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its-time-to-write · 9 months

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i know now it’ll pass - ch. 1

still me here

You have to understand, working at Nelson Road isn’t what everyone thinks it is. It’s a job. You’re not best friends with Ms. Welton, you don’t share inside jokes with Coach Lasso, and not a single member of the team could pick you out from a crowd. You talked to Keeley Jones exactly one time when she stumbled upon your office, lost in a hunt for Roy.

And none of that is bad. It’s not a bad thing. What it is is good money and security to get your own one-bedroom flat as well as food on the table and whatever else you might need. You have a few friends there and your direct supervisor is nice and overall it’s a great environment. You’re not sure you could ask for anything more.

It’s just not as glamorous as people believe.

Your friends think it’s great that you work in the same building as AFC Richmond legends like Roy Kent and Dani Rojas. They bombard you with questions every girls’ night, which you indulge with a laugh.

As you sip your drink on the couch, surrounded by friends and giggles, you decide you live a pretty great life.

—

You don’t sleep well. You never have, and you’re concerned you never will. You’ve taken to sitting on your front steps with a blanket and a cup of tea in the hopes that it will cause your body to produce melatonin so you can get enough sleep to get through the day. Your “tea time” is usually anywhere from 2am-5am, and you’ve woken up many a morning curled up on the steps.

There are two good things that come out of tea time: the sunrise and your increased ability to cover up the bags under your eyes.

This Monday is different in that it’s worse. Much worse.

You’ve been on the porch for three goddamn hours, since 1am, and nothing is helping. You’re so tired that your eyes feel like little weights, and yet you can’t fall asleep.

You’re leaning against a support beam with the realization that your work day is going to suck, when you see Jamie run by in the street. He doesn’t see you, what with it being 4:15am and all. Roy jogs by a few minutes later. You wince. You can tell his knee’s killing him by the way he’s running. He’ll probably take it out on the lads at training, and you find strange comfort in the knowledge that you’re not the only one who will be suffering at Nelson Road.

—

Oh god, you’re going to die. This is it, this is the end, death is imminent and you’re going to let the Grim Reaper snatch you with his scythe or whatever the hell he does with that thing.

See, Mondays are when you get all your steps in because you’re walking all up and down Nelson Road collecting signatures and passing around documents. It’s usually pretty nice and culminates in a stop at Higgins’ office, who will offer you whatever candy he has at his desk or sometimes a cup of tea.

(He has a knack for offering the tea when you’re especially tired. You’re not sure how he can tell, but chalk it up to the plethora of sons he has.)

Anyway, this Monday you’re on your way to meet Higgins with a bundle of papers in your arms and you must have blacked out ever so slightly because you rammed straight into the team coming in from the pitch for lunch.

Documents are flying and you’re wobbly on your feet and now there’s like twenty beefy footballers helping you scramble to pick everything up while you say, “Sorry, sorry,” on repeat.

“Not a problem, love,” says Jamie Tartt, handing you the completed stack. It’s a little wrinkled and haphazard, but all you can think about is the fact that you revealed yourself to be a klutz to the whole team.

Girls’ night is about to get embarrassing. Especially because Jamie’s hand brushed yours for a millisecond and it caused literal sparks to shoot up your arm.

You’re frozen as they walk away, silently cursing your stupid screwed up sleep patterns. You had better get some sleep tonight.

—

You don’t. Your mind keeps replaying that touch like you’re a middle school girl who’s just discovered boys don’t have cooties. You wrestle a few hours in between 11 and 3, but find yourself on the steps again by 4, definitely not hoping Jamie runs by again.

He doesn’t.

—

Tuesday is not worse, but it’s not better. You’re eating lunch at your desk because you’ve decided never to leave it again, but unfortunately Jim in HR needs a signature and you’re the one who has to get up so he can collect it. You sigh and close your laptop.

You’re padding to the other side of the building and congratulating yourself on the decision to wear flats today when you turn a corner and smack into something solid.

You stumble back but catch yourself before you hit the ground.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you say to Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes.

He half-grins. “Little wobbly there, innit?” he says before he’s gone.

Rats.

—

Tuesday night means you’re awake due to sheer humiliation. It’s bad enough that your celebrity crush is now Jamie Tartt, but the fact that you’ve literally talked to him twice and both times have been because you weren’t watching where you were going?

You have half a mind to email in your resignation, but as you put the kettle on for 3am tea you realize you need the stability Nelson Road provides. You’re not sure you can go back to living with three other flatmates.

Your only consolation is that there’s no way Jamie Tartt knows who you are or that his damn blue eyes are seared into your brain.

You’ve snatched five hours of sleep this time, and you’re hoping you’ll be asleep again before the sunrise, but the odds are not looking good. It’s Wednesday, and you’re going to need all the help you can get in order to make it through the longest day of the week.

Jamie runs by again. Roy notices you under the porch light and gives a two-finger salute as he hobbles by. You raise your cup in return, grateful that he at least will have no idea who you are, much less that you work in the same building.

—

Wednesday is fine except you’re exhausted, and Laughing Liam’s goddamn laugh is making your head pound. You set a timer and fall asleep on your lunch break.

—

You take a breath. Then another. And another. Deep breaths, you remind yourself. It’s not that big of a deal.

You skipped the porch in favor of staying in bed, with the hopes that maybe a softer environment would be more conducive for sleep. It wasn’t, and the bags under your eyes are not good. They are so not good that you can’t completely cover them. You feel so awful that you forgo tea in favor of coffee, extra strong. You down it in three burning gulps and head out the door, ready to face Thursday.

—

It gives you a headache, but you’re awake. You’re trying to kill the dull, persistent pain with some water but it’s not helping. You rest your forehead on the community water jug for a moment as footsteps walk past you, slow down, then backtrack.

“Porch girl,” says Roy Kent, recognition in his voice.

You turn your head, still on the jug, and nod. Roy Kent nods back and grunts, “You’re up fucking early,” then keeps walking.

Ah shit.

—

Friday. It’s Friday. It’s Friday and you held off from sitting on the steps until exactly 2:37 at which point you felt that if you stayed in bed any longer, you would suffocate or go crazy. Maybe both.

You set down an empty cup of chamomile and pull your blanket closer as you inhale the crisp air. You feel something like sleep creeping up on you, so you close your eyes and finally succumb to the call.

You wake to someone shaking your shoulder and an urgent voice saying, “Oi, you dead? Can you hear me?”

You blink groggily, aware of the fact that you’ve just gotten maybe an hour of sleep and it isn’t going to be enough to get you through the day. Tears begin to slide down your face, unbidden, as you try to control your sheer frustration at being woken up.

“Oh shit,” says the voice, then Roy Kent says, “You fucking broke her,” and you think maybe you actually are still asleep and this is all a dream.

But it can’t be because the hand is still on your shoulder, and it’s warm and solid and there’s no way your subconscious would be so cruel as to have Jamie Tartt and Roy Kent find you passed out on your front steps.

Your subconscious wouldn’t be so cruel, but the universe apparently is.

You force your eyes open. Jamie and Roy look concerned.

“You alright?” Jamie asks. “Thought you were proper dead.”

“Jesus Christ,” Roy mutters, turning back to you. “Look, we’re sorry for waking you. We’ll get out of your fucking hair.”

You nod mutely as they turn and jog off. It’s not until they’re well out of sight that you realize they didn’t even ask your name.

Table of Contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

276 notes · View notes

sortofanobsession · 3 months

Note

could you maybe write a fic where Jamie gets sick at an away game— whether it be anxiety, food poisoning, flu, etc. Maybe he sicks up in the middle of the night and Dani or Sam (I imagine they room together and are best friends) go get Roy and he’s very very sweet in his own Roy way to Jamie and then the next day on the bus Jamie still doesn’t feel good so he snuggles into Roy in the back of the bus?

I literally love your work so much and would absolutely die if you wrote this (plus my birthday is coming up (Jan 25th) so this would be so epic to read then))

Happy Early Birthday, Anon!

Here is worried Roy Kent, sick and confused Jamie, amused Keeley, #1 nurse Phoebe, and well, everyone else. Hope you like it.

A/N: I'm not a medical expert. I have asthma so I know a few things about raspatory issues. But this might not be the most accurate. And it's unbeta read, as usual.

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Ao3

Pairing: RoyJamie

word count: 4k+

Content warning: Illness, pneumonia, fever, coughing, vomiting (from coughing), panic, angst, sleep depravation, fear, swearing/cursing/cussing.

Fever in the Night

Roy Kent growls at the knock that would have woken him up if he had been asleep. He’d been reading and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

“Better be fucking dying,” He grumbles as he opens the door. “What?” he snaps at Sam Obisanya.

“Sorry, Coach,” Sam nervously says. “But it’s Jamie.”

And that has Roy moving before his tired brain catches up. He almost forgets to grab his room key and phone, but he isn't a fucking idiot, so he grabs them. Sam relaxes a tiny bit that Roy didn't argue or even swear as much as Sam had expected for it being 1 a.m. Roy feels uneasy when he looks up to see Dani Rojas and Jeff Goodman in the hall, both in the open door of the room Sam and Jamie shared. The four players have adjoining rooms.

“What about Jamie?” Roy finally asks as he follows Sam.

“He's very sick,” a worried Dani Rojas says. Jeff nods.

“Okay,” Roy says. He was tempted to ask them why the fuck they woke him and not the team’s doctor, but it was about Jamie Tartt. He'd be pissed if they didn't. He cares about Jamie. And he shoves that thought aside because he really shouldn't think like that. And Roy forgets it completely when he gets one look at Jamie. Jamie’s pale. His stupid fucking hair is sweat drenched and sticking to his face.

“You two, out,” he says to Dani and Jeff by the door.

“But-” Dani starts, but Roy glares. Jeff was smart enough to be back in his own room already.

“You have a fucking match, with or without Tartt, so fucking sleep. He'll be fucking fine.”

The coach weighs his options before handing Sam his own room key. “You fucking too.”

“But coach-”

“Not going to fucking repeat it,” he snaps.

“What about you?”

“Don't fucking argue.”

“Sorry, coach,” Sam says, but he hasn't moved. The room key and his phone gripped right in his hands.

“I’ll call the physio team, now fucking go.”

Sam nods and silently leaves. Roy sighs once the doors are closed. As tired as he is, his fucking heart is pounding. Something is wrong with Jamie Tartt. And that twists something inside the gaffer. And despite the protest in his knee, he is kneeling down beside Jamie to get a good look at him. He should call the physio team. He needs the team’s doctor. Roy might know more than your average bloke when it comes to health, thanks to his sister, but he's no bloody expert. But he needs a bit more information first. He reaches up and carefully moves the hair out of Jamie's face.

“Fucking hell,” he says when just his fingertips can feel the heat of a fever. Just to be sure, he places his palm on Jamie's forehead. And he squashes down whatever feeling is stirred up by how the sick striker shivers at the contact but still leans into it.

“Fucking burning up,” Roy mutters to himself.

He winces at the pain in his knee as he stands up. He tucks Jamie's blankets tighter around him. The gaffer is scrolling through his contacts to find the one he needs. He flips the light on in the ensuite and talks to the team's doctor as he grabs a flannel and wets it. As he hangs up the phone, he sets the damp cloth on Jamie's forehead. That's when the player’s eyes snap open. Confusion, followed by panic, flashed across the striker’s face. Because in Jamie's mind, if Roy Kent is there, then Jamie is running late for something, and Roy is probably pissed at him. Jamie hates when Roy is pissed at him. Jamie doesn't like disappointing Roy.

“Easy, Tartt,” Roy says. “Fucking stay put.” Roy puts the fallen flannel back in place. “Try and relax.”

And as anxious as Jamie is, a command from Roy Kent is one that Jamie will follow.

“Roy?” Jamie manages to ask. And the coach hates how tired, weak, and utterly confused Jamie seems.

Before Roy can say anything else, a knock at the door makes Jamie flinch. Without thinking, Roy smoothes the younger man’s hair back in an attempt to calm him as he gets up. Roy’s always been better at physical gestures than words. And if that's what was needed to keep Tartt from panicking or hurting himself, well, then that was a no fucking brainer. He was going to fucking do it.

He lets the doctor into the room and silently hovers as the doctor deals with the striker.

“Any other player showing symptoms?” the doctor asks the gaffer.

“Fuck if I know, Obisanya, Rojas, and Goodman just seemed fucking worried. Are we going to have a fucking team tomorrow?”

“Guess we will see in the morning,” the doctor says. Roy gets a rundown on what needs to be done for Jamie. The coach leans his head against the cool wood of the door when he closes it behind the doctor.

“Where's Sam?” Jamie asks, finally realizing that his roommate’s gone. And that concerns Roy a bit. Jamie is one of his most observant players. On and off the pitch, he tends to keep track of who is around him and where his mates are. He likes knowing where the people he cares about are. He was just noticing Sam’s absence now, which wasn’t a good sign.

“Sent him off to get some fucking sleep,” Roy says. Several things had been dropped off at the room by either the physio team or hotel staff. Roy had been focused on the doctor and Jamie when it had happened. The gaffer hands the player a bottle of water. Jamie takes it without argument.

“Where?” Jamie glanced at Sam's empty bed. Roy rolls his eyes.

“My room,” Roy answers, and that seems to surprise Jamie. Before the player can comment on the decision, Roy adds, “Not like I'm fucking using it.” And Roy regrets saying it at the way Jamie gets a sad look on his face. “It's fucking fine, Tartt. My fucking choice.”

“But-”

“But someone needs to make sure you fucking rest.”

And Jamie hates that because he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone.

“You don't need to-”

“Already fucking decided,” Roy states. “Just try and fucking sleep.”

Roy is woken up by violent coughing, and he is out of bed without thinking. Helping raise Phoebe had him trained to be a light sleeper at times like these. Roy follows the sound to the loo. He knocks on the closed door. He didn't know if Jamie had coughed so hard he made himself vomit or vice versa. But from what he could hear, it was painfully obvious one of the two had occurred. The gaffer is glad to find the door unlocked and lets himself in. Jamie tries to argue and kick him out, but he is tired and shaking and can barely move. And that has something in Roy breaking.

“Not fucking going anywhere, Tartt,” Roy says. As he grabs some water and sits beside Jamie. Jamie accepts the glass if only to rinse his mouth out. Roy can hear the way Jamie's lungs struggle, and that has Roy struggling not to panic. But he manages. He gets Jamie calmed down, cleaned up, and back in bed. Roy ends up texting his sister, who calls him. She asks him if Jamie has been sick recently, but then he remembers what Jamie had told him during training. He'd nearly choked to death at Ola’s over a joke one of the other idiots had told him. And fuck, Jamie couldn't catch a break. His sister tells him it sounds like aspiration pneumonia to her. He should have the doctor double-check, but hopefully, Jamie being a fit footballer will mean he can fight it off without too much trouble. He would need to keep a close eye on him. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to be admitted to hospital. And that had Roy’s blood running cold. A cold and a fucking joke. He sent a message to the physio team and went back to Jamie.

The only good thing was that pneumonia wasn't inherently contagious. The cold Jamie had before it might be, but it was unlikely to take Sam, Dani, or Jeff out of the game. Jamie wouldn't be leaving the hotel the next morning. Roy really dreaded the idea, but he was already hitting the number on his phone. Keeley would have a lot to say about this at some point. She’d probably see right through him and know he cares more than he should for just being Jamie’s coach. But he needed help, and he knew Jamie trusted Keeley as much as Roy did.

“Better be good, Roy,” Keeley says. She was clearly annoyed and not a fan of being woken at nearly 4 in the morning.

“Fucking opposite, it's very fucking bad,” he says, and he sounds it. And she knows if Roy is that upset, it means one of three people was in a bad state. It must be Roy's sister, his niece, or Jamie Tartt. Roy and Jamie might both be her exes, but she knew them well enough to know that they were both idiots in love, just neither of them would admit it. And since it's an away match, it probably meant Jamie was the one having issues.

“What's wrong? What happened?” She says, all annoyance gone and completely awake. “Is Jamie all right?”

Roy tells her what has happened since Sam knocked on his door. She tells him to keep doing what he's doing. She’ll stay with Jamie during the match.

“Just let me text Rebecca, and I’ll be there,” Keeley tells him. Roy Kent doesn't argue.��

Roy is an anxious fucking mess throughout the whole match. He does his job. The team does theirs, but everyone feels like there is a gaping hole in the lineup. Even if they physically have a full team, thanks to Roberts. But Isaac had told them to win it for Jamie, and the fucking lads did. That would at least make Jamie feel better about having missed it. Colin Hughes and Dani Rojas had Sky Sports doing replays of goals. And post-game interviews had been more about Tartt than one would think for a game he wasn't in. Roy was just glad he’d had Jamie give Georgie a heads-up that he was sick before he left for the match. The striker listened to his mum as an amused Keeley kicked Roy out of the room.

The team didn't even ask Roy if he was going out to celebrate the win. The gaffer hadn't even hung back for the bus. He didn't even change his clothes. He let Nathan Shelley to handle the press. He caught a ride back to the hotel, annoyed by the chatty driver, but he was cognizant enough to not verbally eviscerate the guy. He was just doing his job. Tipped the guy well. Not his fault Roy was a shit company.

“You weren't joking,” Keeley grinned when she opened the door for Roy. Her voice was quiet.

“Said I'd be back after the match,” he stated as he tossed his jacket over a chair in the room. His tone matches hers. “How is he?”

“Out cold. Whatever the new doctor gave him must be working.”

Roy hummed. The hotel’s concierge had arranged for a local doctor to treat Jamie so the physio team could focus on the match. And Roy didn't even mind the outrageous fee that was going to cost them. He'd throw all the money he had at it, even though he knew Rebecca Welton would cover it in a heartbeat. She cared deeply for her team these days. And Roy could respect that. He did respect that about his boss. He glanced at the muted TV as Sky Sports blathered on about the game. Roy was glad it was silent. He could ignore the bullshit commentary on his coaching. They won. That's all that fucking mattered.

“You need to leave?” Roy asked at the way Keeley's phone kept going off.

“Maybe to take a few calls. Seems the internet is not satisfied with the team's explanation of Jamie's absence.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Roy says as he moves to check on Jamie himself.

“You would say that,” Keeley grins. “But it's my job to answer it. I'm his publicist, after all.”

“Fair,” Roy states, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on Jamie. He doesn't see the knowing look on Keeley's face.

“Team should be here soon,” she tells him as she grabs her bag. “Text me if you need me.”

Roy grunts and nods. He finally looks up at her.

“Doctor said he’ll be back up in a few days,” she assures him. “Bus ride might suck, but we'll manage.”

After she leaves, Roy turns off the TV. He was glad he and Sam had switched rooms. He silently changes into more comfortable clothes and pulls a chair up next to the bed. He picks up the book he had been reading. He didn't get very far in his book. He was too distracted by the wheezing sound coming from Jamie. He knew the team was back as the noise level in the hall increased. He was about to go out and tell them all to shut the fuck up when someone beat him to it. There was a quiet knock on the door.

He opens it to find Nathan Shelley.

“How is he?” the assistant coach asks.

“Sleeping, but it's not fucking great,” he tells him.

“Think he’ll be able to travel?” Nate asks.

“Can't fucking leave him here,” Roy says.

“That's true, but it won't make him worse, will it?”

“Not much to fucking do about it.”

Roy had bought Keeley a ticket back so she could meet them when they got back. She complained, but he was ordering her around, but she didn't really mean it. They were both worried about Jamie. And if she could help ease his pain after a long trip, then she would.

Roy had triple-checked that he had everything packed up for both himself and Jamie. Dani and Jeff had taken their stuff down so Roy could focus on getting Jamie up and moving. No one says anything, but they watch curiously as Roy leads a pale Jamie to the far back of the bus. The players exchanged worried looks. It was going to be a long, tense ride back to Richmond.

The bus was quiet, as it usually is during these late-night trips, but this was an uneasy silence. The entire bus would go painfully tense every time Jamie coughed.

They were on the road for half an hour when Roy noticed Jamie was shaking. Roy couldn't imagine how shitty the striker must feel. Fever-induced chill on a fucking crowded bus.

Jamie's eyes snap to his when Roy feels the ill man’s forehead for what feels like the millionth time.

“You okay?” Roy asks quietly.

“Cold,” Jamie says. And Roy had already figured that out by the way Jamie not only avoided the cold glass of the window but also the way Jamie sort of chased the warmth of Roy's hand as he pulled away. How Jamie could be burning up but shivering cold had Roy thinking this was a terrible idea. He should have made better arrangements for Jamie. He should have extended their stay at the hotel, no matter the price, and sent the team back without them. Sure, there would be a lot of questions he didn't even want to answer to himself, let alone out loud, but he regrets not doing it. For Jamie's health and safety. Jamie was already wrapped in his usual blanket, a new one Keeley had given him, and Jamie's jacket. But it didn't seem to be enough.

Roy hummed.

Jamie's tired eyes watched as Roy dug through the bag he had with him. First, he makes Jamie take more meds. Jamie is vaguely aware of the quiet buzzing alarm on Roy’s phone. As he takes the meds, he sees Roy pull out a jumper from his bag. Roy kept it with him on trips like these in case a hotel or bus had a busted heater, and he needed extra layers. Jamie considers arguing, but he is just too exhausted to actually do it when Roy helps him out of his jacket and into the jumper. Instead of Jamie’s jacket, Roy's much thicker leather jacket, still warm from Roy wearing it, is wrapped around the striker. Jamie almost cries because it's warm and it smells like Roy, and it's overwhelmingly comforting to his fever-muddled mind. Roy must notice the glassy look in Jamie's already bloodshot eyes because without hesitation or protest, even at the odd looks from a few people around them, Roy shifts them both. Roy moves so he can lean against the window with Jamie's back to his chest. One foot on the floor to brace them both. And Jamie manages to get a bit more air than he had bundled up in the window seat. Roy was fucking warm, and Jamie just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep in his lap, but his lungs hurt, and he could barely breathe as is. Thankfully, the bench at the back of the bus they were on was a bit longer than the normal seats, and Roy could stretch his knee out. They still had nearly 5 hours on the bus. Jamie’s eyelids felt heavy when Roy pulled the blankets back around him. The violent chills finally eased a bit. Jamie didn't know if it was from the meds or how blissfully warm Roy fucking Kent was, but he felt just a tiny bit more human.

“Quit fighting it and fucking sleep, Tartt,” Roy said. Jamie chuckles, but it turns into a wheezing cough that earns concerned luck from the teammates who are sitting nearby. The striker doesn't see the way Roy silently waves them off, too distracted by the way Roy’s arm holds him tight, a hand on his chest to keep him from falling to the floor. Roy's other hand starts rubbing Jamie's back until he can pull an exhausted Jamie back against his chest.

“Just try and breathe, Jamie,” Roy's voice is in his ear, sending a shiver down Jamie’s spine. “Let the medicine work. Nothing else matters. Just fucking breathe.”

Jamie whines slightly because all he wants to do is tuck his face in Roy's next and probably cry.

Roy Kent’s heart fucking shattered at the weak noise that Jamie makes, and he can't take it. He wraps his arms as tight around Jamie as he dares with how much the striker is already struggling to breathe. And he plants a kiss on Jamie's temple.

“It's okay, Jamie,” the older man assures. “I've got you.” And that seems to do the trick because Jamie’s hands wrap around Roy's wrist. So the coach adds, “I'm not going anywhere.” And Roy starts quietly telling Jamie about his first time in Newcastle as a kid when he’d been training in Sunderland. His hushed words continue until Jamie is fast asleep against him.

About halfway through the trip, Coach Beard comes to check on them. He isn't surprised that Jamie is passed out. Nor is he shocked to find Roy Kent wide awake. The gaffer might be exhausted, and on night two, he has no sleep, but he is wide awake. Beard hands him a water bottle. One Roy accepts because he was sort of trapped where he is.

“You good?” Beard asks. Roy nods because as painfully asleep his leg might be, and as achy his bad knee is, he'd endure it if it meant Jamie slept. Jamie had spent much of the first hour of the trip trying to get comfortable. The fact he had slept long enough for Roy to get sore was good.

“Fucking fine,” Roy grumbles.

“You sure?” Nate asks when he appears over Beard’s shoulder. “We could help you-”

He is cut off by a low growl from Roy. “You fucking wake him, and you’ll be picking your teeth up out the aisle.”

“Right, yeah, got it,” Nate says before disappearing, presumably back to his seat. Beard just nods and hands him the book Roy had set aside.

Roy can feel the rattle in Jamie's lungs worsening as the meds wear off, and Jamie starts to wake up. Thankfully, they were only about 45 minutes out from the dog track now.

Roy gently shushes him as a bump in the road jostles everyone on board, earning a pained whine from the ill man. “It's okay, Jamie,” Roy tells him. “Nearly there, then we can go home and get you in bed.”

And it's like a knife in Roy's heart that Jamie is too tired and sick to make a snippy comeback or stupid innuendo. Like all the humor and joy was being drained from the player. And Roy hated it. As much as he acted annoyed or put out by Jamie, he fucking adored him. Wouldn't change the man Jamie had grown into for the fucking world.

On the contrary, he'd fucking fight anyone that doubted Jamie. Because Roy Kent was fucking gone on Jamie Tartt. The arrogant prick stole his heart at some point, and Roy hadn't even fucking noticed. His sister and Keeley were never going to let him live this down. And he'd endure it as long as Jamie was okay.

Jamie worried as he watched how Roy had to grip the seats as they exited the bus. Roy is slower than usual. Jamie might be sick, but he knew Roy. He could identify Roy while blindfolded by footsteps alone. The slight limp and the way Roy leans heavily on the railing with each step down makes Jamie’s brows furrow.

“Fucking stop it,” Roy says when his eyes meet Jamie's.

“Your knee-”

“Is fucking fantastic. You going to just fucking stand there or what?”

Keeley's laugh has Jamie looking behind him.

“You two are a sight,” she grins.

“Did you-”

“Course I did, Roy-o,” she smiles. “Let's get you home, babe,” she says to Jamie, and he is too tired and confused to argue. He nearly panics when he notices Will helping Roy along, but Keeley's warm hand pats Jamie’s chest. “He's okay, just a long ride,” Keeley tells him. “Telling either of you not to worry is a waste, but I can tell you, he doesn't regret it. Now, in you go.” She helps him into Roy’s G-Wagon with little argument. He is surprised when Roy gets in the back beside him, and Keeley gets behind the wheel. Roy doesn't often let others drive his car. But then again, this is Keeley.

“Jamie?” The striker's eyes snap up and he meets Keeley’s in the rearview mirror before Keeley looks away to meet Roy’s.

“Hmm?”

“She asked if you were fucking hungry,” Roy tells him, and the worried look on Roy's face has a familiar feeling in Jamie's gut returning.

“I'm knackered more than anything,” Jamie says.

“I get that,” Keeley says. “Be home soon.”

Jamie must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he's waking up in his own bed, unsure how he got there. He tries to put the pieces together, but he comes up short.

“Good, you're awake.”

“Phoebe?” Jamie asks because Roy Kent’s niece is in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Hang on, I have to tell my mum.”

“Your mum?” Jamie mutters, but she is gone. So Phoebe and her mum were there. Jamie’s tired brain tries to remember what happened to cause this to happen.

“Well, your colour's better,” Roy's sister says as she walks in.

“You're in my house?”

She nearly laughs at his confused look. Phoebe giggles.

“Well, yeah,” Phoebe says like it's the most obvious fact in the universe. “Uncle Roy let us in.”

“Uncle Roy,” Jamie mutters.

“My brother begrudgingly went to training,” the doctor tells him. She uses a stethoscope to check his breathing. Jamie coughs as she does. “Rough,” she tells him. “But better than it was.”

“Uncle Roy said it was something like popcorn popping while rattling a jar of change, and when you pinch a balloon as it deflated.”

Jamie’s laughs turn into a wheezing coughing fit at the odd description. He startles slightly as a funny mask meets his face, but he looks over at the doctor as she turns on a machine.

“Yeah, she asked him, and that's how he explained it,” the amused mother said as she looked at her daughter. “Nebulizer,” she taps the machine. “Help get those lungs to open up faster. Make it easier to breathe.” She goes on to tell him how it works.

“So,” Jamie says despite the mask muffling his speech. “You…have…Babysitting…duty?”

He doesn't miss the worried look on Phoebe's face as he has to break between each word, but her mum just squeezes her knee, where she sits on the side of Jamie's bed. Phoebe's hands were too busy holding Jamie's hand. And that makes Jamie smile behind the mask. He was always happy to see Phoebe. Sure, this was a weird visit, but he was glad she was there. Being sick was awful. But it was easier when you had people that cared around you.

“My brother insisted Phoe was the best nurse for the job.” And the smile the girl gave them did wonders to heal Jamie's heart. She was a ball of sunshine. Jamie was still trying to figure out how they got there when he remembered that Keeley had driven Jamie and Roy to Jamie's flat. Roy must have stayed.

“His knee?” Jamie asks, sure that Roy's sister would know.

“Fine, after he iced it,” she tells him. “Or as fine as it ever is.” She shrugs. “Although if he doesn't start wearing the brace again on bad days, I'm going to kick him in it.”

“That's not very nice, mum,” Phoebe says.

“Neither is your uncle when his knee hurts, so seems fair,” her mum grins. Jamie chuckles. “Medication must be working. We got a laugh that didn't turn into a cough.”

“Yay!” Phoebe cheered, and Jamie smiled. The pair stayed, and Phoebe told him all about the match he had missed. As much as it hurt him to know he had let his team down, the colourful commentary from an 8-year-old made it easier to stomach.

Roy had let himself in with Jamie’s keys and followed his niece’s laugh to find them all in Jamie's room. His sister turned off the nebulizer. And the icy grip around the gaffer's heart eases slightly at the smile on Jamie's face as the mask was set aside.

“Uncle Roy's here!” Phoebe announced.

“How's the best medical team doing?” Roy asks.

“Great!” Phoebe grins.

“And the patient?” Roy adds. And Jamie is stunned at the strange dichotomy on the gaffer's face. He looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes. At the same time, there is a spark in his eyes. A smile on his face as he leans against the door frame. And Jamie feels butterflies when Roy looks at him. It's not the first time he's felt it. He's always craved Roy's attention. Even when they were both playing for Richmond, Jamie would go out of his way to antagonize his captain. Getting to see Roy content with his family was something Jamie always considered special.

“Much better,” Phoebe answers. “He managed to laugh without coughing.”

“Oh really?” Roy asks with amusement.

“He had the nebulizer on at the time, but it means we're on the right track,” Roy's sister tells him. “That and his fever finally broke.”

Jamie hadn't even realized that he didn't feel feverish anymore.

“That's great,” Roy says. The gaffer feels himself relaxed. Jamie was getting better.

Roy watches as his sister gets up from the chair beside Jamie's bed. She reaches a hand out to Phoebe. “Come on, Phoe, soup-making time,” she says. Phoebe gives both Jamie and Roy a hug as she leaves. Roy can't help but grin at the dopey smile on Jamie's face.

“Wait, soup making? Do I even have the stuff for that?” Jamie asks, and Roy gets a bit uneasy again.

“You do now,” Roy says as he moves to take the seat his sister had been in.

“Since when?”

And Roy gives him an odd look.

“Since yesterday.”

“Did Keeley get them before we got back?”

“No,” Roy answers. “Jamie, you've been in and out of it for a couple of days since we got back.”

“What?” And he remembers that Roy's sister had said Roy was at training. They usually had the day off after long travel away matches like that.

“A couple days?”

“You okay?” Roy asks as Jamie coughs.

Jamie winces. He felt terrible thinking about how many nights of sleep he had ruined for Roy.

“You should go home,” Jamie says when he can finally speak again.

“Already here,” Roy states.

“I know, but…” Jamie starts. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to recover, so here we fucking are,” Roy tells him.

“I know, but-”

“I can fucking assure you that I will not sleep better in my own fucking bed. Probably worse because no one is here to look after your dumb arse.”

“But my fever broke, and I'm feeling-”

“You just had a coughing fit,” Roy says with a glare.

“But I didn't throw up or pass out, so I’m-”

“Fucking hell,” Roy says, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Fuck it.” A stunned Jamie watches as Roy climbs into bed beside him. “Now will you shut the fuck up and sleep.”

Jamie woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He felt better too. His lungs still felt like crappy, but he didn't care as much.

#tw: illness #tw: pneumonia #tw: fever #tw: coughing #tw: vomiting #tw: panic #tw: fear #tw: sleep depravation #tw: swearing #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #royjamie #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #prompt fill #ted lasso fic #keeley jones

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nativestarwrites · 2 months

Note

For the drabble thing - ”I vividly remember telling you that this was a bad idea.”

Thank you for the prompt! I originally imagined a grumpy Roy saying this, but then I thought, what if the tone was so much more gentler?

(Warnings for James Tartt Senior and off-screen violence)

Being woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call was never a good thing. Especially when it came from a nurse at the local hospital.

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

Jamie was asleep when Roy arrived.

“I vividly remember telling you that this was a bad idea,” Roy said softly, his voice filled with sadness. He couldn’t blame Jamie, as much as his own anger wanted to, but that was only because he couldn’t get to the true source of his anger. Locked up in a cell in Twickenham police station.

Five months. That’s how long the latest attempt at fucking Super Dad had lasted. And this time the boot didn’t hit the wall. No one hauled James out through a door.

Instead Jamie now had a neat row of stitches marching across his temple and a blossoming bruise on the opposite cheek. Roy could only guess at how many bruises the hospital gown was covering. Admitted for observation they’d said. He could probably go home in the morning.

“You’re coming back to mine,” Roy told Jamie. “No fucking arguments.”

Jamie showed no sign of hearing him, but Roy swore that something changed, his face that little bit more relaxed. Roy sighed, long and slow, bleeding off his anger and forcing his fists open. Jamie didn’t need his anger, he needed his best friend. Roy sat down on the chair pulled up to the bed, scrubbing his hands across his face.

Jamie might have been alone when fists started raining down but he wasn’t alone now.

#Ask game #Ted Lasso #Roy Kent #Jamie Tartt

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cheekyowldraws · 9 months

Text

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Main plot: Friede, Murdock, Liko and Roy appeare fairly often too Minor part: Orla, Mollie, Captain Pikachu, Rockruff, Dot

Ships: FriedexMurdock also called Capncrunchshipping or Murfrieshipping

Summary:

Friede keeps sleeping in the captains chair instead of his bed and Murdock doesn't like that unhealthy behaviour and tries to convince him to take better care of himself, even if that means he has to give him the "Professor" treatment (I headcanon that when Murdock is mad at Friede he doesn't call him by his name and instead calls him Professor so the other man will immadiatly know that he fucked up)

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

Can't you see that I'm caring about you?

It's past midnight and today it's Murdocks turn for the night shift, so he wanders around the Brave Asagi to check on everyone. The kids were all sleeping safe and sound. Liko always slept on her side, sometimes hugging Sprigatito. She was breathing so softly that you could barley hear her. Roy on the other hand was more of a lively sleeper. The boy never layed in his bed the same way and Murdock always got amused to see which pose he would find him in, before gently laying him down in a more comfortable pose, tucking him under his sheets. Dot mostly layed on her back, arms over her head, softly snoring. She had a very deep sleep so it was easy for Murdock to pick up some empty bottles and snack bag, before leaving the room.

The next stop was the Captain's deck and he really hoped that he would NOT find a certain man in here today...but he was proven wrong. Friede was sitting In the captains chair or more laying half on his side. That pose couldn't possible be comfortable in any way ore means. The white haird man was sitting mostly straight, but his upper body leaning widly on the left side while trying to support his head with his arm, his left shoulder pressing against the hard wood. Normally Murdock would just pick him up and carry this unreasonable fool to his room and laying him in his bed, but not this time. Today is different. He is dissapointed...Friede did promise him earlier this day that he will sleep properly in his own bed tonight, but he cleary didn't hold to his promise...so he just let him be like that and left the room, but not before he put a blanket over this stupid idiot. He may be mad but he still cares and don't wanna risk that his best friend gets sick.

The next morning Friede was woken up by the rising sun. He needed to blink his eyes open several times before they could adjust to the blending light. With a deep and long yawn he tried to sit up and was immadiatly met with a stinging pain in his neck „Maybe sleeping here wasn't the best idea“ he admitted while trying to massage his neck. Then the yellow eyed man noticed the blanket he was wrapped in and was slightly confused „I can't remember getting this...“ but before he could think more about this his nose got distracted by the pleasant smell of freshly backed bread. „Hmmm...I wonder what Murdock made for breackfast“ he said ans with a soft smile he exited the room, still trying to strech his body.

Soon he entered the kitchen to see what Murdock was up to „Good morning“ he said with a big smile. The brown hairded man was in the middle of preparing said breakfast and answered him with a cheerful „Good morning did you sleep well?“ and a big smile on his face. Friede instantly grabbed his neck turning his head carefully and alternately to the left and right, making his eyes winch in pain a little while letting out a small groan „My neck is a bit sore“ „I wonder why...“ the chef promptly hissed out with a sarcastic undertone, barley loud enough for Friede to notice that Murdock said something but not being able to understand what exactly so he asked out of concern while lifting one of his brows „Did you say something?“ But Murdock just shakes his head „I was just talking to myself. The breakfast is almost ready so please get the kids“ he said with a smiling face before he continued to focus on the task before him. Friede just nodded and then left the kitchen to look if the kids are already awake. The cook let out a defeated sight as soon as his friend left the kitchen. „That idiot doesn't seem to remember a thing...I just care about you...you stupid“ he mumbled with a rather hurt but soft voice before he finished preparing breakfast. 15 minutes later everyone was sitting at the dining table. As usual Murdock served a tasty meal and everyone stuffed their faces, enjoying every bite. Murdock couldn't help but smile at this sight. But it didn't took long until he got interupted by Roy who almost choked on his last bite, because he ate to hastely.

Friede ate fairly much himself and felt full to the brim „Phewwww that was delicious as always Murdock. I'm so full I definately won't be able to move for a while“ he compliments the chefs food. Murdock just had the biggest smile on his face after hearing that „Thank you I'm happy your enjoyed your breakfast Pro..fes...sor!“ Murdock said the last word with such a joyful but yet terrifying voice that it made Friedes whole body shiver „Oh no...he is upset...“ he thought, cold sweat starting to run down his face while going through every interaction he had with the other man yesterday to find a possible clue of the sudden dissapointment towards him. „What was it!? Did I say anything wrong!? Did I accidentally break something? Did he forgot something important!? But if he forgot it how could he possible remember it now?“ Arrghhhh Friede growls while tearing at his hair „I do so many stupid and clumsy stuff how can he expect me to know what exactly made him mad?“ he thought. Molly and Orla immadiatly sensed the change of athmosphere between the two men. It wasn't the first time they witnessed Murdock getting mad with Friede, so they were sure they will figure things out themselves. After collecting all the dirty tableware Murdock left the room heading back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Liko and Roy got slightly concerened because Friede was sitting their for several minutes without moving a muscle. „A..Are you okay Friede?“ a nervouse Liko softly asked him. But the man didn't respond so Roy tried with his energiy voice this time „ARE YOU OKAY FRIEDE!?“ the small boy neary gave him a heartattack. „I'm...I'm fine!!“ He promptly answered while having one hand on his chest feeling his heart almost coming out „I just got lost in thoughts that's all“ he tried to convince the kids while trying to put on a smile but it looked more like a grimace. „Are you sure?“ Liko worried asked him again. „I'm okay I promise so don't worry okay?“ he said while patting her head with a hopefully normal smile on his face this time before leaving the room with a „I need to check something so see ya later“

Friede spent his whole day trying to find out with what action he upsetted Murdock. He didn't relaized how fast the time flew by when he decided to take a break from thinking. In fact it's already dinner time so everyone was gathering at the dining table. Friede also sat down on his seat and still had no clue. His head slightly hurted from overthinking and he tried to hide it but Murdock did notice. The cook exactly knew why his friend had a headeach so he didn't need to sugar coat him. He is still mad with Friede after all. So yet again the chef put up his brightest smile „Does the Professor have trouble remembering something important?“ That took Friede a little off-guard and he almost choked on his food. He hated that Murdock could read his face so easily. „A well...I guess so“ He said a little awkward while scratching the back of his head „I see...“ The cook almost lost his facade for a moment so he took a short pause before continuing „If you don't remember it probably wasn't that important to YOU so don't sweat it okay?“ Murdock tried really hard to sound happy but Friede catched the sad undertone in his voice and felt even more guilty now. He couldn't bring himself to say anything after that and just silently watched his friend leaving the room.

That whole situation didn't went unnoticed to the rest of the crew. And Friede already sensed judging eyes towards him so he just felt like running away himself „Sorry I ehm I think I should go and check if we still are on the right course so...“ the white haired man hastely stood up, almost falling from his seat and left the room without looking anyone in the face. Liko and Roy just looked at each other confused not knowing what to do. „I think Murdock would be happy if you two could help him with the dishes“ Orla said with a smile on her face to distract them. The two kids just nooded and started to collect all the dirty tableware to bring them to Murdock.

The cook stood in the kitchen, tears running down his cheeks. He just had to leave or else he would have burted into tears in front of everyone „I expected him to not remember but still...my heart feels betrayed...I thought my feelings had reached him...“ the brown haired man pressed his fingers against his closed eyes to stop the tears. He took a few deep breathes to calm himself down. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. But in this moment someone knocked on the door and he started to panic a little „Murdock are you in there?“ Roy asked with a cheerful but hesitant voice. Murdock was a little relieved that it wasn't Friede and heaved out a deep sigh. He promptly wished the last bit of tears away with his right arm and had to clear his voice before he was able to answer. „Yeah please come in“ the two kids then opened the door, hands full of tableware. „We brought all the dirty dishes. Is it okay if we help you cleaning up?“ Liko shyly asked with a soft smile and Murdock was deeply touched „Of course! You two are a great help. Thank you!“ the cook cheerfully said and the two kids happily staretd to bring everything to the sink so Murdock could wash the dishes while Liko and Roy dried everything with a towel.

At the same time Friede was running outside to get some fresh air. He just busted out the door and leaned on the railing. He was out of air and needed to catch his breath. After a while he lifted his head and looked at the sunset. „Right it's my turn on the night shift...“ he whispered to himself. He kept silently watching the sun slowly going down, still thinking about what he can't seem to remember...but to no avail...he just can't remember and he hated himself for it. It was already dark when he finally decided to go in hoping that everyone else already went into their bedrooms setteling down for the night. He opened the door and cautious peak inside. To his delight no one seemed to be here, so without detour he went to the Captains deck grabbing the steering wheel.

Thinking all day about why Murdock was mad at him mentally have worn him out completely. „WHAT DID I DO WRONG?“ He couldn't shake off this question and it started to drive him crazy that he wasn't able to grasp the reason for the chefs dissapointment. Especially after the last conversation „He could just tell me what upsets him though“ It was almost midnight when Friede decided to sit on the captains chair for a while and he literally let himself fall exhausted into the seat. His sore neck immadiatly tried to protest when he leaned against the back of the chair. „I probaly should sleep in my bed today“ he paused for a moment and then just repeated part of the sentence with a questioning voice „...sleep in my bed......in my bed....SLEEP IN MY BED!!! THAT'S IT!!!“ he couldn't help but almost jump out of the chair in the process, just to get his joy of finally knowing why Murdock is mad at him promplty replaced by the realisation that he indeed fucked up and that the other man had the full right to be upset. „So the blanket last night really was from Murdock...he saw me sleeping here after I promised him I would sleep comfortably in my bed...and him directly asking how my night was...and if I struggle to remember something important...“ the man closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Everything made sense now...and he rememberd everything.

The day before:

Friede was keeping Murdock company in the kitchen while the chef was preparing everything for lunch. He sat on the small stool in the corner watching every move of his friend. He made it look so easy, every hand movement is perfectly coordinated. „I could never cut stuff while looking away“ he said after wittnessing Murdock cutting onios without even looking because the man was busy reading a recipe at the same time. The chef actually wanted to test a new dish he recently found or more searched especially for it. Liko is not a picky eater and eats everything the cook makes and he appreciated it but he really wanted to create some comfort food for the shy girl, after everything she went through. „It's not that spectacular. Its only a matter of trainng. I'm doing this for years ya know?“ The humble man said with a smile. „Don't play down your hard work. If it would be so easy everyone of us would be able to cook like you, but that's not the case. I'm complimenting you here ya know?“ Friede protested with a up brow. „Sorry, sorry!“ Murdock answered with a playful voice.

Friede then layed back and coulnd't hold back a small groan, cursing his hurtinh neck. That didn't went unnoticed by Murdock „You slept in the Captains chair again didn't you?“ the cook asked being annoyed by the unhealthy behavior his friend couldn't seem to stop with. But Friede was avoiding eye contact and didn't answer his question. „So I'm right...how many times did I already tell you that it's unhealthy to go one like this?“ Friede just went even more silent looking on the floor now „When was the last time you slept in a bed?“ Murdock asked with a slightly angry but concerned voice, staring at Friede in hope he gets an answer this time.

„You know...last time when we...when we slept in your room together and...“ „THAT WAS LAST WEEK!???“ the big man hissed at his friend „You are telling me you haven't slept in your bed for over a week!?“ Murdock has to admit that his voice came out louder then he wanted to, resulting in starteling the smaller man a bit. But he was shocked after what he just heard. „Ye...Yeah but it's not that big of a deal. Sleep is sleep! Doesn't matter how I get it“ Friede tried to defend himself. „It DOES matter where you sleep!“ Murdock started to scold the him „Your neck hurting is the best example that sleeping in a chair is unhealthy!“ „It always goes away after some time“ Friede tried to defend himslef, not understanding what Murdock is so worried about. The cook went silent for a while after that before he started talking again „Sorry for screaming at you, but can you promise me that you gonna sleep properly in your bed? At least for today?“ he said with a caring voice while looking at him with pleading eyes. Friede wanted to protest but it seemed important to his friend so he promised him to do so.

Back to the present:

Murdock layed in his bed unable to rest. His Rockruff cuddeling right against his chest. He gently petted the little puppy that was already snoring soundly. He couldn't help himself but to smile at this cute sight. But the smile was washed away from his face as soon as he fell back into deep thoughts. „Should he have just told Friede why he is mad?“ He started to play with one of Rockruffs paws, softly pressing it's toe beans. It wasn't the first time that Friede forgot something so he should be used to this, but for some reason he feels really hurt this time, almost betrayed „I just care about him...why can't he understand that I'm just worried? Are my feelings worth nothing?“ The cook asked frustrated while looking at his Rockruff, expecting an answer, but of course the only respond he got was a big yawn. Murdock had to giggle „Of course you don't have an answer on that“ while watching his little fellow getting even more comfortable „Maybe I should talk to Friede tommorrow...“ The cook then turned out the lights and kissed the little puppy on his head before trying to catch some sleep himself, tightly but gently hugging his partner.

The next morning:

Murdock always wakes up earlier then the others so he can prepare breakfast for everyone. Always trying to be as silent as possible. But before he could concentrate on cooking he needed to check something. That something included a certain someone he hoped he could talk to and clear things up. So of course he went to the Captains deck first, because he was sure to find the man here. But to his surprise he only got greated by Cap „Pika...chuuu“ The Pokemon said while doing his icnonic arm crossing pose. „Oh Good Morning Cap you seem in good spirit today“ Murdock replied with a smile. „Hope you are hungry, because I'm gonna make plently for breakfast“ the cook said getting out an excited „Chuuu“ of the Cap. Murdock walked out of the room but instead of going straight back to the kitchen he had to see with his own two eyes. So he now stood before Friedes room slowly opening the door and there he was. Laying on his stomach, arms and legs streched out. Murdock was so relieved to find him sleeping in his own bed „I wonder if you did remembered?“ he softly whispered to himself to not wake up his friend while gently tucking Friede under his sheets. Before closing the door he once more looked back at the peaceful sleeping silhouette and just could smile at this sight.

As expected Friede didn't appeard for breakfast, that wasn't unusual when his friend was in charge of doing the night shift. So Murdock went to bring Friede his share like always when this was the case. He knocked on the other mans door and was about to open it after he didn't get a response to check if he still is sleeping. But to his surprise someone suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. Murdock just tried to balance himself and the tablet with the food while he heard the door closing behind him. Friede was standing there leaning on the door with his back. „G..Good morning Friede!“ the bigger man stuttered out, still a little confused what just happend. But Friede couldn't bring himslef to look Murdock into his eye, not yet. Murdock put the tablet on the little night stand to get it out of the way „Are you alright?“ The brown haired man didn't sounded mad anymore he just was worried „I'm sorry...“ Friede still looking on the floor „I'm sorry I stepped on your feelings and broke my promise...I'm really sorry I'm...“ In that moment Friede took all his courage to lift his head and face his friend properly. But before he could say anything else he felt two strong arms around him taking him into a tight hug „I'm so glad you did remember and took care of yourself“ The cook let out with a trembeling voice followed by softly sobbing. Friede couldn't hold back his own tears at this point and hugged his friend back „Thank you....thank you for always caring about me!“ the words just gushed out of the white haired man with a quivering voice.

A few minutes passed and Friede almost started to whine when loosing the warmth of Murdocks body, because his friend pulled back from the hug. But soon enough he knew why when he felt two big hands gently cupping his face in between. „You know I love you and would do anything for you“ Murdock said with still teary eyes and such an beautiful and angelic voice that Friede wasn't able to hold himself back and pulled the other man into a passionate kiss. He wished this moment would last forever but they got interrupted by his grwoling stomach. Friede was a little embarressed and his already pink cheeks became more redder in an instant. Murdock let out a heartful laugh „Seems like someone is hungry“ he teased „ I guess I could really use something to eat right now“ he answered a little flustered. „Then sit down and eat your breakfast“ the cook said while pointing on the night stand were he put the tablet filled with food earlier. Friede didn't waste time, jumped on his bed and happily started to stuff his face. Murdock just sat right next to him watching his friend enyoing his food, softly smiling.

#pokemon horizons #Professor Friede #Murdock (Pokemon)#pokemon #Pokeani #Friede (Pokemon)#Friede/Murdock #capncrunchshipping #friede pokemon #Murdock pokemon #Roy (Pokemon)#Liko (Pokemon)#Captain Pikachu #mollie (pokemon)#dot (pokemon)#Orla (Pokemon)#rockruff #cheekyOWL writes stuff

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ask-the-royal-absol · 1 year

Note

SIRE WAKE UP!

Destino: I get it. You all can’t get enough of me. I totally understand. I really do. If only I would have known that being the most attractive Pokémon ever would bring this attention. Rule one though: Don’t disturb me when I’m sleeping. Eye bags ain’t a good look for me. The only Pokémon that can wake me up when sleeping are Roy and Hershel. They’re on night shift. And they’re not here. So there’s no danger. No intruders. No voices. Goodnight everyone. I’m gonna carry on dreaming. *mumbles something about getting woken up in the middle of the night cycle and drifts back off to sleep.*

#pokemon ask blog #destino the absol #absol #pokeask #pokemon absol #ask #fakemon #pokemon #pokemon askblog #pokemon oc #ask blog #ask the royal absol #grumpy #they hate it when Pokémon bug them in their sleep #I feel you Destino #go torment them more if you wanna see them really annoyed #they’ve been annoying for far too long #nice to have a little payback

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cinnamon-bunni · 1 year

Text

Day 6: Exhaustion

Hoenstly this might be my best prompt yet. this is my favorite one out of all that i've written <3 Read it on Ao3! Word count: 1.9k

Being burnt-out was Ludwig’s default mode. Everything from just the past weeks could easily be classified as overwhelming, but Ludwig didn’t let himself falter. If he found moving in with King Bowser himself as overwhelming, he could only imagine what his siblings thought. He needed to make sure that everyone was comfortable and safe. He was the older brother, and that meant that his siblings' needs and comforts came first. His own would always come last, and that was just something he accepted long ago.

Trying to make sure they all behaved was a challenge. They were with the king, they should at least know to act normal, or at least be quiet, but of course his siblings thought not. They thought they could just act out, to yell and scream and make scenes, no matter how much Ludwig scolded them. Though, while he was quite annoyed and tired of their antics, a part of him understood that they were just acting out because of the sudden change of their situation. The younger ones still didn’t quite understand everything that was happening around them, not like how the older ones did. He could only hope that Kamek and King Bowser wouldn’t get too fed up with them.

Ludwig’s day was mainly filled with babysitting duty. He rarely ever has time for himself–not that he ever did in the first place, but he remembered when he was younger when he at least was able to find a quiet room to read to himself. Now he can’t really do that anymore. He was always juggling one thing or another, whether it be handling his siblings, a piranha plant that Iggy decided to keep as a pet for some fucking reason, trying to learn how to control his magic (which he should read up on, like how Kamek told him to, but he hasn’t), or stressing mindlessly everytime King Bowser was in the room, even though he’s proven time and time again that there’s nothing to be worried about.

He felt exhausted. It was the type that he could feel in his bones when he woke up, and in his eyes as he slowly blinked into short naps before he woke again. It was hard to sleep, which was insane because the beds at the castle were probably the most comfortable things Ludwig would ever sleep on in his life. But most nights he couldn’t get a wink of sleep, and he knew that sometimes his siblings were the same. Sometimes Morton or Larry would come in the middle of the night, even Wendy too, if Roy was too pissed to handle her from being woken up, and then Ludwig would read to them until they fell back asleep, on his bed, and then he knew that he most certainly wouldn’t get a bit of sleep for the rest of the night.

Ludwig also found that this long, old exhaustion was affecting his skills. The old piano that he used at times didn’t sing as well as it once did, and he knew it was because of him. It was a beautiful piano, one that went unused until the king gave it to him. Just, gave it away. Like it was something you could hand to anyone. Like it was something you gave to some kid you found a month ago.

“Listen, it’s rather you use it, or it sits here collecting dust. Choice is yours, kid.” Ludwig figured it’d be rude to refuse the king’s gift. And besides, where else was Ludwig going to let loose his musical creativity?

And so, after being pressured by the king himself, Ludwig started to use it. But nowadays it sounded awful, with no life in it. Ludwig couldn’t compose, not like how he used to. His mind used to be filled with music throughout the day, no matter what he did. Now though, all there was was just a dull and mindless noise. Every piece he played off of worn and tattered sheet music came out as lackluster and boring. No matter how many times he repeated the same pieces with the same staccatos and accents, he all came out uninteresting.

“Having a hard time?” Finally, a voice filled the room, drawing Ludwig out of his mind. A voice that’s old and scratchy, but never meant to be taken lightly. A voice that once put stress onto Ludwig when he first arrived, as he was sure that the old advisor disapproved of him and his siblings staying at the castle.

“A bit,” he admitted, as his claws danced across the top of the keys, but never quite pushing down on them. A hum filled the air from the magikoopa. Whether it was supposed to be condescending or not, Ludwig wasn’t sure, but he took it as if it was. “I’m sad to say that I’ve been in a bit of a rut as of late.”

“Have you considered taking a break then?” Ludwig swallowed down the urge to scoff.

“And just leave my current problems down the road? Of course not. It’s better to just try and handle it now.”

“Maybe, but often problems are easier to solve once you’ve stopped staring at it for hours on end. It helps to see a clearer picture if you let your mind rest.

“And besides,” the advisor continued, and Ludwig listened as the voice approached him, “lunch will be served soon.”

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered. He sounded like Wendy, too picky and too stubborn to eat her damned food, but it was true. He really wasn’t that hungry.

“I’m sure that you aren’t, but His Majesty would appreciate it if you at least attended. Your siblings would want you there as well.”

“No, but thank you. I would rather not lose my concentration. I’ll just eat at dinner or grab something beforehand.”

Ludwig could hear tsking right behind him. He sighed, and turned around to properly face Kamek. He could feel the advisor’s gaze pierce his soul. Kamek adjusted his glasses after a few seconds of silence, with a quiet hum.

“You’re tired, dear boy.” Maybe so. But Ludwig didn’t really have the luxury of doing something about it, did he? He always had something going on, for as long as he could remember. Besides, compared to Kamek or King Bowser, he didn’t know the first thing about exhaustion.

“If you mean that I’m tired from dealing with my siblings and from adjusting to this lifestyle, then yes, I’m quite exhausted. Hence why I’m here–playing helps me calm down.”

“I don’t doubt that, but even the things we love to do can start to wear us down from time-to-time. Just take a proper break, Ludwig.”

“Oh? And do what, exactly?” Snapping at the royal advisor probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but Ludwig could feel his patience running thin. Why couldn’t he just be left alone?

“Well, catching up on sleep could be a good start. Anyone with eyes can see how worn out you are.”

Worn out? How could Ludwig be worn out? Sure, handling six younger siblings was tough, even when Lemmy helped out, and yeah, the sudden change of their lives just over the year was enough to stress out just about anyone, but when it was little worth complaining about. What about how tired the King looked in the mornings, no doubt working hard throughout the night and handling his newborn? Or about Kamek, who runs the Darklands as much as the King does? And that’s not even considering how any of his siblings were feeling.

Ludwig wasn’t an idiot, he knew that his troubles weren't much compared to others around him.

“I can hear your brain thinking,” Kamek replied to Ludwig’s silence. “Care to talk about what’s going on up in there?”

“Not really, no.”

“Fair enough,” Kamek answered with a shrug. Huh. Ludwig thought it would’ve been harder to throw him off. “But, in return, I ask for one thing.” Of course, because it was never that easy, was it?

“And that is?”

“Go through the library for me.” What? “That place hasn’t been sorted through for ages, and I’m sure there’s a few books that will pique your interest. Along with that, you can find the books that are too old and tattered to be kept, and bring them to my attention to be dealt with. Does that sound fair?”

Well, it wasn’t like he was asking Ludwig to sweep up the floors or clean anything. Besides, Ludwig enjoyed a few good books.

“Sure, I’ll get on that right away.”

~~~

Ludwig ended up falling asleep. At first it was just telling himself that he would rest his eyes for a few short seconds, to which became minutes, and soon became who knew how long. Because, despite how dusty the place was, the library was a nice and cozy area of the castle. It was in one of the wings that staff, or anyone really, ever went down into, so it was quiet. And there were blankets there (albeit a bit dirty), and comfy armchairs, and Ludwig couldn’t resist the urge of wrapping himself up in one of those chairs while reading.

And then he ended up falling asleep. He didn’t even realize that he did, not until he stirred a bit from his slumber. There was movement, and that was about as much as his brain registered.

“Kamek, he’s waking up, I’m doing this wrong-”

“Oh hush Your Carefulness, you’re doing fine. His bedroom is not that much further.”

Hushed whispers surrounded Ludwig, and he felt like he probably should’ve woken up. A part of his brain was screaming at him to open his eyes, but the other eighty percent of his brain was giving in to his drowsiness.

“And besides, you’ve carried your son plenty of times, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but Junior’s a baby. Ludwig’s ten, and, fun fact, they are completely different sizes. ‘M gonna accidentally drop or something.”

“You worry for the worst far too often. How is it that you play out your plans of marrying the Mushroom Kingdom’s princess just fine, but are unable to simply carry a child to his best without fear? You’re doing just fine, the child is just a light sleeper.”

Oh. King Bowser and his advisor were talking about him. And he was being carried by the King of Koopas. Alright then. Right around now would be a good time to show that he’s awake, Ludwig knew that, because he wasn’t some small kid who needed to be carried to their bed when they fell asleep. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the bit of attention.

There was a pause, at least Ludwig thought there was, until more movement. It was quiet, with neither of the adults saying a word. Ludwig wondered if they knew he was awake, or at least half-awake, but didn’t put in the effort to ask.

And suddenly he was being moved. He registered with half a mind the feeling of his body being shifted, and soon the soft comforter underneath him. Ludwig was on his bed he realized, and he immediately relaxed into it. And then a blanket was draped on top of him, and Ludwig felt like he could smile at the sentiment.

His eyes ended up closed instead of half-lidded from earlier. He listened to the quiet click of the door, and hushed voices on the other side of the door. And Ludwig nuzzled his face into the comforter, and finally let himself drift to sleep.

#super mario #super mario bros #ludwig von koopa #bowser koopa #king bowser #super mario kamek #kamek #magikoopa #comfortember #comfortember 2022

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musing-and-music · 2 years

Text

Precious moment

Royai: a compilation part 22

Summary: Roy's sleep quality has varied through time. But after Promised Day, he knows it can be the best again.

Rating G | 456 words | Pre Canon, Ishval, Post-Promised Day, Light Angst, Fluff, 5 Plus 1 Things | Roy Mustang, Royai

Read on AO3 / Read in French

As a growing-up teenager, Roy hated waking up in the morning and would rather stay in bed until the last moment before leaving to middle school when he lived with his aunt.

During his apprenticeship with Berthold Hawkeye, he learned to be reasonable about his bedding time, but the door slamming every morning when Miss Riza left the house to go to school made him often groan in frustration.

III

Once at the academy, he came to regret those times where he could sleep like a log without fearing to be awoken in the middle of the night to run laps with all his stuff on his back, half-asleep.

Because of the battlefield and the recurring nightmares shaking him in Ishval, he couldn’t have a peaceful night anymore and tossed and turned for hours before he was able to sleep and then would be woken up brutally merely one or two hours later to be sent to work.

After the war, he barely slept at night, still haunted by his actions, his victims, and preferred take naps at his desk – to perfect his procrastinator role, he told Hawkeye who couldn’t be fooled and he knew it as much as he’d seen the ever present dark circles under his subordinate’s eyes.

Plus I

Roy sighed contentedly and kept his eyes closed for another minute. Anyway, opening them wouldn’t serve him since he’d only see darkness. But he felt good, and the contact of the person sleeping close to him was warm and soft.

Riza.

A smile bloomed on his lips and he turned to take her in his arms, his bandaged hands on her back, one tenderly caressing the bandage on her neck.

She was alive. She was there. She would stay by his side for all the years to come.

When Riza embraced him back, getting even closer to him in the small hospital bed, he knew she was awake. But neither of them moved, simply enjoying the other’s presence and warmth.

“Did you sleep well?” Riza whispered eventually.

Hearing her voice was soothing, especially after the dark, then uncertain hours they’d lived these past days, separated by the enemy, then by the urgent care they had gone through. Roy’s hand found Riza’s cheek, and he kissed her, avoiding moving her neck.

“I never slept better,” he replied. “What time is it?”

He felt Riza move. “Almost eight. The nurses will be here soon.”

Roy grumbled. To hell with the nurses! He’d enjoy this precious moment for as long as possible. For the first time in years, he’d slept long hours, without interruption, without nightmares, without tossing and turning.

Then, he made a resolution.

Starting today, he’d sleep as often as possible beside Riza.

#royai #i couldn't wait to translate this one #fanfiction #musing writes

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geekkatsblog · 3 years

Text

Things the batfamily have done after being woken up too early. (Headcannons)

Because we all know the bats would sleep though the day if they could. They're literally up all night kicking criminals asses. Everyone's sleep deprived.

Dick

He's actually the only bat who doesn't mind being woken up early. He likes the morning. It's the only time no one can judge his overindulgence for cereal.

Jason

Tried to throw Roy out of the window of his apartment because he was using the microwave and the beeping woke him up. Jason got out of bed and literally threw the microwave out the window. But the day after he ended up feeling bad and brought a new silent microwave to replace the old one, he damaged.

Shot two bullets at Tim who had only come because he'd forgotten his laptop at Jason's apartment. Jason was still sleepy so his aim was a little sloppy, the first one narrowly missed Tim but he ended up grazing him with the next one. Which was how Bruce ended up switching his bullets with rubber ones. He always manages to replace them without Jason knowing and eventually just gave up trying to stop him. Watching the criminals curl up in pain from the bullet hitting them was much more fun anyway.

Tim

Sleeps like the dead, the only way he will wake up is if the person has a fresh cup of strong coffee waiting for him, the smell alone will lighten his sleep. He once managed to sleep though an entire kidnapping at the manor. The kidnappers swiped Damian from right under his nose while Tim slept peacefully. Damian still hasn't let it go 2 years later.

Damian

He didn't have a problem the first year, when he moved into the manor. He slept like if he was in a coffin successfully scaring the crap out of everyone and making them avoid his room in the mornings.

Threw a dagger at Bruce when he tried to wake him up for school. His actions caused Bruce to enforce the rule of no weapons being allowed to leave the batcave unless it's an emergency or it's time for patrol.

Cassandra

Where does she sleep? no one knows by the time anyone can try to wake her up, she's disappeared. Sometime in the middle of the night, Cassie manages to hide and finish her rest undisturbed no one has figured out that she sleeps in her laundry basket to avoid people waking her up.

Duke

Threw an alarm clock directly at the victim's head it broke and the person ended up with a mild concussion. Jason (the victim) had to spend a week of the manor with everyone doting over him. He'd sooner die for the 2nd time than admit he enjoyed it.

Duke in a sleep haze one offered the person waking him up the secret identity of Batman if they would just let him sleep for an extra half an hour. Needless to say Bruce almost flipped out and Duke was forced to do extra endurance training for a month.

Stephanie

Threw a bottle of nail polish at Dick who wanted to wake her up and be the first to wish her a happy birthday. The nail polish bottle wasn't capped tightly enough and the sparkly purple paint landed right in Dick's head. He legit cried when he had to shave off all of his hair and start from scratch..

Bruce

Once Clark tried to wake him up for an emergency Justice League meeting. Bruce staggered out of bed down to the cave and returned with a Kryptonite glove and decked the crap out of Clark, since then Clark would rather watch Bruce sleep and wait for him to wake up before he tries to disturb the man's sleep again. To Bruce the staring is creepy, but atleast he gets to sleep.

In attempt to prank Bruce Jason was all ready to draw on the man's face and body with sharpies when Bruce suddenly got the upper hand and hugged him in his sleep. Jason had to stay there for a whole hour cuddling with Bruce while the older man slept. Jason claims the whole ordeal was more traumatizing than the Joker beating him with a crow bar and blowing him up but Bruce knows better. He and Jason used to cuddle up all the time whenever the boy was sick, had a nightmare or just needed to feel safe and Jason loved it then, plus there's the fact that Bruce was pretty sure Jason would have been able to escape his grip at any time.

Alfred is not involved because no one can touch him.

Last one was inspired by a comic I read where Jason was sick and Bruce sat on the couch and watched tv with him.

And I'm still upset about the whole Ric story arc so I made up another explanation for why he cut his hair. (Forgive me I have problems.

#batman #batfamily #batfamily headcanons #batfam #batfam headcanons #headcannons #funny headcanon #dick grayson #bruce wayne #duke thomas #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra wayne #cassandra cain #jason todd #dc headcanon

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

Note

Can Sophie be Anthony’s team’s caterer please 🥺🥺🥺

Come on, we both know she’s the physio who sits in meetings about Kate’s plans for the players and when they get to Anthony says

“Do you need me to call in sick on Wednesday for Bridgerton’s session so you’re forced to massage him yourself?”

Kate fixes her with a very dry look, “I’m a consummate professional, Sophie, thank you.”

“I bet you wanted to consummate when you saw him getting out of that ice bath last week.” Sophie mutters.

“Oh his speedos were tiny! I was surprised is all!” Sophie didn’t need to know about how she’d woken up in the middle of the night her hands twisting in her sheets after she’d had a dream about what might have happened if she hadn’t stumbled from the room when Anthony stood performatively.

But really: Anthony is a real Roy Kent, ageing quicker than he’d like with far too many kicks to the knee, and I need to make a moodboard for this immediately.

And yes: I will be desperately resisting the urge to call it Bend it Like Bridgerton

#football au #let’s call it offside #offside au #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly’s asks and answers

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novaiya · 3 years

Text

Diamonds & Rust Part II - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Part I

Summary: It’s been three years since that fateful night. Three years during which you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now, the fate once again brought the two of you together. Was it for the last time, or was something else bound to happen?

Words: 8k

Warnings: Cheating, F!Reader, Smut

A/N: If you prefer to read this on AO3, click here. This took me two months to write LOL But in the end, I’m very pleased with how it turned out.

Your hand shook as you held the pen above the crisp, spotless paper. You took a deep breath, writing the date, but couldn’t proceed beyond that. You dropped the pen and planted your elbows on the table, hiding your face in your hands.

It’s been three years since you last saw each other. Three years since you were held in his hands and caressed by his lips. The time you shared on that cold, foggy night felt both lightyears and a touch away. You thought it to be a perfect, picturesque ending to your imperfect relationship, like a final scene in a play, but it seemed it was merely an intermission.

After a few moments of rest you wrote, “Dear Arthur” and spilled out the reason for your letter. Few nights ago, your ranch was attacked by a group of local cattle rustlers. Seeing how well your ranch was doing, they wanted their cut, and when you stood your ground, they were less than happy. They left you alone for the moment, but promised to be back in numbers, and that they were. Not a couple of days later, you were woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of gunshots and a fire outside your window. Like they promised, they were back and ready to take what they felt they were entitled to. You watched them take away your cattle and set fire to your barn as your husband hastily packed up your valuables, and not shortly after, you were on your wagon, bound for your mother-in-law’s house, barely escaping the flames and the bullets.

You signed off with your name and an address of where you were staying, and with fleeing hope, posted the letter the next day.

As you patiently awaited Arthur’s reply or an arrival, a curious elephant entered your household that neither you or your husband were ready to address. The woman that your husband knew you as was a kind, gentle woman who’s biggest crime was accidentally buying two gallons of milk and only paying for one. He never saw, or could imagine you carrying a weapon, and for all he knew, you didn’t know how to use one. The woman he saw during the attack, however, he did not know. She skillfully held the shotgun in her hands, dropped the slugs in without even looking and didn’t fall backwards when the recoil hit. She had a fire in her eyes that threatened to overpower the one outside, and for a second, even he, her husband, was afraid of her. Having been born to a simple family in which his mother was gentle and submissive, serving as a pliable partner to his father, he was shocked to see you so strong and hard. He was still deciding what he thought of this discovery of this new you, and during that time, you could feel him drift away.

You didn’t miss the change in him, how he eyed you from the corner of his eyes during dinner time, or the cold space between the two of you when you went to bed. It hurt and it stung and it made you long for Arthur’s arrival so much more. With him, there were no secrets you had to hide. You never went to bed with a fear that one day your facade would fall apart, and he would shriek at seeing the real you. From the beginning, he knew everything there was to know about you, and accepted it. What some would see as character flaws, he simply saw as character traits that made you who you were. With him, you could be you, something that you realized you couldn’t be with your husband. When the two of your married, you hoped that it would put a final nail in the coffin of your past self, but it seemed that your past self refused to die, and your husband shrieked at seeing the dead corpse.

__________________

“There’s a letter for you, Arthur,” said Miss Grimshaw as she passed Arthur who was hitching his horse to a hitching post.

He thanked her and made his way to his tent where an envelope laid on his cot.

“Let’s see,” he said to himself as he tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of paper. As he read your name on the bottom of the paper, he felt a familiar pang that the thought of you always brought to him. He skimmed through the rest of the letter, plucking the main points as well as your address before shoving the paper in his satchel and making his way to the back of the wagon that served as a wall to his tent. He looked over a map that was there, calculating how long it would take to get to you. Eight hours, he thought, six if he cut on any unnecessary breaks and sleep. He once again made his way around the wagon and went to a chest at the end of his cot, picking out a pair of fresh clothes and other necessary items for the trip. He was doing everything on autopilot, for his mind was too clouded with the thoughts of you to pay attention to what his hands were doing. He remembered your last meeting, and how it opened so many old wounds and created even more new ones. In that moment, when the two of you held each other, whispered love confessions into the silent night, he felt as if he was on cloud nine, but when he left, the blow was just as strong.

When he finished packing, he looked around; Pearson and Abigail were busy chopping vegetables, with little Jack sitting at his mother’s feet. Dutch and Molly were in their tent, talking (arguing would be a better word). The girls were doing chores, with Miss Grimshaw watching over them and correcting their techniques. Most of the men were out on jobs, leaving only Javier standing at guard duty. Even though everyone had free rein to come and go whenever they pleased, Arthur especially, he didn’t want to be asked unnecessary questions, so he waited until Javier was on the other side of the perimeter to mount his horse and ride away to you.

__________________

As you sat at the dining room table of Bertha’s, your mother-in-law, house, you kept praying that Arthur got your letter and found it in himself to help you. You found yourself thinking that maybe it might’ve gotten lost, or perhaps the rain soaked the envelope and the letter to the point it had to be thrown away. With nothing to do but wait, you kept fidgeting with your dress as you sat by the table, only to promptly raise up when you heard the sound of the hoofbeats approach. You pushed the front door open with a smile as hopeful as that of a child, for it to only fall apart when you saw that it was your husband, coming back from a run to the town for provision. The change in your expression didn’t go unnoticed by him, but he didn’t say anything, and just kissed your cold cheek as he moved past you into the house.

“You still think he’ll come?” your husband asked one morning as he sat at the dining room table and you washed the dishes. It’s been about a week since you posted the letter, and Arthur still hasn’t come. You were beginning to lose hope, but didn’t show it.

“I’m sure,” you said, not turning away from the dishes in your hands. You told your husband that you knew someone who could help, and when he inquired who it might be, you told him it was a friend from your past life, someone who helped you get back on your feet after you lost your parents. That didn’t satisfy his curiosity, so he pried on. Answering his questions was like walking through a field full of landmines. Every answer had to be calculated, giving just enough information to satisfy his curiosity and not to lead to more questions. At the end of the conversation, you were hopeful that the newfound information you shared would bring you two back together, but in fact, it did the opposite, and he felt that there was even more he didn’t know about you.

As you washed the dishes, you looked through the window in front of you and felt thunder run through your entire being. You could never mistaken that mare for anyone else, with her unique coat and her silky locks; it was Boadicea, and with her, someone else you could never mistaken; Arthur. You watched him through the dirty kitchen window as he hitched Boadicea to a tree nearby and made his way to the house in strong, long strides. You dropped the dishes back into the sink with a splash and ran to the door, opening it as Arthur was about to knock.

“Arthur,” you said with a smile that lit up your whole face.

He could feel his heartbeat all over his body as he was met with your face. Your smile made your entire face glow, and he could see sparkles in your eyes as you looked at him. Knowing that he was the reason for your reaction, he could feel the familiar haze of feelings cloud his entire being.

He spoke your name in return, his voice enveloping each syllable with affection and tenderness that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, and which your husband could hear from where he sat at a dining room table.

The two of you stood at the threshold for a brief moment, caught up in each other’s eyes and closeness. You fought the urge to embrace him, to kiss him and to tell him how much you missed him, and he did the same. Instead, you moved away and motioned for him to get inside. As he did so, he almost instantly met eyes with your husband, who rose up from his seat to greet the man.

“Roy Dorset,” your husband said as he extended his hand.

“Arthur Morgan.”

As you watched, the two men shared an awkward, silent handshake, during which you had a chance to compare and contrast the two of them. You certainly had a type, you though, as you looked at the men before you, both of them tall and handsome. There were, however, noticeable distinctions that differentiated them, and served as a representation of the person you were with each of them. Roy, being a part time rancher and a part time bookkeeper for a general store in your town, was dressed as a man about town with carefully ironed pants, clean shirt and a vest with all the buttons attached. He was a proper god-fearing, law-abiding man who had traditional standards for people, some of which you sometimes felt you couldn’t reach yourself.

Arthur, in contrast, was dressed haphazardly, wearing old, patched jeans, boots that have seen better days and a shirt that has clearly been washed many times over. By his look, you could tell Arthur didn’t care what others thought of him. He wore - and did - what he wanted, without a care for other people’s opinion. He didn’t hide himself behind anything, and that’s what you wished you could do now.

After a moment of pleasantries, the three of you sat at the dining room table to discuss the matter at hand. You sat at the head of the table, with Roy to your left and Arthur to your right. You and Roy explained what happened at the ranch, adding details that you forgot to write about in the letter. At some point as the three of you talked,

your daughter came up to the table. With her grandmother asleep and all of her toys left at home, she had nothing to do, so she decided to join you.

You hoisted her up to your lap and let her stay with you as you continued talking.

Despite the conversation still going, Arthur lost all attention as soon as he saw your daughter. What shocked him first was that you had a daughter in the first place, but what shocked him even more was how little the girl looked like your husband. While still trying to seem as he was listening, Arthur inconspicuously kept looking between your daughter and your husband. While Roy had dark, brown hair, the little girl in your lap had light, dirty blonde locks. Her eyes, which were traveling all over the room, looking for something to busy herself with, were a whirlpool of green and blue, while Roy’s, which at the moment were looking down on his lap, were a dull, brown shade. Suddenly, realization hit Arthur. He started to think back on your last encounter. Could it be? He tried to figure out how old the child was, and tried to remember the time of the year when the two of you were together. He could feel himself getting lightheaded as all the thoughts filled his mind, making him not hear his own name being called.

“Arthur,” you said once again when he didn’t answer you the first time. As if being pulled out from a dream, he looked around, suddenly forgetting where he was.

“I said, what do you think about the plan?” you said, looking at Arthur at the same time as the girl in your lap.

Arthur could feel all the eyes on him, and a color painted his face. He could faintly remember what you talked about a moment ago. Something about the best path to take back to the ranch, how dangerous the road might be with wolves roaming around. After a moment of pause, he returned with, “Sounds good to me,” and the conversation went on, with Arthur still barely paying attention.

_________________

You carefully slipped out of the covers, trying not to wake your husband up, before walking across the room on your tiptoes, opening the door and leaving the room. You couldn’t sleep. With Arthur’s proximity, you found yourself laying in bed with the thoughts of him. You tried to squash those pesky thoughts, turned from one side to the other in your bed as you kept telling yourself that you couldn’t, shouldn’t do it despite how much you wanted to. As you looked at your husband, his face illuminated by the light from the moon outside, you thought of doing to him what you did to Arthur all those years ago. You left Arthur for a search for a better, calmer and stable life, and now you want to leave that life to go back to Arthur.

You leaned against the kitchen counter as you poured yourself a glass of whiskey, looking out of the window into the world outside. With it being late fall, some trees have already shed their leaves, leaving once bushy woods stripped. You could see birds, once hidden from the prying eyes by the leaves now on full display on the branches. They were close enough that you could hear them sing, but not enough to understand what it is they were saying.

Suddenly, you heard the wood planks squeak behind you and smiled.

“Can’t sleep either?” you said without turning around.

“No,” Arthur replied as he went to stand next to you.

Without another word you took a shot glass and poured him one.

“Thank you for coming,” you said as you gave him the glass. “I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“‘Course I would,” he said before swinging back the shot.

At finally having a moment alone with him, you were fighting back the urge to spill everything that’s been on your mind, to ask every question and tell every answer that you’ve been holding for the past three years and for the past few hours that he’s been here. You decided it’s best to start off slowly.

“How have you been? How’s the gang?”

“Fine, I guess,” he said as he turned around to lean against the counter, crossing his hand on his chest. “Picked up a few people along the way. The gang’s twice its size now.”

You nodded at his answer.

“Seems you’ve had an addition too.”

The statement made heat rise to your face, and you swallowed down, nodding again.

“What’s her name?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Lily.”

“Beautiful name,” he said. “How old is she?”

“Three,” you said, knowing very well where this was going.

“Is she mine?” His voice was calm and reticent despite the fact that his mind was racing so fast he thought he was going to faint no matter what your answer was.

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his question wash over you. The question that was lingering in the air since the moment your daughter was born, and that only became stronger when Arthur came today, was finally asked. To your own surprise, you felt yourself relax after a few seconds had passed. With the question being finally asked, you could feel the weight of it lifted from your shoulder.

“I don’t know,” you said, turning your head away

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he returned, somewhat exasperated.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” you repeated, your voice more stern, but still hushed as to not wake anyone up. “I don’t know.” You lowered your head before speaking again. “I don’t know. Roy and I were trying during that time.”

You held yourself in your hands, your head hanging low. About three years ago, Roy and you have been trying for months to get pregnant. Nothing was happening, until suddenly, it did. Roy was overjoyed, feeling that Isis has finally shined her light on the two of you. You, however, knew it took more than an Egyptian goddess of fertility to bring you to the situation at hand. Right away, you did the math, and despite how much you tried to tell yourself that the days could be a little bit off, the numbers didn’t lie. It only became more apartment when your daughter was born; within a few days, you could see traces of him in her; her light hair, her blue eyes. Even her lips and nose looked like his. She was a visual reminder, everyday, of what you and Arthur could have had.

“She looks like me, you know,” Arthur said, walking around to stand in front of you, his proximity making your heartbeat quicken like it always did.

“I know,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“What if she’s mine?”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your head low and your eyes focused on the ground until you felt his hand, soft and warm on your cheek, making you look up.

You felt enveloped in his love as you looked into his eyes. They were kind and inviting as he looked at you, and without saying anything, they offered shelter from all the worries of life.

His thumb traced your lower lip and you involuntarily opened your mouth, gasping. He stepped a little bit closer, pushing you against the counter with his body, making you feel all of him against you, the thin material of his union suit not leaving an inch of space between the two of you.

“I missed you,” he said.

He pressed his lips softly against yours, giving you a chance to slip away if you so desired to. You didn’t, waving your hands in his hair and bringing him closer instead, deepening the kiss. You hated yourself for not being stronger, for not resisting your inner desires. You hated how with just a touch, he had you under his control. His hands ran down your sides, following your curves from your chest over your waist and to your hips, stopping there. One of your hands reached out to touch his cheek, feeling a light stubble there (he went to you right away after finishing a mission, not having a chance to even shave) You remembered the night the two of you shared three years ago, how the feeling of his lips lingered on your for months after.

You wanted to get lost in the kiss, in him, but suddenly, a voice coming from the stairs pulled you out of your reverie, and the two of you broke apart as fast as you came together. You were slightly panting, both from the kiss and from the rush of anxiety at being caught. You looked up at the stairs from where the voice came, and after a few moments, two small feet came into the light, padding barefoot down the stairs.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” you said as you kneeled down to look at your daughter.

One of her hands held onto the arm of her stuffed bear, a friend who kept her company at night, while the other brushed the sleep out of her eyes, trying to stay awake long enough to talk to you. “Grandma’s snoring,” she drew before yawning.

You smiled, ruffling her blonde locks a bit before saying, “Well, you can sleep with daddy and me tonight then.”

Arthur stood a few feet away, watching the two of you without saying a word. He could feel resentment bubbling in him at your husband, and at the same time, himself. Despite how much he wanted to put all the blame on Roy (for “stealing” you), he realized that the only person he had to blame was himself. If he wasn’t so stupid all those years ago, if he just took your hand and let you lead him out of the outlaw life, this - a life with a house, a daughter and you as his wife - could’ve all been his. “Darlin’, right now ain’t a good time,” he would say when you would press him about finally making your escape. “We need more money if we wanna start on our own” would be another of his excuses. Truth be told, as much as he wanted to start a fresh, new life with you, he was afraid. Outlaw life was everything he’d ever known. He was raised and became the man he was today in it. He was terrified that out there, in the world of law and order, in which one woke up in the morning to start a day of work, and had proper suppers at the table with their family, he wouldn’t survive.

The sound of Lily’s voice, calling for him, pulled him out of his thoughts. Her clear, blue eyes, looked up at him as she asked him if he was her mother’s friend. You turned around to look at Arthur, and after a few seconds he said, “Yeah, I am. Something like that.” She smiled in return, calmed at knowing that the strange, big man was not a stranger at all but a friend. As you picked her up, ready to take her to bed, she introduced herself to Arthur, and asked him what his name was. He introduced himself, and in return, she said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Arthur.” You didn’t know why, but at seeing the scene play out, you could feel tears well up in your eyes. It could’ve all been so different, you thought. The three of you were so close at being a family, practically looked like one right now. You took a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down before murmuring that it’s already too late, and walking over to your bedroom door with your daughter in your hands. You stopped at the door for a second, fumbling with the door knob. Arthur watched your back as you stood, your daughter’s head peeking from behind your shoulder, before you turned the knob and disappeared into the room.

He stood in the dark, empty dining room for a few more minutes, going over the scene that just unfolded a million times. He could feel the weight of everything crushing him down, breaking his bones and turning them into dust. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, shaking his head.

“Idiot,” he said to himself before taking the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another shot.

______________

The sound of birds singing outside accompanied you as you woke up. It was still early and no one was up yet, so you got ready without any hurry before going into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Not a while later, Bertha joined you in the kitchen, and the two of you had everything ready right as the men came to take their seats at the table.

You kept quiet as you ate breakfast, with Arthur sitting across from you, Lily next to him, and Roy next to you. Bertha, being the kind host that she was, something that she got used to from the years of marriage to an army Sergeant, couldn’t sit still and continued to check up on everybody, pouring coffee even when the cups were halfway full and making sure there were no empty plates on the table. It was only when Roy said, “Enough, mother” did she take a seat at the head of the table and started her own meal.

As you ate your breakfast, Roy and Arthur talked, discussing once again the best route to take back to the ranch. Despite not planning on going himself, Roy still wanted to make sure his opinion on the matter was considered and suggested the main road, which although would take longer, was safer from wild animals and any “savage outlaws that roamed the plains.” Arthur snickered at his choice of words, and noted that if he wanted to “come back to a ranch and not heap of ash, a shortcut is a better option.” Roy didn’t reply anything and turned back to his meal.

As Bertha sipped on her coffee, she turned to face you and asked, “Are you going too?”

“No,” both Roy and Arthur said in unison, and “Yes,” said you.

An awkward silence fell over as the three of you looked between each other. You could feel the men eyeing you in bafflement, Roy especially, but you looked at Arthur and spoke to him first.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” you said, disbelief painted all over your face.

Arthur shook his head, looking away and furrowing his brows.

“You’re not coming, it’s too dangerous,” he said, turning back to face you.

You let out a small chuckle before saying, “We’ve faced far more dangerous things than some puny cattle rustlers.”

Arthur dropped his fork and knife on the table with a loud thud and said, “You have a daughter now, I ain’t gonna let you put yourself in harm's way.”

“But you’re gonna let yourself get in harm's way?” you returned, tilting your head and squinting your eyes at him.

“They know who you are, they don’t know me,” he said, the volume of his voice long past what was appropriate for a breakfast conversation. “I can get in and out and they won’t know what hit em”

“And do you expect me to just sit patiently and wait?” you said, throwing your hands around. “What if something goes wrong? What if they’re more dangerous than we thought? Am I supposed to just wait till someone brings in your body?” Your words began to tangle in each other, becoming almost incoherent as you spoke faster than your mind could process. They, however, were cut short as Arthur shouted your name and hit his palm down on the table, making a glass of water spill.

Finally, the silence fell over the dining room once again and the only thing that could be heard were drops of water hitting the floor. Both Bertha and Roy sat wearing similar expressions, their mouths hanging open, eyes wide at what they just saw and heard. They felt like spectators, watching a play unfold before their eyes.

As you tried to calm yourself down, you remembered how back when you were in the gang, the two of you almost never went on missions without each other. At first, it bothered Dutch that if he wanted to send you on a mission, Arthur was bound to come along (and vice versa), but soon, he came to accept that the two of you were a package deal. He even took a notice that the jobs went smoother when the two of you were together, evident by the fact that you would get the job done quicker, and your gains were higher than those that Arthur and you brought when you went separately.

“You know I can’t let you go alone, Arthur,” you said after some time.

As if riding down the same memory lane you just did, he sighted and shook his head.

“I know,” he said before getting up from the table and going over to the room where he stayed.

Slightly shaken up from the intense display that took place, Bertha got up from the table, and without a word started cleaning up, taking empty plates and cups and putting them in the sink. You sat with your eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and bracing yourself for what was to come. You could already feel Roy open his mouth, could already hear his voice…

Arthur was haphazardly throwing his stuff in his bag, crumpling his shirts and pants into balls and pushing them into his bag as if the clothes themselves were at fault for his mood. He remembered how much fun the two of you had when you went on the jobs together. How the sight of blood and the smell of gunpowder did nothing more than excite you. A smile broke through his solemn face at the memory. But now, he thought, it was different. Not only had it been years since you were in the line of fire, but you now had a child. Your life has changed, you got away, broke free from the never ending nightmare in which one has to always look behind their back and sleep with one eye open and a gun under their pillow. He didn’t want you back into that kind of life, if it could even be called that. Deep in his mind, however, he knew it wasn’t for him to decide.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning over a dresser and closing his eyes. He could’ve probably plunged deeper into his thoughts, but a sound of hushed tones outside got his attention, and he straightened up, inching closer to the door and pressed his ear against it.

“I was okay with your past, but this is pushing it,” Roy said.

“Is my past pushing it?”

“Your past is in the guest bedroom, getting dressed.”

Your shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh left your lips. You and Roy have been bickering for the past five minutes. Truth be told, the bickering has been going on for the past few days, but only now has it culminated. The tension that he felt between you and Arthur just a few minutes ago drove him over the edge - the edge to which he came from seeing you hold a gun, hearing more about your past and now, seeing Arthur - and he found himself not being able to hold his thoughts and feelings in any longer. Just like it always happened with couples who started arguing about one thing, only to move on to a completely unrelated one, you both got defensive. The conversation was fruitless. Nothing of the matter was discussed, no solution was reached and everyone was left thinking the other was in the wrong, leaving the two of you sitting next to each other like strangers in a train station, waiting for the next train.

“I’m doing this for us, Roy,” you said.

“You’re doing this for yourself,” he spit out before adding, a little bit softer, “You’ve changed a lot in these couple of weeks. I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

You felt yourself detach from the world upon hearing his words. You could faintly hear him continue talking, referencing the relationship between his mother and father, and how the former always consulted her husband before any major decision, but you were not listening. You smiled weakly to yourself at the irony that upon showing him the real you, with all your past and your secrets, he said he didn’t know you anymore. Didn’t know, or he didn’t want to, you thought. Your mind instantly went back to Arthur, like it often tended to these past few days, and you thought of how from the beginning, he knew who you were, and without a word, accepted and loved you.

“You ready?”

Arthur’s voice pulled you out of your mind, and stopped Roy in his speech. You looked at Arthur, and then at Roy. For the first time since you got married, you didn’t feel anything when looking into your husband's eyes. You could see him plead, silently, for you not to go.

Without saying a word, you got up from your chair and went to your room to get

ready.

_________________

You turned your head around to watch your husband stand on the porch as you and Arthur roared off to your destination. You wondered what he thought as his figure grew smaller and smaller till he completely disappeared behind the trees. You turned back forward, spurring your horse.

The feeling of being back on a horse, with an iron on your hip and wind in your hair was exhilarating. You could feel life flow through your veins as you held the reins. Through clear plains, mountains and forests, the two of you rode non-stop for a few hours. There was not a single person on your way, only occasional elks, deers, and raccoons accompanying you on the journey. For a moment, you felt like you were once again an outlaw. All of this felt so familiar; you and Arthur, adrenaline in your veins, dirt road ahead. For a moment, you caught yourself thinking that if it weren’t for your daughter back home, you simply would’ve kept riding on.

As you kept going, the sun slowly began to set, painting the road in front of you in orange.

“Let’s make camp,” Arthur said when the sun completely disappeared, and the night loomed over.

As you found a secluded space in the woods, the two of you fell into a long-established routine, with you going out to get some firewood and Arthur hunting a rabbit for the two of you to eat. The night might’ve been a bit chilly, but with the campfire next to you and the rum Arthur found in his satchel, the two of you were nice and warm as you enjoyed food, drinks and conversations that piled up from years apart.

Your combined laughs could be heard all throughout the forest as Arthur told you about the latest predicament that John got himself into, and which he of course had to save him from. Sounds like John, you thought. You couldn’t tell how many times you and Arthur were sent to rescue him from some sort of trouble. Being the youngest, John always felt that he had to prove something to someone, which in the end, only proved that he was still the baby of the gang (despite at that point being a full grown adult).

Gradually, the laughter died down, but the smile still lingered on your lips.

“What are you so happy about?” Arthur said.

You looked into the fire, watching the flames dance and reach towards the sky, as you answered. “It’s been so long since I felt so at ease, so free…” you said.“I just-I’m real happy being here.”

Arthur hummed at your answer before saying, “Ranch life ain’t cutting it for you no more?”

“A woman can only shovel shit for so long,” you said, making Arthur chuckle. You took another swig of the rum before passing it to Arthur.

“I took this all for granted when we was together,” you said, looking around, “the freedom, the nature, the road. And now when I don’t have it, I crave it.”

You looked up, catching Arthur’s gaze and holding it as you continued.

“I find myself so often thinking about the past,” you said and added, a little lower, “about you, how much I miss it all.”

Arthur could already feel the effect of your words on him, could already feel the intensity with which his heart beat faster. Hearing you say those words, sparked a flame in him. Only a few seconds passed before you continued speaking, but it was enough for Arthur to imagine, for a brief moment, a future with the two of you together. Could it be possible? Did he still have a chance at the happy ever after? He always was a firm believer that you can’t expect good things to happen to you while doing bad things, but in that instance, he allowed himself to believe that something good could happen.

“Oh, Arthur,” you said, shaking your head, “I think I made a mistake all those years ago.”

The camp was silent except for the crackling of fire as your words hung in the air. Unlike a few years ago, you didn’t backtrack on your words, didn’t feel embarrassed by them. You meant every syllable and every letter. As much as you adored your current life, with your cows and your ranch, you found yourself thinking more often that you weren’t meant for it. You were tired of playing the role of the doting housewife, a rancher, shoveling shit and milking cows. The real you was out there, among the horses and the gun smoke. The thought only got stronger the closer you were to Arthur, and now that you were sitting next to each other, your thighs almost touching together, it reached its pinnacle.

No more words needed to be said as you held Arthur’s gaze. Everything has been said years ago. You stood up and got into his lap, draping your hands over his shoulders while his instantly went for your hips. The two of you stayed like this for a moment, admiring each other under the moonlight. You were conscious of nothing except the feeling of each other’s bodies against one another. Finally you moved your head closer, brushing your lips against his. You could feel his breath on your lips, the rum that the two of you drank still fresh on them. He closed his eyes, already leaning forward towards you.

His hands tightened on your hips when you pressed your lips against his, slow and gentle like you always were. The two of you quickly found a comfortable pace, your lips moving against each other in a perfect flow, your tongues brushing against one another every once in a while. Instinctively, you started to move your hips against his, searching for that delicious feeling you were craving. Arthur wasn’t holding back either, moving his hips in tandem with yours, brushing his clothed erection over your center. His hands left your hips, moving to your blouse and unbuttoning it, revealing your naked chest.

You helped him completely remove your blouse, throwing it into direction unknown. As soon as it was away, his mouth was on your skin, starting at your neck and moving down to your chest.

“Arthur,” you moaned when his tongue circled your nipple. You tangled your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp and pushing your chest closer to his mouth. You could feel his beard scraping at your chest, adding a slight burn that only heightened your pleasures. One of his hands started palming your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers and making you throw your head back, moaning into the night.

He started going up your neck once again, leaving light nips and kisses from your chest, up your collarbone and neck, reaching to your ear. He kissed behind your ear while one of his hands was palming your breast, sending jolts of pleasure all through your being.

“Darlin’,” he said, kissing over your jaw and cheek, “I ain’t never lettin’ you go again.”

When it came to words, Arthur’s were always simple. He didn’t use any extraordinary vocabulary or elaborate euphemism. He always said what he meant, and his words always came from his heart. Hearing him utter this promise now, which held a vision of the future so beautiful you could hardly imagine it, made you teeter on the verge of crying tears of joy. You crashed your lips against his, not knowing any other way to express the sheer mix of love, lust and longing you were feeling.

Neither of you could wait much longer and you untangled yourself from each other, standing up and starting to remove each other's clothes. He helped you unbuckle your belt and throw it aside while you unbuttoned his shirt. His lips were back on yours as he helped you pull his shirt away and went to work on the buttons of your pants. Before long, the little camp you set up was littered with your combined clothes, leaving you in just your drawers and Arthur in his union suit.

It was a beautiful night, with a sky so clear that the amount of stars around was inestimable. You, however, didn’t pay any attention to them, keeping your eyes on Arthur as you slowly pulled down your drawers, letting them fall to the ground. His breathing became haggard as he took in your naked form, flushed in pink from the campfire next to you. He's seen you naked before countless times, yet the sight of our body never stopped to take his breath away. His breathing was caught in his throat as he watched your every movement, following your hands as they reached out to the buttons of his union suit.

You could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes as you stood in front of him, popping button after button of his union suit, revealing his tan skin. Once the last button was open, he helped you take his union suit off, leaving the two of you naked to each other.

He took your hand in his and helped you down to the bedroll, covering your body with his. With the campfire next to you, and Arthur’s body covering yours, you felt warm and safe, protected from any and every thing the world could throw at you. One of his hands reached out, cradling your face.

You placed your hand on his chest, running it up to his head and tangling it in his hair, bringing him down and pressing your lips against his. The kiss was as fiery and as hot as the fire you were laying next to, and in that moment, you realized that you never fell as alive as when you were with Arthur. “Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for things it has forbidden to itself,” you remembered a quote from the book you were reading a few weeks ago, and realized you were tired of resisting. You didn’t know what tomorrow had in store for you, but right now, you had Arthur and that’s all that mattered.

Breaking the kiss, he looked you in the eyes and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You didn’t even have to think to answer. Your answer came so quick it almost sounded as if the two of you talked at the same time.

The lopsided smile that appeared on Arthur’s lips at your words was so genuine and innocent, it made you smile in return. You made sure to burn the image of it in your memory, just like all the others you got throughs the years when the two of you said, “I love you”.

He settled comfortably between your spread legs and took a hold of his member before slowly pushing in.

“Arthur,” you moaned his name, clawing at his back when he bottomed out. You were practically dripping with how wet you were, yet his girth still gave you that delicious feeling of being stretched.

He kept still for a few moments, letting you get used to him all while whispering praises in your ear and kissing down your neck. When you felt you were ready, you moved your hips.

As if in a dream, silhouetted by the trees, the two of you made love under the starry night sky. The erotic novels would be envious of the passion the two of your shared; your bodies, sweaty, moving against each other in a perfect rhythm, your hands and legs, entangled in each other, your moans and sighs, unbounded, sounding in an empty forest. You were so lost in each other, you didn’t care if anyone heard you, the existence of other people didn’t register to you. The world was only as big as your camp, and the only people in it were the two of you.

You could feel yourself near the peak, could feel your legs twitch each time Arthur hit that delicious spot in you. He could feel it too, with how your walls were squeezing him tighter, and how your eyes were rolling to the back of your head each time he pushed in you. He wasn’t far behind either. One of his hands reached between the two of you, finding your clit and teasing it. It was as if an electric current shot through you; all your energy centered on where Arthur was touching you. You dug your nails into Arthur’s back, holding on to him as you breathed his name into his ear.

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear, “let me feel you.”

As if hearing his voice was the last piece you needed to fall apart, you did. You saw white for a few moments as the immense pleasure took over your body, igniting every last nerve in you to life. You kept your body moving against his, your primal urges making you chase every last bit of pleasure you could get.

The sight of you so lost in lust, your face contoured from the pleasure you were feeling pulled Arthur overboard, and he came a few moments later, spilling in you and warming your walls with his seed.

The two of you stayed like this for a few more minutes, entangled in each other, whispering “I love you”s as you showered each other with kisses, from neck, to cheeks, to forehead and lips.

In the end, the two of you moved to the tent, draping a blanket over your bodies and holding onto each other. As the night went on, the tent filled with your combined dreams and hopes for the future. For the first time since the two of you got together, Arthur seriously discussed the possibility of leaving the gang so the three of you (You, Arthur and your daughter) could run away somewhere. You listened to him with your mouth open, not daring to make a single noise in fear of missing even a word he said. Could it be possible, you thought. Could you finally have the perfect ever after you’ve always dreamt of with Arthur? By the tone of his voice and how deeply in details he went as he planned the possible escape, you realized that your new life was right around the corner.

Despite the exhilarating conversation you were having, the two of you remembered you still had to wake up early tomorrow to make it to the ranch in time (the final loose end you had to tie before you were free). Reluctantly, you brought the conversation to a close - hopefully to be picked up again later - and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

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rainbow-femme · 2 years

Text

It’s the middle of the night but I just woke up from a dream about Succesion, which is wild because I barely watch it

There’s a big rich people holiday party all of the Roys go to, partly for the optics and partly to keep Logan from saying something about going from “Christmas” to “Holiday” that will get reported badly.

Kendall, Shiv, Roman, and some smart ass business dude end up on the roof and getting into an argument and all 4 fall over the side (one of those buildings tall enough that falling off is bad but it’s not like 80 stories)

Kendall gets the least injured and wakes up in the hospital hurt but kinda ok and finds out Shiv and Roman haven’t woken up yet. He has an emotional thing with Logan who was worried even though they’ve been opposing each other for so long, he has a come to Jesus “family is what matters” realization about his siblings

Tom is getting a lot of attention as the husband of the injured woman and he really enjoys all the sympathy and is really playing up how upset he is and Greg is like that’s kinda fucked up, Gerri is realizing she’s more upset than she expected to be but can’t show it like Tom can even though he doesn’t feel it as much

And everyone thinks Logan is being very sweetly upset and worried until they realize that it’s being reported to the media that this sweet old man who was fighting with his kids is caring for them in the hospital and putting business aside and Kendall starts to wonder if any of it is real or if his dad is using his own injuries and the possible deaths of his siblings as a PR stunt and he’s torn between wanting to hold onto the world where they’re a loving family that can ignore business or acknowledging that his dad may be way further gone than he ever imagined and not only could he lose half his family but his father may benefit from it in the court of public opinion

And it ends on a cliff hanger for if Shiv and Roman will wake up

Also at one point I’m fairly sure there was a bear, not sure how he fit into the story

#it was a very dramatic dream #succesion

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honkytonkdyke · 3 years

Note

hey! i noticed u were looking for some prompts from the trope bingo 👀 could you do "in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm"? 😍💖💞

ahh thank you so much for this request!! it was a lot of fun to write, and i hope you enjoy!!

sharing a bed trope bingo - in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm

also on ao3

A stakeout mission isn’t out of the norm for Roy’s unit. They find a place to stay the night and secretly gather information on their suspect and exit the following morning without being discovered. Sometimes, they didn’t even have to stay the whole night.

This mission was supposed to be one of those missions. It was supposed to be an in-and-out operation to observe the hideout of a local drug ring, located in the woods of East City. But a snowstorm had other plans for the colonel and the lieutenant.

“Fuery, can you hear me—over?” Roy speaks into the radio and peers out the window, awaiting a response. None comes.

Riza’s on the other side of the room, looking out a window with her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s not letting up, Colonel. I doubt you’ll get in any contact with the unit tonight.”

Roy curses under his breath. Despite the circumstances, he’s glad to be out of the snow and inside a cabin. The cabin in question appears to be a rental spot for honeymooners based on the cozy decor, small kitchen, and one bedroom at the back of the house. There’s a fireplace in the living room that he lit upon arrival.

The colonel moves to the couch to maintain a view of the door, the two windows, and his lieutenant. He doesn’t like not being able to contact the other members of his unit, but as long as they are safe in East City, he doesn’t have anything to worry about. His main priority is keeping himself and Riza safe for the remainder of the night.

“There’s an unopened jar of jam and a loaf of bread in the cabinets, if you’re hungry,” Riza says after sitting down in a rocking chair by the fireplace. “I found it when I surveyed the house. The bread seems fine for consumption, and there’s a toaster.” She pushes herself back and forth with her foot.

Roy rises from the couch and enters the kitchen. “We should have something to eat before we call it a night.” As Riza goes to move from her spot from the fireplace, he shakes his head and adds, “I’ll take care of yours, Hawkeye.” He asks how many pieces of toast she would like.

“Two will be fine,” she answers after a moment of hesitation. Riza’s eyes fall to a spot on the ground as she continues to rock back and forth in the chair.

The scene draws up an image of them as newlyweds in his head—a night that isn’t the result of a mission that went wrong. It’s the night after their wedding, and they’ve escaped from the city for a night of celebration in the countryside. Once her two pieces of bread are in the toaster, he watches Riza from behind the counter in the kitchen as she pulls a throw over herself from the waist down. She’s relaxed, and it only strengthens the picture of her as his wife.

After a few minutes of daydreaming, Roy’s brought out of his head by the bread popping out of the top of the toaster. The toast is golden brown—just how he remembers her liking it—and he places the slices on a white plate he found in the cabinet. He then pops two pieces of bread in there for himself. The colonel finds a butter knife and opens the jar of jam, and upon spreading it on the pieces of toast, he realizes it’s strawberry—Riza’s favorite. He also gets her a glass of water from the sink. Once his toast is finished, he spreads the jam and gets a glass of water for himself.

Riza’s eyes are half-shut and she’s barely rocking now, but as he walks into the living room, her eyes quickly open and meet Roy’s.

“I apologize, sir,” she immediately says and straightens in her seat. “I don’t need to let my guard down while it’s just us.”

Roy gives her the plate of toast and the glass of water and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Hawkeye. I have the feeling that we’ll be alright out here,” he says. “Eat up, Lieutenant.”

Riza looks down at the toast, and a twinge of red spreads across her face. She looks up at Roy and smiles. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Roy smiles, and he fights the sudden urge to kiss her forehead. The picture of her as his wife returns, and he pushes it to the back of his mind as he sits down on the couch.

“We’ll have to sleep in shifts tonight considering there’s only one bed.” Riza takes a bite from her toast. Her eyes then light up. “Oh, this jam is so good, Colonel.”

Roy tears off a piece of his own supper and smiles. “We’ll have to contact the owner and see if we can get any more for the unit,” he says. “But I don’t think sleeping in shifts will be necessary, Hawkeye.”

Riza stops mid-bite. After swallowing it down with a swig of water, she meets the colonel’s gaze and tilts her head. “Sir, we’re still in the middle of an operation.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone will be able to get in that door with it snowing like it is,” he says and takes another drink from his glass. “And it’ll be much warmer if we share the bed instead of getting up and down all night and letting all the cold air in, don’t you think?”

Riza’s cheeks are red again. “Yes,” she says softly. “I suppose you’re right.”

The lieutenant finally relaxes and nods. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while longer as they both finish their toast; the exhaustion of the day has finally caught up with them both.

“Thank you for the toast, sir.”

“You’ve already thanked me once, Hawkeye,” Roy says and smiles in her direction.

Riza places the plate and the empty on the mantle of the fireplace. “If you want to go ahead and go to sleep, Colonel, I’ll keep watch up here,” she says and stretches out her arms, settling further into the rocking chair. Her eyes are half-shut, and she’s too tired to even realize it.

Roy chuckles softly at his lieutenant’s state of sleepiness. “We agreed to sleep in the same bed, remember?”

“We did, didn’t we?” Riza says as she yawns and shuts her eyes completely. She then goes still and her breathing slows. The lieutenant has fallen asleep.

Roy shakes his head and stands from the couch, yawning as he does so. He rubs his eyes before walking over to the rocking chair. He carefully eases Riza out of the seat and into his arms, ensuring that she remains wrapped in the blanket.

He turns off the light and exits the living room, carrying his lieutenant into the bedroom at the back of the cabin. Roy places her gently on the left side of the bed and swaddles her in the blankets and bedsheets. Once again, he’s fighting the urge to kiss her on her forehead or even her cheek. The colonel sighs as he walks over to the right side of the bed and slides under the covers, careful not to wake her.

Riza stirs in her sleep, and for a moment, he’s scared that he’s woken her up. Instead, she rolls on her side and lays her head on his chest, her eyes closed the entire time. Her breathing is steady, and the lieutenant is still asleep.

Roy brushes her bangs out of her eyes and smiles at her peacefulness.

“Good night, Riza,” he whispers, “Sleep well.”

#royai #royai fanfic #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #vadetakesarequest #vade's post #vadesmasterlist

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

Text

Writers Month Day 5: Secret Word Count: 4850 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery Warning: Talk of abuse, although mostly hinted at. We all know that’s tied into Riza’s tattoo. Summary: One night on their way to Ishval, Hawkeye’s tattoo is revealed to the team. The discovery and consequential fallout do not go over so well. Notes: This is heavily based off of a headcanon session I had with @canisfuria some time back. This or something very similar (and more polished) will eventually be part of a longer series of one-shots I have planned. AO3 || ff.net

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Secret

Noise interrupted the otherwise peaceful, if hot, desert night. Out of the three tents, the one in the middle was suddenly rocking with commotion, breaking the unusual peace the night had previously brought. Of course, this meant that the occupants of the other tents were woken as well, the shouts and the sight of the tent shaking sending them rushing over to it.

Mustang arrived first, the tent he and Hawkeye shared a little bit closer. He pulled a glove on, eyes sweeping over the area, ready for action. He never had time to assess the situation, however, as Havoc emerged from the tent, a wild-eyed rage about him. Without warning, but with a bellow of rage, Jean Havoc locked eyes on him, and then decked Roy Mustang. The hit was audible, and the General went back hard, hitting the sandy soil with a painful sounding thump. Shouts of surprise went up all around, but Havoc seemed singularly focused as he took another step towards Mustang.

Falman, who had been coming towards the commotion as well, threw himself between Havoc and Mustang, trying his best to hold Havoc back. Fuery, who had come out with Falman, was already by Mustang’s side, helping him sit up, although he kept an eye on Falman and Havoc. Havoc’s rage hadn’t abated, and Falman was struggling.

Lost among the noise was the sound of a tent flap opening. Hawkeye emerged, quick and distressed eyes taking in the scene, even as she clutched a shirt that was clearly not her own around her. Breda, not saying a word, but with a deadly serious look on his face, stayed right next to her.

“What in the name of all the gods was that for, Havoc!” Mustang growled out, starting to stand. Fuery stayed by his side, still watching.

“I saw her back!” Havoc yelled out, still struggling against Falman, still obviously angry.

Mustang stared at him, shocked, before his gaze switched over to Riza.

“An accident, sir,” she said her voice deceptively steady. “The lamp caught my shirt on fire, and they pulled it off of me.”

Breda hadn’t moved from Hawkeye’s side, but his gaze was firmly fixed on Mustang. “You need to explain yourself, General.”

“Explain nothing!” Havoc spat out. “He needs to—”

“Havoc, enough!” Hawkeye snapped out. She stepped up, warning Breda off with a glance as he moved to stay beside her. She moved to stand in front of Havoc, who stopped trying to break Falman’s hold when she moved between him and Mustang. “I will not explain myself like this, nor will I do it while you attack the general.” She glanced back at Mustang and the two of them exchanged a look. “Come with us,” she said, her eyes hard and clearly not accepting any other option.

Mustang and Riza moved off and, after a moment, Havoc shook off Falman, and followed after them.

As the three moved off, Fuery and Falman stared after them, more than a little confused. Breda watched, his look calculating and guarded.

“What… what just happened here?” Falman finally asked, as the three of them watched the other three, who were only a short distance off, although mostly out of earshot.

Riza had planted herself between Mustang and Havoc, which looked to be the only reason that Havoc wasn’t punching Mustang again. Although the group at the tents couldn’t hear what was being said, they could clearly tell that there were raised voices. The conversation obviously wasn’t going well, if the wild gestures and threatening body language meant anything.

Finally, Breda spoke. “…if you had to choose between the general or Riza, who would you side with?”

Both Falman and Fuery snapped their heads towards Breda.

“…Sir?” Fuery asked, the confusion clear in his voice.

“’You heard me,” Breda said, sparing both of them a look. “Who would you side with?”

Fuery’s brown crinkled in confusion. “They’re… They’re the same side,” he said.

“No, they aren’t,” Breda said. “They’re two different people with two different goals.”

Fuery and Falman exchanged a look.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” Falman said.

Breda scoffed, and looked back at the three who were arguing. Havoc had put himself between Riza and Roy, as if he were protecting her. Breda’s jaw tightened. It was too late for that wasn’t it? He shook his head, and looked back over at the other two.

“She came in tonight. She never said why, just like the other times, but Hav welcomed her in all the same. She looked like she needed it. We moved things around to accommodate, but somewhere in there the lamp’s glass must have tipped up, and the flame caught her shirt on fire. I noticed it first, but Havoc was closer and acted. He pulled it off of her, but that was when we both saw it.”

He paused, his jaw working. Riza had worked her way back between Havoc and Roy, and was clearly angry. Neither Falman or Fuery said anything, waiting for Breda to continue.

“Her back,” he said. “From neck to waist and side to side, it’s covered in a large tattoo of Roy’s matrix.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from the other men but didn’t take his eyes off of the woman in question. “It’s also covered in three large burn scars. One is bigger than my hand, one about half that size, and another the size of my palm. They’re bad enough they destroyed the tattoo, and they’re old.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Falman let out a Drachman explicative. Fuery opened his mouth, only for a loud shout to take their attention back to the other three.

Hawkeye shoved Havoc back sharply, her voice rising up, loud enough to be heard. “—DARE you determine what’s right or wrong in MY life! That’s for ME to decide and I have MADE my decisions!”

It looked as if Riza was about to fight Havoc on her own, if not for Mustang interfering. He said something that they couldn’t hear to her, and she held her place, although she was clearly angry. There were a few more exchanged words, and then, suddenly, they all split up. Mustang had his arm around Riza’s shoulders, and the two of them walked away together while Havoc turned and went in the opposite direction, heading back towards the camp.

Falman and Fuery said nothing as Havoc came closer, not sure what to say, but Breda simply asked “Hav?” without moving.

Havoc didn’t slow down as he passed them, hands balled up and shaking. “I’m going for a walk,” he ground out, stiff and angry.

Breda gave a nod, and like that, the argument was seemingly over, although absolutely nothing was resolved, and the tension remained.

By the time Havoc returned, an hour or two had passed, although no one was asleep. He passed by Falman and Fuery, who were by the fire, talking in hushed voices. The light was still on in his and Breda’s tent, meaning the other man hadn’t gone to sleep yet. But more importantly to the blonde, there was still a lamp light on in Mustang and Hawkeye’s tent.

Havoc walked to it, stopping outside of it with an inaudible sigh and steeled his nerves. Now that he was calmer, he knew that he needed to get to the bottom of this. He knocked on the tent flap and waited. There was a pause of activity, and then Mustang’s voice called out.

“Come on in, Havoc.”

Havoc pushed the flap aside, ducking his head as he entered. Hawkeye and Mustang both stared up at him. She had been cleaning her guns, Havoc noted, and Mustang had been reading, and, apparently, icing his cheek, although where he had gotten ice from was anyone’s guess.

“I want to apologize,” Havoc said, and Mustang raised an eyebrow. “But let’s get something straight. I’m not apologizing for the punch—not yet.” He sat down in front of them, face serious. “I’m apologizing for acting without knowing all the information. I saw Riza’s back, and I jumped to conclusions. It an old flaw of mine, especially with people I care about. But until I know the whole story, I’m not apologizing for the punch.”

Hawkeye and Mustang exchanged looks.

“That’s fair,” Hawkeye said, although there was still something strained in her voice. Mustang sat up straighter, putting his book to the side while Hawkeye started nimbly reassembling her gun, and Havoc realized that Mustang was waiting on her to start the story.

“When I was young,” she said as her fingers worked. “My mother died. I have very little memory of her, but I knew that she loved me dearly. Her passing left my father and myself behind. Before mother passed, I know that Father loved me. Or, at least, he was fond of me. I have some memories of him playing with me. However, with mother’s death, his warmth also left. I suppose it was his way of coping, but Father threw himself into his research.” She put the last piece on her gun and looked up at Havoc. “He was an alchemist, you see.”

She took a breath but kept going. “From then on, Father was a cold, demanding, frightening man. He cared only for his studies and for finding someone to carry them on.” Her jaw tightened, and she looked away for a moment, before refocusing on Havoc. Mustang shifted the smallest bit closer to her. “He determined that I was not intelligent enough to continue them. I believe that any chance of regaining his affection died that day, although I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“After that, my role in his life was reduced to housekeeper, cook, maid, and occasional outlet for his anger. I was also expected to keep up with my own studies. As the years passed and the money ran out, I took on additional tasks, such as hunting, gardening, and anything else that needed to be done. He had little to do with me, and after learning what having his attention now meant, I preferred it that way. Father, meanwhile, took on apprentice after apprentice, only for each of them to leave. When I was nine, a new apprentice came.”

She glanced at Mustang, and a bit of a smile touched her lips. “It was a smarmy city boy who didn’t look like he’d last five minutes on his own in the countryside. To my surprise, he lasted much longer than that with my father. Eventually, we grew to be friends.”

Her smiled faded. “However, when Roy was eighteen, and I fourteen, he enlisted in the military. Father did not approve of the military and especially not of state alchemists. He refused to teach Roy anything further, kicked him out, and disavowed him. After that, Father threw himself into his research to the point that I was afraid he would die in the midst of it.”

She stopped, taking in a breath, and Mustang definitely slid closer to her. “When I was fifteen, he asked me for my help. He wanted to entrust me with the secrets of his flame alchemy. Despite everything, I still wanted my father’s affections, and I agreed. For a year he tattooed my back. At first, I thought it would gain me his love, but I soon realized that wasn’t the case. All he cared for was his research. I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I had no choice but to comply. I was sixteen when he finished. The next year, he died.”

She looked at Mustang. “Roy had come back after graduating, trying to see if he could convince father to teach him the secrets of flame alchemy. He died while talking to Roy. Roy helped me bury him, and we talked. I determined that he truly could use flame alchemy for good, and so I showed him my back.”

Here, Mustang picked up the story. “I was… horrified… to see what Master Hawkeye had done. But at the same time, I was hungry for the knowledge. We talked it over more, and with her agreement, I spent nearly a year there, studying her back. Afterwards, I went to take the test and received my state alchemist title.”

“I decided to join the military as well,” Hawkeye said. “I wanted to help people, too. I wanted to protect our country.”

They looked at each other, and for a moment, they didn’t say anything.

“It didn’t turn out like we had planned.” Mustang finally said. “And we both blamed ourselves.” He reached over and took Hawkeye’s hand. “I found her, just before leaving, patting down the dirt on a grave.”

“It was an Ishvalan child,” Hawkeye said, looking down at their hands. “I couldn’t bare to leave him like that.”

“It was there she asked me to burn her back,” Mustang continued. “I wanted to refuse, but...”

“I was insistent,” Hawkeye picked back up. “There could be no more flame alchemists. I would not be responsible for that level of destruction again. I was the guardian of the secrets of flame alchemy. I would rather die or be defaced then let anyone else learn them.”

“We waited until we were both on furlough, and then… I did it,” Mustang said, his voice rough. “I only burned away the most important parts. I was afraid doing more would kill her. But I burned her, helped her through the worst of the recovery.”

Hawkeye looked back up at Havoc, her gaze steady, sure. “It was my choice,” she said. “It was my choice to have him burn me, and my choice to follow him after that. I could have quit then and there, but I chose to stay and fight for a future where no more Ishvals would happen again.” She paused, making sure she had his attention. “My choice, Havoc. My life. My decision.”

For a moment, Havoc was silent. Then, slowly, he nodded. “That’s… a lot to take in.” He was quiet for a few moments longer, processing all he had been told, and then he turned his attention to Mustang, his gaze still hard. “You worked with Berthold for years. You knew him almost as well as she did. And you didn’t do anything to save her?”

Mustang kept Havoc’s gaze for a moment, and then bowed his head. “That’s correct.”

“What are you talking about?” Hawkeye interrupted. “He made living with that man bearable!”

“But he still left you living with him,” Havoc shot back.

“Instead of doing what?” Hawkeye demanded. “Whisking me away on horseback? That man was a monster, but he was still my father!”

Havoc looked at her, and them, his expression unfathomable for a moment. He looked as if he wanted to argue the point, to say something more, but then he let out a sight. “Right,” he finally said, looking away. “It’s the past. There’s nothing to do about it.” He looked back at Roy. “Sorry for that right hook.”

Mustang let out a huff. “Yeah, well, don’t let it happen again.”

“Not unless you truly deserve it,” Havoc agreed.

He looked over at Hawkeye. “And sorry about… well, I’m not going to apologize for defending you or wanting to protect you, but sorry for not listening first.”

Hawkeye shook her head. “It’s alright,” she said.

With that, Havoc got up, bidding the both a good night. He exited the tent, but he wasn’t ready to settle down yet. He had too much to mull over, but he also didn’t feel like being alone, Looking around the camp, he could see that Breda was out of their tent, looking over something with Falman. But Fuery didn’t seem to be busy. Havoc approached him.

“Hey, Sarge. Wanna go for a walk?”

Fuery blinked up owlishly at him but gave a nod and stood. “Sounds good, sir,” he said.

Together they ambled away, towards the tree line. It was still dark out, and nothing much was said for the first few minutes of the walk. Havoc didn’t feel like talking, but he also didn’t want to be alone. Fuery walked beside him, patient enough for a bit.

Still, after a few minutes, the younger man gentled prodded him. “So, I saw you went to talk to the general and the captain.”

Havoc sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, I did.”

“Everything get settled?”

“Sort of.” There was a pause, and finally, Havoc spoke again. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said finally. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready. You two’ve gotten close since it all went down. Don’t worry about it, Sarge.”

Fuery made a noncommittal noise but didn’t push it any further. The two of them walked a little further, until finally heading back to camp. They weren’t far out when Fuery spoke again.

“…That was a cheap shot you got in earlier, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

There was a beat, and then. “It was pretty satisfying to watch.”

Havoc laughed at the unexpectedness of the comment. “Well, we’ve all wanted to get in a good swing at the general at least once!”

The levity helped, and when they got back to camp, Havoc was ready to go to bed. Fuery headed over to Falman, who was still by the fire, and Havoc headed towards his and Breda’s tent, taking a moment to glance at the tent of his COs, and glad to see the light out in it.

Breda was already in his sleeping bag, reading a book by the lamp light. He glanced up when Havoc came in but didn’t say anything. They both settled down to sleep, neither of them saying anything. Breda was falling into sleep, assuming Havoc was already there, when Havoc’s voice broke the quiet.

“It was her decision.”

Breda paused. “…The tattoo or the burns?”

“Not the tattoo. That was her father’s.”

Breda fell quiet at that, taking it in, not able to find something to say for a few minutes. Finally, he did.

“…that’s messed up.”

“…yeah.”

Neither of them said anything else that night, but Breda resolved to keep a closer eye on Riza from now on and make his own judgements about the situation. He had the basic information he needed for now. The rest would come in time.

The next day dawned far too early for any of them, and far too solemn. The whole team was subdued, and it escaped no one’s notice how Mustang and Hawkeye stuck closer together, and how Breda kept an eye on Hawkeye. By the time they stopped again for the night, everyone was exhausted. Camp was set up, a fire was made, and food was eaten. They moved around the camp after eating, each taking care of what they needed to.

Fuery was sitting next to the fire, tinkering with a radio when Hawkeye stopped in front of him. He looked up at her. She looked tired, exhausted, but as if she had come to a decision.

“Kain. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sir?”

“You want to know, don’t you?”

Fuery rose to his feet and followed her out of the camp and into the nearby wilderness. No words were spoken at first, and Fuery didn’t push her. He could tell that she was on edge and low on patience. Finally, after a few minutes she spoke.

“What did they tell you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “…that you have a very large tattoo on your back. That’s it’s the general’s matrix. And that there are large burns on it.”

She nodded, not saying anything. Finally, after a moment, she spoke, her voice very detached, clinical, and matter-of-fact.

“My father was an alchemist. His life’s work was studying flame alchemy. He and I lived alone from the time I was four until I was nine. He… was a frightening man. Nothing mattered to him, except for alchemy. When I was nine, the general came to apprentice under my father. He was thirteen. He lived with us until he was eighteen and joined the military. My father didn’t approve of the military and refused to teach him flame alchemy. A year after he left, my father decided to hide his research by tattooing it on my back. It wasn’t long after, that he died. Roy came back and helped me bury him, and I decided that I would show him my father’s research. Unfortunately, it was not used the way that either of us intended. At the end of Ishval, I asked Roy to burn it off of my back. He agreed and burned the most important parts off. After I healed, I made the choice to join him on this path.”

Fuery didn’t say a word as he listened, just taking it all it. The silence stretched between them, and Fuery could tell that she was waiting for him to have questions. He did have questions, but he also didn’t want to push her too far. Finally, after a moment, he asked one.

“I didn’t, um… I haven’t seen it—a-and you don’t have to show me! But Breda said it was big…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase his question.

“Yes,” she replied, in that same detached, exhausted voice. “It covers my back. It holds a lot of information that only a trained alchemist could read.”

There was a moment of silence again as Fuery paused.

“…how long did it take to do?”

“About a year, done in differing sessions with time to heal between.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

The quiet stretched out between them again, and Fuery looked down.

“…did you have a choice?”

This time, the silence came from Hawkeye. “…he asked me, and I said yes. But I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. And by the time I figured it out, it was too late.”

Fuery didn’t say anything, just nodded in understanding. And then, he looked up at her, making eye contact, and searching her eyes. His brows tented back with a wry, half frown.

“…Does it still hurt, or is it numb now?”

Something in her breath caught, and several different things passed through her eyes. Finally, she simply said “…it depends on the day.”

Fuery nodded taking that in. “Thank you.”

Another moment of silence stretched, before Hawkeye sighed. “Let’s head back.”

“Yessir.”

Hawkeye’s tiredness wasn’t hard to see, and by the time they got back to camp, all she wanted to do was sit down. Instead, she headed towards the dishes, knowing it was her turn to take care of them. Fuery headed off to the campfire. Falman was in his tent. Before she could reach the dishes, though, Breda cut her off.

“Already taken care of, sir,” he said. “Felt restless.”

Hawkeye paused, as if assessing him. “…Thank you,” she finally said and, after a moment, she headed off towards her and Mustang’s tent.

He was in there, looking over his journal, and he looked up when she came in. Hayate looked up as well, tail wagging, and moving closer to her. She looked at them, and then at her sleeping bag. Without a word, she reached down and moved it closer, collapsing down on it. Mustang watched her do it, and shifted just a little bit closer. Hawkeye laid there, Hayate cuddling up with her, and buried her face in his fur.

For a while, the silence stretched on. Finally, Mustang spoke.

“Falman came to me while you were gone.”

She didn’t say anything.

“He wanted to know about your back.”

“…what did you tell him?”

“That your father was my Master, that he was a cruel man, that after I joined the military he tattooed your back, and that after he died you showed it me. I told him that after Ishval you asked me to burn the tattoo off of you, and I did.”

She was quiet. “…what did he say?”

“He was silent for a few moments, then nodded, thanked me, and left.”

Riza hummed.

Mustang was quiet for a moment as well. “…what did you tell Fuery?”

“…about the same.”

“And what did he say?”

She paused. “…he asked me if it hurt.” A beat. “He asked me if it still hurts.”

Roy didn’t say anything. Instead, he sighed, set his journal aside, and laid down next to her. He slipped an arm around her, and for a bit they laid in silence.

“…Hawkeye… I have something I’ve wanted to ask you… And I don’t mean it in any offensive way—”

“No, I don’t blame you for what happened to me as a child. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.”

“I could have stopped him from—”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Mustang let out a sigh, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, the three of them just cuddled, until they finally went to sleep.

The fire was still burning, and Breda and Fuery sat by the fire. Breda was using the light to read by, and Fuery had things to tinker with. The silence, though, stretched on, and Fuery’s items went untouched, the young man taking his gun apart instead. The only sounds were that, and the crackling of the fire. After a moment, though, Breda realized that the sounds of metal tinging had stopped, and he looked up.

Fuery was staring into the fire, his gun in pieces on his lap. It wasn’t too unusual to find Fuery staring off into the distance every so often, but something about this struck a chord of concern in Breda. Very softly, he called “Sarge…?”

Fuery didn’t look at him, but shook his head minutely, murmuring under his breath. “It was her father.”

Silence descended over both of them, stretching on until Breda finally sighed, closed his book, and stood. He passed Fuery, tousling his hair a bit.

“Get some sleep, Fuery. Morning comes sooner than you think.”

Fuery gave a noise of acknowledgement but didn’t move. It wasn’t until several hours later that he finally put his gun back together and went to lay down, even though he was certain that he would not get any sleep.

The next day, again, dawned with tension. Hawkeye seemed to be waiting for something, although no one could quite put their finger on what. It lasted through the morning, stretching into the day, until finally Breda took the opportunity to approach both Hawkeye and Mustang as they were traveling.

“Boss. Hawkeye,” he greeted.

“Breda,” Mustang said back, side-eyeing him. “Is there a problem?”

Breda looked at Hawkeye. “You tell me, sirs.” He said. Hawkeye said nothing, but she did glance at him. Breda held his silence, and finally she sighed.

“What do you mean?” she asked him, tiredness in her voice.

“You’ve been on edge since the other night,” he said. “I get it when it happened, and when none of us knew. But we all know now. We’ve all heard the basics of the story. So why are you still on edge?”

For a moment, Hawkeye didn’t say anything. “Because,” she said, tightness in her voice. “You know. You all know. And the last thing I want is for that to change what you think of me. I don’t want pity from any of you, or to think that I need extra protection. I’ve fought for your respect, and I want to keep it.”

“What?” Breda looked at her, a bit of confusion on his face. “Why would we pity you? This gives you more respect from me,” he said. “There’s not a lot of people who could do what you’ve done.”

She looked at him askance. “…Maybe that’s how you feel, but what about the others.”

Breda snorted. “You’re joking, right? All of us are impressed by you. We’re in shock, of course, and we care about you, so we’re protective, but all of us would follow you into battle in a heartbeat. You’ve not lost any respect. You’ve gained, if anything.”

Mustang shot her a wane smile. “You see?” he said. “I told you that you’ve not lost their respect.”

Hawkeye glanced between the two of them, and then up at the others, and hummed thoughtfully.

When evening came that night, and food was passed out and eaten, instead of heading back to her tent, Riza stayed out around the campfire with the men. Falman played with Fuery’s radio, trying to find something to listen to, while Breda and Roy argued over the finer points chess strategy. At some point, Fuery bumped her elbow and handed her a cup of coffee, which she took, returning his smile. Somehow she ended up settled into Havoc’s side, his arm draped across her shoulders, and she let it be. As she sat there, surrounded by her friends, she realized that Breda had been right. None of them were treating her differently. None of them were giving her pity. She still had their respect. With that thought tipping her lips ups, she settled back, and looked at the stars.

#writersmonth2021 #FMA #Fullmetal Alchemist #riza hawkeye #Roy Mustang #team mustang #Jean Havoc #Heymans Breda #Vato Falman #Kain Fuery #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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danny-chase · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donna Troy & Dick Grayson Characters: Donna Troy, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper (mentioned), Garth (mentioned), Joey Wilson (mentioned) Additional Tags: non-graphic injury, Stitches, Donna and Dick are plutonic soulmates, Dick is emotionally repressed, mention of vomiting, Bruce is a good dad, POV Donna Troy, childhood best friends to adult best friends, Whipped Cream, a little fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, technically they're adults though, no beta we die like DONNA SORRY HONEY, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Donna Troy is slightly better at feelings Summary:

The one where Dick gives Donna stitches as she reflects on how he's changed throughout the years.

“Donna, sweetheart, I love you, now hold still.” Dick carefully positioned her forearm on an examination table. A deep gash left blood steadily trickling down, squeezing out through his iron grasp. He wiped down the area with disinfectant, smiling at her fondly and projecting the perfect image of calm.

Donna marveled for a moment. He was a well-oiled machine, moving with explicit confidence and practiced precision. She could easily believe him to be a paramedic, or even a doctor, if she didn’t know he’d dropped out of college. She remained stony face as he injected the local anesthetic, acutely aware of his eyes flicking from the gash to her face. Despite the painful stinging radiating through her arm, she was proud to say she didn’t flinch.

She was tired of hurting her best friend. She was the one who wasn’t careful enough, hadn’t dodged in time. But none of that ever mattered to Dick, perhaps it wasn’t fair, but if she flinched, he’d feel even worse.

She still remembered the look on his face the first time he gave Roy stitches.

There’d been tears welling in his eyes, his brow furrowed in determination and his skin lacking any color; he’d bit his lip so hard it bled. The instant he was finished, he raced out of the room, faster than she’d ever seen. Garth had followed, only to have the bathroom door slammed in his face; Dick had sobbed and vomited until he was left dry heaving.

And here he stood, expressionless before her. “Can you feel it?” He gently pressed a finger near the wound. <em>Can you?</em> She wondered, trying to read past the blank haze in his eyes. “Donna?” He asked more firmly, voice even and unrevealing.

“Nope.” She popped the p and kept the tone light, watching as suspicion flashed behind his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t complain, even if she could feel her arm. “Dick, I really can’t feel it, I promise.”

Dick’s eyes always reminded her of a hawk. He inspected her face, and finding it clear from deceit, he turned his eyes to the wound, flicking on a bright lamp, and began wordlessly cleaning it.

That first time, Dick hadn’t come out of the bathroom for hours and when he finally opened the door, he announced he was quitting the team. He was back the next day with a medical textbook, refusing to do anything until he finished memorizing it. They had to call Bruce in the middle of their sleepover because he wouldn’t sleep.

He’d been grounded from Robin; they hadn’t seen him for a week. She’d been angry at the time, but now she realized Bruce was probably just trying to give him a break. The day he came back the book was memorized, and he had a little fake pad to practice stitching on. Bruce bought him his own surgical tools and gave him extra lessons. He had a small, jagged scar where he’d let Dick give him his first set of sutures.

Dick was thirteen when he’d frantically given Roy stitches (later she realized he only knew how from watching Alfred), fourteen the first time he’d practice on Bruce, and sixteen by the time he began doing it apathetically. He did a lot of things seemingly apathetic these days, but if she was careful, she could spot the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, or the downward twitch of his lip.

Slowly, Dick’s tweezers found and picked out the last metal shard. He was twenty-two now, and as he was readying their x-ray machine, the equipment was purchased by Victor’s father and not his own. The Titan’s Tower had been destroyed several times over, but by some miracle of engineering, the medical bay’s equipment always survived. He wrapped the wound, and draped lead over her, hesitating briefly before speaking.

“I’ll be back in a second, it won’t take long.” He promised. She nodded; not like she was going anywhere. They’d done this before; Dick always doubled checked. But she couldn’t recall a single time he’d found something more.

One time, he’d skipped the double check, and she’d heard Roy yelling at 3am, having been woken up when Dick’s worry got too intense to wait. But Roy had given in, the x-ray done a few minutes later. Sometimes, it was just easier to give into Dick’s paranoid behavior. One of these days, she liked to joke, they’d just put lead in their sheets or MRI equipment in the walls.

Dick strode back in, evidently pleased with the results, and they began their silent tradition. Well almost silent; he turned on some ambient music, the same kind he listened to when studying. She let her mind wander, and his fingers never wavered as he removed the bandage and began the first stitch.

She closed her eyes, thinking about times when things were simpler. When they went on picnics in the park and played frisbee together, how Dick would braid her hair and paint her nails before dates with Roy, had laughed loud, cried hard, and loved freely. He was the same as before but could flip on a dime and shut away who he used to be. She found herself missing the little boy who cried after giving stitches.

“Done.” She opened her eyes to an apologetic smile. He began wrapping the wound once again. “Lay off it for a while.” It was an order and a request, sometime long ago the distinction had faded away. She rolled her eyes to finish the routine.

Her arm stung, but the weight in her chest was heavier and more distracting than the steady throb of pain. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, and neither was Dick, but she could pretend for the rest of the night that they were young and invincible (despite having physical evidence contradicting her).

So, she grabbed his hand tight and before he realized what was happening, began dragging him across the room.

“Donna, I have work tomorrow.” He protested. Well, that would be easy enough to deal with.

“Call in sick.” She suggested, not slackening her grip, lest Dick escape and fly off somewhere far away.

“I’m out of sick days.” He stumbled along, doing his best to protest without causing harm. “And I have to patrol tonight.” Donna laughed, but not unkindly.

“Let the city watch itself. Take a day without pay. Honey, you’re rich.” She suggested.

“Doooonnnnnaaaaaaaaaa.” He groaned, as they made it into the hall. “I have a life, I can’t just…”

“Drop everything to spend time with me?” She asked sweetly. “Sweetie, you have before. What makes tonight any different.” Dick opened his mouth and closed it. She steered them into the kitchen, finally releasing him. “We’re going to make hot fudge sundaes, and watch Scooby Doo, and fall asleep on the couch talking about boys.” Dick wrinkled his nose.

“You hate Scooby Doo, and only <em>you</em> talk about boys.” She gave him an unimpressed look. She saw the way he used to look at Joey. “Donna, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s great but I-”

“Need to take time to take care of yourself?” She asked incredulously. “Wow, me too.” She held up her arm. “What a coincidence, less talking, more cartoons.” Dick stared at her. She counted the seconds as she stared back.

He sighed, breaking first. She’d won this battle, though she had no idea where she stood in the war.

“I’m going to lose my job.” He muttered. A bonus in her eyes, it would do him good to sleep more than three hours a night. She rummaged around for ingredients in the fridge.

“Cry me a river.” An empty demand, he never would, not anymore.

“Why are you so mean to me?” He pouted. She grabbed a can of whip cream and pointed it at him threateningly.

“Because you have terrible bedside manners.” He stuck out his tongue and stole the can, dangling it over her face as she laughed and opened her mouth. He accidentally squirted some up her nose, but she didn’t mind.

And as he pulled out the bowls, they fell into familiar conversation; the space gained through the years seeming to slip away as she was reacquainted with the man who gives her stitches.

#my writing #Dick Grayson #Donna Troy #Titans #DC give us more fab five content please #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: vomiting #it isn't graphic i promise #Nightwing #Wonder Girl #Troia

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