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azsazz · 2 months

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With Me

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I know your request are closed but still writing. In the future could you do something with Eris x rhys sister?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of canon violence

Word Count: 1,520

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It had been on a wisp of an autumn breeze that Eris found out.

Found out about the plans of the High Lord of Spring, how he and his sons planned an ambush on the wife and daughter of the High Lord of Night on their travels to the Illyrian mountains for a visit with her son.

He had been on his horse, red as the leaves on the trees, scouting the borders between Autumn and Spring. The wind ruffled his hair and tickled his pointed ears with the whispers of scheming sons. Eris had stilled the mare beneath him and urged the current with a touch of magic to enhance the conversation.

That High Lord will pay for everything he’s tried to do to ours.

He won’t even know what’s coming. And neither will those little bitches.

Dibs on the older one.

It had eaten Eris throughout the day. Across the rest of his round on the border, during battle strategy, between sword fighting with his younger brothers. Lucien was learning quickly how to play his brothers against each other, and even scored a hit on Eris while his mind had been run through with worry.

He is a smart male but the thought of going to his father with this news didn’t feel right, but keeping it to himself felt even worse. So, after a family dinner that he loathed, Eris put on his emerald robes and marched into the Night Court territory.

He was too late.

Eris caught the scent of your blood on a tornado of wind that carried the harrowing cries of you and your mothers downfall. You had been brutally attacked by the Spring Court sons and their father, and as Eris crept closer he saw blood coated flowers sprouting from the ground. The High Lord’s magic, a love note to the High Lord of Night.

A soft gurgle caught his attention as he stepped into the clearing washed in moonlight. The sight before him was harrowing; your carriage door ripped off its hinges, the windows blown out. Even the large, black steeds that had been pulling the wagon had been slaughtered, their entrails long lines in the white snow.

A wet cough, one with the whisper of death accompanying it drew his attention. Eris didn’t hesitate to locate you, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you curled beneath your slain mother, her arms still wrapped around you protectively.

Your eyes were wide with fear, mouth gaping like a fish. Blood of both yours and your mothers surrounded you, leaking from your lips, from between the hands you had pressed weakly to your stomach.

Falling to his knees, Eris reached a hand out but halted when your eyes met his. His mind was reeling, a young warrior with little battlefield experience before a female struggling through her thinning breaths.

Something stirred deeply within him, something he knew but couldn’t say, wouldn’t admit out loud until years later.

You had enough strength to shift your hand in the snow, reaching towards him, eyes screaming a plea for help from the handsome son of Autumn.

And he did. He held your organs in his hands as he winnowed you from Night into his own territory, right into the hands of his mother.

Amaretto stood with a start, the book in her hands falling loudly to the floor. There were no sounds in the room, not even the crackling of the fires raging in the hearths. She kept it this way so she could hear the sounds of her husband's footsteps when he walked down the marble halls of the Woodland House, each echo a shot to her confidence.

“Eris,” she gasps at her son, who looks over at her with wide, pleading, auburn eyes. She halts in her tracks, that look in his eyes, the sheer terror on his face. Her own eyes softened with a knowing look, and she uttered, “Oh, Eris.”

He and his mother worked in tandem all through the night. And when Beron’s footsteps began to sound down the hall Eris had been the one to distract him, goad him. He didn’t care about the bruises and pain inflicted by his father’s hand because it was nothing to the pain he could feel from you, through the thread of the bond that had appeared at the sight of you.

His mother saved your life with the little trickle of healing magic she had left. Always hidden from Beron, but would use it to save her son’s mate’s life. Two gentle souls that deserved much better hands that you had been dealt in the world.

Eris stayed by your side when you had been moved to a guest room. You hadn’t woken for days and he couldn’t figure out a way to hide you from his father who would surely use you against the Night Court, who were mourning the news of their felled female family members.

Word had come of the slaying of the Spring Court High Lord and the two eldest sons, leaving young Tamlin to take his place. In the fray, the High Lord of Night had been murdered as well, with Rhysand taking the chair of rule.

It was all very confusing times.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Eris,” you plead, tears staining your eyes. He can feel the cracking in your chest even though you’re trying to hide it from him. You’ve never been good at blocking your feelings from your loving mate, but the thought of returning home was all too much. Eris wasn’t understanding your fear, your need to go home to the Night Court after so long away, after Amarantha’s reign of terror has finally ended. “I need to see my brother.”

Eris had hidden you from the wretched female while he and all of the other citizens of the Autumn Court had been forced beneath the mountain. It had been a long, lonely fifty years of trying to find a way to get back to Velaris, to get inside of the barriers that had been protected with an extra boost of Rhysand’s power before he became trapped.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, hugging you closely. The both of you are laid up in his bed, days of reacquainting each other with the other’s body after so long away. Your mate had all but fallen apart in your arms, and you in his, the loneliness of your years spent wondering how your mate fared against the powerful female set to ruin your world.

“Come with me,” you beg wetly, clutching to his clothes. He had winnowed right back into your arms as soon as he was able, and he hasn’t let you go since. You hadn’t wanted him to. “Let’s run away from Autumn, together.”

Just like Lucien had done, chased away from the Court he knew as home while their awful brothers hunted him down. It had been another harrowing night for Eris, one you held him through.

Only the knowledge that his brother was safe in the Spring Court had kept him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t just leave like this, fawn,” he answers wetly, stroking your hair back from your face. You’re as beautiful as the day you woke up, when your eyes landed on his and the bond made itself known to you. He has spent every day since thanking the Mother for this time with you, for sparing you that winter night, for keeping you safe when he was trapped under the mountain with no way out. “Not yet.”

Your voice breaks and hot tears stream down your face, throat tightening to the point where no words could break if you tried. You want Eris to come with you, you need Eris to come with you. You’ve only just gotten him back and it cannot be time to give him up already.

“It’s okay, fawn,” Eris consoles sadly. He will keep you in his arms tonight and tomorrow, up until he escorts you to your brother’s land and makes sure that you are safe with them. He has been a selfish male for so many years, falling headfirst into the mating bond. He’d fallen into you completely and without any remorse, the same way you had found yourself falling into him. “You need to do this. And I will be here, fighting for a better life for us until we can be together, freely.”

Eris and Amaretto had come up with an elaborate plan to tell the rest of the family. That Eris would hide you until you healed, and found his mate at the Autumnal Equinox balls. It would ensure your safety, being classed as a High Fae, but also being Eris’ mate. You had learned to deal with Beron and Eris’ insufferable brothers for years.

You love Eris with every fiber of your being, and the thought of parting with him so soon after getting him back tears your heart to shreds, but you need to go, especially after everything Eris had told you happened down there.

“I love you, Eris.”

“I love you too, fawn.”

#eris x reader #eris/reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acosf #eris #eris vanserra

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clockwayswrites · 4 months

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Like Betta Fish Do - Part 29

WC 2500, Masterpost

A Press of the Button:

An Exclusive Interview with Jason Wayne and Danny Nightingale Following the Infamous New Years Eve Choice

By Clark Kent

“I’m going to throw up.”

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to overhear that; it’s not exactly an auspicious start to an interview. Here inside of Wayne Manor’s stately halls the noise of the crowd of press outside of the gate has fallen away and the words from the other side of the door are clear. The voice isn’t one that I recognize, so I place it as the young man at the center of the event: Daniel Nightingale.

“Danny, please, I’ve never liked Daniel,” he’ll introduce himself to me once I’m inside the sitting room. Jason Todd is at his boyfriend’s side, looming like an avenging angel. Or, since we’re in Gotham, a very large bat.

When I was assigned the interview, I hadn’t been sure where it would be held. As readers may know, Jason Todd hasn’t lived at the Manor since his miraculous return from the dead. There were, as he said, too many memories in the Manor for him to return. At the time he had still been struggling to overcome the unfortunate amnesia that he had suffered during his brutal abduction as a teenager.

Whatever trauma is still lingering, it’s clear that both young men are taking comfort being in the manor. The proverbial wagons have been circled inside of the family home. Even cleaned up the sitting room shows signs of a rotation cast of family keeping the pair company: a plethora of blankets, stacked board games, feel-good food, and, of all things, a plush trilobite.

As we take our seats, Danny leans unconsciously into Jason’s space like a flower to the sun. His nerves are clear in the way that his fingers fidget restlessly with the edge of his sleeves. The red sweater is far too large for him and hangs off of one thin shoulder. I have to guess that it’s Jason’s sweater and worn today for comfort. I doubt anyone could blame Danny seeking comfort wherever he can find it.

Less than a week ago Danny was abducted from the Wayne’s New Years Eve party by a Gotham villain known as Two Face. The villain came into being after Harvey Dent, a district attorney in Gotham, was traumatically exposed to a toxic chemical. (More about Two Face can be read in the article ‘A Flip of a Coin’.) Danny had been taken off site while a handful of party goers were strapped to an explosive device.

Presented with the horrifying choice between his boyfriend or his father and youngest brother, Jason had pressed the red button connected to Danny’s trap.

Danny Nightingale had been electrocuted to death.

And survived.

It’s the perfect sort of awful story to capture the attention of the public and press alike, and it’s the reason that I’m at Wayne Manor now.

Hoping to make Danny feel more settled, I start off with some pleasantries before going in with a soft question. How is he doing with all the attention that the event has been getting? It must be overwhelming.

Danny glances towards the front of the house where outside lies the front yard, the protective gate, and the press. “It is. I feel like I’m still getting used to living in a city as big as Gotham, so all of this suddenly… yeah, it’s a lot.”

Danny grew up in a much smaller city in central Illinois called Amity Park. He moved to Gotham in the late summer of last year to continue his education at Gotham University. It’s a change that he describes as good, even as overwhelming as it is.

“Gotham has been surprisingly easy to fall in love with. I can see why Gothamites are so protective of the city,” Danny explains with the first hint of a smile on his face that I’ve seen since I came through the doors.

When I ask him if he hopes to stay in Gotham long term, Danny glances at Jason and blushes faintly. “I’d like to, if I can find work. There’s a lot here worth staying for and the city is just part of that.”

The words cause the first blush I’ve seen on Jason’s cheeks since he was new to the Wayne family and a little overwhelmed himself. Clearly Jason is one of the things worth staying for.

We talk a little about how Danny likes the Wayne family. He admits that he’s still getting to know them. He’d only been introduced to most of the family at the end of last year, right before finals. Already, though, there are stories to be told about board games and good food. Beyond the Waynes, Danny has someone else very important in Gotham.

“Your sister is in town, isn’t she?” I ask. “I imagine having her here during this has been nice.”

“It is. I was actually supposed to go and see her after New Years, but obviously…” Danny clears his throat and Jason takes one of Danny’s hands in his. Danny instantly relaxes into Jason’s side. “But yeah, having her here is really nice.”

“I take it you two are close then?”

“She was my anchor growing up,” Danny says with a little smile that’s tinged with sadness. “I wish she hadn’t had to be. Now that I’m older I know how unfair that was to her, but I’m so lucky that she did. She could so easily resent me for it, but she doesn’t at all. It makes it really easy to love her.”

“Not that it’s hard,” Jason adds with a chuckle. “I think her and Dick have already made an oldest sibling club and Damian thinks both Nightingales hung the moon, I swear.”

“Speaking of Nightingale, that isn’t your original last name, is it?”

It’s been an item of note in the recent write ups on Danny that both of the siblings had changed their last name to Nightingale from their birth name of Fenton. Their parents, doctors both, still go by Fenton. In Gotham, at least, the Doctor Fentons would be described as mad scientists. The so-called ‘ectobiologists’ have made their life a study of ghosts. In Amity Park, ‘the most haunted town in America’, they’re just part of the atmosphere.

Danny sighs and glances away. “No. Jazz and I both changed our last names when we turned eighteen. Jazz had wanted me to change it and go with her when she turned eighteen, but she had this great scholarship for college and she’d taken care of me enough. I couldn’t put that on her too, so I refused to until I was eighteen.”

“So you didn’t actually emancipate yourself?”

“Nope. One day late for that. But I moved out the same day I changed my name.”

“How did your parents take that?”

A wry smile twists Danny’s lips. “They didn’t notice until months later when the lab had gotten too dirty.”

“The lab?”

“It was one of my chores to clean it; another thing that I get was messed up now that I’m older and away from there. We, um, think that it was my exposure to all those chemicals that made me a meta.”

By all accounts, Danny’s meta status is how he survived the electrocution. It’s a label that he looks slightly uncomfortable with.

“It’s not that I mind being a meta,” he’s quick to assure me. “It’s just that… what actually made me one was an accident in the lab. I was electrocuted.” He raises his left arm up. The overly large red sleeve pools down to reveal a branching network of faint silver scars tracing his skin. “It’s hard right now to think back to it, after what happened. I really didn’t know if I would survive… either time. I’m lucky that all I have are scars.”

“But you thought that you might survive.”

“I did,” Danny says with a little shrug. He seems almost at ease with that question, unlike Jason.

Jason has to take a moment to press a kiss to Danny’s temple.

“After the first time I was electrocuted,” Danny explains, “I became a little more resistant to electricity— little shocks and things. It’s not like I ever tested it out with anything big. I guess it was just a feeling I had.”

When I ask Danny if he’s alright to talk about the night of the party he looks stressed by the idea but still gives a little nod. As he points out, it is why I’m there.

“I was getting some fresh air,” Danny explains. He’s picking at the sweater again. “The night was really lovely, but it’s just not the sort of thing I’m used to, you know? So I just wanted a moment to gather myself. I guess… I guess they were already watching me, because they knocked me out before I even really knew they were there.

“I woke up strapped to a metal chair. They’d taken my shoes and socks off. I couldn't understand why, but then,” Danny has to pause here and take a moment. Jason pulls him closer. “Then I noticed that my feet were in water and there was a wire in the water too. The wire wasn’t live but it’s… I mean it wasn’t hard to put it all together.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Danny looks over at the windows and the gray winter day beyond them. “I didn’t know who had taken me or why. I could hear some people close, talking about waiting for a signal, but it wasn’t much. When my eyes adjusted I could see a camera on a tripod and a laptop. I didn’t know what was going on, not until it turned on.

“Two Face was on it. I guess you know I’m not a native Gothamite that it took me a moment to recognize him,” Danny said with a weak laugh. “He explained what he was doing.”

I ask Danny what his first thought was when hearing the plan.

“Worry for Jason. Which I know sounds insane, but I guess… I guess I had already accepted the circumstance I was in. I just didn’t want Jason to have to go through that choice.”

“And then Jason was on the screen.”

“Yeah.”

“Jason, what were you feeling at seeing Danny on the television?”

“What do you think?” Jason asks, frustration lacing through his voice. “I was pissed off. I was scared. I was… I hated myself.”

“Why?”

“Because Danny was only in that situation because he was dating a Wayne. Because he was dating me. And there he was, a few seconds from death, bleeding, and… and telling me that he loved me.”

While Danny sounds almost detached talking about it, possibly a coping mechanism, Jason sounds like every wound is still fresh. It paints a terrifying picture of what it’s like to be the one to die versus the one who presses the button.

I turn back to Danny. “You said something to Jason in the video after that. There's been a great deal of debate about your words. Do you feel alright discussing them.”

Danny nods. I read out the quote: You know what you have to do, don’t you?

“Danny, what did you mean?”

“That Jason had to press my button,” Danny says with surprising ease. It’s clear that the order was one that he still stands by.

I ask about that certainty.

Danny gives a little shrug. He tucks himself back further under Jason’s arm, but I'm certain that the move is more for Jason’s comfort. “It was me or a group of other people. That would have been enough. I would never put myself first like that, but then you add in Damian and Bruce being part of that group? I couldn’t ask Jason to choose me over his family and Jason knows I wouldn’t.”

What about the chance of survival?

“Jason and I had talked about my accident before. Death… it’s something we both get, you know? So we both knew that there could be a chance of me surviving, but there was never any guarantee.”

“Are you going on record that you told Jason to press the button, knowing it could kill you?”

“Absolutely.”

And how did that insistence make Jason feel? Right then it seems all Jason can do is curl up around Danny, as if he can shield him from the past.

“Fucking horrible. Danny just looked at the whole situation and made the choice for me. I don’t know, maybe I should think that was freeing, but I still had to press the button.”

I point out that he could have made the other choice and he just shakes his head. “And make Danny live with that? He had made his choice. He didn’t want to trade his life for theirs. I hated it, but what sort of person would I have been if I didn’t let Danny take control of his own life? I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with either choice, so at least… at least I could listen to Danny.”

So Jason had pressed the button, Danny had been electrocuted (he refused to speak on the experience), and Jason had attacked Two Face. The man had ended up with a broken jaw and fractures in the orbital rim. It was while Jason had been sobbing in his father’s arms that they had gotten the word from one of Gotham’s local heroes: Danny was still alive.

“What did I feel? Hope,” Jason said with an almost despairing laugh. “I don’t… hope and I don't do well these days, but I felt hope. I don’t know if I believed it until I was actually holding his hands.”

“I was a little out of it when they got there,” Danny admits, which seems more than fair considering everyone else would have been dead. “But I’m so grateful to Nightwing and the paramedics taking care of me and letting me see Jason before the hospital. I really… I really needed him right then.”

And now?

“I’d like to say that I’m alright, but,” Danny shrugs, “it’s a lot to go through. But I know I’ll be alright. Jason and his family are amazing and I have Jazz here. I’ll keep healing, physically and mentally, and so will Jason. I know the internet has a lot to say about it all, but I think they need to understand that this turned out the best way that it could have.”

Jason kisses Danny’s temple again with a slight smile. He seems to be in agreement with everything his boyfriend said.

“I suppose I have just one more question,” I say after a moment of looking over my notes. “Why do you call Danny ‘fish’?”

I don’t get an answer, but maybe hearing those two able to laugh so soon after such a traumatic event is better than a story.

---

AN: *flops dramatically* darlings, this chapter is finally done! Thank you to @chromatographic and @mokulule for cheer/beta reading for me. This one was really hard to write since it's out of the normal style wise for me, but it felt like the best way to tell the story right there.

I hope you enjoy it!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe at the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #like betta fish do

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immajustvibehere · 9 months

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Quiet, Solitude Hour

Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: On a hot afternoon, you find camp deserted with only one lazy cowboy to keep you company.

warning: slightly suggestive, Arthur is some years younger than he was in the game (it's up to you how much tho)

960 words, 5 minutes reading time

Credit to oolonglatte on Twitter! The drawing inspired this fanfiction :)

Camp was uncommonly deserted today. The majority was out on jobs, including Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, whose absence left a void in the usual hierarchy of overseeing and assigning chores. The sun blazed overhead, and whoever wasn't working was seeking shelter in the next saloon or going for a dip in a nearby lake. Even Mr Pearson, who normally remained within the bounds camp, had wandered off with Tilly to fish at a creek.

Having just completed the task of unloading hay from the wagon and neatly arranging it beneath a modest, hastily assembled shelter, you were convinced that you were the only one at camp. But then you saw a wispy thread of smoke rising from Arthur's tent. Not the black sort of smoke you get when you light a campfire, no, someone was smoking a cigarette. It must be Arthur, though his body was well hidden behind the crates that surround his tent.

You grinned as a prospect for diversion and amusement presented itself. You walked up to him, the grass and soil beneath your feet masked any audible approach. Slowly, Arthur’s body appeared. Recumbent upon his cot, Arthur wore nothing but jeans and boots. It looked as if he had hastily unclothed after a ride and now was trying to cool down. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anybody to be here, because even his belt was discarded in the grass, the jeans’ button and zipper had been undone nonchalantly, the latter halfway at best.

You observed the dark hair on his body that thickened beneath the curvature of his navel, only to lead down where it was swallowed by the shadow cast by his jeans. Arthur wasn't one to run around topless very often. You tried to remember when you ever saw him like this, only to realize it must have been years ago if ever.

You smiled contently. Arthur's eyes were closed and when he led the cigarette to his mouth, this happened on instinct and with a perfectly studied movement.

It felt forbidden, watching him like that. So you snuck away, heading for the create in the shadow where the gang kept some bottles of beer. The crate was buried in the ground to exploit every damp coolness that the earth had to offer. When you returned, two moderately cool bottles in hand, Arthur remained blissfully oblivious to your presence. The hand unoccupied by the cigarette, it had since shrunken significantly and would only be good for two more drags, was tracing circles on his lower abdomen. You watched as his fingers sifted through the strands of hair, a gentle caress which underlined that his thoughts were miles away.

Gently, you allowed the bottles to emit a soft chime as they touched and spoke softly: "Hope I'm not interrupting something?" More calmy than you had expected he'd react on the disturbance, Arthur's eyelids parted at a leisurely pace to meet your presence.

"'Course not", Arthur sat up slowly, smiling when you came closer, offering him a bottle. The remnants of his cigarette were extinguished before his fingers grasped the offered refreshment. Then he shifted along the cot, patting the fabric next to him. You sat down and only when your arm lightly brushed against his, Arthur seemed to wake up from his daydream.

He jumped up and put the bottle down on a table.

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone to be here. Ain't proper to run around like that", Arthur grinned cheekily for a fleeting moment, before he stretched his limbs, righting his jeans and grabbing a shirt. "Oh, come on!", you giggled, "It's damn hot today, I don't blame you."

Arthur's eyes rested on you for moment. He must have noticed that you also had more buttons unbuttoned than usual, because, though he put his shirt on, sleeved rolled up to expose his forearms, he didn't bother buttoning it, but only cramped the edges into his jeans.

"What've you been up to?", you asked as Arthur sat down next to you again. You still saw some of the drowsiness in him. The hot air had made him tired and if you hadn't disturbed him, he might have dozed off soon.

"Jus' been out riding. I was looking into a lead Hosea told me."

"Is it a good one?", you asked, smilingly. You didn't know where you took the courage from all of a sudden, but you put your hand on top of Arthur's that was resting between your bodies.

"Y-yeah, think so...", Arthur almost choked on the answer, surprised about the hand holding. Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, because the two of you had been sweet on one another for some time now. But Arthur's method of dealing with his feelings was to stay away from camp as much as possible, because there was no way you felt the same and he wanted to get over this silly crush. He hadn't expected you to...like him back. Not even talking about daring to do the first move.

"Nobody's going to be back for another hour…", you said, standing up to look around camp. Your hand was still loosely holding Arthur's who was watching you in awe.

"We should make use of this", you grinned suggestively.

Arthur's Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

"Ya sure? Y/N I didn't know you felt like this...", Arthur said, visibly flustered.

"Now you know", your cheeks were flushed from the confession.

You sat down on Arthur's lap, facing him. Arthur's hands immediately wandered to your hip, holding it in place while looking up to you. Slowly, you pulled out the edge of the shirt that Arthur had crammed into his jeans, undoing the work he had done only a minute ago. But Arthur didn’t mind that at all.

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x gn!reader #Arthur morgan x gender neutral reader

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junosmindpalace · 2 months

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DOWN IN THE MEADOW

🎧 deep in the brook, catfish are waiting for the hook!

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

synopsis: you, a former saloon girl, and your relationship with arthur through a song in accordance with the seasons.

content: family dynamics, domesticity, relationship timeline, a little bit of insecure arthur, horrible transitions between jack and arthur povs, messy intro and conclusion, soft gentle love thats the fic

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i haven't posted anything in nearly a month...SO sorry about that but here's this! i promise i've been working i've just been pickier with what i choose to post + theyre all lengthy as shit. this is different from what i usually write but we're trying some new stuff </3

Something that not many people were aware of was how very boring the outlaw life could be.

More often than not the lifestyle meant a whole lot of housekeeping, hunting and fishing; and that was only if you were old, strong, and experienced enough to handle such activities. To Jack Marston's misfortune, he was none of those things.

Life as an outlaw could be especially boring for a young boy such as himself, with no one of his size to cancel out each other’s boredom by becoming playmates. His momma and various aunts and uncles did their best to entertain him when they had the spare time, and he too found amusement in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors.

Fortunately, the worst of winter's wrath was over with, and beside the occasional snowfall, the weather was tame enough to settle down in a new camp and lounge about.

Because he cannot leave the camp very often, Jack settles for sitting by its outskirts. And it’s one of these even days that become odd when he spots his Uncle Arthur return from a trip into town accompanied by a stranger on the back of his horse.

Jack was closely acquainted with every member of his misfit family; he could recognize every worn face within it. Who wore which scar and where, which voices were more often fussy or brimming with glee, and even the ones that one day disappear and never return. This face that his Uncle Arthur brought back with him was a face he didn’t recognize, kind and curious as he observed it to be.

The small boy had been taught from a very early age not to trust strangers. There are few people in this cold and cruel world that wholeheartedly care for him; the vagabonds in this makeshift home of his were a couple.

But Uncle Arthur had brought her to them with reassurances that she would fit in just fine within their family, to them and seemingly the timid woman herself, who looked onward on at him for guidance. And Jack trusted what the older man deemed safe to accept this new member with hardly any worry in the back of his mind.

It didn’t take long for all of camp to learn that she had been a saloon girl from the town over where Arthur had been frequenting on business. It explained why she had arrived with nothing but a dagger in a holster sewed to her boot and a guitar on her back.

The strange woman, however, adored Jack from the moment she had introduced herself to him, sitting in the tallgrass and braiding its strands. Jack observed, outside of her initial nervous demeanour, that she had kind eyes and a wit about her that he observed in many members of the gang, including those he loves and cares for the most. A mouth that his mother found often laughing as a result of and along with, and one that spun tall tales in the form of song and dance with various camp members.

However, everyone was expected to contribute to bringing about funds and resources for the gang. It meant Arthur, the primary enforcer, spent most of his time out of camp running errands.

You often asked to tag along in the shotgun seat of his wagon, whether to satisfy your own intrigue of the terrain or on Miss Grimshaw’s orders, but the extension of his hand gently escorting you on board was confirmation that Arthur didn’t have very many qualms with his company.

Between light-hearted conversation, the two of you admire the thick blankets of shiny snow that had built up over various days of steady snowfall through squinted gazes as the light reflected back into your eyes. It glimmered and gleamed under arrays of sunlight, and crunched satisfyingly beneath each turn of the wheel. Your boots are thick and comfortable enough that you’re also able to enjoy the crunch beneath your feet when you arrive into the nearby town and hop off the wagon, with Arthur assisting in steadying you on your way down.

You scout the town for work while Arthur does his shopping, and it isn’t all that long until you find it in nearby saloons. A couple of standalone gigs for a fair sum of money is perfect for your circumstances. Arthur offers to drive you into town nearly every day, the exception being when he’s already out of camp prior. It’s your primary contributor to the gang’s stability, besides helping around camp when you could.

Uncle Arthur and the saloon girl often accompanied one another in their errands, by the shore of a river, or on a log beside the campfire. Jack could often find the two of you exchanging everything from anecdotes to laughs to something more shy and intimate. There are a set of unspoken social customs and courtesies when it came to confronting such curiosity, but Jack was too young to understand such customs; and far too curious.

So curious as to go so far as to one day innocently ask his Uncle Arthur if he was sweet on the girl—in front of her. His bluntness had the poor man choking on the rum from his flask as his cheeks flushed from either the suffocation or the embarrassment he felt over the situation--or perhaps both.

“Wha…N...No, you can’t just—“ he attempts to recollect himself, letting out a couple of coughs into the crook of his elbow before inhaling a strangled breath in. His eyes dart nervously between you and the boy. “You can’t just ask things like that, Jack. It ain’t polite. Where'd you even learn that...?"

But your warm eyes only crinkle in amusement as you laugh.

“I don’t mind. Besides, what does your lot know about polite?”

Jack liked her songs, and found his feet eagerly carrying themselves over when he hears her by the campfire with Javier, guitars out and voices in sweet harmony. Sometimes she’ll get up and dance, and Jack will join her on her feet. One evening, there's already someone else swaying with you to a melody, and your gleeful laughter is paired with Arthur's bashful chuckles.

Oh, curse his northern attitude for leaving him so stiff, burning under the intensity of your warm gaze. The ambers from the campfire leave a little twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach stir uncomfortably, his muscles seize up the slightest bit. But your appreciative smile and courtesy as he bows playfully tells him there was nothing to forgive in the first place.

Spring eventually sprouts up from the ground, and with it, more opportunities for leisure activity. Abigail kindly asks if you would take little Jack with you and Arthur to bask in the serene nature trails by the meadows, to which you happily oblige her request.

Arthur leaves camp with you on the back of his horse or on the shotgun seat of the wagon more often than not. Sometimes--Jack overhears--it's on Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Other times, one or the other is in need of some company to assist with a personal chore. And very occasionally, the reason lies solely in wanting to be around one another (though this is more speculation on the gang's part, who by now have also taken note of that lingering something, and coming to this conclusion from the longing gazes as if it were obvious).

In the back of the wagon, you observe the thawing of the snow with Jack through the harmony of your guitar, each firm, yet soft, strum ringing through the warm spring air. The smiles in your voices coupled with the gentle hum of your singing soothes something hard and tense in Arthur’s soul as he too basks in the sweetness of your melody while he drives at the front, melting it to the equivalent of the sludge of the snow.

When Mr South Wind sighs in the pines

Old Mr Winter whimpers and whines

Down in the meadow, under the snow

April is teaching green things to grow

From prairies to creeks to small forests, your journeys take you in all sorts of places. The grass only grows greener, the sun only shines brighter, and the day is perfect when the wind is cool, too. More and more often are you and Arthur out of camp, and every time you return, Jack observes, you’re both in quite high and satisfied spirits.

Arthur sits cross legged in a meadow just along one of the trails he takes to and from town filled with wildflowers. His journal sits in his lap, and he carefully sketches a scene not too far down from him. Just a few meters away do you sit with Jack by the wagon with your guitar on your leg as you sing affectionately, with grins plastered on both of your faces as you sway with the rhythm.

When Mr West Wind howls in a glade

Old Mr Summer nods in the shade

Down in the meadow, deep in the brook

Catfish are waiting for the hook!

You participate in crafting jewelry out of the yellow flowers alongside the boy, using the back of your guitar as a makeshift table as you carefully pluck the dandelions and daisies surrounding you, watching one another as you weave the stems and excitedly present the final products to one another. Later, you’d teach him how he can store all kinds of leaves and flowers and herbs between the heavy pages of his storybooks. That was just the sort of thing you did; bring about this an innocent wonder and awe into peoples lives like no strange character Arthur has ever met; and he’s had quite his share of encounters with strange folk.

He doesn’t remember the last time the world has brimmed with so much color, full of a kind of special magic. He finds it impossible to replicate the scene to perfection in his journal, but each additional detail--your tooth peeking out from your smile, the crescent shape of your eyes, the gentle dexterity in your hands-- reduces him to some sort of breathlessness.

And each time he picks up his book and flips back to his illustration, he returns to that beautiful day, the same feeling of sheer admiration returning with it, so maybe he didn’t do too terrible of a job.

Arthur's journal holds a dirty secret: that perhaps he was in love with you.

A fair portion of the pages were filled with sketches of you, whole portraits and mini doodles, of passages detailing your endeavours together, transcribed song lyrics of yours, and worst of all, the ever changing feelings of his toward you. They aren't very becoming from a man such as himself, but perhaps nothing good really was. A sort of guilt and hefty embarrassment weighed on his heart the more he reflected on it, too depressingly for a man who should be only elevated by the realisation. But what other than sorrow did love ever promise Arthur?

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow is waving at the moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump, bump

With the magic of June

It’s Jack’s favorite part of the song because of a little smack! you give the body of the guitar over halfway through the verse, and he either claps or slaps his own knees along to the rhythm with a giggle.

As dusk approaches the horizon, Jack finds the two of you sitting on the shore of the river just beside camp, and through the gaps between tall pine trees and tents with their equipment alike, Jack can see your legs thrown over Uncle Arthur’s lap. A gentle hand of his rests on your clothed thigh, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt as the other is placed behind him, keeping him upright. You play around with the placement of Arthur’s hat on his head. For whatever reason, it amuses you to no end, and the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face only fuels your laughter. Still, he’s only able to maintain the expression for a moment before it morphs into one of endearment.

The water from the river sparkles behind the two of you as the scene unfolds before the boy’s eyes, and he’s forced to look away when he feels a tug at his arm.

“Oh, Jack, aren't you nosey? Let’s not bother Uncle Arthur right now,” his mother quickly ushers him away toward the opposite side of the camp, glancing between her son and the pair of you. “He’s busy.”

Jack is able to spare one final glance over his shoulder in your direction, catch a glimpse of your foreheads resting against each other as your laughter subdues, before he turns away and allows his momma to lead him to help his pa with some of his chores.

When Mr East Wind shouts over head

Then all the leaves turn yellow and red

Down in the meadow corn stocks are high

Pumpkins are ripe and ready for pie

Autumn, specifically, is an interesting time to be out and about. Arthur chaperones you and Jack on your scavenger hunt of various fall plants and beauties. The two of you point out the various colors in the trees and on the ground, the mushrooms growing between blades of grass, and the various herbs and flowers and crops that grow in the fields. Arthur doubles as a delightful treasure trove of knowledge, with some of the items already having a portion of his page in his journal dedicated to its likeness, and some he adds in as you go along.

You entertain his insight as you walk arm in arm, and something about it is just so delightfully domestic, Arthur recognises, that it makes him feel like mush again.

For a moment, he nearly forgets what his life really is, what sort of gruesome deeds he’s responsible for, the consequences of this lifestyle, and he’s desperate to hold onto the moment. Innocent and peaceful, a life he's been unrightfully yearning after for a while now. The foraging all in all reaps well, yet Arthur can’t help but find the real reward in the way you lean your head against his arm as if he were a pillar of security, not an anchor that weighs you down.

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow's waving at the Moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump-bump

With the magic of June

Unfortunately, the magic of the warm weather does not last forever. Yet not even the encroaching winter chill could freeze up the warmth in your chest. But it did nip at your fingertips--at your’s and Arthur’s and Jack’s.

The groups joint efforts are relied upon a hundredfold when the snow starts to fall and the chill breezes through the flaps of the tents in the camps. Like a clock tower bell, it indicates that it’s time to up and move and find more secure shelter, with stronger walls and better furnaces. Somehow the bitter cold doesn’t leave a quiver in your heart, and it's proven when you sit on the edge of Arthur’s wagon with Jack and Abigail and your guitar in your lap as you strum through a melody for Jack’s entertainment.

When Mr North Wind rolls on the breeze

Old father Christmas trims over trees

Down in the meadow snow shoftly gleams…

The lengthy trip wears everyone down eventually, and after an indefinite amount of time consolidating the various paths, the gang happens along an abandoned town in which to take refuge from Demeter’s grief.

By the time you arrive at the safe destination to set up camp, the stars have made themselves visible in the sky. Arrangements are quickly made to set up camp and settle everyone into a room with a place to sleep, wagons being unloaded and horses tied to posts. Thankfully, the snow has ceased attempting to bury the gang in a thick blanket, and the winds howl has lulled to a short whistle. Arthur’s sleeping arrangement differs for the first time in years; Miss Grimshaw tells him he now shares a room with you.

As it is your first time relocating, the move takes a harsh toll on both your physical and mental exhaustion. Along with young Jack at the back of Arthur’s wagon you both lie dead to the world with uncomfortable expressions. Abigail raises the boy into her arms when she comes around with a huff, cradling him close to her jacket.

“Alright little man,” she tells him with an affectionate, exasperated tone as she turns to trudge to her cabin, “let’s get you to bed now.”

Arthur turns to stare at you, hugging your body in an unconscious effort to keep even the slightest bit warm and relaxed, and for some reason cannot find the heart to wake you from your uneasy slumber. So he huffs, strides over, and situates an arm under your legs and another behind your back.

“C’mere, sleeping beauty…” he grunts as he lifts you in a similar fashion close to his chest, slowly making his way toward your shared cabin. “Didn’t realize you were so adverse to traveling.”

Then again, it wasn’t anybody’s particularly favorite part of the lifestyle.

Yet an endearing smile plays on his lips when you unconsciously snuggle closer to him, and he knows that the love in your touch and the song in your heart would keep him warm even after the thaw.

…earth goes to sleep and smiles in her dreams...♡

return to masterlist.

#arthur morgan x reader #i dont knkw how big the self insert fandom is for arthur on here but #self indulgent i’m never writing him again #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan x fem!reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 oneshot #rdr x reader #rdr oneshot #rdr fluff

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atarathegreat · 23 days

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BAKUGO NOW

Did you say: fantasy AU Bakugo smutt?

Dragon Prince Bakugo.

Bakugo wasn't opposed to an arranged marriage, per se. His mother and father were done with their exploring, and his mother was done berserking. Bakugo himself still hunted, but his mother and father were done with what they called 'young people activities'.

Besides, a marriage meant a celebration, and a celebration meant that everyone got to go wild. Drinking, sparring, dancing! It would all be so much fun for him and the others. It was like Bakugo could already smell the ale and feel the punches that he would be earning. It excited him to no end. Whoever was going to be his wife, as lucky as she was, would have to manage with him being as rowdy as he pleased. Maybe he would get lucky, too, and she would be a barbarian like him, just as rowdy.

"Bakugo, are you really going to wear that nasty pelt?" His mother, Mistuski, stood in the arch to his chambers, soon to be shared with a stranger, "You wear that dirty thing to go hunting and fishing and you want to wear it for a wedding celebration?"

Bakugo turned and glared at his mother, all while taking heavy steps toward the pile of clothes and pelts in the corner, "You want me to wear these overly fancy rags? Do I look like someone who wears green? I'm likely to be mistaken for a boar or a nightwalker!" He was wrong, of course, as he usually was, but his mother understood his anger. Her son didn't like fancy items or flashy jewelry. But his hunting pelt? Surely he had better sense than that. "Don't you want to make a dazzling first impression on your future wife?" Mitsuki smiled, holding up a nicer, cleaner pelt.

"I don't rightfully care. Our marriage is political at best, and a mothers move to get me married at worst." Bakugo plopped onto his bed.

Mitsuki was shocked. Not that he was wrong, her son was intelligent, but that he had openly said it without knowing what was leaving his lips. Sure, political was the best way to call it, bringing barbarians and the clerics together in, at least, a shaky alliance. But it would also be a lie to say that her and her husband hadn't also planned it so that her son would have a wife sooner, maybe even kids if he felt like being the bare minimum for a husband. Mitsuki sighed and sat next to her son, her awfully thick-headed son, "Can you just do as I ask you? Just this once, let this go smoothly?" She hated to beg her son to be clean, but she knew that there was a soft spot somewhere in him.

"If I do, will you get off my back about it?"

"I might."

To relent and let his mother have her way would bite him in the ass later, but he got up and switched the pelt out, securing a lighter wolf pelt at his hips, "Happy now?"

"Okay! Be ready by midday and don't get covered in blood, this needs to be a good impression for the girl and her family." Mitsuki clapped as she left, feeling triumphant.

Come midday, her victory was null. The poor girl's family had sent her alone. From Ethel to Kazar, the young lady had traveled in the back of a wagon with nothing but a simple dress. No jewels, no colors, not even a smile. Mitsuki watched as the girl stepped from her wagon, simple flat shoes hidden under the long fabric of her skirts. She was supposed to be a noble, but she looked like a little peasant child who begs for money.

"I thought clerics wore robes and traveled together?" Her husband, Masaru, watched the girl with pity, "She looks sad."

Her soft flat shoes were dirty and torn, like the bottom of her dress, and the rest of her was...grey. Her and her aura were dull and grey and defeated. As if she had nothing left.

"So much for that alliance, huh?" Bakugo scoffed, returning inside the castle to avoid the silent creature that would be his bride. She wasn't interesting enough to keep him around for anything, and he wouldn't subject himself to the nap she would give him. His mother, on the other hand, refused to let this be the ending or a fail. Mitsuki smiled and took the girls hands in her own, "Hello, sweetheart. How was your trip?"

"Long, Your Highness." The girl even sounded like a field mouse, how adorable, "Long and silent."

If anyone had paid attention for a fraction of a second, they would have seen that the wagon rode off as soon as her foot touched the ground. Sad. But Mitsuki was happy that the girl was in Kazar now, at least she would grow to have some semblance of a family that would travel with her. Mitsuki nodded, "Call me Mitsuki. What is your name, hun?"

"Y/n." She responded well enough, albeit timidly. Masaru suspected that Y/n was raised in one of the many families that viewed the woman as caretakers and mothers. A devastating fate when women were as strong as the men if given the chance to build muscle. There was no doubt that Bakugo would be upset by this girl not being strong or loud. "Where is your family?" He was curious, who was this girl and why was she alone?

"They sent me alone. Said that the alliance meant little to them so long as I was out of their sight." Y/n spoke without confidence, but as if she believed every word she said, "They wanted to thank you for taking this burden off their hands."

That struck Masaru in a visceral way. Her own family saw her as a burden? How awful. She was anything but, and she was cute, clearly had nice genes for a cleric.

"I wish to apologize. I... I know little. I cannot read or write; I hardly understand my own ways. I'm useless and lack the ability to bring anyone joy." It was so awful to hear the things she said about herself. Y/n was pretty, Mitsuki could already see the beautiful grandchildren she would gain from this girl and her son. Good genes and good genes bred better genes, in her mind. "But I am willing to learn, if there is anyone with the patience to deal with my stupidity. I can clean, but I've never been praised for the work." She was so upfront about what she thought was things they would turn her away for.

And this behavior persisted into the celebrations. Y/n isolating herself in the corners, in the shadows, avoiding the others who wished to get to know her and welcome her to the clan and village. It was upsetting.

Bakugo found her after a hefty search (a search of ten minutes where he wasn't actually looking but happened to glance at her a few times before finally approaching). "What's wrong? Do you not realize how grateful you should be for this?" Bakugo came on strong, he was aware of that, but who hid during their own wedding celebrations? She seemed to be brushing it all aside and acting as if this was what she deserved. "Apologies. I'm not supposed to interact with anyone." Y/n was a mumbling mess, never speaking louder than she thought she needed to. It pissed Bakugo off to no end. "Whatever. If you don't want to be down here, then go to bed. You'll bring the mood down." He returned to the sparring corner of the big room, joining in with the fights.

Y/n, with a lot of difficulty, managed to find the bedchambers where she would be sleeping. It was Bakugo's room, of course, she knew that, but now she would also occupy the space. It was a messy space, a man's space. How was she supposed to feel at home in this strange place, with strange people, and an even stranger lifestyle? She was used to the women being small, quiet, never drawing attention to themselves. The women here in Kazar, they didn't seem to care about the consequences of having the attention. Aside from that, the women were muscley and brawn. They even knew how to read.

She crawled into the windowsill and looked up at the stars. For a brief moment she foolishly thought about whether her family was missing her. It was a dumb thought, one she wiped away quickly.

Meanwhile, Bakugo was sparring and drinking, thoughts of his new bond gone as he drowned his liver in ale and whatever foods had been made. His concerns were with winning the matches he was in. Zero thoughts of the girl up in his window. When he did finally stumble his way up to his chambers, Y/n was there immediately. Her gentle hands held cold cloths to his alcohol warmed cheeks. "What the hell are you doing to me, woman?" Bakugo grabbed her wrists to keep her hands on his face. The way she stared at him, wide eyes that reminded him of a frightened doe staring at a hunter as she waited for him to make a move.

"You're too damn quiet." Bakugo moved his face closer to hers, wanting to see what type of reaction he could pull out of her. Y/n seemed like a stoic girl and Bakugo wanted to see her lose her temper, to see her make any face except that doe eyed stare. So, he kept moving closer, until his lips touched hers and he'd never felt something so soft. He would blame the ale later.

Her body was rigid, yet loose, as Bakugo held her cheeks to keep her from moving away from him. Her tongue tasted of fruits, wild berries and water from a stream. It was addicting for the man, even if he was just some drunken barbarian at the moment.

Something about her softness was drawing him in. The way she moved how he wanted her to and the careful way she touched him, like he was as fragile as she was. It was different, in a good way.

"You have a choice in this." He mumbled, unable to make himself pull his lips away from hers, "Just because I am your husband does not mean you have to do everything I wish."

And she still didn't reject him or his advances. It was almost like she leaned into them, put more pressure in her gentle touches and soft caresses. The pelt around his hips hit the wall before the floor as he tossed it, not really giving a damn about where it went as long as it was off of him. "You're cute, I'll give you that." Bakugo mumbled as he walked her backwards towards the bed, bunching the skirts of her dress in his hands, "I wonder if the rest of you is as soft as your hands..."

"I'm not worth your physical affections." Y/n fell back easily onto the bed, never pushing Bakugo away. A loud laugh exploded in his chest at her words, "You're worth it if I find you worth it. You clearly aren't smart enough to gauge that."

Soft was an understatement. Plush and soft, Bakugo couldn't keep himself from squeezing every inch of her skin. "Soft as a hawk sprite chick. You ever felt one of them?" Bakugo nuzzled against her collar bone, "I'll catch one on my next hunting trip so you can."

This girl, this woman that Bakugo has been married to, what type of life had she led? Why was she so subservient to him? She didn't even fight him as he undressed her. He was a stranger to her, and she just... let him do as he pleased. Would she even make noise if he didn't ask her to?

Bakugo bit at her neck, smiling to himself at the involuntary gasp that he had pulled from her. He had caused a sound, though it was soft, to leave her without asking. "You're softer than the women here, you know that? It's nice, but I want you to talk more. Fuck, scream at anything if you want." Bakugo shuffled his pants down his legs and laughed at the way she avoided eye contact. It was apparent that she would be someone he'd have to have a small amount of control over, but that was the fun with some of these things. Bakugo leaned over her and grabbed her chin, "I want to see these pretty eyes on me."

Without a second of warning or even courtesy of being careful, Bakugo snatched her to the edge of the bed and snuggled his cock deep within her hold. She was soft, and it felt like she was trying to pull him deeper. "There you go, just keep squeezing." Bakugo pulled back a little to look at the connection he had forged, "Stretched fuckin' wide, you know that?"

She was cute when she whimpered, her unscathed hands gripping at Bakugo's rougher skin was nearly driving him absolutely crazy. This stranger, this quiet woman that Bakugo was so, so sure he would hate, had managed to make herself the center of Bakugo's, albeit drunken, world. There was nothing to stop him from leaving his teeth marks across her skin, and she looked a lot better with his markings. He had to think for a moment about how wonderful it would be to see her running to him after a hunting trip, how excited she would be to see him return was something he was hoping to see one day.

The pleasure was getting him too lost in his mind, making him think that maybe being married wasn't so bad, that maybe it wasn't just a political marriage. He didn't even see that he was hurting her, but she didn't sound like she was in pain. Blood started to stain the pelt blanket below her, causing a slight bit of concern. "Are you okay?" He didn't stop, she was too comfortable, but he also wouldn't make the mistake of thinking her body was as tough as a barbarian womans. "Stings a little, but it's okay~" Every word sounded like it was laced with euphoria. Maybe she had never felt such a thing, never had sex. Perhaps her body was as strong as a barbarian womans, she just hadn't ever used it.

"Hold on to me if you need to, I'll take care of you." Bakugo mumbled, putting more of his teeth marks across her neck.

#anime #manga #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #my hero academia #mha fantasy au #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader

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