect,” Micah hissed, moving towards him.

Charles and John stood in the same moment she and Sadie did as the two men squared up to each other.

“Excuse me?” Arthur answered in a low, dangerous tone.

It took her a couple of moments to register the faint thundering of hooves drawing closer came as the sky began to darken. Then came the voice of a young man.

“Mr Van der Linde! Mr Morgan!”

Everyone turned, staring at the main path of the camp as young men came storming down on horses, Native men, some of their faces and chests painted in various patterns.

“Charles!” The man at the head of the group of about twenty, the leader, was continuing, drawing his horse to a halt, but it stamped it’s feet, turning in circles as the other horses moved, skittish and riled up like their riders. “They tried to kill my people for oil! For oil! Today we ride once more!”

She knew he had to be Eagle Flies.

“Ride with me! Ride with us! Ride with us against the factory!”

Dutch was approaching the group along with his own men, and he was smiling, stretching his arms out. “I love your courage, son! It is a thing of great beauty—”

“Stop!”

Ada’s head whipped to the side as an older Native man burst into the camp, pulling his horse to an abrupt stop, swiftly dismounting.

“Everyone stop!”

Rains Fall.

He looked to his son, swallowing and moving closer. “My son, my last son, don’t.” He was out of breath and begging. Silence had descended again, and as she briefly glanced at Dutch, she found his arms folded, smile gone. Rains Fall was stood before Eagle Flies now, his hands raised. “When I was your age, I fought. I saw death. I have killed. The men I knew were slain. My first born, your brother, had his head smashed by a drunk soldier. My wife had her throat slit.” Anger had briefly seeped into his tone, but it vanished, wearily. “We made peace. I knew not to trust, yet I had no choice.” He was pacing slightly before his son, shaking his head. “Maybe you were right. Maybe the slow death is worse than the fast one.” He paused, looking up at his son. “Maybe none of these men are good. Maybe a world in which they came to us, is a world that we cannot endure...” He said the last word fiercely, before it, too, vanished again as he released a breath. “... but endure we must.”

“Father,” Eagle Flies gazed down at him, anger washing over his features, “you are tired—”

“Do not die for pride, my son!” Rains Fall implored, “We have suffered too much in this trick! The earth, the water, they have no pride!”

She felt Charles, who she was now stood beside, shift as Arthur glanced back at him, concerned.

“They endure! And we must endure.” Rains Fall’s voice softened as he begged again, “My only boy, my precious boy... do not mistake my strength for weakness. As your chief, I implore you.”

Ada suddenly realised she was holding her breath as he finished and silence fell. No one moved, all looking to the young man. Dutch was still.

And Eagle Flies gazed down at his father, disgusted. “Your words mean nothing to me, Father.”

“Don’t—!”

“Ride with me! Now!” Eagle Flies shouted over his father, his gaze fixed on Dutch, before he was urging his horse on, down the small path beside the camp. The group followed, cheering and whooping as their horses galloped away.

“Stop!” Rains Fall was calling out to them, desperately, in vain. “Please... stop!”

And then he was left there, stood on his own, staring after them. Ada didn’t know him, but she felt tears pricking at her eyes at how hopeless the father looked. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she watched him turn and approach them.

“Please, Mr Morgan!” Arthur stepped closer, and so did Dutch, his hands on his belt, head tilted. “After you helped me, after we spoke...” Rains Fall continued. “... this is just a trap. My son, my people, will all die.”

“You helped this feller, Arthur?” Dutch asked with a frown, looking to him.

“Please,” Rains Fall asked as Arthur answered, “What of it?”

“What else you been doin’ behind Dutch’s back?” Micah hissed.

“What?” Arthur demanded, looking as if he was going to square up to the man again, when Rains Fall spoke.

“The wars are over. We have lost. These young men will be annihilated. Please.”

Arthur looked to him, and nodded after a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. Charles?”

The other man nodded as he met his gaze, already with him.

Arthur stepped forward, turning to address the group. “Who else will come with me?”

“Oh, I’ll ride, Arthur,” Dutch answered, his jaw moving. “Who knows what other secrets I’ll learn about. Who else?”

As Dutch turned to the group, Arthur turned to her, and he opened his mouth, but she was already talking.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured, her hand resting on his chest gently.

“You sure?” he answered, just as quietly. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll help the girls with stuff. It’ll be like old times,” she said drily.

A corner of his mouth lifted, though it was only a little. Releasing a breath, she slid her arms around his neck and held him tightly. As he returned it, his arms around her lower back, she breathed so only he could hear, “I’ll help Abigail find the money and start to get ready. I’ll make sure nobody suspects us.”

She felt him nod slightly as his grip tightened on her. Then, he released her and pressed a kiss to her cheek with a murmured, “I love you,” before he was striding away, mounting up as Dutch, Bill, Micah, Cleet, Sadie, Charles, Javier and John did the same.

Micah’s friend Joe stayed behind, sat at the table once more, watching. Ada pulled her gaze from him and watched with Abigail as the group headed out of the camp with Dutch calling out, “Let’s ride!”

They left behind them a cloud of dust, yet more silence, and uncertainty. There was a paused moment before people continued on with what they were doing, eerily quiet. She got her first glimpse of Susan since she’d arrived, though the woman just glanced up at her and smiled faintly.

She could see now how rapidly things were falling apart, how events could spiral into a fight at any moment and if Micah or Arthur got their hands on one another...

Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that, she didn’t know, but sometime in the next few days they would leave. They had to. Her gaze drifted to Rains Fall. He was watching the group, too, his hands by his sides, his shoulders slumped. Moving towards him, she cleared her throat gently.

“Rains Fall?”

He turned to her after a moment, and she smiled warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Annie.”

He nodded, giving a light smile. “Arthur’s partner, yes, hello.”

Well, if that didn’t make her heart swell. “He spoke to you about me?”

“Yes, he did. I’m glad you have come back to him.”

Her features softened, and then she could only think about how much she hoped his son would return to him. Swallowing the lump that had returned to her throat, she gestured towards his horse. “I can ride with you for a while, if you like.”

He shook his head as he patted his horse’s neck, exhaling a breath. “Thank you, but I know the way.”

She watched him mount, her hands clasping together, wringing slightly. Licking her lips, she said gently, “Arthur will do what he can.”

He met her gaze, and she couldn’t read his expression. “I know.” Inclining his head, he turned his horse as she stepped back. “It was nice to meet you, Annie. I hope to see you again.”

Her heart nearly broke as he rode away. Running a hand over her hair, she tucked a few curls behind her ear before she dropped her hand.

God, I hope he gets his son back.

She couldn’t dwell on that, though, or if Arthur would be okay. She had her own business to attend to. Turning, she found Abigail still stood in the same spot.

“Abigail,” she murmured, checking to make sure no one, especially Joe, was watching before she looked to her. “How about we take a walk?”

Abigail’s brow dipped as she looked at her, searching her gaze, and then she nodded, something in her telling her not to question here. “Sure. Hey, Mary-Beth?”

The younger woman lifted her head, her features sullen. “Yeah?”

“Can you keep an eye on Jack for me? Annie and I are gonna do some laundry down by the river.”

Ada almost smiled; the woman was smart.

“Sure.” Mary-Beth brightened a little at having something nice to do, pushing herself up to her feet and moving over to where Jack was sat outside their tent, a book in his hands, his legs swinging.

“Will you read with me?”

“Of course I will, little man.”

Abigail grabbed a small basket from beside the tent as they passed, and they headed down the thin path to the river, both resisting the urge to glance over their shoulders. Ada hoped that people would just assume they were worried about their men and needed to keep busy, that no one would come to bother them. If anyone was even concerned about them.

Ada gently caught her by the arm when they were a good way down the path, and when she faced her, she kept her voice lowered just in case.

“Abigail, Arthur told me that John said you might know where Dutch is keeping the money.”

The dark-haired woman glanced back up the path before she nodded, swallowing lightly. “Yeah, I think I might.”

“Could you take me to it?”

“Yeah... but why?”

Licking her lips, Ada pressed her hands together for a moment before raising them slightly. “I don’t know how much John has told you, but we’re, me, Arthur and Sadie, we’re gonna get you three out of here. And I think we’re gonna need some money to get you somewhere safe.”

She was searching Ada’s gaze again, her lips parted. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

She swallowed once more, and started to nod. “Good. I... I would be so grateful for any help, I know John has been talkin’ to Arthur, but... Part of me thought it was just talk.”

“Me, too. But it’s not anymore, Abigail. I want out, too, and so does Arthur.”

“He does?” Abigail’s eyebrows had risen and Ada saw a mirror of the emotions she, too, had felt at one point about his decision; delight, relief, and, yes, sadness that it had come to this.

“Yes. And I don’t know when we’re gonna go but I know it’s soon. Very soon. If we can get a little money now, while most of them are away, while Dutch is away, then we can hide it and I can help you get a few things together so we’ll be ready.”

“All right.” Abigail nodded, her chin lifting a little as her shoulders squared. “All right. I’ll take you, c’mon.”

Balancing the basket against her hip, she checked that the path was clear, before she headed up the incline to the right of it, Ada following close behind her. She took her high up it, through the trees and shrubs that covered the hill. The sky was darkening, but the trees made it seem darker, and they had to watch their footing, avoiding holes and exposed tree roots. Ada hadn’t even thought about where Dutch might hide the box of money the gang had collected, but burying it on a hill by the camp seemed a little... archaic. But didn’t that just about sum him up?

“Here.”

Lifting her head, gripping at the trunk of a tree as the incline had steepened, Ada frowned as she followed the direction of Abigail’s finger.

“... Here?”

—

“What else have you been doing behind my back, Arthur?”

“Yeah, Morgan, where you been?” Micah chimed in.

Arthur’s gaze shifted to Dutch as they rode, his jaw clenching.

“I was tryin’ to stop this mess from gettin’ any worse. Clearly that didn’t work.”

“Why the hell would they attack the oil fields?” John called from behind him.

“What d’you mean? It’s perfect,” Dutch answered, a smile to his tone, and Arthur stared at him, his features twisting slightly in anger.

“This was your idea?!”

“Partly... The army, the government, the industrialists, they’ve taken everything from these people. Wouldn’t you wanna fight back?”

“You’ve handed them a death sentence!”

“Just like John, if we hadn’t got him out of that prison,” Sadie piped up, a bitterness to her tone.

“Hey! Show some God damn respect!” Bill shouted.

“You’ll know when I ain’t showin’ respect, Bill!”

“I had a plan, I still have a plan!” Dutch called over them.

“What plan? What God damn plan, Dutch?!” John suddenly cut in. “Tahiti?! Timbuktu?!”

“That’s enough! What's wrong with you all?” Javier demanded. “What happened to loyalty?”

“Yeah, what did,” John scoffed.

“Thank you, Javier, Bill. Right now, it doesn’t matter how we got here. These men need our help. I have a plan... this is the plan. So either stick with me, or cut loose! Because I am tired of this constant dissent, long tired of it! Now come on!”

Their horses already at a gallop, they urged them on faster, thundering down paths. Arthur just kept his gaze fixed ahead, trying to get ahold of the rage inside him. It shouldn’t have come to this. Like fucking everything recently, it shouldn’t have come to this. He was going to save Eagle Flies, though, he was going to get him out and back to his father and then he was going to make sure Dutch could never get near him ever again.

“Look, up ahead, it’s one of them!” Dutch suddenly called out as a young man on a horse came idling towards them, bent over slightly. “Are you all right, son?”

“Eagle Flies...” the man said breathlessly, pointing back behind him as they slowed their horses. “... He needs help! They all need help...”

“Quick, somebody help him—” Charles started to say but the man shook his head, “No! Go... please, hurry... I’ll be...”

“Come on!” At Dutch’s cry, they were racing towards the oil fields.

Arthur’s heart twisted at what he imagined they might find; a massacre, more unnecessary blood-shed, bodies everywhere. If Eagle Flies was dead...

His eyes shifted to Dutch, staring at the back of his head, wondering what he was thinking. He had no idea anymore. No idea who he was.

Turning his head, he looked to John beside him, and he met his gaze, his lips pressing together.

John seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

He returned his gaze to the road, and then, in the distance, billowing up into the sky over the trees, was smoke.

It grew as they approached, thickening and darkening into a swirling, incessant mass. They came to a halt at the top of a hill, the trees gone, now before them just plain lands with patches of grass, and the oil fields. The buildings were on fire, and he could smell it from here.

“It’s a massacre,” Charles muttered as he stared down at it through his binoculars.

“We gotta help these men,” Dutch implored as a small group of four, weary, injured men mounted their horses to the left of them.

“Can anyone see Eagle Flies?” Arthur, using his own binoculars to survey the mess, couldn’t see the boy anywhere. He was starting to feel a little frantic when Charles answered, “There, going across the walkway.”

Arthur located him, watched him shoot two men. Gritting his teeth, Arthur lowered the binoculars and tucked them back into his saddlebag, staring at Dutch.

“You got what you wanted, Dutch.”

“You comin’, Arthur?” was all he said.

“I’m gonna try and save him,” he said, shaking his head as he exhaled a harsh breath. “This fight is unwinnable. If you go and distract them and let me get to him—”

“Have it your way,” Dutch cut in. “The rest of you, ride with me. Let’s meet up at the factory. Let’s ride!”

With one last glance at Arthur, he was then charging down the hill with Bill, Micah, Cleet, John and Javier.

Arthur looked between those that remained; Charles, Sadie, and now the injured men who had mounted up were with them, looking more hopeful. Pointing after Dutch, Arthur shook his head.

“Go with him, try and help there. I’m better off alone.”

Charles drew his gun as he shook his head. “We’re riding with you.”

Nodding once, Arthur turned his gaze to the burning factory.

“Come on, then. Ha!”

Ophelia burst into a gallop as they rode down together, and Arthur drew his gun, his features set. He was going to save Eagle Flies, no matter what.

—

Ada stared at the square-like hole in the rock, peering into the darkness.

“... In the caves?”

Abigail nodded as she set the basket down. “Where better. No one wants to go in there.”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Me, neither.”

Both women looked in it, then at each other. Sighing, Ada nodded.

“All right, let’s go.”

She had to crouch a little to get in, but once she was she could stand at full height, and there was still metres of space above her. Gazing down, there was a winding kind of pathway to the bottom, part rock, part wooden planks. This must have been the Murfree’s escape route; so they were more intelligent than they looked.

Climbing down a ladder, they then began to descend, Abigail bringing the basket with her, though Ada couldn’t imagine why; she could’ve just left it up there and they would return for it later. They’d have to leave this way anyway, as Abigail had, quite rightly, known that if they entered from the camp, through the huge, main entrance, that people would watch and might ask questions.

It was dark and cool, the only light coming in from the hole in the rock. When they reached the bottom, Ada squinted slightly, her eyes adjusting. There were destroyed wagons and various pieces of furniture dotted about, piled up in some places. Charles had told her about what he and Arthur had found down here and the place still creeped her out.

“This way.”

She followed Abigail around a corner, finding a few, weakly lit lanterns and, which did nothing to soothe her nerves, an open, wooden cage. She was grateful that Abigail was moving quickly.

“Under here...” Abigail stopped before a wagon on its side, chairs and wooden planks piled over it, and crouched, placing the basket down.

She began to push the detritus aside, Ada dropping to her knees and helping her. They worked as quietly as possible, every small sound echoing in here, and they absolutely did not need it reaching the entrance.

“Here, it’s this...” Pushing a ragged, moth-eaten and probably rat-eaten blanket aside, the red box was revealed. It had once been such a familiar sight in camp, just left by wherever Dutch was sleeping, out in the open. Now it was locked and buried away by a paranoid, bitter man.

“Can you get it open?” she whispered and Abigail side-eyed her, her lips twitching.

“Honey, I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to.”

Pulling pins from her hair, Ada then watched as Abigail bent them and slotted them into a lock. It reminded her of the Mayor’s Gala.

Was that a simpler time? Maybe... Marginally.

It took her no time at all to open it. Sliding the pins back into her hair, she lifted the lid and Ada’s breath caught in her throat as Abigail gasped.

“Holy God...”

She’d never seen so much money in her life. There were so many bills, coin purses, even a gold bar... How could Dutch still want more money?

“We can’t take it all, can we?”

Ada exhaled a laugh as she shook her head. “No, I think that’ll be pretty noticeable. We’ll take a few bills. Hopefully Dutch won’t check it before we leave.”

“All right.”

They took just enough so that it wasn’t noticeable, but it was still the most money Ada had ever held in her life. She nearly laughed as Abigail stuffed it into her pockets like it was nothing. Yes, they’d absolutely be able to get somewhere safe with this.

Abigail quietly closed and then used the pins to lock the box before they pushed it back under the blanket and began carefully assembling the pieces back into their place.

“Where are we gonna go?” Abigail murmured after a few moments of silence, continuing as Ada met her gaze. “To get away? John told me that if anythin’ happened he’d meet me at this dam but—”

“What dam?” Ada paused, looking at her. “Owanjila dam?”

Abigail nodded, her brow dipping. “Yeah, why?”

The corners of her mouth lifted a little as she shook her head. “It’s just... That’s where I told my family to go if anything happened, back in Strawberry.”

The other woman smiled gently. “Must be a hell of a safe place, then.” As they continued reconstructing the mess, she cleared her throat. “Y’know... I don’t really know all that much about you and before you were taken you said that—”

“What we got here?”

Both women jumped and turned at the unfamiliar voice, and they found Joe looking at them, huge and imposing. Ada’s lips parted as Abigail stared, and he raised his eyebrows.

Abigail shrugged as she placed a hand on her hip, the other gesturing at the basket. “This is the best place to dry clothes.”

Oh, she was a very smart woman.

He looked between them, expressionless. “I didn’t see you come in. And they look dry to me.”

Abigail scoffed. “Well, obviously you can’t see proper, then.”

“I can see just fine.” His face screwed up slightly into a frown. “They’re dry.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yeah, they...” He cut himself off with an exasperated breath. Then, he drew his gun, aiming it at Abigail. “What’re you doin’ down here?”

Both women raised their hands as Abigail scoffed again and Ada looked between him and the ground, silent.

“What’re you gonna do with that, huh? You gonna shoot two women for hangin’ some clothes up?”

“I’m gonna shoot two women for lyin’.”

“And what’s Dutch gonna say about that, huh?”

“I don’t answer to Dutch, I ans—”

He hadn’t noticed Ada inching closer. Lunging at him, she grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand down as her leg struck between his.

Is this becoming my new tactic against tall men?

He started to cry out in pain as he dropped to his knees but her other hand swiftly covered his mouth, muffling it. Relief washed over her as no bullet was fired; part of her had expected him to pull the trigger on instinct when she went for him, and the gun couldn’t go off, it would alert everyone and that was the last thing they needed. Fortunately, though, he’d been too surprised.

Abigail wrestled the gun from him and then stepped back, aiming it at him with both hands wrapped around it. Keeping her hand over his mouth, Ada held his gaze as she kept her voice low.

“There’s gonna be no shooting, okay? We were just hanging clothes up to dry, and while you might not answer to Dutch, I don’t think the people of this camp would appreciate—”

Her legs were suddenly knocked out from under her.

“Annie!” Abigail gasped, just managing in time to stop herself from crying out.

Landing on her back with a painful groan, slightly winded, Ada then found Joe on top of her, trying to wrestle her hands away from her body and onto the ground. Gritting her teeth, she tried to push her knees against him but he was much bigger and stronger.

“Get off me,” she hissed, and he shook his head.

“Not until you tell me what you were doin’.”

“Hanging laundry up, how many times do we have to say it before it gets in your thick skull—”

“Didn’t look like you were to me—”

“Well, you’re stupid.”

They both stilled as Abigail pressed the barrel against his temple. His gaze darted up to her, and then he released Ada, who quickly scrambled out from under him and got to her feet.

Catching her breath, she watched as Abigail stared at him.

“You ain’t gonna tell anyone about this. Otherwise, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself that you got all hot and bothered over two women hanging laundry.”

He pressed his lips together, on his knees. “Well, I don’t think you were. Micah says you two aren’t to be trusted.”

“Micah says that about everybody.” Abigail was keeping very calm, and while it was unsurprising coming from Micah, it still rattled Ada a little.

“Did he tell you to watch us?” she asked, her hands going to her waist.

His eyes drifted to her. “Yeah. Says you two would probably get up to somethin’.”

“Did he, now?” Well, that wasn’t good. Briefly meeting Abigail’s gaze, she then—

For a man of his size, Joe could move fast. His hands darting up, he grabbed at the gun and Abigail hissed as she tousled with him, trying to pull it away, and the gun couldn’t go off, it couldn’t...

She almost wasn’t thinking as she moved. Surging down, her hand disappeared into her boot, pulled Thom’s knife out, unsheathed it, and then she was lunging forward once more and plunging the knife into his heart. Her other hand flew up as his eyes widened and his lips parted, but her hand covered his mouth as she stared at him, still.

Please don’t make a sound, please don’t cry out...

He twitched against her as she kept her grip tight on the knife, barely breathing in case it prompted him to make a noise. Then, his hands were falling from Abigail’s and he was slumping forward. Swiftly wrenching the knife out, she stepped backwards and he fell onto the floor, dead, the women standing over him.

Ada released a breath as she stared down at him. And then she realised what she’d done.

Her eyes widening, she looked up and met Abigail’s own, wide eyes.

“... Oh, shit.”

—

“... I got ‘em...”

Arthur turned from searching the cupboard, staring across the office in the factory at Dutch, who was holding a document in his hands, gazing down at it.

“... I got ‘em... I got ‘em...” He was incredulous, almost dazed. “... This is it.” A smile was pulling at his lips as he looked up at Arthur. “... It’s state bonds.”

“How much?” Arthur asked, even as he moved closer, hardly able to believe it himself.

He was still infuriated that Dutch had orchestrated this chaos and bloodshed so they could use it as cover to get in here but... the bonds had actually been here. Maybe, depending on how much there was, Dutch would finally be happy, and they could leave without any kind of an argument.

“It’s a... few thousand dollars worth, maybe more,” Dutch laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, we are nearly there.”

Arthur took the document from him, inspecting it himself and... Holy shit. He looked up at Dutch with a smile, unable to believe it.

“Arthur, we’re nearly there!” Dutch laughed as he handed the document back to him, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Mr Morgan, let’s go home.”

Arthur’s smile lingered as he followed him out of the office. Yes, it was enough. It was crazy that Dutch still wanted more, but, this was enough. He was happy, therefore they could leave knowing everyone else would be okay.

They moved back across the landing towards the stairs, the place quiet now that they’d dealt with Cornwall’s remaining men. Arthur had found Eagle Flies and he’d been okay, angry still and wanting to be brave and gather the last of his men before they left, but okay. He was with the gang now, waiting outside for them.

Arthur felt relief settle over him. He was going to get the boy home, and then they could leave the gang. Tonight, maybe, even. He almost couldn’t believe it.

As they descended the stairs, Dutch suddenly paused.

“Did you hear that?”

Arthur halted, his brow dipping as he strained to hear. There was only the sound of the horses outside and the machinery in here—

“Gentlemen! We’re here for ya!”

Arthur ducked down against the banister with Dutch as he hissed out a curse at the sight of Agent Milton stepping into the factory with a small group of men.

“Your friend?” Dutch murmured.

“Get in there. Find them, shoot them!” Milton was ordering, the men scattering, before he exited.

Doesn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty.

“Come on...”

Following after Dutch, they continued down the stairs quietly, Arthur finding cover behind a wall, Dutch against some machinery.

“Come on, Arthur!” Dutch shouted as he fired at the men, Arthur joining him.

Thankfully it was only a small group, but who knew how many were outside? He had a feeling it was just these, though; if any were outside then their gang would have alerted them. Besides, with Cornwall dead and no longer funding them, this could all be that was currently left of the Pinkertons.

“Cover me!” Dutch shouted, and as he did the older man ran for new cover, heading further along the factory towards the door.

After killing two men, he then followed after Dutch, keeping low.

“We need to go, Arthur!” he heard him calling, and followed his voice.

A man darted out and Arthur quickly shot him, and then Dutch was there, beckoning him over to door.

“We got to get the hell out of here, c’mon!”

He was several feet away, so close—

A bullet sounded and collided with a pipe above Arthur. It burst, spraying hot steam onto his face and he cried out as he stumbled back, his head whipping to the side. In his shock, he stumbled over his own feet and fell to the ground with a grunt, his face tingling uncomfortably.

“We got one!”

Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to find three men a few feet away, aiming their guns at him.

“A white one!”

He was trying to rub at his eyes, his vision blurred from the steam. Suddenly, one of the men was on top of him, brandishing a knife and bringing it down.

“Dutch...” Arthur called thickly, gripping the man’s arms and trying to push them. “... Dutch! I need help!”

He glanced behind the man, trying to kick him off, and saw Dutch stood there and—

He watched him turn and walk away.

Arthur felt like his heart had stopped. But the man was still trying to bring the knife down even as he was struggling, the tip nearing his heart.

“I need help!” the man hissed himself through gritted teeth, and the two men were coming over—

Two gunshots rang out and Arthur jerked, thinking they were for him, and then another sounded and the man on top of him fell to the side with a cry. Shoving him off, Arthur looked up to find Eagle Flies there with a gun. The younger man smiled and Arthur opened his mouth to speak but then another man was behind him and—

A fourth gunshot rang out. The bullet tore through Eagle Flies’s stomach.

Arthur reacted without thinking. Grabbing at his gun he had dropped, he aimed and shot the man, watching him fall to the ground. Pushing himself up to his feet, he moved towards the boy, breathing hard.

"Ah, you, you silly fool!” he thundered in his grief, hauling him up as he felt his chest tighten. Blood was sliding down the boy’s stomach and his breaths were laboured. “Come on!”

Placing one of Eagle Flies’s arms around him, he then wrapped his own around his waist and helped him walk to the door.

“You saved my life... more than once,” Eagle Flies hissed painfully, “... To give mine for yours... it’s as it should be...”

Kicking the door open, Arthur just hauled him through.

Out on the decking, the gang was still waiting for them, and Arthur met the eyes of Dutch van der Linde as he helped the boy towards the short set of stairs.

“We need to go,” Dutch called, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just...

“You...” Arthur began in a low tone. “... You ran away!”

Charles was suddenly there, taking Eagle Flies from him as Dutch raised his hands.

“I did no such thing! Don’t be a fool.” Dropping his arms, he raised his eyebrows. “They could be back here any minute.”

Arthur stared at him, taking in deep, harsh breaths, and Dutch turned away, smiling as he addressed the group.

“We did it, gentlemen! We got some money...” His gaze returned to Arthur as the younger man moved down the stairs towards him. “... And with the train job, well, we got a whole lot of money.”

Arthur’s gaze was pulled to Eagle Flies as Charles put him on Ophelia, releasing pained groans.

“Come on...” His gaze remained on him as Dutch spoke. “... Everythin’ is comin’ together, Arthur. Exactly as I planned.”

Arthur looked at him. “I’ve got to take the boy to his father.”

Turning, he moved towards Ophelia.

“As you wish,” Dutch sighed. “Usually is nowadays.”

Arthur’s gaze darted to him, feeling like none of this was real. “Sure.”

Mounting, he heard Dutch address the group again. “C’mon, we gotta get back to camp and prepare. Let’s ride!”

Javier, Bill, Micah and Cleet immediately followed after him. Arthur lifted his head as he gathered the reins and found Charles, John and Sadie looking at him.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

“I’ll stay with you,” Charles answered, mounting his horse.

“And me, of course,” Paytah, Eagle Flies’s friend said, the boy only young himself.

“Me, too,” Sadie began to say but Arthur shook his head, finding he had to swallow hard to clear his thickening throat. “No, get out of here, please, this ain’t gonna be nothin’ nice.”

Without another look back, he kicked Ophelia into a canter, Charles and Paytah following, and Sadie and John were left watching them ride away.

—

“Gently, gently...”

“Why? He ain’t gonna feel it...”

“... Well, all right, you’re not wrong there...”

It had felt like a lifetime since they’d started carrying his body. Abigail had moved almost instantly, turning him over, checking his pockets, relieving him of his money, and then she’d grabbed his ankles and said, ‘Come on.’ Ada had just responded, sheathing the knife, tucking it away and then sliding her arms under his. He was heavy, and they’d had to stop every few minutes. Getting him up the walkways to the ladder had nearly ended them.

Her back already hurt from when he’d knocked her off her feet, with just one arm, Abigail had told her on one of their many breaks, and now it was screaming at her.

Several times they thought about just hiding him somewhere in the caves but they both knew it was just too risky. So, carrying and stopping and carrying and stopping it had been.

Ada had gone up the ladder first, one arm wrapped over his chest with her hand gripping at his shoulder as Abigail shoved him up until Ada reached the top and then hauled him up with Abigail pushing his legs. They’d taken their longest break after that, but even then it had only been a couple of minutes. They didn’t know when everyone would return, and they didn’t want to be so long that those in the camp would start asking questions.

They considered taking him to the river and letting the water carry him away but, again, too risky. He could wash up on shore, or someone at the camp could spot him passing by. So, they’d spent the last ten minutes carrying him through the woods, hoping to come across something they could hide him by.

A few times he’d knocked against rocks and trees but, as Abigail had just said, it wasn’t going to matter to him. They eventually found a ditch and dropped him into it, hoping, if anyone from the camp did come across him, it would look like another Murfree incident.

Straightening and placing her hands on her lower back, Ada groaned, rolling her shoulders. Abigail blew out a breath and brushed her hands together.

In silence, they stared down at the dead man.

“All right...” Abigail began. “... Okay... I’m gonna go and get the basket and... pretend this didn’t happen.”

Ada nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “Okay... Hey, wait.”

The other woman turned back to her, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Licking her dry lips, Ada gave her a small smile as she moved towards her. “We got the money now, Abigail. All you have to do is discreetly gather a few things and then you’re ready.”

She nodded as they started to walk together. “Okay. How d’you think it’s gonna happen?”

“Us leaving? Well, I’m hoping it’s just a nice, amicable discussion but...”

“Don’t seem too likely with how things have been goin’?”

“No,” Ada sighed, pressing her lips together. “But... If we have to leave in the middle of the night, then we will.”

“Well, I’m ready for that.”

Ada waited outside of the cave as Abigail went down to get the basket, massaging her lower back again.

God, I could do with a lie down.

When Abigail returned, they quickly went down to the river to wet the clothes, and then wandered back into camp, hanging the garments on a line between two trees. No one said anything to them, had probably not even noticed how long they’d been gone.

With a small, secretive smile and a nod to her, Abigail returned to Jack once they were done and took over from Mary-Beth, reading to him. Ada went to Arthur’s area and lay on his bed, exhaling a long breath.

She must have fallen asleep because suddenly there were voices and she knew they’d returned. Pushing herself up, she ducked under one of the blankets and stepped out, her gaze darting between the returners.

Arthur wasn’t amongst them.

It didn’t soothe her that Sadie was striding towards hers.

“Sadie, where’s Arthur?” she demanded before the other woman could open her mouth.

“He’s okay, he’s fine,” she said quickly, smiling faintly. “He’s taken Eagle Flies back to his father. The boy ain’t in good shape.”

Ada felt her stomach drop. “How bad?”

Sadie sighed quietly, shaking her head. “Real bad. Arthur said he’d be back soon, though.”

“Okay.”

“Where the hell’s Joe?”

Her gaze darted to Micah as he tutted and strode past them, heading for the table he’d left his friend at. Licking her lips, Ada nodded towards Arthur’s area.

“You want to come and have a talk?”

Her friend nodded, looking weary. “Yeah, think I will for a while.”

Sadie told her about the fight, how the oil field and factory was now burning. She wasn’t able to enlighten her on how Eagle Flies had been injured, just that Arthur had helped him out of the factory with a hole in his stomach and Arthur was saying something about how Dutch had run away. She’d left soon after, Ada not able to tell her about what she’d been up to, and even if she had, Sadie looked in need of some rest.

Ada remained on her chair, looking towards the main path, waiting for his return.

It was an hour until dawn when he did.

She’d stayed up, sleeping for a little while at a time but only dozing, really.

She knew the moment she laid eyes on him as he dismounted, looking exhausted, what had happened. Her heart broke as she stood, wrapping her arms around herself as he approached.

“Is he...?” she asked quietly as he sat down heavily on the bed.

Licking his lips, he released a breath. “Eagle Flies is dead.”

“Oh, Arthur...”

She sat next to him and took his hands. His eyes were on the ground, his head shaking slightly.

“He, uh... Got him to Rains Fall and then he... And Dutch... he left me to die.”

She froze, staring at him. “What?”

Arthur swallowed hard and shook his head again. “I was ‘bout to be stabbed and... he just walked away.”

A coldness swept over her as her heart broke again. She didn’t know what to say. He looked devastated, exhausted, resigned, incredulous. She had never seen him like this before.

“... I can’t believe it.”

Arthur inhaled a slow, almost shaking breath. “Sad thing is... I haven’t wanted to, but... I can.”

Tears clouding her vision, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder, her eyes closing.

She hated Dutch. Hated him with all her heart. But she never thought that he would do this to him.

Arthur’s arms slid around her and the tightness with which he held her was enough to have tears falling down her cheeks.

Every last hope and illusion had been shattered.

—

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