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angelaiswriting · 4 years

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I Love You | Fuze x fem!reader

✏️ Pairing: Fuze x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: The five times he thought he loved her, and the one time he told her. (Inspired by the lovely @kind-wolf, who also provided prompts since I lack in the fluff department lol)

✏️ A/N: I’m rusty af but there you go, someone please bring back the X times they thought they loved their person and the time they told them trope, thank you very much. Alice, I hope your day will be better than yesterday, thank you for all the help 💛 @sazafraz I hope you’ll enjoy this as well :’)

✏️ Warnings: just what I hope is fluff (+ it’s almost midnight, I proofread this as best as I could, forgive any mistake pls)

✏️ Word-count: 4,887

ONE

The first time he thought he could love her was when everything else felt cold and distant.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she picked up the call right before the third ring, he’d have one more reason to sulk about the past shitty forty-eight hours. First, a mission almost gone wrong and that has left him battered and sore. In pain would probably be the best term, but Shuhrat doesn’t like to complain too much. Then, a fight with a couple of operators he doesn’t know that well but that he has by now labeled as dickheads, thus turning them into people he won’t be looking forward to hanging out with—not now, and surely not even any time soon. Then, problems with his flight, which have led to him landing in Moscow five hours later than anticipated.

And if that isn’t enough, he’s almost considering turning on his heels and hopping down the five flights of stairs that separate him from the chaos of the city out there. He has his duffel bag in one hand and an umbrella that decided to break at the wrong damn moment in the other. And truly, he doesn’t know why he’s still holding onto it but some part of him buried deep inside his brain makes him believe that everything’s going to shatter if he lets it drop.

But he’s ringing the doorbell for the third time now and he thinks that fuck it, maybe I should really just leave. And if it weren’t for the fact that the anniversary of his brother’s disappearance is coming up, he would crash at his parents’ place; he’s missed them, after all. However, right as he’s about to truly turn around and start his descent, there’s commotion coming from inside. Barking. Someone groaning. And then the sound of a dog whining and grumbling at an order it doesn’t want to take.

“Hey!” She’s panting, trying to hold back a white and brown dog by its collar. “Sorry, this big baby just came back covered in mud from his walk and I was giving him a bath.”

“It’s…” Shuhrat eyes the big hound dog and for a moment, he wonders how on earth she’s managing to keep him from jumping through the threshold. “No problem.” The smile he gives her is just half there, and he’s painfully aware of it. If it were another time in his life, probably twenty years or so ago, he’d let the tears run freely down his cheeks, but he knows how to keep himself in check now. “Sorry it took me so long. I couldn’t find a taxi, so I had to take a bus.”

But she’s grinning, and the happiness so clear on her face makes her eyes squint. “God, I’m so happy you’re here, Shuhrat! It’s been forever! Come in, you’re soaking my doormat,” she adds with a chuckle.

Walking into her apartment proves to be quite the feat, with the dog—Buran, she says with great pride in her voice—barely moving from the spot he seems to have rooted himself in right in the entrance. He doesn’t move; he simply stands there, with Y/N trying to drag him at least a step to the side, and stares at him, muzzle wrinkled in preparation to snarl, but the aggression never comes. After a long moment of contemplation, Buran takes a step forward, boops his thigh with his nose, and then turns back toward his owner.

“He’s a big boy,” she says when she lets go of the dog’s collar, “but he’s never hurt anybody. Sometimes I think it’s all for show.”

“Is he…”

She nods, and the discussion ends there. He doesn’t ask how she’s been holding up after her grandparents’ death, and she doesn’t tell. What she does, though, is wait silently as he takes his boots off, the only sound that of Buran drinking water in the background.

When he looks up, she’s staring at him and there’s the shadow of a frown on her face, her head slightly tilted to the side as she studies him. He almost feels like a specimen in a laboratory, and there’s this knot slowly forming in the back of his throat that just… chokes him, in a way. He has nothing to complain about, but the stitches on his left thigh sting like a bitch, and he’s exhausted, and all he wants is to sleep curled up under heavy blankets for at least a month.

She doesn’t inquire, though. She doesn’t ask him possibly uncomfortable questions: they’ve known each other for far too long that they now know when it’s time for questions and when it’s not. All she does is offer him a smile—one of those half smiles of hers that always used to make him wonder how much, exactly, she knows.

“You look like you could use a hug.” She doesn’t step forward as she says that, and he doesn’t either, but her eyes never leave his.

“My clothes are wet.”

“And your point is…”

When she does hug him, it’s like being trapped in one of those moments where the body moves faster than the brain, and he finds himself wrapping his arms around her before he even has the time to utter a word. She’s warm and solid, in a way, and it’s almost like he’s being given permission to just let go for once and forget about anything that’s not part of the here and now.

It’s then that the thought pops up unsolicited in his mind. They’ve been growing closer again, and it’s like the time they spent growing apart when he was engaged didn’t even exist in the first place. Her texts are what he wakes up with a smile on his lips for, even though Sanya pokes fun at him at times, and he often finds himself subconsciously longing for her calls.

He’s hugging her, his forehead pressed into the crook of her neck as he soaks her clothes, and he thinks that fuck, if he could open up enough to fall in love again, why not with her?

TWO

The second time he thought he could be in love with her was on Skype.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” The urge to grin is tugging at the corners of his lips and he does his best to suppress it, truly, but it’s a hard task when at some point Buran jumps up on her bed and all Shuhrat sees is his wet nose and hairy snout.

“C’mon, baby, sit back,” he hears her groan as she drags the dog back from her laptop and against her pillows. “Jesus, I hadn’t expected for this bear to fall in love with you so fast.” These words are followed by a jokingly eye-roll and a cheater whispered right against Buran’s ear. “But yes, Agent Eagle Eye, it’s your sweatshirt.”

“The last time you wore my things, we were still in school.” He misses those days—kinda. He’s glad he doesn’t have to put up with teachers and classmates anymore, doesn’t miss tests or having to study, but there’s still nostalgia laced with those memories and for a moment, it tastes bittersweet, until she answers back with one of her jokes.

They talk about everything and nothing at once for a long while, spend long minutes catching up over what happened in the past three weeks, after he’s finally gone back to Hereford after the month he’s somehow managed to spend in Moscow. Bunkered up for most of the time in her apartment with her dog is more like it, but these are details he has no problem overlooking.

Timur is nice and although he never says an ill or sarcastic word about how Shuhrat’s leave has gone, there has always been a smile on his lips that wasn’t there before that godforsaken mission. Sometimes Shuhrat thinks his friend knows something he doesn’t—like right now, as he gets dressed in a nice suit to go out on a date—, at least not yet, but he also doesn’t want to ask questions whose answers he might not want to hear, so he always keeps his suspicions to himself.

He does sigh, though, when Tima pokes his head from behind him and smiles at the girl on the screen. This man’s always blabbing about you—or something like that; Shuhrat is too busy worrying about his burning ears and how they’d better not be blushing to actually pay attention to the quick exchange between his two friends.

There’s silence after that. Timur leaves the dorm room after Maxim popped his head in, and it’s just Y/N and him once again. They stare at each other and she’s smiling and he’s trying to force his brain to think because fuck, he’s okay with long silences, really, but not with her. It’s Buran’s soft bark that encourages the conversation to flow again, and she asks if he’s received the package she’s sent.

He has, and when he recovers it from under his bed, where he’s been storing it in wait for one of their video calls, she prompts him to open it. His chuckle makes her chuckle because damn, sometimes she just goes to sweet lengths for him and he never knows what he’s done to deserve such a friend.

“I hope you still love korovki,” she giggles and when he picks up a handful of korovka candies, that giggle turns into a soft laughter that seems to ring even through the speakers of his old laptop.

“You even remembered about slivy v shokolade…” The smile is more in his eyes than it is on his lips, and he knows it, he feels it somehow. It’s a nice feeling and it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and for the first time ever he wishes he could push himself into his screen and out of hers just to give her a hug. “Why?” he wonders out loud and before she breaks out into a huge smile, he has a brief couple of seconds to scold himself for asking that question. Even though he has no reason to, really.

“You were feeling down,” she explains, “and you also sounded a bit pissed. I thought candy would make you feel a bit better again, since I clearly can’t ship this ball of fur all the way there.” She ruffles Buran’s head as she says so and the dog licks her face before settling down and laying his heavy head on her belly. “He sends something as well, in case you feel lonely, since you basically became snuggle buddies.”

He chuckles, both at her words and at all the time Buran has spent on his lap in the time he’s spent crashing at Y/N’s place. “Not my fault I give nice cuddles,” he shrugs as he digs through candies and chocolates.

There’s a rabbit plushie in there and while it’s been washed, it’s clear who its previous owner is. An ear is slightly off, a little more down the head compared to the other, and it’s proof that Buran played with it a bit too roughly one day and tore it off. The ribbon around the rabbit’s neck is new, though, a vibrant sunflower yellow color that matches almost to perfection that of the dog’s collar.

“I thought this was his favorite,” he muses, holding it up so that both she and Buran can see it.

The dog woofs once before he snuggles his human and a paw accidentally moves the laptop enough to turn it to the side and pick up his wagging tail. A moment later, though, Y/N is back into the frame.

“I told him to pick a toy to send to you, and he chose that. Don’t question his choices, Kessikbayev. My baby knows what he’s doing.”

“Alright, alright!” But they’re both smiling, and it truly does feel like being kids all over again, when they played with his brother and her sisters in the park.

“There should be something else on the bottom,” she says after a while, more seriousness in her voice, and she sits up a little straighter to lean against her pillows. “I know it’s probably silly, but I remember when our parents took us to Kazan when we were eight and we said we would be friends forever. We both lost our bracelets swimming two years later, but…”

Her words fade as he opens the rectangular plastic box he missed just minutes before. There, stretched out open, lies a white bracelet with a single aquamarine bead. It is exactly like the one they had gifted each other a lifetime ago and even though almost twenty-five years have passed, it still feels like yesterday. The blue sky, the birds chirping, and the condensation of their breaths mingling in the air as all they could think about was the fritters they were going to buy soon with the rest of their money.

“Burya and I went back to visit one of my aunts, and when I saw it in the shop window, I thought, why not?”

He doesn’t tell her he won’t be able to wear it, not for the majority of his time at least, but he still has days off, and he still appreciates her lovely gesture. He appreciates it more than he can tell and when he looks up from the bracelet to thank her, all he can think about is how light he feels when he’s with her. Even through Skype.

THREE

The third time he thought that maybe he was truly developing romantic feelings for her was when she came to visit.

It’s the week before his birthday, the only one she’s managed to take off from her work at the vet clinic, but he swears he already feels like the birthday boy on his special day.

He’s rented a room for her in the bed and breakfast closest to the base, but they both know he’ll end up spending more time there than he will in his own dorm. The guys will probably start asking questions, but he knows Timur has his back and that he’ll come up with something—like he’s always done in the weeks that have followed his Muscovite leave. For once, though, he doesn’t mind the questions: he would still prefer not to answer them, for he’s not sure he’d have answers to give anyway, but somehow he doesn’t mind the idea of people he’s (kind of) close to wondering about what’s going on between him and a woman.

Which he… doesn’t know, but he guesses that he’s ready to find out.

That’s what he thinks about as he lies in bed next to her. His thumb is slowly brushing along the two-word tattoo on the side of her ribcage, below her breast, but he can’t exactly focus his mind and actually read it, for he’s too busy wondering how they ended up in that situation in the first place.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispers after a while, gaze focused on the wooden beams of the ceiling visible in the warm light of the dimmed bathroom lights they left on before they even had the chance to towel themselves dry.

His answer is preceded by a low hum that seems to reverberate right in his chest. His lips press a light kiss to the side of her boob before he props himself up on an elbow to look down at her. He smiles and then, with a tingling sensation still in his lips, he whispers back, You.

Her hand comes up to cup his cheek and right as she lets out a soft sigh, her thumb wipes across his cheekbone once. “What are we doing?” she asks, her eyes never leaving his as she does her best to even out her breathing. She will be sore in the morning, but Shuhrat doesn’t know yet.

He shrugs his shoulders once and for a moment, he almost regrets staying over. He should have gone back to the base; he should have accompanied her back to the bed and breakfast, of course, and then gone back to the base. Stayed up with the guys for a few drinks, watched football on the huge flatscreen in one of the common areas, and then slept in his bed.

“I think we…” Her tongue briefly comes out to wet her lower lip and he finds himself unable to look away. “We could do it again.” The tone of her voice is hesitating and it falters toward the end of the sentence, somehow making it sound more like a question than an affirmation.

Shuhrat smirks and when she tentatively pulls him down to kiss him, her lips press against the scar above his lip for a moment. “Now?” he asks, voice raspy but eyes twinkling as one of his hands trails down her side and over her hip.

“No!” Her laugh is weak and breathy, and she closes her eyes for a second before she shakes her head. “I want to be able to go on that hike with you and your friends in the morning. But when we’re back… Who knows?”

He’s leaning against the frame of the bathroom door five minutes later, dressed only in his birthday suit and arms crossed against his chest. He’s watching her brush her teeth and absentmindedly listening to her recount something Burya did the day before she left him at one of her sisters’ place, but his eyes keep on getting trained back to the tattoo on her ribcage.

Two words. An exclamation mark.

The smile that tugs at his lips is hard to contain and even to conceal, and its reflection in the mirror is what makes her turn her head in his direction as a confused expression settles on her features.

“I used to always say that.”

She spits mouthwash in the sink before asking back, “What?”

“So mnoj!” he smiles. “With me! Growing up.”

It takes her a moment before realization dawns on her and her eyes trail down her body in the mirror. “Yeah, I know, that’s why it’s there,” she smiles.

FOUR

The fourth time he thought he was starting to fall in love with her was at a paintball game.

The early spring air is still chilly when they decide to play paintball on the ground of Timur’s dacha. It’s a way to pass time—and to give Timur and his girl a few hours alone. Glazkov doesn’t say it—he never does, truly, he doesn’t complain—but his broken leg is bothering him a little and he needs to look after it a bit more instead of hiding his discomfort behind a finger when his friends are with him.

If anything, Y/N has been a great addition to the group—and Buran has managed to bring a smile on everyone’s face countless times with his playful antics and his oh-so-sweet nature around his human. But even though he would love to participate in the game, Y/N has ordered him to stay back on the porch in fear that he—or anyone else, for that matter—might get hurt somehow.

She’s teamed up with Alexsandr and despite the fact that they have already lost three games, they’ve still decided to go for the same tactic one more time. They’re hiding behind a different set of bushes, sure, but he and Maxim can hear them giggle at some pun one of the two must have said, and a victory has never been easier.

They stand still for a while, listening to their hilarity, but before they have the time to take a step forward, Buran dashes across the grounds of the dacha and flushes them out. There’s a rapid sequence of Burya! and Party pooper! and I can’t breathe! that makes both Shuhrat and Maxim laugh out loud, paintball guns still in hand and pointed toward the bushes.

Tachanka is the first to get out of his hiding spot. He crawls across the cold and hard ground trying his best to keep breathing through his laughter as Burya playfully shakes his leg in his usual way to play fight. “Soldier, you’re giving out our position!”

“You should know how to play this game better than this, Sanya,” Maxim exclaims and the second after their friend has managed to stand back up on his feet, he shoots a green paintball right in the middle of his chest. “Dead.”

When Burya runs up to him, Shuhrat can’t help the happy laughter that bubbles up in his chest. “Good boy,” he coos, glove-clad hand petting his head. “Now go drag your mama out.”

He stops for a moment as the dog runs back behind the bush and in that brief minute, he realizes for the first time that he has never felt like this, at least not in a long while—like he has finally opened up, even if only to those close to him.

But then Y/N’s pleas of surrender take him back to the present moment and he smiles because damn, he thinks this is thanks to her as well. Her and this happy dog he’s grown so attached to.

“I promise I won’t shoot, Solnyshko!” and even though Max is chuckling under his breath in a way that would lead to thinking the opposite, he still lowers his gun and takes a step back.

Back at the dacha, as Timur’s girlfriend places all kinds of sweets on the table to pair with their tea, Shuhrat takes Y/N to the side for a moment and sits on the porch with Burya staring at them from the porch swing. It’s just the two of them, like after a whole day spent playing and all the other kids went home, but just… a bit quieter, with the first stars starting to twinkle in the approaching darkness of the evening.

“I’m so bad at paintball,” is the chuckle that distracts him from the never-ending horizon. “But Sanya surely wasn’t helping!”

“That’s no excuse, love.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders—earning a low warning whine from her dog—and pulls her closer into his side. “You’re both bad, that’s just the truth.”

The playful slap he earns to his knee is weak and light. “I should have teamed up with Maxim. I think we would have beaten your sorry ass, then.”

She grins up at him and he smiles down at her and for a moment all he can think is Fuck it! before he tilts his head and kisses her.

FIVE

The fifth time he thought he was in love with her, without a doubt this time, she had kids tackling her to the ground.

Tanya’s fifth birthday party is going strong and after the mermaid-themed cake and an endless hour spent opening presents of every kind imaginable, all the kids have gone back to playing. It is a tag game this time and as Burya plays with them, running around the garden and barking happily every once in a while, Shuhrat and Y/N watch the scene with the biggest grins on their faces.

She’s sitting sideways on his lap and he’s probably holding her closer than he ever has. It’s been a while since they stopped wondering what it was and just… embraced it. It’s nothing official, everything’s still off the record, but he has clothes at her place and a mug in a cabinet in her kitchen and when he’s over, the leather armchair in the living room becomes his and Buran’s favorite spot to snuggle and relax.

“I didn’t think your family could get any bigger,” he confesses when she pecks his freshly-shaven cheek.

“I have five sisters,” she giggles, snuggling closer and resting her head on his shoulder. “If we fly low and go for an average of three kids each, I will end up with fifteen nephews! But as you see,” and she points at her sister Marina and the baby bump she’s sporting, “we’re not flying low at all.”

He laughs at that and hugs her closer with one arm as he brings his beer bottle to his lips with the other. “Have you ever thought of…” He shrugs. “Adding some of your own to the bunch?”

She looks at him lost in thought for a while, taking the beer from his hand to steal a sip, before she eventually shrugs her shoulders in return. “I don’t know, I haven’t considered it yet. I’m happy with just Burya and you so far. He’s like a baby to me, he’s just not in human form.”

He doesn’t have time to say anything. Little Kolya drags her away by her right hand, and Masha follows suit and grabs her other hand.

Shuhrat watches with a smile on his face as she goes back to being the babysitting auntie and just as seven children gang up on her and drag her to the floor, Anastasia sits next to him and sends him a knowing smile.

“I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.” Her confession somehow catches him unprepared and although there’s nothing wrong in the words leaving Y/N’s eldest sister’s lips, he still feels the urge to tear his eyes from her. “And I know I haven’t seen you in forever, but I remember you being at your lowest and I’m glad you’ve both pushed each other back to the surface.”

SIX

Then, there finally came the time he told her.

All Shuhrat can do is look at her, simply stare at her dance in the pouring rain that has caught them by surprise after a whole afternoon spent playing with their dog on the beach. He knows the quick and sudden summer downpour isn’t bound to last long, but the intensity of the rain and the deep gray of the sky almost make him think otherwise.

Their Ukrainian vacation on the Black Sea has felt like a dream so far, the best leave he’s had in forever, probably. Nothing has managed to disrupt his peace in the past week and if anything, he’s spent these days getting closer to his girl and Burya. Whether in the apartment they have rented or out exploring, nothing has ever felt so much like home, not even in a foreign country, than it feels like with her.

She’s twirling and laughing now, though, face turned up toward a steely sky and arms open wide, almost as though she could somehow take flight. The ringing of her laughter is drowned out by the raging pitter-pattering of the downpour that is soaking him to the bone, but he swears he can still hear it. Buran is barking by his side, unable to stay still or to stop his tail from wagging wildly against his shin, and there’s something so indescribable in the scene he’s witnessing that his heart feels like it’s being held in a grip.

It is one of those moments when the time feels like it finally stops, if so for just a moment, and something clicks. There’s this one piece that finally finds its place and a light turns on, and everything is clearer than it’s ever been. Not that it hasn’t been before—because it has, even with him not being able to fully admit it to himself—it’s just that it feels… actually real, this time. Like that’s the truth and there’s no hiding it anymore, not when it’s clearly brighter than the sun.

The realization seeps into his limbs like the rain that’s soaking his clothes and he just… smiles. It’s only one side of his lips at first, a smirk that tries to conceal the smile he can’t contain—in vain.

When she stops right in front of him, still giggling like a child, her breathing is all over the place. Fast and almost messy, and she is panting, desperately trying to catch her breath as she shakes her head a couple of times, trying to make the world stand still once again. She has hair sticking to her face and he can see her black bikini through the soaked-through fabric of her summer dress.

He somehow thinks back to the day he rang her doorbell three times. And to the hug she gave him that day, the one that almost cracked his tough exterior right open, and he realizes that he doesn’t really mind feeling like that with her. That he doesn’t really mind being vulnerable in her presence, and that he enjoys feeling like he belongs with her.

It is then that he says it out loud, and it feels good and almost warm inside as he stands there, teeth clattering from the cold. But the rain is too loud, and when she screams over its sound and over that of the howling wind that picks up suddenly, he finds himself kicking aside all the fears he has at the idea of opening up completely.

“I love you!” He screams it in the rain, with the wind slapping water in his face, and it feels better than it ever has in the past. And he’s blinded by the raindrops but even despite that, he sees her face light up in one of those bright smiles she’s never able to contain.

“I know!” she yells back before spreading her arms again. “That’s why I’m happy: because I love you, too!”

I’m a hoe for feedback in case you wanna leave any 💛

Original picture: https://www.pexels.com/photo/bunch-of-petals-on-white-surface-4041274/

#angelaiswriting #rainbow six #rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege fanfic #fuze r6 #fuze r6s #fuze fanfic #shuhrat kessikbayev #shuhrat kessikbayev fanfic #shuhrat kessikbayev x reader

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queenofspades6 · 4 years

Text

Meant to be together ( Geralt x reader) The Witcher

Part 2 of Destiny

Summary: You tell Jaskier about your feelings for Geralt but what you didn’t know is that the White Wolf has overheard everything.

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. And bad jokes about the series.

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Part 1 (If the link isn’t showing, it’s available at the end of the fic!)

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***

You and Jaskier were walking side by side towards the bar of the tavern. Despite the late hour, the tavern was still crowded. Jaskier sat exactly at the similar place as the last time the two of you were drunk. Hoping you wouldn��t be drunk this time, you sat next to him and let him ordered some ale.

“Why did you have to choose the same seats as last time?”You questioned, remembering the horrible hangover you had when you woke up.

“I needed to see one last time the place where you broke my beloved lute.”He replied, grasping the glass of ale the bartender just brought in his hands.

“I didn’t break your lute, Jaskier.”

“Don’t break it this time, Y/N.”He mocked you, a huge grin on his face.

Clearly annoyed, you clenched your teeth.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I forgive you now that I have a brand-new lute.”

“Do I need to remind you how you got this lute, Jask?”You asked, a mischievous smile gradually appearing on your lips.

He almost spit out his beer.

“So you do remember.”You stated, swallowing the liquid rapidly.

He coughed loudly.

“You kept annoying Geralt with your singing, because he wouldn’t let you buy another lute. After at least three kilometers, Geralt threw you into the nearest pond. You know, he doesn’t like people talking when he’s walking.”You declared still grinning wildly.

“That’s just a lie he told everyone. Truth is my dear Y/N, Geralt just doesn’t like people.”He answered, teasing you about your feelings towards the White Wolf.

You laughed awkwardly, trying to appear as calm as possible.

“Well, he does love Roach.”You stated, taking a sip of your drink.

“That’s his horse.”

“You’re just jealous he loves his horse more than you.”You teased, pushing his shoulder with your hand.

“Well, I am not the one who’s madly in love with Geralt.”He hushed you, still drinking.

Looking at your glass, you just sipped, letting the liquid slide down your throat.

You were going to deny your feelings for the White Wolf, yet, you changed your mind.

“You have a point, Jaskier.”You confessed, placing one of your strands of hair behind your ear.

He stared at you with wide eyed. You. The most stubborn woman he has ever known just admitted her feelings.

Was he dreaming?

“You need to tell him, Y/N.”He asserted with determination.

“There’s nothing to tell, Jaskier. Not after Yen.”

Jaskier looked up and gazed at something at the bottom of the tavern.

“Y/N.”

“What, Jaskier? What do you want me to tell you?”

“Y/N.”He repeated loudly.

“You want me to admit I am weak and pathetic because I have fallen in love with Geralt of Rivia!”You cried, feeling your cheeks getting wet.”Yes! I am in love with him, and yes, I know I don’t stand a chance. Yennefer is way too pretty, too good, too powerful. I can’t compete with her. It’s pointless, I have already lost.”

“Y/N, you should turn around.”

“No, Jaskier! Why aren’t you listening to me?”You roared, practically falling of your seat.

“Y/N, please.”He pleaded, frowning.

Taking a deep breath, you suddenly turned around.

“Ge...Gera...Geralt?”You murmured, alarmed and already beginning to shiver.

“Oh shit.”You thought.

“Y/N?”Geralt questioned, contemplating you, open-mouthed.

You glanced a gaze at Jaskier who was staring at you, grinning mischievously. He was likely thinking of the lyrics of a new song about the tragic love story between Y/N and the White Wolf which was meant to end before it even began.

Your face broke down when you remembered where you were and especially who was still standing before you.

Geralt of Rivia.

He had overheard everything. Everything.

Now, he knew.

There was no coming back.

Breathing noisily, you crossed Geralt’s gaze. He was standing still, looking at you, waiting for you to speak. You thought he was probably astonished by your sudden confession, but after eyeing him carefully, you noticed it was more subtle, more like he didn’t expect you to fall in love. Let alone with someone like him, though you were human too. Maybe not a powerful sorceress. Maybe not a witcher. But you were you and you could feel too.

You risked a look at him.

Was he disgusted by what you just had said?

He remained unflexible. Still trembling, you began to run towards the exit, despite Jaskier screaming your name.

You ran faster, like your whole life depended on it, and it was. Geralt knew your true feelings towards him. Nothing would be the same. Now, he was surely going to avoid you or even abandon you.

Letting the tears fall on your cheeks, you ran. And ran. Until your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. Breathless, you fell, head against the cold muddy ground.

Your body was hurting, though you didn’t care. Your body could heal. Your shattered heart couldn’t.

Without trying to stand, you brought your knees towards your shaking chest. Your hands were full of mud, and your face was probably bloodied, but you didn’t care.

You burst into tears again and tried desperately to wipe them out.

Why did life have to be so damn complicated?

You sobbed harder.

Why did it have to be like that every time?

Was it because of you?

Were you your own cause of destruction?

Closing your eyes, you saw in your head the picture of Geralt and Yennefer kissing tenderly. You forced a smile. At least, he would be happy.

You understood why he wouldn’t choose you. Besides being beautiful, Yennefer was powerful and way too perfect. And you, you were just you.

You had nothing more than your heart to offer. For some it may have been enough, for him it wasn’t.

Your heart was racing too rapidly in your chest, and your breathing was heavy as if you were suffocating. You took your head into your hands, wiped out your tears with the back of your sleeve, and tried to brush your hair quickly.

Breath in. Breath out.

Although Geralt wasn’t yours, you were still grateful for all this time with him. With a silent prayer, you thanked destiny for bringing him to you and swore that in the future, you wouldn’t let anyone break your heart like Geralt had.

Taking your courage in both hands, you got up, and more determined than ever, you headed towards the tavern. You were going to confront Geralt. It would be hard, yet, not having any answer was even worse. You finally stopped when you arrived before the tavern. With one last breath, you entered the tavern.

Immediately, you searched for Geralt. You recognized his back at the bar. He was the one sipping slowly his glass of ale in the hand at the bar. You walked towards him, and cleared your throat, expecting a reaction.

He didn’t react.

“Geralt.”You declared, louder this time.

“Hmm.”He finally looked up to you and confronted your gaze.

You plunged your eyes filled with sadness into his.

“Geralt. Please.”

This time, he nodded. He faced you and waited.

“In private. Please.”You muttered, already regretting your decision.

“Fuck.”He murmured so low that you didn’t hear.

Shivering, you began walking towards the exit of the tavern with Geralt a little behind. Without a single word, he followed you outside.

You crossed his gaze, and immediately felt uncomfortable.

“Geralt, I am… I am sorr-“You tried articulating.

Geralt scratched his neck nervously and chuckled.

“Hmm. Y/N, I am…”

You interrupted him because you couldn’t bear him rejecting you. It would be better if you’d reject your own self.

“Geralt, I know. You don’t need to say anything. I understand, I am not Yennefer, and that’s okay. That’s…”Your voice began to betray your words.

Geralt took a step towards you. Feeling his breath on your nose, you froze.

He was so close, and yet you couldn’t have him. He wasn’t yours to have. Not in this life.

Not daring to look away, you stared at Geralt desperately. He began to stroke your cheek gently in a rather delicate way.

With eyes wide open, you observed every single one of his moves.

Startled, you caught him glancing at your lips.

Was he considering kissing you?

As if you read his mind, he leaned in and brushed your lips against his gently at first, letting you time to pull back.

Savouring the kiss, you cupped Geralt’s face in your hands while he held you closer. Your body relaxed under his delicate touch.

Breathless, you pulled back. You gazed at him and pulled him against you. You kissed him back fiercely, running your hands through his hair. He answered your kiss and put his hands on your hips to bring you even closer. You were both starving for each other.

Geralt began planting kisses on your neck, and you moaned.

Remembering where you were, you instantly pulled back, embarrassed.

“Geralt.”You whispered in his ear.

He shivered at the sound of your voice.

“Hmm.”

“I love you, Geralt, I always have.”You muurmured, your cheeks turning a pale pink.

“I know.”He replied, grinning and caressing your soft cheek with his hands.

He held you tightly, and you felt safe in his arms. Geralt wasn’t a demonstrative person, but it was his way of telling you he loved you. Sincerely.

You didn’t know where you were going with Geralt, or even if it was going to last, though you were with him and that was all that mattered.

Extended end

Jaskier was worried because you and Geralt had left the tavern for quite a while now. He decided to search for both of you. Taking his lute with him, he began walking towards the exit of the tavern.

“Where the hell are they?”He muttered under his breath.”They need to listen to my new song!”

When Jaskier was finally outside, he saw you and Geralt. He was so amazed by what he discovered he couldn’t even move. Here you were, kissing wildly Geralt and him holding you tight against his chest. The two of you were eating each other’s face as if nobody was watching.

Jaskier began running towards you and Geralt, not minding about your little moment.

“I knew it! I knew you loved her, Geralt!”He screamed, taking his lute and preparing to sing. “For once, shut up, Jaskier.”Geralt declared, grinning between your lips.

It was going to be a long night.

Part 1 ⬇️

109 notes · View notes

cirrius-akiyo · 3 years

Note

Hello!! From the angst/fluff list may I please request 18. It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” and 86. "Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”? Is it possible to combine them, if not that's fine. Your fanfics are amazing ❤❤❤

Thank you my lovely! This took longer than I thought, but thank you for bearing with me.

This is number 18 and 86 from the Fluff/Angst Prompts List.

You can read the full version here at AO3.

Or you can read half of it below (it's too long to post all of it here):

Peering Through the Veil

Staring down at his half empty mug, Eddie silently curses the chamomile tea for failing to calm his jittery nerves. So much for false advertising.

It is past 1.00 a.m. and the rest of the crews are all in their respective bunks, saves for a few who are still wound up with residual adrenaline from their last call, Eddie included.

But Michael and Shawn are off onto the rooftop searching for some fresh air, leaving Eddie alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

Long minutes passed when Eddie hears the heavy footsteps climbing up the staircase leading to the loft. Thinking it is either Michael or Shawn, Eddie doesn't turn around to acknowledge their presence.

"Eddie?"

The familiar gruff voice got Eddie to swivel his head around, and his gaze falls onto Buck, whose eyes are still droopy from sleep. His hair curls haphazardly on the top of his head, a menial proof that at least someone got a good rest.

"It's late. Shouldn't you be asleep?" Buck breaks a yawn as he heads towards the cabinet, reaching for his favourite mug and fills it with water. Chris was the one who gave Buck the mug, insisting that Buck is the Mr. Red Hot Superhero and Eddie didn't have a heart to explain to the boy on the double entendre and that 'red hot' might implied something else. Yet Buck had happily received the mug and has been using it ever since, and even got mad when Billy had used it that one time.

Eddie shrugs. "In a bit. Finishing my tea first." He explains, lifting his half full lukewarm tea for Buck to see.

Buck seems to contemplate his simple answer while taking in small sips and Eddie swears he could feel Buck is peering through his mind.

Sure enough, Buck plops down onto the chair opposite to Eddie.

"Is everything okay?" Buck asks, one hand is playing with his mug, swirling the clear liquid around.

Who is Eddie kidding? Of course Buck could read him like an open book. They've been attached to the hips since Eddie's day one, and still going strong despite all the unsavoury circumstances they're stuck in, recent develoments included.

Risking a glance towards the other man who is still clearly anticipating for a reply, Eddie wipes his face harshly in search for some composure, and lets out a resign sigh.

"Hey, just because our relationship is on hold, doesn't mean I stop caring about you, Eddie. You are still my best friend. So what's up?" Buck leans forward, expressing his attentiveness.

Eddie sighs again. "Chris has been asking why didn't you stay the other night." His kid is too smart to not not noticing the shift in their schedule.

Buck bites his lower lip, worrying the tender red flesh. The lips that is not for Eddie to kiss anymore.

"Do you want me to talk with him? And if you wanted me to, I can sleep on the couch." Buck hesitantly offers, clearly not wanting to overstep the line Eddie had drawn himself.

"You'd do that?" Eddie's eyebrows shot up at Buck's suggestions.

"Sure. Anything for Christopher." The simple answer manage to gnaw on Eddie's core.

The small smile that adorned Buck's face pains Eddie, tugging at his heart over and over and making it aches. All because he could still see the longing and hurt that still linger underneath the blonde's concrete mask. The mask Eddie himself had forced Buck to put on, albeit indirectly.

They do read each other openly.

"Buck..."

"Don't worry Eddie. I understand. I won't overstep." Buck stands up quickly after making the promise, rushing to put away his mug and hastily making a run towards the bunk room, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts all over again.

Isn't this what Eddie wants? For them to take a break? Then why watching Buck leaving hurt Eddie so much when he was the one who left first?

* * *

"I think we should take a break." The words that came out from Eddie's mouth caused Buck to stiffen, his smile fell off his face. They were in the station's parking lot, ready to call it a day, and although Buck looked forward to seeing Chris, an invitation from Eddie never came.

"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" Buck timidly asked, not really looking at Eddie in the eyes. He just kept playing with the hem of his shirt, trying so hard to will the tears from falling.

"No. No. I love you Buck. But I don't think I am where I want to be yet. Chris loves you so much that I am afraid for things that might be...if we take our relationship further this fast." Eddie felt like a jerk for putting the devastating look in Buck's eyes. But in all honesty, that was not all the reason.

"I don't understand Eddie. What did I do wrong?" Buck whispered brokenly, slowly, so slow that the sound had tugged hard at Eddie's heart, making it ached with wants. "Was it because I told you I want to marry you someday? Was it too much?" Buck rambled on, trying to find the logical explanation for the uncalled situation.

Eddie stepped forward to put his hands on the younger man's shoulder, cutting his rambling short. "No, no, Buck. I promised you, you did nothing wrong. It is all on me...I...uh," Eddie struggled to find the right words, when in reality he had already single-handedly shattered the pure heart belongs to the man he loves.

"I just wish we have more time to navigate this newfound dynamic. My parents are coming down in few weeks. They are staying until Christmas and I don't want to spring this news to them. We're not in the best terms yet. I just don't want them to come out with more reason to force us, or worse, to move Chris back to El Paso." Excuses, excuses. That's all Eddie thought of when he heard himself sputtering the words out.

"So I was thinking, let's put this on hold first and see how the circumstances goes. They will be staying here for about three weeks, and you should be having a fun Christmas without needing to meet my parents." More excuses. Sad, sad case of flimsy excuses.

Eddie honestly thought Buck will put more fight, but...

"Okay." His flimsy excuses got Buck to resign dejectedly with one simple word, and Eddie had never hated himself more for causing Buck's glow dimmed.

"Just so you know, I'll be here and I love you." Buck tugged his shoulders free from Eddie's hold and start to walk away towards his Jeep without giving Eddie another glance. He loves Eddie too much that if Eddie truly wished for this, he'll gladly do it even if his heart shattered beyond salvation.

* * *

It has been two whole weeks from the fateful night of them taking a break from their relationship. Or Eddie forcing them to take one. Buck and Eddie still work fluidly side by side as if nothing has changed between them. Buck still jokes and let himself be carefree around him just like before, making Eddie feel like he has been thrown back into the past, before the day when Buck had declared his undying love to him.

Back to the status quo of being just best friends.

And Buck is doing a damn good job at being one.

They would still have the movie nights and weekend outings with Chris, but that's about it. The kisses, the lingering touches and the warm embraces of them making love are completely absent from their routine. Buck would dashed out of their home once Chris is tucked in, never stayed long enough for a beer or two, leaving Eddie completely lost for words.

Eddie knows he should be more proactive to insert normalcy into Chris' life that doesn't include much Buck-Time before his parents arrive, but honestly his heart can't look at the face Chris or Buck made if he told them that their plans are cancelled.

Eddie looks down from the loft, his gaze searching for a tall blonde that was not his. Buck is downstairs at the rig, trying to polish whatever dirt is there tainting the already shiny metal.

"You'll regret it if one day someone come and sweep him off his feet. He has the right to move on you know, even though he's quite firm of waiting for you." Hen suddenly piped up beside him, biting into her apple nonchalantly.

"You know?" Eddie sputtered. While they did come out to the team when they first got together, the pause in their relationship is not a public statement. They still live in each others' pocket when they're at the work, just devoid of small kisses and hand holding here and there.

"He told me because he doesn't want us to make things awkward between you two with our unwelcome remarks. To treat you guys like before both of you got into the relationship. And from what I see, you guys really did." She explains, a sad chuckle thrumming through her throat.

Eddie just nods. He doesn't really know what to say to that. Buck still look after him even he doesn't have to, just so Eddie wouldn't be uncomfortable from the peering eyes and gossiping smiles.

"That boy wears his heart on his sleeve and we all see how he loves you. He still does. I know because he has this look when he thought nobody is looking. He's good for you, you know. Not just you, but for Chris too. And I see how you look at him too. Just hurry up to catch up, or you'll regret it soon." Hen pats his shoulder firmly before walking off to throw the pit, leaving Eddie to soak in the sage words she left behind.

Gazing back down to where Buck is, Eddie couldn't help but to feel a spark of jealousy at seeing Buck chatted animatedly with Gillian who is pawing at the man's bicep nonchalantly. Eddie purses his lips. The audacity of some.

Hen doesn't need to remind him, he already regretting their little arrangements the moment he went spewing those nonsense that night in the parking lot.

///

Staring at the shift schedule written on the white board, Eddie couldn't help but to frown, feeling the unsettling nerve bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. And the Christmas songs playing on queue in the background only help to fuel his misery.

Of course he would see Buck's name listed on Christmas Eve and Christmas day.

"Did the white board offend you or something?" Chimney pipes up from his side, blowing bubblegum in his way of picking at Eddie.

"Or something." Eddie grumbles, skimming through the names that will be joining Buck later, grimacing when Gillian's name listed on both days.

"Ooh, pissy. Does this got to do with the fact that your parents are in town or the fact that you won't be spending Christmas with Buck?" Chimney continues to taunt him, jabbing where it hurts.

Both, okay! Eddie wants to scream at Chim who is looking extra smug for being able to push on his button. And for the love of everything holy, Eddie should see this coming. Chim and Hen might not tease them, but Eddie should know he wouldn't be spared from some ribbing, especially for putting Buck through this arrangement. Buck is their little brother after all, blood ties or not.

Deciding that while he loves Chimney, Eddie could strangle him to death with his own bubblegum if he stays any longer, so Eddie walks away towards the gym in search for the source of his troubling thoughts.

Buck is on the treadmill running gracefully at full speed, and Eddie stops on his track to admire the view for a while.

Buck has always been beautiful, graceful in everything he does, and Eddie has witnessed them countless times, admiring the nimbleness, either fully clothed or not. But now the later seems like a distant memory at the back of his mind. And Eddie is reminded again at how his sheets has been so cold these past weeks.

Buck must have notices him from the corner of his eyes and immediately slowing the machine to a stop before stepping down to meet Eddie halfway. Pulling out his earbuds, Buck throws a smile at Eddie as a greeting.

"Hey." Buck huff, still catching his breath. "You need a spot?" Buck glance at Eddie up and down before noticing that the older man is not in his gym attire and smiles sheepishly at that, murmuring an apology. Eddie could painfully hear the dwindling eagerness in the blonde's voice.

"I saw your name on Christmas shifts." Eddie whispers, not wanting to push Buck away with unnecessary argument. "You didn't tell me you're working. I thought you have this year's Christmas off." We're both off.

Buck rubs the back of his head, the tell-tale sign of impending lies or deflection.

"I uh... I owe Jake to cover some of his shifts."

So a lie then. Eddie knows very well Buck doesn't owe anyone to cover their shift this half year.

"You don't have to do this Buck. I'm sure Cap will find somebody else to cover his spot. You've been working on Christmas for three years in a row now." Eddie tries to talk Buck out of it, partly because he doesn't want him to be in a 24 hours shift with Gillian and her unwelcome pawing, and partly because a tremendous guilt is clawing on his conscience.

The little voice in his head is niggling at him that this year is supposed to be their first Christmas as a couple, and Buck must have look forward to it. But his stupid ass had put themselves through this mess and Eddie now has to lie on the bed that he had laid. Just peachy.

"I do, actually, have to do this." The cut off tone in Buck's reply just confirms his thought.

That Buck decides to work throughout Christmas because he doesn't has anything to do or anyone to celebrate with, since Maddie and Chim will be out of town to celebrate with his adoptive parents. And Buck does not want to be left alone. A notion Eddie should be familiar with. Or the one people he does want to be with had pushed him away.

The hurt look on Buck's face crushes his heart, because he knows damn well he had put it there himself.

"Look, you at least deserve a time off." Eddie tries again, but with each seconds passing as he stand before the heartbroken man, Eddie knows it is futile. It's too late now.

Eddie Diaz has single-handedly robs Christmas and all of its joy and happiness off Buck.

///

Turns out it did not take another person to swept Buck off his feet, but a broken beam.

And Eddie couldn't believe the news when Bobby first told him, his Captain's voice echoes against the ringing of his ears. Eddie could hear Bobby's frantic voice on the line asking if Eddie still there.

No. Eddie shouldn't be here because he should be there.

No.

Buck should be here instead.

Buck should be here, celebrating Christmas morning soon with him and Christopher. Buck should be sitting down with him watching Chris tears open every presents with glee. From the kitchen, Eddie's wild gaze falls upon a meticulously wrapped box among the arrays of gifts under the tree, remembering Buck has passed it through Carla to give it to Christopher, earning Eddie a disapproved glare from the iron lady.

"Yeah, I'm here Bobby. Where are they taking him?"

///

5 notes · View notes

redeadepression · 5 years

Text

Colter | John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Reflections Series: Part 7.

These stories are intended to be a series but can be read as standalones. However this is the first story of the series that relies heavily on backstory from it’s predecessor, Shattering. I do recommend you at least read that one first for the entire story to make sense to you as there are flashback sequences that take place straight after that story. However it is not completely necessary.

Relationships: John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Prominent Characters: John Marston, Abigail Marston, Arthur Morgan, Susan Grimshaw, Mary-Beth Gaskill

Summery: Following on from the events of Shattering we skip to the events at the beginning of the game, just after the Blackwater job gone wrong. John struggles with his injury after nearly being eaten alive and we follow him through the canon and random camp events that happen in Chapter 1: Colter.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of self harm, Mild gore (mostly medical-care), Suicidal thoughts, Drug use.

Tags: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly love, suicidal thoughts, self-harm Words: 16699

Author’s Notes: We’ve finally moved into canon! Yay! This took me 6 months so hopefully you guys like it! Normally the fics in this series have a lot of Abigail’s internal thoughts as well but this fic is very John-centric. Also there is as usual, lots of brotherly John|Arthur interactions in this fic.

~~~~~

John stared out over the cliff-side with glazed eyes, too dry for how soaked through the rest of his body was. His back ached as it pressed against the sharp edge of the precipice. Exhausted muscles shivering against the bracing cold. Wet snow seeped through every inch of his clothing, making the fabric heavy and tacky.

His teeth chattered together so violently he worried they might shatter. He was so viciously cold. His entire body being swallowed by the chill as he slowly froze to death.

His face was on fire. Burning as if he was being branded in two long streaks along the side of his cheek. He licked his lips, the cold not enough to numb the sting of where they had been ripped opened by dirty claws.

The whistle of the wind was almost loud enough to muffle the howls of the wolves in the distance. He unconsciously pressed himself further back against the rocks and snow. Curling in on himself at the sound. The ever-present fear that they would return for him had his heart in his throat.

He had never feared death. The inevitability of it made fearing it seem stupid. He found no point in wallowing over where and when. But if he had ever spent any time wondering. If he had, had one thousand guesses as to when and where his time would come. He never would have thought at the age of twenty six. In the middle of a blizzard, stuck on the side of a mountain, worlds away from where anyone would logically think to look for him.

As the wild beasts howled not too far away, he closed his eyes and pursed his cracked and bleeding lips. He just hoped if this really was his time that he would succumb to the cold before they found him.

*Flashback*

John ran the saddle soap over the leather tack on his knee and ignored the heavy crunch of footsteps he heard halt a few feet in front of him.

He swallowed, inhaling a deep breath to keep himself from speaking. To force himself to keep his eyes on his saddle and not look up to meet Arthur’s eyes before the other man spoke first.

The silence stretched on. The scrape of the soap against the leather the only sound between them as they both waited stubbornly for the other to make the first move.

John heard Arthur sigh, long and loud. The crunch of his boots on the gravel starting anew as he made his way around John and plonked himself down on a crate by his side.

John could see him out of the corner of his eye. Holding his hat in his hands as he rested his forearms on his knees. He twirled the suede gambler in his fingertips as he mulled over his own thoughts. The silence continuing on for some time until John felt he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Just say it!” He shouted, slamming the saddle soap down on the table behind him and holding back a satisfied smirk at the small jump Arthur made at the gesture.

Arthur frowned, his grip on the brim of his hat making his knuckles shine white as he narrowed his eyes at the younger man.

He took a second to compose himself, licking his lips as he calmly placed the hat down on the table behind him and clasped his hands together.

“You ain’t thinkin’ right.” He said simply. Making John roll his eyes in response. Of course that would be his opinion.

“Oh yeah?” John asked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his front pocket and placing one in his mouth. “How’s that?” He asked, voice muffled by the hand he cupped around his face to protect the flame of his match from the wind.

The cig caught fire easily and John took a long drag, taking a second to hold the smoke in his lungs as he flicked his lit match to the ground and stomped it out with his boot.

“You’re hurtin’.” Arthur said in a matter-of-fact way that made John’s skin crawl. As if it was common knowledge that he was in pain.

That his heart was broken.

John exhaled the smoke through his nose. Raising the butt to his mouth once more and quickly taking another drag to avoid having to speak.

“Now I don’t know why. But you can’t abandon Abigail and your boy over a silly fight.” Arthur said gruffly, irritation seeping into his tone at the fact that John was avoiding the conversation.

“I ain’t abanodnin’ no one.” John said firmly, turning to look at Arthur for the first time since he’d approached. His eyes grazing over the other man’s hardened expression slowly before turning back to the scenery in front of him. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like he was in the right. He wasn’t about to sit and be lectured for something he actually felt good about.

“You’re makin’ ‘em sleep outside.” Arthur hissed.

“I’m makin’ Abigail sleep outside. She’s makin’ Jack sleep outside.” John retorted, stressing the pronoun in the hopes Arthur would see his side of it all.

“She don’t want to be away from her son, you can’t fault her for that.”

“I ain’t faultin’ no one for nothin’.” John hissed back, venom in his tone. “She don’t want to be with me, she don’t get to sleep in my tent. End of story.” John spat, taking another drag on his smoke before dropping it on the ground in front of him. He stood, stepping over it with his boot as he walked away, intending to leave the conversation.

Arthur followed, grabbing hold of John’s bicep and spinning him around so they were facing one another once more. John hissed uncomfortably but recovered himself quick enough that Arthur didn’t question. He cocked a brow at the annoyed wince on the other man’s face but powered on none-the less.

“What you mean she don’t want to be with you?” Arthur asked quietly, eyes flicking towards some of the other Gang members that were casually staring in their direction. “You said she loved you.” He said even softer, barely a whisper as he leaned towards the other man.

John swallowed audibly. Tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he averted his eyes.

“Yeah well… Turns out it she don’t.” He answered after a moment. Voice stiff, lips pursed.

“What you mean?” Arthur frowned, hand squeezing John’s bicep again after a moment of silence and eliciting another hiss from the younger man.

John shrugged away, voice rising, annoyance in his tone.

“She just said it to keep me ‘round. She don’t mean it.” He snapped, clearly hurt and trying to keep it at bay. Arthur rolled his eyes

“Sure she does.”

“No… She don’t.” John swallowed thickly. “Guess I shoulda’ figured when she never said it back all those years.”

Arthur felt a pang to his heart at the words. An uncomfortable sting he hadn’t expected as he took in the hurt in his brother’s eyes. He looked miserable. Truly, miserable. Arthur realised as John frowned in his direction.

“You’re blowin’ things out of proportion.” Arthur said in an effort to console him. “Spiralling.” He added as John narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Arthur.” John said slowly after a tense moment. It was all well and good for the older man to have an opinion based on what he knew of the situation. But when ‘what he knew’ wasn’t enough to go on, it made John’s blood boil that he was being so harshly judged.

There was a long silence. Tension in the air as Arthur contemplated how to reply. He had no idea what to say. He had known John was in pain. But the question as to why hung around the gang like a thick cloud that wouldn’t dissipate.

Gossip and rumours spreading through them like wildfire as they all made sure to tread likely around John’s fragile exterior and Abigail’s temper.

Karen was probably the only person that came close to having a clue and John resented the fact that for some reason, she seemed to want to keep her mouth shut for the first time in her life.

He watched Arthur sadly; waiting.

When nothing was said in reply he huffed audibly. Turning to leave, this time not being followed.

Arthur wanted to protect Abigail and Jack even if that meant throwing John in the lake and letting him drown in the process. The older man didn’t care to hear John’s side of things and John wasn’t about to volunteer it if he wasn’t asked. The very real threat of being mocked for having feelings was too much for him. He couldn’t deal with explaining everything to Arthur only to be shut down because his brother hadn’t asked for his sob-story.

Arthur watched him go, feeling regretful that he hadn’t spoken. He had confronted John with the intent of shaking some sense into him. Physically if he had to. But after only a brief conversation he could see plainly what others had been whispering the last few days.

John was hurt and for some reason that fact resonated within him more than he thought it ought to.

The loud crack of a gunshot startled John from his thoughts. He gasped for air, the shock of the sound having shaken him.

He listened intently, the whistling of the wind the only sound his ears would register. He started to wonder if maybe he had imagined it. His own breathing the loudest sound in the vicinity.

He sat bolt upright at the sound of voices. In the distance he heard them calling. Calling his name and asking if he could hear them.

“I’m here!” He screamed, pushing himself away from the cliffside as if the few inches he shuffled would help his voice travel. “I’m over here!” He shouted again, hands coming up to cup his mouth in an effort to make himself louder. “Help!” He added after a second of thought, voice weakening with the word.

He hated it with a passion. He’d had to scream it more times in his life than any other word.

He recognized Arthur’s voice, sighing internally as he slumped back against the cliff. They could hear him. He was going to be okay. But why the hell did it have to be Arthur?

He waited what felt like an eternity for his friends to come into view. Calling out every now and then after what he deemed to be a long enough silence that he was worried he may have hallucinated the entire situation.

Javier reassured him every time that they were coming. He was going to be alright.

He looked up at Arthur weakly as the older man squatted on the cliff-face above him. Feeling incredibly small in his time of need. The smirk on his brother’s face irritating the shit out of him. But he was grateful non-the-less.

“Never thought I’d say this…” John started sarcastically. “But, good to see you Arthur Morgan.” He finished with a genuine thankfulness to his tone.

“That’s quite a scratch you got there.” Arthur said blatantly, ignoring the thanks and getting straight to the point. John narrowed his eyes as the other continued. “You don’t look too good.”

“Don’t feel too good neither.” John replied simply as the older man jumped down to his level. Effortlessly plucking him off the ground and on to his shoulder. “I’m freezing.” John croaked, grunting in pain as he was roughly shoved up onto the next level of cliffside and Javier grabbed his arms to steady him.

“Don’t die yet cowboy.” He heard Arthur mumble from somewhere behind him as he breathed an unsteady sigh of relief to be in safe hands.

John hugged Javier’s waist as tightly as he was able. The burning ache in his face was exacerbated by the scratchy fabric of the other main’s coat as he pressed his face into it. He huddled against him, wincing at the pain but knowing full well to turn his head would be vomiting the bile steadily rising in his throat at the movement.

He shook uncontrollably, hoping to hell Javier couldn’t hear the small whimpers he was letting slip against his shoulder blades as they galloped towards shelter. Wind whipped his wet hair around his unmarred cheek and neck, adding another uncomfortable sensation to his already over-sensitive, throbbing body.

“I don’t feel too good.” He choked, managing to keep the vomit down as he warned his saddle-mate of his state. He’d never felt so sick. So… hurt. From the second he’d heard them calling his name he had been ready to pass out. Knowing that they meant safety. His body wanting to shut down now that he knew they would take him to shelter. The imminent threat of death seeming more distant than it did while he was alone on the mountain, even if it hadn’t really left his side.

“You still with us Marston?” Arthur shouted from somewhere to his left, voice muffled by the snow-storm.

“Just about…” John answered weakly.

“You’re gonna be okay! We have some shelter now!” Javier shouted over the sound of the blizzard. Feeling John’s arms start to loosen around his waist he felt it best to keep him talking. Keep his mind working and his tongue moving to prevent blacking out.

“Thanks for comin’ for me…” John said, louder than his last statement so Arthur could hear it too. The older man stayed silent while Javier answered.

“Of course!” He exclaimed, petting one of John’s hands with his own. “That bullet in Blackwater, now this! You’ve had a hell of a time.”

John hummed in agreement before replying.

“And Arthur always says I’m lucky.” He jabbed, poking the bear on purpose as punishment for him not replying to his thanks.

“None of us are lucky right now.” Javier said in an effort to end the conversation he could feel turning sour. It worked briefly, both men stayed silent for a beat before Arthur piped up.

“You know, we’re gonna need to come up with a better story for that scar.” He prodded, mirth in his tone.

John scoffed, feeling a spark of anger course through him and liven him enough to rebuttal.

“So, freezing, Bleeding, Starving and damn near getting eaten’ to death ain’t good enough for you?” He asked incredulously. Letting his head loll to the side after he finished speaking. The darkness closing in.

Arthur ignored the statement, choosing instead to encourage them onwards. Javier pointing out the buildings in the distance to John, who couldn’t really see anything if he was being honest.

They rode into the little mining town less than a minute later. Arthur yelling out for help as they stopped in front of a small wooden shack. The door flew opened, Abigail bursting forth, quickly followed by Bill and Lenny.

“You’re alive!” She screamed! “Oh, you’re alive!”

John felt his heart flutter at the sound. A brief moment of weightlessness descended upon him as he heard the genuine concern in her voice.

“Help him down!” Javier shouted, as John was jolted from his place. He gasped, crying out as his leg twisted while he was being lowered down onto the other men’s shoulders. “Ay, careful idiotas, it’s his leg!” Javier yelled, shaking his head as John rested his weight on the other men and was carried towards the cabin.

“Come on let’s get you warm!” Abigail exclaimed, running ahead of them to hold the door opened. John closed his eyes, feeling his heart quicken at her tone. Sounds around him suddenly becoming more muffled as he was dragged through the doorway and the warmth of the room hit him.

Abigail led them to the cot at the far end of the room. Fussing over his clothes as he was being laid down.

“This is a new low even by your standards.” She snapped as his ass hit the cot and he grunted in pain.

The darkness finally took its hold as Arthur grumbled outside about lost maiden’s needing saving.

He regained consciousness with a gasp, crying out at the force of his face being shoved to the side. He struggled in someone else’s grip. Arms waving frantically as he fought to fend off the large snarling animals on top of him.

“No!” He screamed. “No!” He was held down roughly by two sets of hands. Voices he couldn’t discern telling him it was alright. Asking him to calm down.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Susan’s voice stood out above the rest. Her shrill tone shushing him more affectively than anyone else’s as he started to remember where he was.

Being saved.

His breathing began to calm. Heartbeat returning to a somewhat normal pace as he remembered he was with his family.

“It’s alright John. Just checking you out.” Reverend Swanson assured, hand holding tightly on his left arm while Susan pressed down on his chest. The Reverend help up a syringe. John couldn’t tell if he was waving it lazily or if it was his vision moving it for him. “Gonna give you something for the pain.” Swanson explained as Susan began to roll up his sleeve.

He wasn’t sure when he had been dressed down to his union suit, but that was all he was wearing in this moment.

He watched as Grimshaw’s tired face began to frown. Turning his bare arm in her hand and looking it over from all angles before flicking her eyes towards his. He swallowed audibly, knowing what she saw and begging her to ignore it.

She did, rolling his sleeve back down to just above his elbow before holding him still for the Reverend.

He felt the sting of the needle and the cool of the morphine running through his veins. The ache of his body already starting to dull as the medicine worked its magic.

He suddenly felt light. Weightless as he started to wonder if perhaps, he had been overdosed. He’d had morphine in the past but it had never made him feel this heavenly.

He looked around him slowly through half-lidded eyes. Suddenly registering that there were other people in the room. All the women were gathered around a small fireplace. Most of them blatantly looking in his direction until Susan snapped at them to mind their beeswax.

They looked away, Tilly turning Jack back to face the fire and shielding his little eyes from his failure of a Father.

John inhaled sharply, looking around for Abigail and realising she was now stood in between Grimshaw and Swanson. He held his hand out by reflex. Forgetting they weren’t really on the best terms. But she seemed to pity him. Looking at it for a moment before taking it in hers and looking away awkwardly.

John felt better for the fact that she had afforded him that small comfort. Remembering her words as he had drifted off before.

“This is a new low, even by your standards.”

His heart panged as the words echoed through his head. He squeezed her hand softly with what little strength he had and felt her squeeze back once before letting go and taking a step back.

He frowned as Susan leaned into his vision. The firelight glinting off the large crooked needle she held in her hand.

John’s eyes widened, throat feeling dry as he tried to speak. Words didn’t come as easily as he had imagined and before he knew what was happening, Grimshaw was asking Swanson to hold him down.

He struggled frantically, trying to get out of her reach. She had stitched him with that bastard in the past and it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes when it was on his thigh. He wasn’t about to let her touch his face with it.

He shook his head desperately, trying to get out of Swanson’s grip but he was too weakened from his time on the mountain.

“Abi?” He asked, lips trembling as he resigned himself to the pain. At the very least he wanted her by his side while he endured it. “Abi?” He asked again, blurry vision focusing on her pale face as she covered her mouth in disgust.

She took a step back, shaking her head as she looked at the needle with fearful eyes. She had never had a strong stomach for gore.

John whined, the morphine slurring his speech as he pleaded for her not to leave. She shook her head sadly, backing away even as he reached for her with wide eyes. Terrified.

“Please?” He asked softly. The room full of eyes behind her burning into him as he begged her to come back. His outstretched hand shaking uncontrollably as fear pooled in his gut.

A warm hand took his suddenly, soft fingers lacing between his as he turned to face its owner. Mary-Beth smiled at him sadly, her other hand coming to rest on top of his as she squeezed reassuringly.

Abigail looked between them briefly before taking her leave. The cold wind whistling inside and chilling him to the bone as she exited the door above his head.

He inhaled a stuttered breath as he managed to break free from Swanson’s grip enough to curl in on the mattress. Susan’s comforting hand petting his shoulder softly before she moved it to hold his cheek taut so she could begin her work stitching him.

He felt himself whimper as the needle pressed against his cheek and he clenched his teeth against a cry as she pressed it into him, making him tremble.

The morphine dulled the pain somewhat. Making the room spin and vomit rise in his throat as he struggled to keep his composure. He could hear the whispers of hushed voices in the distance and knew they were all laughing at how weak he was. He was sure he could hear his name. Muffled laughter as he held Mary-Beth’s hand tight enough to break her fingers.

She hissed against the pain but kept her mouth shut. Not wanting to snuff out his only light in the darkness.

“It’ll be alright John.” She said kindly, leaning closer to talk to him softly. She averted her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Mrs Grimshaw’s work. Her stomach turning at the sight. “It’s not that bad.” She lied, eyes flicking to his briefly. She exhaled sharply at the sight of a single tear rolling over the bridge of his nose. Her heart aching for him in this moment.

This was the kind of thing she wrote about. Not lived through. She couldn’t even imagine what he had been feeling as Abigail left him in his moment of need.

“You’ll be okay…” She cooed quietly, tightening her own grip on his hand and petting it tightly with her other.

“Nearly finished this one Mr Marston.” Susan said softly, her thumb running lightly over his unmarred flesh in an effort to soothe him. “Not long now.”

John swallowed thickly, body trembling as their voices started to fade. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or if shock was finally settling him. But either way the sting of the needle was slowly disappearing and the room was becoming oddly silent. A ringing in his ears overtook the quiet assurances of his friends and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slid into unconsciousness.

John gasped. Eyes blinking in the darkness as he awoke with a fight. Heart racing, breath uneven as the sound of snarling jaws snapping together and the glint of white teeth faded into the dark room.

He turned to the left, focusing on the last smouldering embers of what was once a roaring fire. The women were still huddled around it, clinging together to shut out the bracing cold. They were slumped against one another, most snoring softly as the blankets they had tucked up under their chins rustled in the cold wind filtering through the broken planks on the wall.

John felt his breath leave him in stuttered pants. The morphine had worn off during his slumber and the burning hot, throbbing pain of infection had overtaken his entire face. His cheek felt as though it could boil water. The tension on his stitches pulled his mouth in to a scowl and he winced as he tried to correct it.

The scratches on his arms and legs had also been attended to while he was out. They didn’t burn as bad as his face. But they still throbbed heartily, making his entire body twitch uncomfortably.

The desire to cool his face down began to overwhelm him as he looked frantically around the room for Abigail.

He could see her slumped against the wall at the opposite end of the cabin. Jack in her lap as they cuddled together under a large fur blanket.

He tried to speak. A strangled sound leaving him as he realised how dry his mouth was. He cleared his throat. Trying in vain to wet his mouth with saliva as he whispered for her attention.

“Abi…” He croaked, not wanting to wake anyone else unnecessarily. “A… Abi…” He tried again, a little louder. Voice giving way to a dry cough as he waved his hand to try and get her attention.

He knew deep down it was useless. But the desperation he felt inside his chest was mounting and he felt it only fair to at least try something rational before he did something stupid in an effort to take away the pain.

Afterall, Arthur and Javier had risked their lives to pull him off that mountainside and bring him back to shelter and safety.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall at his predicament. He hadn’t been much of a crier since he hit adulthood. But these last few years had really taken its toll on him. It seemed to be one thing after another, day in day out and he was finding it increasingly hard to hold back the anxiety and depression that had been looming under the surface for the last few months.

Being physically injured had always brought out his vulnerability. He had held it together real well when he had been shot in Blackwater. But now, after damn near freezing, starving and being eaten he wasn’t so sure he would be able to keep his composure much longer.

His leg ached where he’d been hit by the bullet. Throbbed painfully like his face and added to his misery.

He rolled on to his side, wincing at the pain that shot up his leg as he put pressure on his wound.

Grabbing at the edge of the bed with both hands he slowly inched himself closer to the edge. His left arm shot out to stabilize himself on the ground and stop the entire cot from toppling. Slowly he dragged himself out of bed. Teeth gritted together against the pain and whimpers threatening to escape his throat.

He crawled along the floor, favouring his good leg as he hobbled up to the door and shoved his body weight against it. The cold wind that rushed through felt amazing on his face. He turned to look at the sleeping gang members, making sure he didn’t wake them before pushing through the small opening and crawling out in to the snow.

The cold ice melted through his gloves, chilling his fingers to the bone as he dragged his bad leg along behind him. He didn’t make it more than a metre before his muscles gave out. His body collapsing into the soft mush. He rolled to his right, pressing his injured face into the snow and sighing in relief as the burning he had been feeling was eased.

His eyes drifted closed, warm breath clouding around him as it slowed down to an even pace. His body was freezing. But the snow on his wounds felt too glorious for him to care.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what he was doing was dangerous. He wasn’t dressed for the cold like he had been when he went out days earlier. It was a miracle he had survived on the mountain side at all even in his attire. But dressed only in his union suit in this moment, he would freeze to death in no time at all.

For all the wishing to be saved he had done on the side of that cliff, he found he didn’t care in this moment if he died. He was in so much pain. The fog of his fever clouding his judgement as he nuzzled deeper into the ice.

Suddenly he was being lurched upwards. He cried out in pain as his leg wound scraped along the ground. His arms forced upwards as strong arms hooked under his armpits.

“Fuckin’ idiot Marston.” Arthur growled from somewhere behind him. The smell of liquor and cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils as the breath hot on his ear berated him for being so stupid. “You tryin’ to catch your death you moron?” Arthur asked as he dragged his limp body back inside the shelter.

The older man smashed himself against the door, making it crash opened dramatically as he moved inside. His boots and spurs scraping loudly against the uneven wooden slats as he grumbled about risking his neck to save him.

John stayed quiet, unable to answer even if he wanted to. Shame bubbling up inside his chest as the chattering of startled gang members started up around the fire.

“John!” Abigail exclaimed angrily, flying towards them from her place across the cabin. “What happened?” She asked apprehensively, moving to help John swing his legs back on to the bed.

“This idiot’s tryin’ to kill himself out in the snow.” Arthur growled, making John grimace as his was placed down on the cot roughly. The wind knocked out of him.

Not technically untrue, he supposed. But he wouldn’t have worded it like that. Or shouted it for the entire room to hear either.

“John Marston!” Abigail exclaimed, hands coming to rest on his arm as she sat down on the seat next to him. “You idiot we got a son to support. Don’t you go dyin’ on me.” She shouted, hands tightening on his arm and making him huff in annoyance.

“So… hot.” He ground out. Turning his face away from both of them as he writhed uncomfortably.

“What are you talkin’ about it’s freezin’ in here!” Abigail retorted, hand coming up to rest on his forehead.

“My face.” John clarified, turning back to her and pleading for her to understand. His voice was so hoarse, he wouldn’t be able to say much more. “Pain.” He whispered, trembling hand coming up to point at his bandaged cheek.

Abigail inhaled softly, a small sound of recognition leaving her as she asked Arthur to watch over him while she went to find the Reverend.

Arthur agreed, sitting down in Abigail’s place and folding his arms over his chest as he looked to John with distain.

John looked away once more, unable to take the criticism in his fragile state. His clouded mind could only concentrate on the burning of his wounds as he shivered inside his soaked clothing.

Arthur leant forwards, a large sigh leaving him as he pulled the blanket off the end of the bed and brought it up to John’s chin. Somewhere in the back of John’s clouded mind he knew he should change out of his drenched clothes.

Arthur thought along the same lines. But he wasn’t about to help another man get undressed if he didn’t need to. He would wait for Abigail to return.

John stared at the ceiling with his one good eye. He could see the sky starting to lighten through the cracks in the wooden roof. He wondered vaguely how long he had been out of it. He assumed only hours. But for all he knew it could be days.

Abigail returned covered in a light layer of freshly fallen snow. She brushed it off her shoulders as she directed the Reverend to take Arthur’s place in the chair next to him.

John turned to face the wall. Holding out his left arm and gritting his teeth as he felt a tourniquet tighten around his bicep.

For all the times he’d been shot or cut open without making a fuss. He still couldn’t do needles. Something about the fact that they touched his veins made him squirm. He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath as he waited for the sting. He scrunched his nose as he felt the metal pierce his skin and the cold liquid morphine pass through into his veins.

He let his eyes drift closed. An almost instant relief filled him as the medicine started to work its magic. He inhaled deeply, letting his arm fall limp by his side as he felt Swanson let him go and Abigail take his place in the chair.

She stroked over his temple with gentle fingers, making him shiver. He felt a strong sense of comfort at her touch and briefly regretted any and all fights they had ever had.

Until her fingers left him. He heard her move and couldn’t help the way his face fell at the realisation. He opened his eyes, the room spinning as he turned to look where she had gone and saw her settle back down against the opposite wall next to Jack.

He stared at her sadly, catching her eye and biting the inside of his cheek as she paused briefly to look at him before continuing to pull the blanket back over herself and closed her eyes.

His eyes wandered away from her, over the rest of the women sleeping in the small cabin before stopping on a form he didn’t recognise.

Piercing brown eyes stared directly at him from under golden bangs that had been swept aside. He narrowed his own eyes, squinting in the darkness at the new addition.

Sadie didn’t look away, matching his stare until he finally turned back to face the ceiling.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

The next time John awoke it was to warm hands rewrapping his bandage. He had been so dead to the world that he hadn’t even felt them take it off and change it. He jolted away, his instinct to bat the hands away after so many years living outdoors with a bunch of people that liked to fuck with you if you passed out first.

The hand holding the bandage caught his firmly as he swiped at it. Holding it in place briefly before gently placing it back by his side. He turned to see who had a hold of him, relaxing as he realised it was Susan.

“You’re alright.” She cooed softly, squeezing his wrist briefly as he let his head fall back into the mattress. He looked away, letting her finish her work as he tried to block out the chatter of the room’s other occupants.

The women often joked Susan was a dragon of a woman and she could be at times. When John was younger and refused to do his chores. He’d never been hit quite as hard as she had smacked him. Knocking him on his ass, lip trembling as he clutched at his cheek. She stood over him, shouting about what an ungrateful little shit he was. He had never crossed her again after that and she had certainly softened towards him over time.

In a way she was like the Mama he’d always wished he had. Pushing him to better himself, making him do his chores and appreciate the things he was given. But still showing compassion towards him when he was ill. Taking care of him when he was sick or injured.

Although if he had to choose someone to be his Ma, no other contender could come close to the memory of Bessie Matthews.

Despite that, he liked Susan, a lot. Something Abigail didn’t and would never come to understand.

He turned back to her, testing the stitches in his lip as he moved them to ask.

She shushed him, answering his unasked question by telling him Abigail had taken Jack to spend some time with Hosea. He was too young to understand what was happening to his Pa and Abigail couldn’t deflect the questions any longer so she had taken him out for a distraction.

John nodded in understanding. Despite that he still felt the stab of heartbreak fresh in his chest as he was reminded of the fact that she didn’t really care what had happened to him. Not after their fight right before Blackwater, where he had thrown her out of his tent.

She would be content if they never reconciled. So long as John continued to provide for her and made an effort to parent the boy every now and then.

Susan brushed his arm lightly to get his attention. Seemingly following his train of thought as she worked on the wound there.

“She’ll come around.” She said encouragingly. “And if she don’t… Well this gang is no place to raise a boy anyhow.” She said bluntly, her tone turning sour. John frowned at her, a question on his lips but she shushed him once more. A grunt leaving him instead as she tightened the bandage roughly. “She’s lucky you stepped up to provide for that boy.” Susan continued, shifting her chair around the cot and sitting back down to tend to the wound on his leg.

John shifted uncomfortably as she touched his thigh. Her hands suddenly feeling as cold as her tone.

“No one else would have done that John.” Susan said, her finger waving in the air as if she was scolding someone. “A whore that gets herself pregnant ain’t a good one.” She laughed. “It weren’t your responsibility to take care of her.” She paused. “Or that boy.” She added gruffly. “We all know he ain’t yours.”

John felt his heart quicken when Susan mentioned Jack. He had his own doubts but he didn’t realise anyone else felt the same. As Arthur had put it during their argument just before the Blackwater job:

‘It don’t matter if he’s yours or not. He’s your responsibility.’

John narrowed his eyes at the memory. He listened to Susan’s rant for a little long, feeling content in the fact that he had at least one ally in amongst the growing mass of assholes that expected ‘better’ of him.

“You’re a good man.” She continued, unaware John had stopped listening for his own thoughts.

He felt a weird sense of justification in the fact that someone else felt the same way he did about the situation. Someone saw his life for what it was and also had the thoughts that maybe it wasn’t fair.

Susan recognised his struggle and was praising him for it.

He was inclined to agree with her. Loudly. But as he glanced around the room and felt the judging eyes of the other camp women on him, he felt compelled to defend his wife. The pricked ears of bored women, hungry for gossip would be lapping this up.

The last thing he needed right now was for Abigail to think he didn’t respect her. Because he did, so deeply. Which is why it hurt him so badly to push her away.

“Abigail did what she felt was right for herself.” He said softly, stitched lip stinging at the movement.

“But not what was right for you.” Susan pushed back, raising her brows as she looked down at him with a knowing stare.

“I’m a grown man Mrs Grimshaw.” He rasped, eyes flicking between her and the women by the fire. “Abigail didn’t make me do nothing. I support her because I want to.” He said firmly, voice faltering towards the end of his sentence. He grimaced at his own weakness.

A gruff chuckle from his left caught his attention. He turned to see Arthur striding towards him, having just entered the cabin and caught the end of their conversation.

All eyes averted themselves at his presence. John found himself wishing he could assert that sort of dominance in a room.

“I was under the impression you was done supportin’ her.” Arthur growled as he stepped up beside John’s cot. Cigarette smoking from the corner of his mouth as he warmed his hands in his coat pocket.

“Arthur get out of here.” Susan snapped, shoeing him with her hands as she turned back to John’s wound.

“Don’t mind me!” Arthur laughed heartily. “Just came to pay my respects to the fallen hero.” He said condescendingly. Susan glared up at him from her place next to the bed.

“Consider them paid.” She said dangerously. “Go on, get out of here.” She slapped his thigh with the back of her hand, making him huff in annoyance. But he did as he was told, not one to ignore a warning from an angry woman.

“Thank you.” John said quietly as he watched Arthur’s retreating back. The last thing he needed in this moment was to have Arthur on his ass about the whole Abigail situation. Especially when he had been defending her against this better judgement. He was currently too fragile to deal with Arthur’s judgement.

“He ain’t even mad at you. He’s just sour he ain’t got anyone chasing his tail after that awful Mary business.” Susan tutted, brushing off her skirts as she stood.

“I don’t know, I definitely think he’s mad at me.” John replied softly, clearing his throat after he spoke to try and remove the lump he could inexplicably feel there.

“Shhh.” Susan breathed, leaning down to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Leave all that behind you for now. Rest.” She ordered, squeezing his arm briefly before disappearing back to the fireplace.

John stared above him, teeth clenching as he found himself wishing she would come back. Her conversation had been a nice distraction from the burning feeling returning to his scratched-up face.

He closed his eyes, trying to rest amongst the quiet chatter and the distant wail of a woman deep in grief.

“Is It bad?” John asked, gritting his teeth and staring straight at the ceiling, waiting for an answer that would never come. He felt Abigail tense next to him at the question. But she stayed silent and when he dared to glance at her, she was acting as though she hadn’t heard him.

He swallowed thickly, letting out a slow breath that clouded around his mouth and nose in the cold air.

He knew it was bad. Deep down he knew. He had never exactly been the poster boy for male allure but having his face all scratched up wasn’t going to do him any favours.

He supposed Abigail was upset. She already felt trapped by his affections. Suffocated, as she had so eloquently put it years before. But despite that she had stayed all this time. For his money and protection he gathered. Even though he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case or if it was, that he could change it. Make her fall in love with him for real.

But the chances of that had been torn away from him in the same way the wolves tore at his flesh. There was no way she was going to fall for him for real with his face all fucked up. He felt the hope he had been holding in his heart crumple and burn like a discarded piece of paper thrown into the fire.

He looked at her sadly, wishing she would say something. Anything to assure him that everything would be okay.

Others had made an effort to reassure him but she was the only one he really wanted to hear it from. The only one that stayed silent. The only one that had nothing to say about it.

He swallowed audibly, sniffing and blinking back his emotions as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He saw her eyes flick towards him out of the corner of his vision and heard her take a deep breath as if she wanted to say something. Hope ignited in his chest.

She snuffed it out faster than it had appeared. Her shrill voice putting him on edge.

“I just don’t understand it!” She exclaimed, making him jolt. He looked to her with misty eyes, questioning her with his gaze. She stared back at him with a look of distain, a frown furrowing her brows as she continued. “You’re a silly, silly man!” She barked, making him recoil. “Eaten by wolves. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea.” She shouted in exasperation. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really who?” She asked incredulously.

John looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest as her words sunk in. She acted as if he chose this for himself. He felt anger rise inside him, mixing with the pain as he lifted his head to glare at her with his one good eye.

“I didn’t mean to, Abigail.” He spat, mouth forming a sneer as she balked at his response. She took a breath, opening her mouth to speak before exhaling sharply and petting his arm with both of her hands. She seemed to soften slightly as she replied. He wondered if it was because she felt bad for her outburst or if it was just because she remembered he was injured when she looked at him.

“You never mean to.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You never mean to but you always do. Always…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Trouble.” She said softly. John averted his eyes briefly, mouth twitching with the response he wanted to give but knew he wasn’t allowed to. He had never been trouble for her. Not in his life. He had been nothing but a gentleman towards her despite the hurt she had caused him over the last few years.

He felt a strong sense of resent settle deeply in his chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose and looked back at her with an expression that matched her own.

“Well I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” He spat venomously, turning away from her as he felt her hands tighten.

“What the hell does that mean?” She shouted, eyes narrowed as she leaned closer, daring him to say it.

That she was his mistake.

John hesitated, not taking the bait but unsure how to reply. His lip quaked momentarily, nose scrunching as he shouted.

“Whatever you want it to!”

He let his head fall back against the pillow as the last of his strength faded, his muscles giving out.

Abigail eyed him, anger seething through her as she exhaled forcefully. Taking a second to compose herself before speaking again.

She petted his arm lightly, resisting the urge to squeeze it tight and make him squeal.

“Just… Get some rest.” She said softly, gritting her teeth and pushing past his comment for the sake of his health.

She stood, leaving him to wallow as she returned to Jack who was sitting by the fire. Putting her arm around his little shoulders and asking him if he was doing alright.

She hoped he hadn’t heard John’s comment, although she suspected by the eerie silence that seemed to descend on the room that the entire cabin had been listening.

Jack confirmed he was okay and Abigail breathed a small sigh of relief, turning to look at John momentarily before settling herself beside Jack and letting him huddle in her arms.

John swallowed audibly, a grunt of frustration leaving him at the gravely feeling in his throat.

No one had spoken to him since he’d taken that jab at Abigail. He could feel her steely eyes on him from across the room. Her anger just barely contained for the sake of keeping the peace in this trying time. She refused to sit by his side. Rightly so he supposed.

Still it hurt. He understood deep down he was not granted a free pass to be rude just because he was injured. But if there was ever a time he felt he really deserved one, it was now.

He had never been in quite so much pain in his life and although he wouldn’t dare liken it to pain of childbirth; he couldn’t help but think back on how horrid Abigail had been to him while she was in labour. He had ignored her hurtful comments and downright nasty statements for the sake of her health. Scared for her and the fact that she might not make it through.

He wondered if it ever occurred to her to do the same for him or if he wasn’t deserving of that kindness as this situation, not unlike her being forced to give birth, was his fault.

He raised a shaky hand to his face, finger pads brushing lightly against the bandage covering his right eye. He winced at the pain, surprised by how tender the injury was to touch. Pulling his hand back quickly he replaced it by his side, closing his eyes and tensing his jaw as he began to feel overwhelmed.

He couldn’t move properly. Couldn’t see right. He felt lightheaded and weak. It was too much all at once. The aching of his entire body making him hitch his breathing as he tried and failed to take in a deep breath.

He heard the stool by his side shift and turned in surprise to see Mary-Beth sitting by his bedside once more. She was holding a small bowl. John assumed it was food until he realised she had a cloth in her other hand. She smiled at him kindly, placing the rag in the bowl of water and wringing it out.

He looked past her to Abigail. Her eyes floating between them tensely before she seemed to reason it was alright and turned herself back to the fire.

John looked up to Mary-Beth with grateful eyes as she dabbed the cold cloth on his clammy forehead. Smiling at her weakly as she ran it over his unbandaged eye and cheek. The coolness of the water somewhat lessening the throbbing of his head and calming him exponentially.

“Thank you.” He croaked and she nodded in acknowledgment. She had always been such a kind soul. Her maternal instincts were stronger than Abigail’s by far. Although John would never dare say such a thing. He wasn’t surprised she felt compelled to care for him. It wasn’t about who he was as a person in relation to her. But about him being wounded and needing care in general.

She was always going out of her way to make sure others felt loved.

‘She’s so lovely.’ John caught himself thinking. Letting his eyes flutter closed as she wiped at his neck, careful to avoid the small marks left by crooked claws that weren’t quite big enough to need stitching. Part of him wished he had fallen for her instead. How different his life could be right now.

His lip quirked at the feeling of relief but he didn’t dare make a sound or even smile. Not wanting Mary-Beth to feel uncomfortable as much as he detested the idea of Abigail thinking maybe he was getting some sort of sordid satisfaction out of her comfort.

“You’re still here.” Arthur’s gruff voice cut through the silence like a knife. Jolting John’s eyes open and causing him to choke on his ragged inhale. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp.” The older man continued, an air of mirth in his tone as he pressed John’s patience with his teasing.

“Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?” John asked angrily, glaring with his good eye in the older man’s direction.

The last thing John was expecting was the sudden movement from the woman next to him. Making him jump once more as she rose to her feet in one swift movement, turning to face Arthur with fuming eyes.

“Whatever the beef is between you two now ain’t the time!” She reprimanded, looking between them both with disdain. Arthur’s brows rose swiftly. Shocked in to silence for a second by the blatant display of anger from such a typically calm person.

Arthur seemed to compose himself quickly. A smirk on his lips where his stunned face has just been.

“I’m only jokin’ Marston you know that.” He said somewhat remorsefully. Gesturing towards John with one hand and holding the other up in front of Mary-Beth to calm her.

She glared at the older man with a look of hesitation. Turning back to her seat and continuing to wipe her clothe over John’s forehead as he looked to Arthur with sad eyes.

“Yeah well, you really pick your moments.” John said softly, too weak to argue as he normally would. He let Mary-Beth push his head back to the mattress, inhaling slowly as the cool rag relieved some of the aching.

“Okay.” Arthur said after a second. Seeming to really take in the moment before he continued. I’ll let you rest.” He finished, turning on his heel and being blindsided by Susan who had hurried up behind him while he was speaking.

“Arthur.” She chastised. Flicking her head towards the door as she gestured for the younger man to follow her. The smirk on his lips faded as he took in her serious expression. He followed her without question. Silent as he slipped past the women and into the bracing cold.

He’d barely stepped foot outside before she had turned, rounding on him like a hungry cougar as she began to hiss and snarl her disapproval.

“You leave him alone!” She growled, hands on her hips as she leant hard into his personal space.

Arthur threw up his hands in defence, shielding his face from a smack that didn’t come. He paused, pulling his hands away and taking in the sadness in her eyes. Her mouth a thin line as she looked at him with a mix of sorrow and condescension.

“Just… Leave him be.” She said tiredly, shaking her head as she moved to pushed past him.

Arthur grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could reach the door. She looked to him with an expression that said he had about 3 seconds to say his piece.

“Why’re you all protective of him all the sudden?” He asked slowly, letting go of her and giving her a chance to take it as a rhetorical question.

“We all got things goin’ on that others don’t know about Arthur.” She said simply, hinting at a greater secret that tugged at his curiosity. He ignored his many questions, nodding simply and letting her push past, back to her place by the fire.

He looked to John, face hidden by Mary-Beth’s body and felt a pang of sadness for the younger man.

Arthur thought perhaps he knew what Susan was talking about. He understood better than anyone, the things John had going on that others didn’t know about.

*Flashback*

Arthur tried to act disinterested towards John and Abigail’s relationship. But hearing little Jack cry about sleeping away from his Father was like nails on a chalkboard.

He knew he was being bias. Not able to help but imagine little Isaac making the same small sounds. Speaking the same heart-wrenching words.

It irritated him more than he could rationally explain. It made him angry. Furious that John could throw away what Arthur had longed for, for many years.

He had decided he didn’t care to know the details. Didn’t want to hear John’s excuses. He knew the other man was hurting. After their conversation earlier that day he was sure of it. But in his own mind, it didn’t excuse hurting others. At first he had wish he’d asked for particulars. But seeing Jack cry for the third time this week had changed his mind. John was being a turd and there was no rational excuse for it.

John had always been this way though. He thought to himself as he slung a heavy bag of feed over his shoulder and walked it to Pearson’s wagon.

He had always been a bottle it up and explode later type of guy ever since he was a teen. Arthur supposed that was his fault really. Although he refused to take any of the blame for the way John was acting at this moment in time.

Arthur sighed openly. Letting his thoughts wander and grumbling to himself as he realised he probably gave John a hard-time more often than he needed to. Especially since he’d returned to the gang after his year away. He teased him a lot. Judged him even more. But John put up with it, knowing there really wasn’t all that much to be done about it.

He felt a little guilty. Knowing John was hurting over this situation with Abigail and still treating him the same regardless. But there was a child involved and John was a grown man. Some 26 years old. Arthur realised, wondering where the time had gone. Regardless of Marston’s actual age, Arthur often found he still had some growing to do.

John had never been good with his emotions. As a child he would cry frequently. Scared, frustrated or even just plain angry. There was always tears.

Dutch had decided this wasn’t a good look for the gang. Hosea had protested, saying that he was still young. He was a child, he still had time to learn how to be a man.

Arthur had agreed with Dutch. Often being the one stuck babysitting, he couldn’t stand the cry-baby act. Together, they’d shut it down real’ quick and it was something Arthur felt regret for to this day.

He knew he was the primary reason John was a ‘bottle it up’ kind of man, as an adult. Although he had tried to fix it once he had realised his mistake it was to no avail. He had been thinking of himself first and foremost. He hadn’t contemplated the adverse effects of shutting down John’s healthy emotional outlet for his feelings. Telling him to be a man every time he shed a tear and watching on with little care for the fact that he was killing John’s childhood in the same way his Father had killed his own.

He hadn’t made the connection when the tears suddenly turned to anger and as a result, violence. Cute little John’s fearful demeanour had taken a turn and suddenly everything was worth yelling over. Arguments, screaming, hitting and sometimes even biting became common place for the feral bastard. Dutch seemed to see it as an improvement but everyone else was non-too pleased.

Dutch was the only person in no danger of having Marston’s pointy little teeth sink into his forearm.

Hosea had tried to talk with him. Seeing what he already was as a prepubescent boy and fearing what he would turn into once he hit puberty.

John had cussed him out. Essentially telling the older man to go fuck himself and running away from the conversation.

Hosea had let him go, thinking he would be back after an hour or so in a better mood, having let off some steam.

When John didn’t return after several hours the worry started to set in. Dutch organised a few people to go and look for him. Arthur reluctantly joining in on his Father-figure’s order, rather than out of his own concern for John.

Despite not really wanting to be a part of the search party, Arthur was the one that had found him. Being able to think like a kid from the streets had helped him look in places others hadn’t thought to.

He had rolled his eyes as he spotted John darting across the road in front of him and under a nearby veranda. He’d started yelling before he’d even finished crossing the road himself. Telling the little idiot to stay put. He cringed now when he thought about the fact that he had told him he would beat the shit out of him if he made him chase him further.

He’d cornered the boy, stature entirely too menacing for what he came upon. John was just out of reach, backed against a wall and tucked between two packing crates. He curled in on himself at Arthur’s approach. Trembling and shouting about how he hadn’t meant it.

It had taken a second for Arthur to realise what he was talking about. John was begging for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to yell at Hosea. He was just so angry. He was terrified of being shown the door over his behaviour and had run away before they’d had the chance to kick him out of the gang.

Arthur had softened immediately. Coaxing him out with the promise that they weren’t mad. They were out searching for him because they were worried for him.

It had taken a lot of convincing that it wasn’t a trick. Arthur had sat with him for a long while, talking about his feelings. Explaining how even though he firmly believed tears should not be shed in front of others, it was also okay to not keep all of his feelings inside, all the time.

Arthur dropped the bag of feed and stood tall to stretch his back. Hand rubbing over his face before scratching at his chin absently. Fingers running over his scarred flesh and pulling a smile from his lips as he remembered fondly, the day he had acquired the mark.

The official story he told when asked was that he had fallen while drunk. Smashed his chin on the stairs as he flew down an entire flight, landing in a mangled heap at the bottom. He always joked he didn’t mind the mark since really, he could have gotten a lot worse.

The real story had much less fanfare and although he knew as a teen John was grateful Arthur took the brunt of the mocking when he came up with an alibi, he was sure as an adult he wished that everyone knew the truth.

John was just shy of 17 when he had finally had enough of Arthur’s teasing. Having been accepted as an adult at the local tavern, he was living it up, drowning himself in his first real taste of alcohol.

While Arthur tended to lean towards whiskey for a good time, it turned out it made John mean.

Arthur had jabbed him about something arbitrary. Heavy on the drink himself he hadn’t felt the mood change. Seen the dangerous look in the younger man’s eyes as he charged up his fist and swung at this brother with the force of his entire body behind it.

He had hit hard. Catching Arthur by surprise and knocking him down off his bar stool. The saloon had quietened. A tiny kid like little Johnny Marston knocking a man like Arthur on his ass had stunned the crowd. The silence deafening as the air was sucked out of the room in a collective gasp.

Arthur had touched at his clean-shaven chin, looking at his fingers in surprise as they came away bloody.

The shit-eating grin that spread over the young Marston’s face was something Arthur was sure he would remember on his deathbed. The way that little brat had smiled down at him smugly was not something he would forget easily. Neither was the way his eyes widened in shock as Arthur swept his legs out from under him. Nor the look of absolute terror on the kid’s face as he pinned him to the ground in one swift motion.

The way John stared up at him, wide eyes filled with true fear if Arthur had ever seen it. He had closed them quickly. Scrunching his face in anticipation of a retaliation blow and opening them moments later when he’d felt Arthur’s weight shift off him.

Arthur had held out a hand, helping him off the ground and ordered another round of drinks for them both. The saloon had returned to its usual rambunctious state and the true story of how Arthur had acquired his scar was never spoken of again.

He had lied to Dutch and Hosea. Covering for himself mostly for letting John drink. But also covering for John and the fact that he had gotten riled enough to lay a hand on a fellow gang member. Which was much more of a never-ever rule back in those days than it had been of late.

John had gotten a lot better at controlling himself as he reached his late teens. His emotional outbursts were few and far between and if Arthur was being honest, he knew he was pushing him too far in the days leading up to it. He deserved the blow and the scar served as a reminder to not push John that far in the future. Although he rarely listened to it. It was a nice sentiment.

Arthur brought himself back from his thoughts. Sighing aloud as he realised he probably owed John an apology. He shouldn’t have tried to get into his business earlier. Shouldn’t have tried to force him to do right by Abigail and Jack when he hadn’t even heard John’s side of things.

He supposed as long as Jack was clothed and fed there was no rush for John to forgive whatever Abigail had done to cause such a volatile reaction from him.

Looking around camp, Arthur realised he couldn’t see John in his immediate vicinity. Actually he realised, he hadn’t seen him at all since he’d walked away from their conversation this morning.

He turned towards Abigail instinctively, ready to ask her where he was before he realised what a terrible idea that would be. He headed instead in the direction of John’s tent. Finding it empty but noticing his fishing rod was missing from its usual place in the corner.

He turned to see Old Boy still hitched to his post and knew John would be somewhere close by. Walking towards the small lake they were camped by it didn’t take him long to come across the other man.

Hunched at the base of a tree, John had his knees drawn up and arms resting on them. His right hand dangled a cigarette loosely as he stared out over the lake completely oblivious to Arthur’s approach.

Arthur stood a little further along the shoreline, watching as John pulled the smoke to his mouth and took a long drag. He seemed to be in a contemplative mood and there was a second or two where Arthur just watched, thinking maybe he shouldn’t disturb him. He could apologise later.

As he made to turn around he stopped himself, doing a double take. Realising as the younger man changed his position so he was sitting cross legged that his dress shirt was completely unbuttoned and untucked from his pants.

Arthur felt compelled to observe him a second longer. Remembering that day down by the river some years earlier and feeling his heartrate quicken. The very dramatic display had pissed him off at the time, having not yet forgiven John for leaving. But it didn’t negate the fact that John trying to drown himself had been a real threat he had made and tried to follow through on.

He crossed his arms as John took another drag on the cigarette. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get in the water if that’s what his plan was. Arthur let himself relax a little. He had plenty of time get to him before he flung himself into the lake.

John pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and let his head fall back against the tree trunk. Holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing rings into the sky above him. He stayed like that for a second, just staring up at the branches above him. Arthur was too far away to see his eyes and started to think he may have fell asleep.

John sat up suddenly, Arthur frowned as he watched the younger man pull his shirt off his left shoulder. Taking a step forward in preparation he stopped in shock as he watched John press the burning end of his cigarette into the skin of his bicep. Left arm shaking as he held it there for as long as he could stand. Hand constricting and contracting as he grunted in pain.

Arthur felt his mouth fall open as John finally pulled the butt away, flinging it into the lake and sitting himself back against the tree.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur exclaimed, making the younger man jump in surprise. He looked over, catching sight of Arthur and hurriedly tried to pull his shirt back over his shoulder as the older man advanced.

Arthur reached him as he was trying frantically to do up his top button. Pushing John’s hands out of the way and ripping the fabric back to inspect the smouldering burn shaped like a perfect little circle.

Arthur inhaled sharply at the sight. John’s arm was littered with marks. At least 10 other circle shaped scars all in different stages of heeling and those were only the ones his shirt wasn’t covering.

“What the hell?” He asked gruffly, shaking John’s arm and making him wince. Arthur looked to him, immediately regretting his rough tone as he was met with the same wide eyes that had looked up at him in that saloon all those years ago.

That same fearful stare as if he was terrified what Arthur was about to do to him. What punishment was about to be inflicted for his idiotic behaviour.

Arthur let go of his arm. Pulling back and allowing him the space he needed to do up his shirt. He squatted in the dirt in front of him. Watching the brunette’s hands move, struggling to do up the buttons with trembling fingers.

Arthur leaned forwards instinctively, taking John’s shirt and starting from the bottom button. He made his way up, meeting with John’s shaking hands still struggling with the first one and watching as they fell to his sides in defeat.

Arthur moved to sit next to him. Silence deafening as John waited. Knowing there was no way in hell this was just going to be forgotten about.

“So…” Arthur started awkwardly, unsure where to go from here. “Abigail.” He said simply, nodding at nothing in particular as he tried his best to strike up a conversation. John looked at him doubtfully. Nearly positive Abigail wasn’t what Arthur really wanted to talk about.

“Really?” John asked incredulously. “You’re just gonna dive right back in to beratin’ me about Abigail?” He asked tiredly.

He suddenly felt exhausted. Emotionally rather than physically. Like every fibre of his being was just begging him to stop existing. He looked to Arthur with an expression the older man couldn’t discern. His eyes misty as he stared for a moment before looking away entirely and shaking his head.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Arthur had seen his secret shame. Realised he was at his absolute breaking point and still felt it was alright to push him farther. Honestly John wasn’t sure how much farther he could be pushed.

“No.” Arthur answered after what John deemed to be way too long of a silence. “No, I ain’t here to berate you.” He mumbled, looking at his hands as John turned to him in surprise. “I wanted to talk about…” He paused, feeling extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t the best at speaking about sensitive subjects. “Well… What happened to make you kick her out?” He asked gently, ignoring the scowl on the younger man’s face.

“Why do you care?” John asked simply, not offering anything else as Arthur sighed in reply. He supposed it was a fair question. He had jumped pretty quickly from seeing Abigail in her lean-to to judging John for his actions. He hadn’t taken the time to ask him what was happening. Abigail complaining loudly about being kicked out was all the information he’d felt he needed. John being a deadbeat Father didn’t sound too far off the mark at the time. Especially after the whole Maggie incident.

“I’ve realised I’ve judged you harshly. Without hearing your side.” Arthur explained, trying not to sound patronizing. John scoffed, folding his arms and shaking his head, making it hard for Arthur to continue to genuinely care.

“You mean just now?” John asked. “When you saw this?” He added, gesturing to where his shirt was beginning to discolour from sticking to his fresh wound.

“No.” Arthur replied hurriedly. “Earlier, after we spoke. Seeing this…” He paused, gesturing. “Is unrelated to my question.”

John watched him curiously, eyes flicking over his face as if trying to deduce if it was a trick.

“I told you.” He said after a while, looking back out over the lake as he spoke. “She don’t love me. She don’t deserve to sleep in my tent.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, not taking his eyes off the younger man as he repeated his statement from earlier.

“Why do you think she doesn’t love you?” He asked, more urgently.

“Because she said it!” John shouted, hands balling into fists as he rounded on the other man. “She fucking said it! I heard her!” He spat, voice cracking. “She said, she told me she loved me because she found out about Maggie and wanted to keep me around!” He yelled, resolve weaker than before. “She was makin’ fun of me Arthur. Boastin’ about trickin’ me.” He cried, eyes watering as he let out a stuttered breath.

Arthur watched sadly, feeling oddly compelled to pull the younger man into an embrace but holding himself back. He felt for John, guilt welling up in his chest for not only being the one to mention Maggie to Abigail but to then worsen John’s situation by trying to force him to stick with her despite her having said something so horrible.

He listened as John ranted. Seemingly unable to stop as he went on to tell Arthur about the stocks of food he had found hidden on her side of the tent. The fact that he had been starving. The way she complained about money. He never made enough for her. Couldn’t keep her clothed as fancy as she liked so therefore was considered a deadbeat.

Borrowed money from people, Arthur himself primarily for frivolous things they didn’t need and then acted put out that John couldn’t pay it back right away after a job.

He went off the beaten track a few times. Ranting about other things, other people and their opinions but he always came back to the same place. Abigail had hurt him deeply in more ways than he had ever cared to admit before this moment. He was absolutely miserable in his relationship and the worst part of it all was that he still loved her regardless.

He wished desperately for her to apologise so he could invite her back into his tent. For her to say she was sorry and she didn’t mean what he had overheard. But he knew it was a moot point. There was no way in hell she was begging his forgiveness after the scene she had made. After the way she had turned people against him for what he deemed to be a rational choice considering the circumstances.

Arthur tried not to openly agree with him. Not really wanting to stir the pot anymore than he already had by adding fuel to the fire should Abigail find out that he had taken John’s side. But he wanted the other man to feel heard.

He nodded along as John raved. Offering a comforting pat to the shoulder every now and then. Making sounds of acknowledgement where appropriate. When everything was said and done John stopped talking almost as abruptly as he had started. Staring out at the moonlight shining on the surface of the lake. Feeling empty as he realised day had turned to night in the time he had been speaking.

Arthur took a deep breath, placing a hand on John’s thigh and patting it lightly as he wondered where the hell they were supposed to go from here.

John secretly hoped Arthur would just leave. Pretend he had never said anything and walk away. Leave him to press another cigarette into his already marred flesh as a way of feeling something, anything else other than the emotional pain he was faced with after finally letting it all out.

The silence stretched between them in a way that told John he had gone too far. Opened up too much and irreparably damaged Arthur’s perception of him.

He was weak.

A failure, as Abigail would say.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur said simply, taking John by surprise.

“What for?” He croaked, unsure what was happening.

“Everything.” Arthur responded simply. John looked to him, only really able to see the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

“It ain’t your fault.” John whispered, sniffing as he looked down at his lap.

“I know.” Arthur answered. “But I ain’t made it any better for you have I?” He asked with a half-hearted chuckle. “I been real’ shitty ‘bout the whole thing.”

“Yeah.” John laughed. “You have.”

Arthur huffed a laugh of his own, shaking his head at his brother’s candidness.

“I just want what’s right for that boy.” Arthur admitted quietly. His thoughts turning dark as Isaac flittered through his mind.

“Me too.” John said blatantly. Wanting what was best for Jack had never been a question in John’s mind. He just happened to believe most of the time that having himself as a Father, wasn’t what was best for him.

There was another long silence as both men contemplated their past mistakes. Quiet breathing and the soft coo of a distant owl the only sounds around them for a long while.

John spoke first. Breaking the silence tersely and starling Arthur from his thoughts.

“Don’t you go treatin’ me any different now that you know ‘bout this.” He rasped, gesturing towards his shoulder, although he wasn’t sure Arthur could see.

“Course not.” Arthur said quietly, his voice incredibly serious. “We all got our demons.” He muttered, making John frown. He wondered if he would ever know what Arthur’s specific demons were.

“Besides!” Arthur exclaimed, his dark demeanour changing almost instantly and spooking the younger man. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Marston was a damsel that needed savin’ now would we?” He asked loudly, pushing himself to his feet and laughing as John swatted at his legs. “Come on Princess!” Arthur continued, almost shouting now as John scrambled to pick up his abandoned fishing rod and follow behind him.

Arthur made quite the scene returning to camp. Talking loudly about how he had been worried for John, only to find him napping under a tree by the lake like the child he was. The other gang members joined in on the teasing and Arthur turned to look at him apologetically. His face hidden from everyone but John.

John smiled weakly, feeling grateful for the older man’s explanation for their absence and knowing deep down that Arthur didn’t mean the words he was so obnoxiously shouting.

Abigail’s voice cut through the thick fog John had been wading through. Trying his hardest to regain consciousness as he ran from relentless snapping jaws. Grey muzzles stained red with his blood.

He gasped, her words scaring him as he jumped back into the world of the living. He hadn’t realised he had dosed off. The lighting off the room different to what felt like seconds earlier when she had left him to sit by the fire with Jack.

She was once again perched on the stool next to him, hand on his arm and body twisted back towards the fire as she conversed with Karen across the cabin.

His jolt brought her attention back to him. She turned quickly, looking him over as his heart raced in his chest. Blood rushing in his ears as he struggled to breath evenly. The misty clouds of breath leaving his mouth coming in stuttered huffs.

He must have looked a mess because Abigail had frowned at him. He thought she almost looked worried.

“You okay?” She asked softly, surprising him with her concern. He nodded weakly, feeling grateful for her presence as he came down from the shock of his night terror.

“How long was I out?” He rasped, closing his eyes against the throb of his cheek.

“Few hours.” She answered simply, pulling away her hand and placing it back in her lap. He mourned the loss of contact, reaching out his hand for hers as she suddenly stood and walked away. He watched her go, confused as she moved back to the fire.

John stared at her longingly, heart aching and eyes welling with tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to her. To join her by the fire and use the heat of his body to keep her warm. He wished she would come back to him. Come and sit by him, even if she wasn’t close. Just, within reach. Instead of across the cabin, as far as she could physically be from him without leaving the room.

He knew he deserved her coldness. But the chill nipped at his skin worse than the snow. Sinking deep inside his body and constricting his chest as he inhaled another stuttered breath to join to others he had afforded himself in the last few days.

He was drowning. As close to drowning as he felt he could be without physically being in the water. He was surprised how similar it felt to having his head held underwater by a firm hand on the back of his neck. He understood now why the saying existed.

He felt his usually stoic face falling as he really started to process everything. He wanted to cry; really cry. But for every person with their back to him there were three facing him. Staring. Pitying eyes boring into him and making him feel sick to his stomach.

He blinked several times, trying to will away the tears he couldn’t physically stop as he turned back to the ceiling. Unable to stop the tremble of his lips as he inhaled unevenly.

Abigail didn’t care about him. She sat with him when she felt it was necessary for appearances but other than that she was more concerned about warming herself. She had left the second he awoke. He felt it was tell-tale of not actually wanting to converse with him at all. She sat by him when she knew he was asleep but left him to wallow when he awoke and actually needed her.

She preferred sitting with Jack. Making sure he wasn’t scared by the mangled remains of his Father freezing to death in the corner.

She wouldn’t let him come over to be by John’s side. Even though he had heard the kid ask more than once. He knew she was still pissed about what he had said that day he’d thrown her out of his tent. They had argued about it again as recently as the day before the Blackwater job.

He supposed this was how she was choosing to punish him. So blatantly in front of the world and yet he could guarantee no one noticed. She was paying her dues by sitting with him from time to time. No one cared to notice when or if it actually helped him.

He turned himself over to face the wall, hissing at the sting of his scars pressing against the pillow under his bandages.

She had deserved it at the time. Hoarding food while he starved with little to no thanks for his efforts. But he had come to regret it soon after. Letting his emotions get the best of him and pushing her away had done him no favours. She was pissed. Arthur was pissed. It felt as though the entire camp was pissed. Something that had been weighing heavily on him for weeks now.

He couldn’t help but flashback to the mountain. Sitting on that ledge with no way of knowing whether or not he would survive. Thinking that maybe if he did, he would just go. Leave again and no one would ever know the difference.

They would find his mangled horse and assume he had been killed along side it and dragged off somewhere to becomes some wolf-pup’s supper.

He could have started a new life. Proper this time. Knowing for real that he wasn’t wanted and going back to the Gang wasn’t an option. Unlike the last time he ran where he spent the entire time wondering if anyone even missed him. Feeling bad for leaving Dutch, Hosea and Arthur only to return to a punch in the face instead of open, welcoming arms.

He knew better now. Knew where not to go, what not to do. If only he hadn’t been so damn scared.

He knew deep down he would have died if he hadn’t of called out for help when he’d heard Javier’s gunshot. But there was a small part of him that still believed maybe he could have ignored it. Let them go in the wrong direction and never find him.

Abigail wouldn’t even be sad, he was sure. He felt bad for Jack but knew in his heart he would be better off without a failure like himself as a Father.

He didn’t want to believe it after their heart to heart a few weeks before the Blackwater incident, but he knew deep down that if Arthur felt he had a chance, he would take his place in an instant.

The fact that John knew whole-heartedly that Arthur had every chance, he just had to make the right move, stung harder than a needle in his face ever could.

He had always suspected Abigail was interested in Arthur. Long before he had made his move all those years ago. He had spent so much of his time watching her that he had noticed who she had been watching. Her eyes always flicking towards the older man when he was in camp.

She had propositioned him at least once that John knew of. But he was with Mary at the time and had turned her down. He had observed her sorrow from afar. Way too awkward to ever speak to her about it. But with Arthur’s rejection came renewed hope for himself. Women never looked twice at him when he was with Arthur. If he was being honest, half the allure of Maggie was that she had picked him over his brother without knowing a thing about him.

With Arthur out of the picture John felt more confident in asking Abigail out. It was only after he was rejected that he had realised his mistake. Giving up on the thought of her, knowing deep down he had lost her to Arthur regardless of the fact that Arthur didn’t even want her.

When she had come crawling back, announcing her pregnancy John had known that he wasn’t her first choice. But having not been able to quell his feelings for her, he hoped inside his heart that she could find it in hers to fall in love with him.

He stared at the wall now, vision blurry as he shook with sadness. He hoped if anyone was watching that they would assume he was shivering from the cold. He hoped that the pathetic sound of his weeping was concealed by the crackling of the fire or the creaking of the door above his head.

Most of all he hoped she and she alone was watching. He hoped she knew, and he hoped it hurt her.

John couldn’t tell how long it had been.

Hours?

Days?

He had no semblance of time. Just pain and the sweet relief of morphine every time he thought the pain had finally reached it’s peak. The medicine sending him in to deep slumber he only woke from once it started to wear-off. Leaving him awake and aching for sometimes hours at a time until some angelic voice took pity on him and told the Reverend to dose him again.

Everything was hazy. He wasn’t sure what were real memories and what he had hallucinated.

At some point in the last couple of hours the women had seemed to move to another building. He awoke to find himself completely alone. The only evidence that others had been there recently was smoke from a dead fire in the pit across the room.

He wouldn’t admit it when Abigail had eventually come to check on him. But he had been scared. Afraid they had left him, knowing he wasn’t going to make it and moving on without him.

He had resisted the urge to call out. Choosing instead to quietly hope someone would come for him soon.

Anyone.

If he really was going to be alone for the rest of his days he didn’t want to know it.

When that door had finally opened, he had been relieved it was Abigail. Feelings of helplessness overwhelming him and pushing him to an emotional outburst. No sooner had she sat beside him, he had reached for her and cried into her skirts as she reluctantly patted his head.

When she had questioned him, he never spoke of his fears. Only of the pain he was in as a cover.

In reality he had been feeling a little better lately. Like maybe he could start to get back to normal again soon.

She had let him cry for a while. Offering a mild comfort before she finally left him to call for the Reverend. John composed himself while she was gone. Relief at not being abandoned flooding through him and making it hard to keep himself together.

Swanson entered the building a long while after Abigail had left. John wondered what had kept him but was glad he had taken his time. He was completely unaware that his face was still so red and angry that no one would be able to tell he had been crying anyway.

The Reverend gave him a reassuring pat on the arm before setting about his business. John squirmed under the needle as he always did. Something about them making him uncomfortable in a way guns and knives didn’t.

The wooden door creaked opened and Arthur wandered through. Quipping at the Reverend about his penchant for morphine and making John realise why they had been so stringent with his dosages. They didn’t want him having it more often than he needed and getting addicted.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr Morgan.” Swanson spat, standing tall in front of the burly man and not cowering at the snigger Arthur afforded him.

“Mind away, Reverend.” Arthur smiled as the older man walked past him to leave them alone.

“You’re still here, then?” Arthur asked after a moment, gesturing at John as he sat down on the chair by his beside.

John looked at him for a second. Deciding how to respond.

“I owe you.” He said softly. Genuinely.

Arthur made a noise of approval before speaking.

“And you’ll pay me…” He said matter-of-factly. Making John look to him with an air of derision. “But for now, just rest.” Arthur said kindly.

John wanted to respond but didn’t get a chance before the door swung open again, startling them both.

“Arthur!” Dutch exclaimed, making them both turn as he marched towards them. “I think it’s time for the train.”

John raised his brows at the statement. He had only been catching snippets here and there of the current plan to get out of this frozen hellhole. A train robbery sounded like fun despite his ailment. He was so damn bored and desperate to be useful again.

“Want me to come?” John asked quickly, starting to sit up without even thinking. The morphine making his head spin as they both looked at him with concerned eyes. He was so sick of feeling helpless. Surely there was something he could do.

“Of course I do but…” Dutch started, trailing off momentarily. “Look at you.” He said gently.

John waved him off, starting to pull his blankets off. The medicine had given him a renewed sense of confidence. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t walked in days and the reality of using his stiff muscles for the first time in a while would probably not be as grand as he imagined it in hazy state.

“I was always ugly, Dutch.” He laughed half-heartedly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Lie still son!” Dutch said firmly as he and Arthur both leaned towards him to push him back down. John huffed, feeling more useless than before. “Hello Abigail!” Dutch greeted loudly as the door creaked open for a third time.

She hesitated in the doorway, not expecting anyone to be with John after she saw the Reverend return to the cabin she was in with the other women.

“Dutch.” She returned, staying true to her purpose and walking straight to John as Dutch greeted Jack who was trailing behind her. “The boy wanted to see you, John.” She said resolutely, stepping aside as Jack sidled up to his bedside and looked him over with large, sad eyes.

John looked at him momentarily. Feeling hurt well inside his chest at the sight of him.

“Well he’s seen me now.” He said simply, unsure what else to say. “Or what’s left of me.” He added defeatedly. He looked up at her, ignoring the other people in the room as he asked. “What about you?”

“Guess I was hopin’ to see a corpse.” Abigail spat sarcastically for the sake of the others around her. She wasn’t exactly the best at expressing her feelings in front of a crowd.

John scoffed. Of course that was her reaction. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered. “Bide your time.” He said frankly. “You’ll see plenty of them.”

Abigail growled under her breath. Her answer hadn’t exactly been friendly but his went too far when Jack was present.

“You’re a rotten man, John Marston!” She snapped, taking Jack’s hand and leading him away from John.

“He is an idiot, Abigail!” Dutch shouted, gesturing wildly. “We all know it!”

John frowned as Arthur tried and failed to hold back a snicker.

“Now! Railway men!” Dutch shouted as he was exiting the room. That was Arthur’s queue to follow. He did so, giving John a nod as he left him once again in complete isolation.

Regret seeped into his thoughts as he stared at he ceiling. Listening to the sound of Dutch shouting outside his door and knowing he was at least stuck alone in this room until the other men made it back from robbing the train.

He wished Abigail would come back.

John had no idea how long it had been since Dutch and Arthur had left him. The morphine had kicked in not long after they’d gone and he had fallen into a deep sleep. Waking only after his face had started to ache and his stomach had started to growl.

Being alone he hadn’t had anyone to ask for help. He couldn’t accurately describe the despair if he’d tried.

It seemed to be morning now. The sunlight peaking through the cracks in the walls and making John wonder just how much longer he was going to be stuck here.

Had the men come back yet?

Did it go well?

Was anyone else hurt?

So man questions flittered through his mind. Frustration mounting as he decided it was time to try and use his legs. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and find out what the hell was going on.

He flipped his blankets off, leaning up on his elbows and groaning in pain. His fervour halted in its tracks as he realised how badly he was still injured.

As if on cue, Abigail burst through the door, her arms full of clothes. She explained they were moving out and she needed to get him dressed.

He was grateful. Truly feeling as though he couldn’t stomach another second in this bed.

She helped him sit, ignoring his uncontrollable shaking and she covered his torso with a simple shirt and began working on his coat. His muscles were protesting being used for the first time in days. He felt weak and sick to the stomach. Swallowing back bile as Charles entered the room and helped Abigail get him standing.

They worked together to get his jeans on. He was embarrassed to be so frail in front of Charles but the other man assured him without him needing to speak that he knew the pain of working through an infected wound first-hand. He commented on how terrible it was as he was helping him into his boots and John felt better for it.

Charles encouraged him to lean his weight on his shoulder and he did so as Abigail wrapped his scarf around his neck. Charles was on his right and Abigail moved to his left.

Walking felt like pure hell. His legs aching and his heart beating out of his chest at the effort. They stopped in the doorway for him to be sick. Charles taking the brunt of his weight as he wretched up nothing but bile.

Abigail wiped at his mouth with her handkerchief before fussing over his limp as they led him towards the back of a wagon. Uncle was already waiting there and helped Charles pull him up. John grunted in pain, lying back as soon as he was able and breathing heavily as he tried to calm his body.

Abigail climbed in as Charles left. Sitting beside him and leaning her back against the side of the wagon. He looked up at her sadly, knowing the rocky road out of here was going to be hell as he was jolted all around the cart.

She looked him over, pursing her lips and smiling sympathetically as she slowly slipped her hand into his. He gripped it tightly, heart fluttering at the sentiment.

Perhaps she had finally forgiven him? He inched himself closer to her, his side touching the toes of her boots.

Her lips quirked at his actions. She knew her touch was comforting him and found herself regretting the fact that it would be inappropriate to simply lie beside him for the journey.

She had missed him lately. She knew she’d been unnecessarily hard on him the last few days. She felt guilt well in her chest as she looked down at him sadly. He had deserved it for all the fighting they had done before he’d gone and got himself shot in Blackwater.

Just when she was about to forgive him and apologise, he had to go and nearly get himself killed being reckless. Then again as soon as he was able to sit on a horse he was out almost getting himself eaten.

She was furious she’d nearly lost him. Twice. Part of her didn’t want to forgive him. To make it easier for herself if he did end up dying from his wounds. But she knew deep down that would just lead to more guilt. The kind she could never rid herself of.

She looked at him now. Beaten and battered, probably a little scared about the ride ahead and sighed softly. Deciding it wasn’t worth staying mad anymore. She wasn’t about to apologise any time soon. But she could quietly forgive him and let him revel in her comfort for the journey ahead.

She really was glad he was alive.

End.

~~~~~~~~

If you enjoyed this please check out the rest of the series if you haven’t already! Please let me know what you thought! It took me 6 months to finish this fic and any and all feedback is appreciated!!

Prequel: Taking Part 1: Falling Part 2: Leaving Part 3: Pining Part 4: Hurting Part 5: Shattering

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quelbound · 5 years

Text

Repost from my last account per request of @councilborn. Pre-nuke goodness. I don’t remember the context past being an intro of sorts to a belore!hal au.

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The various temples found throughout Quel’thalas dedicated to the Eternal Sun had always been a place to go to clear his mind. Pillars of marble and gold once held the buildings high and sturdy, as proud and mighty as the day they’d first been built. There had been a few of these shrines to Belore within the city itself and with the attack by the Scourge so many months ago a good many of them were left in ruins yet Lor’themar still found himself seeking one in particular out. The once most infamous one, placed directly in the center of the city itself, the one he felt most connected to.

Once white columns now lay shattered across the ground; statues dedicated to the god all but beheaded or toppled completely. The destruction was painful to witness and he found himself musing over why he’d never went through with the restoration of it. The grandeur it once held had long since been shattered with it’s stained glass windows and inviting, warm presence. Overgrown grass and weeds were trampled as he made his way through the decaying temple; setting his gaze forward.

It would be here he would find his long time friend. Perhaps a friend longer than he’d realized. Halduron- His life long partner in crime- had given him a bit of knowledge, to say the least, not long ago that Lor’themar had had trouble processing the validity of his claims ever since Halduron had admitted them aloud back a few months ago; when he’d saved his life back in the Ghostlands. The thought of that dark time had caused Lor’themar to mindlessly touch the patch he now wore covering his blind, scarred eye. The pain of it had long since stopped yet the touch still caused him to flinch as if he’d gone through it all again.

The knowledge he was speaking of, out of everything, was that Halduron was the embodiment, the mortal form, of Belore itself. And he himself, Lor’themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel’thalas, had once been, in his previous life, the Bringer of Dawns. Former devoted lover of Belore. It was a wild concept, one he’d first laughed at, but through the months following, Lor’themar had pondered his claims and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so wild after all.

Even in this life, the two had shared an intimate relationship. He’d do anything for Halduron and the Ranger-General had proven he’d do much the same in return. It would also explain some of the more...mundane things he’d noticed throughout his lifetime spent with Halduron. He still had his doubts. How was this possible? Was it even possible..? Lor’themar had quite a few questions but he would hear his friend out.

As Lor’themar suspected, Halduron was within the temple. The center of the building had housed a spa of sorts; meant for sacred rituals and worship by those only deemed worthy enough to engulf themselves in the holy waters of the Sunwell itself. While not being as potent or powerful as the well, it was still seen as a symbol of devotion to the god. Coupled with the fact it was purposefully built atop one of the ley lines that could be traced back to the well itself only made it’s significance to the elves even greater.

And it was here Halduron was resting chest deep, one leg cocked out lazily from the steamy bath, and head lolled backwards as it rested against the stone surface surrounding the person sized pool. Golden rivers of sunlight colored hair- A fitting connection, Lor’themar mused- hung loosely over the rangers bare chest and shoulders. He didn’t look up to the presence of Lor’themar, only hummed softly to acknowledge the Regent Lord.

“Finally come seeking answers, then? Curiosity’s got the better of you again, dalah’surfal.” He spoke. His tone was gentle and filled with honied affection and it never ceased to make Lor’themar weak in the knees at how genuine his terms of endearment were said for him.

“I am.” Lor’themar replied. However, now that he was finally here, the weight of the possibility of Halduron being the real, flesh and blood, Belore, his tongue seemed to find it’s way tied. Halduron, of course, seemed to notice this as he let out a hearty chuckle. Lifting his head to look at the other, he gave Lor’themar a soft, teasing grin.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve found yourself shy now? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.” He teased.

“Th-that’s not why-” Lor’themar sputtered before shooting Halduron a pouty look and sighed. “I just.. Wanted to talk.”

“‘Bout what? New title and duties got you stressed and need a vent? Well, my lord, I give you my heart, body, and soul should you need it.”

“Tempting. But not at this time.”

“Ah. Then perhaps the Grand Magister’s sharp tongue’s got you worried over something? I can deal with that.”

“Halduron.”

Halduron could only laugh at Lor’themar’s growing annoyance and waved him off. Readusting himself so he now sat cross legged in the pool, Hal leaned his arms across the edge, resting his head in his hands and giving Lor’themar a knowing look. “Alright then. Must be about the fact you don’t know how to deal with the fact I’m actually Belore, we used to be a thing in your previous life, and somehow we’re still connected?”

“... Y… Yes. That. How did you guess that so quickly..?”

Again, Halduron laughed. “‘Quickly’, he says! As if it wasn’t obvious!”

Suddenly, his expression turned serious as his gaze burned into Lor’themar’s, making the other shift uncomfortably under the intensity of it. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since I told you. Whatever time we spent together recently was brief and blunt. I figured you wanted your space to process it all because it’s kind of a lot to take in all at once so I didn’t press it or confront you. While I was initially fearful you’d reject me, I knew we’d been through too much together for that to happen. So it was merely a waiting game for you to work through your inner turmoil about it and wait for you to come to me. And here you are. So, clearly, I didn’t scare you away from me nearly as much as I expected to.”

Lor’themar gaped at him for a moment as he spoke. Had he really been that obvious? Ah, maybe so. He’d certainly felt some kind of way ever since Hal had told him but it had been difficult to pinpoint just what kind of way that was. At first, he felt Halduron had lost his mind. There was no inconceivable way he was the god their society prayed to and worshipped. It hadn’t been until Lor’themar had done a lot of contemplation and soul searching that he felt there was some semblance of truth to be found.

Whatever part of him was left, that was this Dawnbringer that Belore had loved and cherished so much, had stirred within him; providing him glimpses and visions of days long since passed countless milennia ago. It wasn’t much- most being fuzzy and hard to decipher, raising more questions than answers, but it was a start into believing Halduron.

“You’re right. I was afraid and I admit I still have my own fears… But..” Lor’themar chewed his bottom lip as he considered his next words.

Hal leaned forward slightly at his hesitance. “But..?”

“I want to know more. About this.” He finally replied, motioning vaguely to Halduron’s entire being. “About myself.. Or.. Who I was. About us.”

The look Halduron gave him in that moment, Lor’themar would find himself cherishing forever. The way his eyes lit up brightly as if he’d just received the most precious gift of all, grinning practically ear to ear, and seeping with love and radiance. Hefting himself out of the pool and taking the few steps it took to reach Lor’themar, Halduron had grabbed either side of the Regent Lord’s face before leaning forward to press a kiss to the others mouth.

He was warm, Lor’themar thought with a soft laugh. Of course he was. He couldn’t remember a time when Halduron wasn’t warm. If it wasn’t physically, like now, his personality certainly reflected that trait he bore. Warm like.. He smiled slightly against the others lips. Like rays of sunshine just breaking through a cloudy sky, bathing light across the sun starved ground.

“We’ve much to discuss, my love. I don’t think it would be possible to cram everything into one session but we can start small. How does that sound?” Halduron asked.

Lor’themar nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you’re right as I’m still trying to wrap my head around this as it is. Also preferably when you’re not stark naked against me.”

Hal could only snort. “Psshh. Mortals.” He replied before beginning to collect his clothing and redress. “You used to love my ass, you know.”

“Bold of you to assume I stopped.” Lor’themar said. It was amusing to think Halduron hadn’t been expecting his comment and now it was Lor’themar’s turn to laugh as he all but stumbled in his flustered surprise.

#Rapid Fire. ll in character. ll Halduron.#Whatever it takes. ll in character. ll Lorthemar.#( verse. eternal sun guides us. ll belore au. )

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theonewiththefanfics · 6 years

Text

Never The Friend (one-shot)

Synopsis: The Reader has always been in love with Bucky, as he has been with her, but neither ever made a move. So when Bucky brings home a new girl, the Readers takes drastic measures to protect her already broken heart, but what will Bucky do to regain the person who he truly loves?

In The End (one-shot/ follow-up)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (or my shitty attempts at writing it; first-timer, so please be gentle); unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys); swearing; brief crossover with Criminal Minds (aka, Spencer Reid is involved)

Genre: angst

Word count: 7349 (boy, this gon be a long ride)

“You gotta tell him.” “Tell who what?” “Bucky! You have to tell him how you feel.” Y/N’s eyes almost bulged out of her head. “Wanda I love you like a sister, but mention this topic once again and I’ll put your heard through a wall.” “If you don’t, then he’ll just start dating someone and you’ll be miserable.” “I already am and by the way- that is how crushes work. You fall for someone way out of your league, they don’t feel the same, you die alone with twenty cats and then they eat your body. Simple as that.” Wanda huffed, exasperation clearly evident in the puff of air, but there wasn’t anything she could do to make Y/N tell the man she was in love with how the girl felt. The Scarlet Witch had been watching her best friend pine over the man for far too long and she knew that Bucky was absolutely in love with the girl, yet he did nothing. So Wanda had hoped that maybe Y/N would gather up the courage and make the first move, but as it would appear, that would not happen anytime soon. “But, Y/N, he is crazy about you.” “Who is crazy about Y/N?” Bucky snapped the two girls out of their conversation as he appeared in the common room. “No one,” Y/N was quick to dispel any implications. She took a sip of her wine and threw Wanda a warning glance. “Okay then,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyways, I just wanted you to meet someone.” Suddenly the noise of clicking heels invaded Y/N’s and Wanda’s senses. A gorgeous brunette appeared behind Bucky. She wrapped her arm around his waist and he mimicked the action while a dazzling smile stretched his face. “Y/N, Wanda this is my girlfriend Diana. Diana, that is Y/N,” he gestured at the girl who had a tightlipped smile and a heart that was shattering in pieces, “my best friend and that is Wanda- a chick you really don’t wanna mess with.” He once again threw the girl that brilliant white smile, making Y/N’s heart clench even more.

“Yup,” the redhead piped up, scarlet swirls weaving around her fingers. “And just as a precaution- if you hurt anyone in my family, I‘ll end you.” Diana looked incredibly nervous, but she masked it with a nod of her head and a small laugh. “Duly noted.” “Come on, Wanda,” Bucky pulled the brunette’s body closer to his own. “Don’t be mean and make me regret introducing someone I care about to you bunch.” “Wan,” Y/N’s voice made her look over to the Y/E/C eyed beauty, hidden pain laced in her words and shining through her eyes. Pain only Wanda noticed as it wove its way through her heart and interlaced the broken pieces. “Be nice.” She turned her gaze to the woman. “It’s really lovely to meet you, Diana.” Y/N smiled, but the witch saw through the facade. And anyone else but Bucky would as well. “Thank you, Y/N. That’s why you’re my favourite.” The man smiled at the fellow Avenger. “Really? Are you gonna break Steve’s heart like that?” Y/N sipped on her wine, letting the bitter taste make its way down her throat and fill her veins. Bucky threw his head back in mock frustration. “Doll, come on.” He detached himself from Diana and leaned down by the sofa, grabbing Y/N’s palm in his. There was a sweet smile playing on the brown-haired beauty's face as she observed his interaction with the most important people in his life. “You know you are my number one. My favourite. My best gal. Steve- he has nothing on you. He means nothing.” Y/N decided to play along even though every word out of his mouth was like a knife in her already demolished heart. “I don't know, Buck. You two seemed pretty cosy yesterday. And watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine without me… that’s just the highest degree of betrayal.” “He made me, doll,” he kissed Y/N’s palm sending every atom in her body ablaze. No, she scolded herself. I have no right to feel that way. He’s not mine to love… “What about this- tomorrow, after me and Diana get back from our date, we rewatch every season and every episode?” “Sorry, I can’t. Clint, Na and I are going on a mission. Probably won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least.” “How- how come I didn’t know about this?” “You didn’t come to the briefing this morning.” The girl shrugged and chugged down the last of her wine. Wanda gave her a pitiful smile to which Y/N replied with a small shake of her head. The girl's hand almost shook as she reached for the dark bottle and refilled the glass. The liquid poured out like blood spilling from a body. The same way her heart was bleeding out. “Maybe next time, Buck.” Y/N didn’t even look at him as she said that because in truth there would be no next time. Not after this. Even looking at him had already become unbearable. She’d just have to find a way to avoid Bucky. Maybe even for good.

“It’s probably not permanent.” Nat tried to console the girl. They had just finished the mission and after almost a month of gruelling fighting and laying low they were on their way back. It had dragged to two weeks at first, then into the third one and then finally the fourth and last one, unpredictable complications making it way harder than it should've been. “Nat, have you seen the way he looks at the girl? It’s like she’s the reason the universe exists. She makes him happy. So why wouldn’t it be long term? Besides, it has nothing to do with me. He is a free man who can do as he pleases.” Clint glanced over his shoulder form the copilot’s seat, throwing his fellow assassin a look. “Guys, seriously. Stop it. He… he’s happy and that is all that matters.” “Yeah,” the archer stood up and went to crouch down beside Y/N pulling the first aid kit out and finding disinfectant, pinchers and a thread. “But he’s not with you.” “Can’t really help that, can I?” Y/N mumbled a reply before a hiss went through her clenched teeth. The metal dug deep into her skin as Clint fished for the bullet in her leg. With one fast movement, the cone-shaped piece was out and a white cotton rag to soak up the blood was placed on the wound. The two Avengers looked at the girl. Throughout the whole mission, she had definitely been off. It wasn’t the bubbly youngster that threw jokes at the most inappropriate times, competing even with Stark for the title of the biggest wisecrack. This woman was a dull version of who everyone loved. It was like her world was now in muted colours, and the vibrant sounds were distorted, but most importantly- her light, her Sun had gone out and the universe was doused in darkness. Y/N didn’t even flinch as Clint pushed the needle through her skin as if all the pain had gone to her heart and she could no longer feel anything else. “Y/N,” Nat pushed a strand of her Y/H/C hair away from her face. It was matted and covered in the same scarlet substance leaking from her flesh. But she just pushed the other woman away. “Don’t. Just, please, don’t. I need to get over him and you ain’t helping.” No one knew what to do. No one knew how to fix what Bucky had broken. It took them nine hours to get to New York. Nat decided to take a nap and Y/N tried to follow suit, but sleep didn’t come. It hadn’t for a month now. She laid in her bed, eyes trained on the ceiling and contemplating her feelings. How can one person turn someone’s world around so completely that when they find someone else who they fall in love with, it becomes like one’s soul has been ripped to shreds and laid for wolves to feast upon? When they landed, Y/N gently shook Nat awake and helped the sleepy Avenger out of the plane. At this point, she didn’t feel the burning of the bullet hole. But oh, how she wished, for it would’ve been better than seeing Bucky’s relieved face and feeling her heart clench with longing at the sight. “Oh thank, God, you’re okay.” His large arms swept Y/N up, engulfing her in a giant hug, their bodies moulding together like they were made for each other. The girl awkwardly patted his back, retreating to the cold nature she had decided to put on where Bucky was considered. “I’m fine, Buck. You didn’t have to worry,” quickly she pulled back and started walking to her room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and I wanna go to bed.” Bucky called after her, but the girl paid him no mind. The cut had to be swift, clean and easy, otherwise, she didn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

And that’s how it started. She skipped out on their movie nights, rather spending time with Pietro and Wanda. She shut him down when he offered to take her out for pizza. Y/N even stopped recommending him books, leaving the man to his own devices. But as much as she pulled away, he seemed to be doing just fine, which Y/N supposed was a good thing for his and Diana’s relationship. They were now three months in and happier than ever. The girl wasn’t hogging his time anymore, so he was able to spend it with the woman he was in love with. To Y/N’s disappointment that also involved letting Diana come to the tower and hang out with the rest of the Avengers, but whenever that happened, there was this certain feel in the air, a wave of tension that rippled across. Y/N didn’t mention it, she didn’t say it, though after one night when Bucky had decided to walk Diana home, she stood up and gave everyone a talk. “I don’t need you guys to hate the girl. Did you see how uncomfortable she looked?” “So?” Tony piped up, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “So? Look, guys,” Y/N sat down, head in her hands, “Bucky is happy with her. And that is all that matters. Not me or my feelings. He does.” The girl looked over at Steve, who had his lips pursed as he did not agree with his friends choice. “He. Is. Happy. And what you’re doing every time she comes over makes me feel even shittier, because guess what- me and Bucky- we’re near gonna happen. He has made it clear by now that it won’t. He’s in love. And Diana seems really sweet. So please, don’t do this to them because of me. I’ll be fine. Eventually…” With that, she stood up and walked to her room. Throughout the whole thing, not one tear had rolled down her cheeks, not one night had been spent crying her heart out, but it would seem that that had come to an end. With a broken sob, she clutched a palm over her mouth and slid down the doors. She spent her whole night like that- arms woven around her waist and legs pulled to her chest, letting salty pearls slip down and dampen the carpet. When the first morning rays broke the black-blue sky, only then did Y/N gather herself, stand up and went to the shower. She turned it to the hottest setting, the water scorching her skin, and burning the tears away. She would cry no more, for it was her own fault she had fallen for her best friend.

Time passed but it didn’t become easier. Not one bit. Every time the couple was around, it was like he found more and more ways to shatter the pieces that once made her heart a whole. But the biggest punch wasn’t even that. It was when he forgot Y/N’s birthday. Yeah, she maybe hadn’t been the warmest towards him or the best friend he needed, but this occasion was the one thing she counted to have her whole family around, Bucky, hell, Diana included. But when his chair stood empty, plate and cutlery unused, Y/N simply stood up and walked out of the dining room. No Avenger tried to stop her.

Diana and Bucky had now been together for almost five and a half months. It was torture, looking at the man Y/N was absolutely and utterly in love with being happy with someone else. She was cuddled up with Pietro, the plasma TV playing the intro to ‘Friends’ as the pair just laid there. The speedsters fingers wove through the girl’s hair, a soothing motion that somehow did the trick of calming her mind at least for a bit. “You okay, princessa?” Y/N huffed, pulling Pietro’s body closer to hers, a hand wrapped around his waist, needing the comfort. “Honestly… no. I don’t know if I can take it much longer. It just… it’s too hard.” A single silent tear splashed onto his white T-shirt, instantly turning the material grey. He hated how withdrawn Y/N had become, despising the state Bucky had put her in. She had been there for the silver-haired man more than anyone, apart from Wanda, of course. He even saw Y/N as a sister now, the brotherly need to protect the girl kicking in. “You know, Fury was about to assign someone to take over the British branch,” Pietro gently slid his fingers through Y/N’s hair. “Maybe you could offer your expertise.” It pained him to say this, to think about the fact that she’d be an ocean away, but maybe that is what she needed. She patted the man’s chest and let her head rest on the flesh. “Maybe I should.” A sigh laced with pain and longing escaped her lips. “Why does this always happen? And why does it have to hurt so much?” “I don’t know, princessa, I don’t know.” Pietro’s own heart was breaking seeing the state of his friend. He wanted to punch Bucky across the room and break every bone in his body for making Y/N suffer so much. But right now, the girl needed him more.

“You’re leaving?” Y/N didn’t even bother looking up from her bags, stashing everything in them. “For how long?” “I’m taking over the leadership of the British branch. So I assume permanently.” Her tone was cold, calculated and professional. “You can’t do that,” Bucky countered back, the surprise still evident in his tone. “I can and I will,” she zipped up her suitcase and placed it on the ground. “I am an Avenger, with more than enough experience and I need a change of pace. Something a bit more relaxing.” “Leaving your home and friends behind is relaxing?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, her facade of nonchalance on the verge of crumbling. “As I said- I need a change of pace.” He was just looking at her, staring with those piercing blue eyes, almost pleading for someone to tell him it wasn’t true. “Why?” Y/N hung her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You know why.” “No, I don’t. That’s why I’m here. Doll, what the fuck has been going on with you? Why are you so distant?” “I’m not,” Y/N mumbled back. “You haven’t talked to me in almost two months!” “You’re with Diana! So why should you care for me?!“ “What does she have to do with everything?” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back and pushing an angry fist in her hair. “You absolute, idiot! I love you!” Time stilled right after the words were out of her mouth. “And you're with Diana, I know. You’re always with someone. But it’s never me. I’m never the one you wanna be with. ” “No, doll, that is not true.” “Then how come you didn’t remember my birthday, Bucky?” He was stunned. How could he have forgotten about it? With the whole trying to figure out why Y/N wasn’t talking to him he had forgotten one of the most important days of someone he truly loved. “I-“ “Yeah. You. Bucky, I deserve more than to be remembered when I’m about to die or lying in a hospital or when I'm going on a mission. I’m worth more than that. Especially to someone who called me their best friend...” “Buck- oh, Y/N!” Diana’s sweet voice entered the scene as she slid an arm up Bucky’s bicep. “You are actually who I was looking for. Our six month anniversary is coming up and I wanted to know if you’re free next Saturday.” Her smile was so nice, so sincere it was like a thousand daggers to Y/N's heart. “I’m sorry Diana, but I can’t. I’m going to London.” “Oh, for how long?” She looked at Bucky, desperation evident in his eyes. “A permanent station. I’ll be taking over their SHIELD branch.” That seemed to take words out of Diana’s mouth. In truth, she had wanted to ask Y/N for advice on how to propose to Bucky. She knew about his nightmares and how he thought he was a burden, so the woman wanted to prove to him she was in it for the long haul. “You sure you ca-“ “Diana,” Bucky interrupted the girl as Y/N pulled the strap to her duffle bag on her shoulder. “Could you please give us a moment?” She could sense that something was happening between the two and quiet as a mouse, Diana retreated. Only once when she was out of earshot did one of them make a move. And it was Bucky. It took him less than a second to grab Y/N by her waist and pull her flush against his body, smashing their lips together. A gasp escaped her from the surprise and shock, which Bucky used as an opportunity to slip his tongue in. But for the brief moment Y/N had melted against him, for the brief moment she had responded with the same eagerness, she was even faster at recoiling. “What the fuck, Bucky! You- you can’t just do that!” “Stay, please,” he grasped her hand, “I need you. I can’t live without you. Doll, fuck I need you in my life.” Y/N shook her head. “No. No, you don’t get to do this to me. Not this time.” “Doll, ple-“ “No!” the pain her heart felt made her whole body tremble. It was so hard. “No. I’m never going to be your first choice. You’ll never love me the way I want you to love me.” Y/N took a final glance at the man as he now stood in her bare room. “So I need to get away from you, from all of it, to let my heart heal. Maybe someday it won’t hurt as bad, but for now....” She wiped a tear away. “Goodbye, Bucky.” He saw her form retreat, the only thing he could hear was his dull heartbeat echoing in his chest as the last words were put on replay in his mind. No, Bucky was not about to lose her. He didn’t deserve the girl, not after everything he’d put her through, but he just had to try one last time. His feet moved faster than he ever thought was possible, but it was as if karma had played a cruel joke on him because right when he entered the hanger, the jet that carried Y/N thousands of miles away disappeared from sight. Nat turned around, cheeks stained with what could only be remnants of tears, the same as the rest of his team, a scowl on her face. “Now you decide to do something.” She pushed past him, shoulder painfully slamming into his. No one talked to him, no one even looked at him as the family, one member less, made their way to the common room, a lab or somewhere else. Only Steve stopped by Bucky’s side, placing a palm on his shoulder. He opened his mouth, but in the end, even the Captain had nothing to say to the ex-Winter Soldier, so he just squeezed the flesh and went his way, leaving the man to stare at the empty sky.

The first month was hell for Y/N. She spent every night looking out the glass wall of her bedroom upon the lights of London- so similar to New York’s yet not even remotely the same. She cried every night and greeted the day with puffy cheeks. That is until a certain Spencer Reid from Quantico’s BAU got himself assigned as the lead profiler for their missions. He brought back a spark to her life. He was quick-witted and matched Y/N in every single way, becoming her best friend. As the director she didn’t get much time to talk to her ex-family back at the Stark tower and once she had realised that, the girl set herself on making a new one. Reid had become the first member. Slowly but surely he weaselled his way into her closed off persona, made her life a bit more fun. Then came Alexis- a young girl, full of ambition, that Y/N couldn’t help but mother and show how to take the reigns of the missions she was sent out on. Jordan came next, who surprised his new superior with a fruit basket. Albeit the fruits had been in a liquified version and alcoholic, but that had only made Y/N love him more. Now, a year later, the quartet was inseparable. Everyone cared for everyone and looked out for their wellbeing. Movie nights, unless someone was on a mission or needed at the base, were a given and copious amounts of pizza were eaten. Obviously, all of them would, later on, have to work the gained pounds off. But the mornings, when they were still in the food coma, bleary-eyed and tired, those were the moments they cherished beyond everything else. “Director Y/L/N!” Spencer called out as he entered her office and placed a Starbucks cup on her table. The iced coffee left condensation stains on the wood, but she couldn’t care less. “My genius!” Y/N replied with the same amount of enthusiasm before going to hug him good-morning. “So,” he propped himself on her table, “what’s on the agenda for today? By the way, Penelope says hi, and she can’t thank you enough for the bracelet.” Y/N chuckled. “Tell my nugget, that she is very welcome and for us,” she flipped her calendar, heart dropping in an instant. The girl had forgotten about the dreaded date, which seemed to be today. “For us,” she swallowed, “the, uh, the Avengers are flying in with Director Fury to check out our base. And to see how we could, umm, make collaboration overseas easier.” “Hey,” Spencer grabbed her palm, “are you okay?” Avengers meant that Bucky would come too. And even though it had been a year, Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to face the man that had hurt her that bad. You’re the Director of SHIELD’S British branch, you can behave like an adult. “I’m great,” Y/N threw the agent a dazzling smile. “Let’s go greet our guests.” The second they stepped outside, all of the air got knocked out of her lungs. Because there he was. It seemed like time hadn’t passed at all. Still the same long chocolate hair, the same ice-blue eyes, the jawline so sharp it could cut diamonds in half and plump lips that had once kissed her. Almost subconsciously her fingers went to trail over her mouth before she caught on to what she was doing and steadied herself. “Director Fury, the Avengers. Welcome to our humble home.” “Oh, cut with the crap, Y/L/N,” Tony removed his sunglasses and opened up his arms. “And come and give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in a fucking year, so you best, believe me, I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “Oh, don’t be so overdramatic, Stark,” but without a second to spare the girl launched her body into his, the familiar scent of aftershave and what was undoubtedly remnants of Pepper’s perfume invaded her senses and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like she was truly home. “My turn, my turn, my turn,” Wanda’s accented voice rang out before she almost physically pulled the pair apart and latched onto Y/N. “God, I’ve missed you.” “I missed you too, Wanda. Every damned day.” Once Y/N detached herself from a very reluctant Sokovian and her twin brother, she gave out hugs and kisses to everyone. Last was Bucky, who got only a brief pat on his back before Y/N went into director mode and showed the people around. Most afternoon and day was spent in a briefing room, Steve, Tony, Fury and Y/N being the main people who conversed, talking about upgrades, what new developments Stark and Banner had made or simply how could they improve additional dispatch forces if they needed to be sent out. Afternoon turned into evening, which meant that sooner than anticipated the Avengers had to leave. The goodbye was hard, for everyone. Especially for Bucky. He had wanted to talk to the girl privately through the whole day, but work came first and she didn’t even spare him a sideways glance. When his nose had caught the whiff of her shampoo he was ready to clutch onto her body and burst into tears from happiness. He was there. She was with him. Yet at the same time, Y/N had never been further away from the man. And when it came time for him to return to New York, the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. This might be the only time in years he’d get to see her. But it had been no use, as the team piled up in the jet his eyes caught Y/N’s retreating from down below where he was stood on the roof. Bucky looked on as she walked away, arms linked with a man’s whose hair was messy and the colour of sand and the other one with a bubbly young girl’s. “Buck, you coming?” He turned around and found a smiling Steve. “Or are you finally going after the girl of your dreams?”

Thunder rolled over London and bright flashes of light illuminated Y/N’s apartment. She turned to the other side, snuggling her face into the mountain of pillows, trying to block out the light. The woman was on the verge of sleep once more, when loud rumbles brought her out of the state. For a second she just thought it was another wave of thunder, but then it came again. It was rhythmic ramming against something wooden, something solid. Someone was at her door. Begrudgingly she pulled the warm covers off of her body and padded her way through the dark corridor. The silk pyjama shirt and shorts left little to no imagination, but Y/N was pissed enough that if it was someone who intended to harm her, they’d be dead before they could even catch a glimpse of what she was wearing. With a yank, she unlocked the door, and a gasp of surprise left her lips. There stood Bucky, completely drenched from head to toe, with his chest heaving as if he’d just ran a marathon. “Barnes? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the fucking night. Wha- wait. What are you doing here in London? Aren’t you supposed to be on the je-“ “On the jet to New York? Yeah.” “Then why are you here?” He gulped down. “Because I left something behind.” “Oh,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “In that case why didn’t you leave a message? I’d send it to you tomorrow.” “You- you can’t pack, what I left and bring it to a post office.” He made his way closer, a trail of rain left in his wake, but Y/N didn’t really care. There was something in his gaze, that made her throw caution to the wind. “Cause that thing, I forgot,” his palm went to cradle her cheek, electricity shooting through every part of her body. “Yeah?” it was barely a whisper, no louder than a drop of water against the windowsill. “Was you.” And once again, like that time a year ago, his lips were on hers. He fit so perfectly against Y/N like his body was sculpted to mould against the girl. Like she was the question and he was the answer. A thunder with its lighting. Her thoughts were in a daze, as fingers wove through messy wet hair, pulling his face closer to hers. The pyjama got instantly stained and it wasn’t until she felt cold water droplets seep through the material and touch her breasts she pushed him violently away. “No, Bucky, no. We’re not doing this. Not after everything. I’m not going to let you break m-“ “I left her.” Y/E/C eyes snapped up to see his blue ones. In the dark, they were the tone of the night sky, though it might be the lust making its appearance as well. “What?” “Whe- aft-“ he pulled in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and taking a step closer to the girl, while at the same time gauging her reaction. “The second you said that you’re leaving, I realised what mistake I had made. What I had given up. And I understand why you did it. God, I was such a fucking idiot. But when you said it was permanent, that you wouldn’t be coming back… it- it snapped something in me. I had been trying to push my feelings away for so long. I mean why would you want a monster like that- no, let me finish. And- and when you pulled on that duffel bag, when I looked around your room and saw the bare walls, saw that you’re leaving all the pictures you have of us behind… I realised I can’t live without you. And not in a friends kind of a way.” “When you said you loved me… it was like I had finally gotten everything I had ever wanted in life. Because you were mine and I was yours. And then Dia-“ “Diana,” Y/N finished the little word. “Yeah. I finally understood that I was just trying to fill out the void what the thought of never being with you had created. And after that mission, after you distanced yourself from me, I threw everything I had at her, but it wasn’t enough. I just didn’t feel that thing…” He was now standing right in front of her. Bucky’s nose brushed against Y/N’s, gentle palms gripping onto her waist as if afraid she’d disappear. “I didn’t feel my heart racing every time she laughed. I didn’t feel my mouth going completely dry every time I looked at her, cause I was at a loss for words from her beauty.” Water dripped down onto her chest and disappeared into her night attire. “I didn’t feel this unquenchable need to kiss her, to touch her skin,” a finger slid along her bicep, brushing a droplet up to her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. “With Diana, I didn’t have the want to wake up every morning with her by my side. Cause each day that she rolled around, all I could think was of you. How you would look with a bed head. How your eyes would glint as the morning sun shone through the windows. How it would feel to kiss you and whisper that I love you, making your day start off with feeling like you’re someone’s everything.” Y/N wasn’t breathing anymore. Her arms were still crossed over her chest, but Y/E/C eyes didn’t let go of Bucky’s gaze. “And when our six month anniversary rolled around, I realised what mistake I had made. The next day I broke up with her. I explained everything. She turned out to be surprisingly understanding, but by then the damage was already done. You were gone.” It was all too much. Y/N’s brain was having a hard time to comprehend what Bucky had just said, but what was a bigger mess was her heart. All this time of trying to push her feelings away, the futile attempts at mending the broken pieces, all of that had now been destroyed, by the same man who had caused her broken state in the first place. “And, umm,” she cleared her throat, a flash of lightning illuminating the conflict on her face, “what now?” “Now it's up to you. Whatever you choose, I’ll do it.” His metal palm gently cupped her cheek. “If you tell me to go, then I will. You’ll never see me again and I will never try to contact you. But if you’ll allow me to stay,” he took a Y/H/C piece of a strand and twirled it between his fingers. It had come out of the braid Y/N had made before going to bed and to Bucky, the messy state was the most gorgeous she’d ever looked to him. “I'll spend the rest of my life trying to regain your trust and love. I will spend my days showing you what you really mean to me. I’ll give my everything to you. All I ask in return is one chance to make things right, to show the girl who has my heart that I’m absolutely and utterly hers. And that there is no one else in the world, I’d want to spend my life.” Silence settled over them, Bucky’s heart beating in an erratic rhythm. He was sure he was going into cardiac arrest before Y/N answered, sending him soaring. “You get one try, Bucky and that is it.” He didn’t wait for a second more as his lips pulled in a brilliant smile and he pressed them against Y/N’s. He covered her face with kisses while wrapping his arms around her body and lifting her up. Through the daze he made his way to where he had seen was her kitchen counter and placed her there, standing between her parted legs. Bucky kissed down her cheek and moved on to the side of her neck. The man bit and sucked there until he found that one spot, that one place that made Y/N curl her toes, a moan escaping her lips. “Bed,” she rasped out, “now.” He didn’t need to be told twice. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he carried the girl towards a hallway, but not before pressing her against the walls multiple times. When they got to her room, Y/N was already bare, the silk ripped to shreds and lying in pieces somewhere across her floors. Bucky sucked right at the hollow of her neck, making the girl arch her back. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” and like the lightning that flashed across their bodies, illuminating them in a silver glow, Y/N had his jacket, scarf and shirt off in no time. Rough fingers wove through his wet hair, pulling Bucky flush against Y/N. He’d dreamt for so long to have her like this, passion completely clouded his head. Detaching from her lips, which was hard enough as to him there was no better taste than her mouth, he did want to explore other parts of her as well. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Bucky whispered out, gentle fingers gliding along her sides, sending shivers up and down her spine, goosebumps rising all over. His lips, soft as the touch of a feather, made their way down Y/N’s body. First, they latched onto one nipple, sucking and biting until he was satisfied with how much the girl was writhing underneath him before making his way to the other side. When he was appeased, looking up to see her body already flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her glowing skin, he made his way further down. Bucky made sure he left purple marks all across, a beautiful string on her ribs and a perfect belt across her hips. Warm hands pushed her legs open and he slid his mouth across the insides of her thighs, grazing the soft skin there with his teeth. “Breathtaking,” Bucky pressed a sweet kiss right where Y/N wanted him the most, yet not giving her the full thing. “Bucky, please. I need you.” Her right hand was woven through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. And although he wanted her to beg, for her to be almost in tears from his teasing and denial, there would be another time for that. In an instant his mouth was on her clit, sucking at it. Y/N’s back arched up from the bed, making Bucky use his metal arm to push her hips back down. A whine escaped her lips as her eyes almost rolled back into her head from the pleasure. He lapped and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub, making the girl grasp onto his hair even more. Blue eyes looked up to find Y/N staring down at him, one hand clutching the sheets so hard there was a tear in the fabric and her knuckles were white. The man let go of the thigh he’d been massaging the whole time and instead interlinked it with Y/N’s palm. Her grip tightened as he removed the metal arm from her waist and inserted two fingers into her hot entrance. The feeling of the cold vibranium made her body lurch up as the two digits stretched her out and once they started the pace of moving in an out she was a goner. Nothing but white-hot pleasure existed and a tight knot started to form in her lower belly. Bucky could feel that Y/N was close. It didn’t matter that he was using the prosthetic arm, he could still feel pressure and with the way her walls were clenching around him, he knew she was teething right at the edge. Bucky made his fingers into a come-hither motion, hitting that spot deep inside, making a guttural moan escape her lips and with only a few more movements she was letting go, coating everything with her juices, the man drinking it up like he’d been starved for decades. Only when he was sure she had come down from her high, eyes still closed as stars exploded behind her lids, he sucked the excess off of his fingers and leaned down to kiss her. “Fuck, I need you,” Y/N moaned into his mouth, the taste of her on his lips intoxicating the girl even more. “You have me, all of me.” His drenched jeans were gone, shoes and socks hitting the floor at the same time, boxers following suit. Y/N’s fingers wrapped around his length and stroked it a few times, making Bucky’s abs clench in anticipation. She aligned him with her entrance and with a slow push he sheeted himself inside of her. Y/E/C eyes flew open at the feel of Bucky stretching her out so much. The girl’s nails dug into his back, some places drawing even blood, but there was no sweeter pain for the man. Ice blue eyes that had changed their colour to a stormy sea looked deep into that of the woman’s. She nodded her head as a signal for him to start moving, so Bucky slid out almost completely before burying himself inside once more. Connecting their lips in a searing kiss, he started a relentless pace. It was borderline brutal, but the love, the passion, the need to take care of her dispelled anything that could be angry about it. It didn’t take long for Y/N to feel that familiar tightness in her stomach. “Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” “Let go, doll. I got you.” Few more thrusts and she was falling once again. Explosions of pleasure rippled through her body, making every atom ignite and light aflame. Y/N thought that Bucky was right behind her, but his pace didn’t falter, instead, a hand snaked between their bodies and a cold finger pressed onto her clit. “No, Buck,” she shook her head as he assaulted the oversensitive nerve, “I can’t. No more.” “Just one more, baby. I know you have it in you.” Suddenly he changed the angle, bringing her to sit on his lap and bounce up and down. The new position pushed Bucky deeper inside of the girl, making Y/N full-on scream his name at the feeling of it. “Come on, darling. I know you can get there. I’m right behind you, just need you to- shit, fuck, you’re so tight!” He moved his thumb vigorously around her clit and tears streamed down her face as Y/N succumbed to pleasure once more. Her arms clutched around Bucky’s body, trying to hold onto something that was tangible and real, otherwise, she felt like the universe would rip her apart and she’d disintegrate into molecules. With three more thrusts, Bucky was spilling inside of the girl, holding onto her waist with the same amount of ferocity. It was like Y/N was his only lifeline and thread to the physical world. The pair’s chests heaved as they tried to catch breaths, foreheads pressed together, sweat dripping down onto the sheets. He pressed a kiss against Y/N’s damp skin. “I love you. So much. You’ve always been the one for me, yet I was too stupid to act upon it.” Her palm slid up to cup his rugged cheek and she pressed her mouth against his in a sweet brush of lips. “I love you too. Just next time, if you feel something similar, please say it before I move to a different country. “ Bucky chuckled at that, but soon enough he was full on laughing as he laid their bodies next to one another, never letting Y/N out of his embrace. “Trust me doll, I will never hesitate to tell you how much I love you. I learned my lesson.”

Tags (crossed out couldn’t be tagged, sorry loves): @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @palaiasaurus64 @lumelgy @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers

A/N: it’s almost 3 AM; I should’ve been editing my last assignments, but I regret nothing :DDD

P.S. tell me what you think :)

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P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit :))

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