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vampyrsm · 2 years

Text

An Ode to Lost Love.

✞ — Synopsis: What was that quote about another's silence? “Be leery of silence. It doesn't mean you won the argument. Often, people are just busy reloading their guns.” Right. You should’ve seen this coming, really, it was a little stupid of you to believe he just forgot all about you.

✞ — Warnings: MDNI. Dark content, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of murder, the reader receives death threats, yandere behaviour, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, the reader is knocked unconscious, concussion, heavy manipulation, preying on the reader, dumbification, objectification, gaslighting, non-con, dubcon (but hardly, it's a very grey area), disassociation, minimal/no prep vaginal sex, burning/marking in detail, reader vomits once due to injuries, creampie, breeding kink, baby trapping, Dabi flipflops a lot between emotions.

✞ — Word Count: 7k

✞ — Notes: This is a Dabi x female!Reader. This is my first real dark content fic. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not interact. Please take care with the warnings, it's very much a dead dove: do not eat. Posted over on AO3 too for ease of reading. I definitely do not condone anything that has been written here, I'm also not romanticising noncon or any of the warnings. Thank you for taking the time to read it, remember to take care and enjoy :)

Living in the aftermath of someone's destruction was just as you would expect; chaotic, and lonesome. You had signed up for this all those years ago but you hadn’t expected it to turn out quite like this. You were never going to get used to the stares when someone recognised you in the store, or the smashed windows of the local youth who wanted to shame someone who was tricked with the promise of something more.

Though you didn’t feel ashamed for what you had done, nor did you regret it – for the most part, anyway. Sure you had regretted keeping silent when you saw a man lose his life because of a simple mistake, you should’ve left when you realised that you were being lied to. That the man you had fallen in love with was not a misunderstood young man but rather a cruel and deceiving criminal.

The man in question? Touya Todoroki – also most commonly known as Dabi.

You hated this part of town, it was… less than decent. Run down and filled with low-life criminals who were on the run or simply just wanted to live a somewhat normal life. The walls of the buildings you pass by are decaying, unrepaired from when heroes did decide to pay a visit to the neglected parts of the cities and towns they were supposed to serve and protect.

What a fucking lie.

It’s not that you hated hero society, per se, but you also knew how disgusting some of the heroes still were. After everything Touya went through after he poured his heart out to you and the rest of the world – nothing fucking changed. Of course, it had pissed you off when they exhausted him to the point of near death before carting him off to Tartarus, they were sweeping him under the rug to be forgotten about. You attempted to reach out to the other members of the liberation but none of them wanted anything to do with you, you weren’t a villain. You were just attached to one.

The stairs up to your rundown apartment were practically crumbling with each step, you made sure to avoid the 8th step that was shattered entirely. When you first moved here, you thought it would only be for a short amount of time, just somewhere to lay low to avoid the probing questions of the heroes who wondered if you were compliant in any of Touya’s crimes. But the two-year timeframe you gave yourself quickly turned to three, then five, and now here you were eight years later. The apartment building looked the same as when you first moved in, the mysterious stain on the carpet leading to your apartment had never been removed and you’re pretty sure the world will end before it’s ever cleaned.

Your door opened with a creak, the old hinges were hanging on for dear life and you never worked up the nerve to ask the guy who let you live here to try and fix it. Of course, you would do it yourself, if it were not for the fear of breaking it entirely and having no door at all in such a shady neighbourhood. With a click of the door behind you, your entire body relaxes with a drop of your shoulders and you drop the keys in the chipped bowl by the front door.

Once free of your shoes, you trudge further into the apartment. Inside it was much nicer than outside, you had made sure to work hard to make yourself comfortable here. At first, you hesitated on decorating, the constant voice in the back of your head telling you that Dabi—Touya wouldn’t like it. But it became easier over time, as the claws he had sunk in your flesh had loosened with each passing day without him leering over you. Of course, he still lingered deep in your bones, scars like the ones he left on you would never truly go away.

You hadn’t realised you were quite so ‘damaged’ until after he was gone. When you were suddenly allowed to break the surface of the water Dabi had been holding you down beneath to see you squirm, it was jarring, to say the least. You struggled day to day wondering what to do with yourself, you had no one to direct your every move or to care for you the way he had. The first couple of years were the worst, a constant void in place of where your heart should be. You longed to have Dabi back, to card your fingers through soft snow-like hair, you missed his insufferable warmth. It had suffocated you at first until it became a comfort, something you needed to get through the day.

The letters you sent back and forth with him had helped some, the smell of smoke and ash when you’d open a new letter from him would get you through the darkest of nights. He had always had a way with his words, not many would think that of Touya, he hadn’t finished school and he most definitely didn’t have the support through his teenage years but he had taught himself how to read and write. And he was very good at it, very fucking good.

With each letter, you could practically hear his voice, the syrupy low tone that would muddle your brain and numb your nerves. Those letters had started to grow more erratic, it morphed from the loving Touya you had been privileged to know in the safety of his bedroom into Dabi, a cruel villain who wanted you to suffer just as he had. He didn’t take it easy when you told him you were starting to question the legitimacy of your relationship with the scarred man. He grew unkind with his words, the I love you turning into I wish you were fucking dead at the end of each letter.

He felt betrayed, you figured, everyone he had known had abandoned him and you were just the same as the rest of them. His final letter went into gruesome detail as to what he would do to you once he got out, how his hands may be made to burn but he would relish in watching the light leave your eye when he choked you to death. You didn’t need to read further to know he would’ve gone into detail about what he’d then do with your dead body. That was the last letter you had read, but they continued to come every fortnight like clockwork until they didn’t. You figured he might’ve gotten bored, or perhaps someone had taken him out on the inside. There wasn’t a shortage of people who would want Dabi dead.

The bag in your hand was heavy as you dropped it onto the counter of the tiny kitchen, the relief in your wrist was instantaneous and you could finally relax fully. Your eyes close for a brief moment, relishing in the quiet of the apartment with the distant sound of sirens from down on the street. It was good to be home, each trip was harder than the last with the fear of being recognised by heroes, or worse. With the safety of your home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, you reopened your eyes to begin the trivial task of putting away the groceries. But as you step further into the kitchen, it’s as if your entire body is dunked into ice water.

There’s a letter. An open letter was pinned to the old wooden cupboard with one of the knives from the rack. You don’t need to get closer to know which letter it is, the paper is well-worn and the big hearts he had drawn at the bottom are enough of an indicator. It’s the one he sent you on your birthday. It was riddled with love confessions, how he missed you more than anything in the world and when he’d get out he promised your hand in marriage. A life you wanted but knew you’d never get with a man like Dabi.

You take a step back, hip bumping into the corner of the counter to startle you into action. You whip around, ready to run out of the apartment but instead, your path is cut off almost instantly. There’s a broad chest in front of you, wide shoulders and a head of snowy white hair that you would recognise in a crowd of a thousand people. When you meet his eyes, he’s sneering down at you with a heat in his eyes that you saw moments before he would burn someone alive.

“Hello, doll. Miss me?” His voice hasn’t changed in the eight years apart, it’s still got a timbre to it that you can feel deep in the pit of your stomach. He looks bigger, somehow, the muscles of his neck and shoulders look firmer. He had always loomed over you but now he seemed even taller, swallowing the room whole with just his aura alone. Dabi must be able to see the way you’re eyeing him up, not quite in the way you had in the past but rather in a way that makes him excited; you were thinking of running.

You’re horribly predictable, he realises as you dash to the other side of the kitchen to dart around the tiny kitchen island that really didn’t give you any sort of head start. You can hear him click his tongue, then huffing a sigh before there’s the loud squeak of his boots and the thump of his bounding footsteps as he chases after you. The apartment is small, you don’t have a whole lot of room to make your escape so you have to rush past him when he starts to corner you into the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

A big mistake, you realise. He’s always been quick, and lithe on his feet and it reminded you of when a snake would strike. Fast and precise. His hands grab at your ribcage, easily swiping you off your feet before you’re slammed against the closest wall with a bang of your head on the wall. The world swirls when you try to look at him, the blue of his eyes glowing with mirth at the fact you even tried to outrun him. You’ve never been able to do it before, so what made you think you could do it this time?

“Silly fucking bitch,” He snarls in your face, the heat coming from his hands alone makes you squirm uncomfortably, you can feel the sting of welts starting to form on your skin in the shape of his hands. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you? You really fucking thought I’d forget about you?” Your silence isn’t what he wanted, apparently, as he pulls you from the wall just to slam you against it once again before throwing you to the floor. The movement has your stomach churning, bile rising in your throat when your head impacts on the floor again.

“I’d never forget about you, never.” His weight is heavy as he settles atop you, his thighs effectively pinning you beneath him before his hands descend onto your throat. His eyes are wide, manic, his lips parted in a twisted grin that makes him look more like the Devil himself. “Remember what I said to you? Hm? You remember the letters I sent?” You choke against his hands when he pushes harder, your fingers instinctively trying to come up and loosen his hold on you. “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” The spit of his words hits you in the face, but your entire head feels numb and fuzzy, your lips hurt – everything does.

“Y–” He leans in closer, sneering in your face and it does nothing to relieve the pressure on your throat. You’re going to die, he’s actually going to do it. “Yes!” you croak, hardly an audible word but Dabi hears it loud and clear. He holds eye contact as if he’s waiting for something, you’re not quite sure. Maybe he’s waiting for you to die, he had wanted to see the life drain from your eyes—

His hands come away from your throat, a too-hot hand latching on the underside of your jaw and his blunt nails dig into your cheeks. You suck in a harsh breath, choking on the sudden reintroduction of oxygen but you don’t get much longer to relish the fact you’re still alive. Dabi looms over you, the outline of his body blocks out the dingy yellow light overhead, giving him a grim outline that you have to squint at when you look up at him properly.

“Yeah? Then why’d you ignore me? Why’d you make me think you were fucking dead, or that you were busy getting fucked by some other guy like the whore that you are.” There’s a warning in his eye that prompts you to reply.

“I–I was scared!” you clear your throat uncomfortably, the confession coming from your mouth unwillingly but it was the hard truth. You were terrified of him and the things he had said to you, solely because you knew he would go through with it. If Dabi was anything, then he was a man of his word. His fingers curl harder into your jaw, forcing your mouth to open with the pressure. The look in his eye terrifies you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way his eyes bounce back and forth between your own. He’s searching, you belatedly realise, searching to see if you’re telling the truth.

“Good,” he finally says, “You should be fucking scared.” He pulls your head from the floor just to smash it back against the floor in a blink of an eye. Everything falls into inky darkness.

There’s a distant sound of water running, but it sounds like it’s miles away. Your mind starts to slowly swirl back to life, the pain at the back of your head blossoming into something fierce that has a pained groan coming from your lips.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer looking up at the ceiling of your hallway but rather at the ceiling fan in your bedroom, you’re not sure if it’s actually on or if your vision is still swimming. Nothing is quite adding up, how did you end up here? You were on the floor, and a ghost of something heavy atop of you had your mind jogging to try and catch up. But you weren’t always on the floor, something had put you there — no, someone had put you there. Dabi.

He’s not here, as far as you can tell, there’s no immediate warmth that comes with him when he steps into a room but there’s a distant smell of ash. He was still lurking. The shooting pain in the back of your head has your body jolting, muscles seizing up before they relax once the pain subsides just enough to let you breathe.

You were no idiot, you had hit your head a number of times, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were teetering on the edge between life and death. Though that doesn’t deter you when your mind finally catches up with you, you have to get out of here. If he’s not here right now, then you have a chance to leave. This might be the last chance you have.

With a great effort that has your face screwing up, eyes clenched shut, you roll yourself onto your side until your face is stuffed into the soft cotton of your bed sheets that you huff against. Your entire body felt like it was being weighed down, your muscles screamed when you slowly got your arms beneath you to push yourself up enough to stare down at the bed. Instantly your eyes lock onto the patch of still-wet blood, the stain was massive and the sight of it had your stomach threatening to empty itself. Or maybe that was the concussion.

Your feet slip on the floor when you try to find your footing, your knees colliding with the floor with a muted thud that you hope Dabi doesn’t hear. The feeling of your jeans against the skin of your knees is relieving, you knew Dabi preferred for you to be … conscious, but you wouldn’t put it past him to want something regardless of whether you were awake or not. Slowly, you get up onto unsteady feet as if you had never walked a day in your life before. Your vision swims again when you stand up straight, it feels as if your head is ten times the size it is as it lolls back in threat of toppling you over again.

But just as you’re about to fall, there are hands catching you beneath your armpits and letting your head land against a shoulder – a bare one, but your mind doesn’t quite connect the dots just yet. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You can’t do anything without me, no wonder you panicked when I wasn’t here anymore…” Dabi drawls into your ear, but his voice sounds like it’s submerged in water. He breathes in a heavy exasperated sigh, his body jostling yours. “C’mon doll, let’s get you cleaned up. You made such a mess.”

There’s no room to argue, not that you would be able to form one with how your tongue tingles and your throat burns. Dabi is anything but graceful with the way he drags you towards the bathroom, uncaring for your feet that slip or bang against the corner of the shoddy old wooden door as you pass by.

There’s a bang of a door and you’re submerged in sticky warmth, the steam from the bathtub filling the room to the point where you can’t quite see more than a few inches in front of your face. With a shove and a push, you find your hands pressed into the slippy tile of your bathroom sink, your mind still too foggy to control your extremities and you find yourself pressed against the cool glass mirror.

You can feel Dabi’s eyes on you as he watches you struggle to get your bearings, your forehead pressed to the glass is soothing against the deafening thunderstorm in your head. His fingers are long when they wrap themselves carefully around your throat this time, pressing into the bruises you weren’t aware had already formed from his previous attack. Your head slumps back against his shoulders and you can just make out the glowing blue of his eyes as he stares right back at you, it always felt like he had the ability to stare into your soul.

“Look at you…” He coos, voice a soft contrast to the harsh voice from earlier. His spare hand cards through your hair, brushing past the gash on the back of your head that has you wincing. “My poor baby, you did this all to yourself.” Had you? You supposed he did have a point, you did ignore his letters, and you did try to run when he always told you to never do it. If you weren’t so stupid you might’ve avoided this, you shouldn’t have turned your back on him.

His burning fingers slide up from your throat until he grabs at your jaw once again, angling your head to stare at yourself directly in the mirror. Even through the thickness of the steam you can see you look on the verge of half-dead, there’s no life to your eyes, no usual glow to your skin. It’s horrifying to see yourself looking like a different person entirely. You were no longer you, but rather you were reduced back to the role of being Dabi’s plaything. Dabi hums deep in his throat as if he can hear the sluggish thoughts rolling around in your mind, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“Look what you did to my baby, my doll. She’s all broken and for what? Because you forgot your place?” He clicks his tongue, chin withdrawing from your shoulder until he’s drawn back up to his full height and you can just make out the look on his face. His nostrils flared, lips drawing into a grim line and eyes half-lidded. “Maybe I should do you a favour, remind you of your place.” Dabi spins you on the spot, steadying your whirling head with both of his hands before he takes a careful step back and you can’t help but wonder if he plans on reminding you of your place by finally putting you out of your misery.

“Strip.”

What?

“Don’t make me do it for you, you won’t like it.” It’s a very clear warning, blaring sirens and red flags. You have to blink hard, will your mind to work with your trembling hands that attempt to grab at the bottom of your shirt. It feels like an eternity goes by until you’re dropping the shirt onto the floor with a wet plop, your eyebrows furrow at the sound but when you attempt to look down your vision swims again – “Useless.” Dabi grumbles before his warmth is pressed to your front, the smell of forest fire smoke choking you.

His fingers are quick and precise when they undo the buttons of your jeans before they’re shoved down your thighs, pooling at your ankles and Dabi is at least courteous enough to let you hold his forearms when you climb out of them until you’re left in just your underwear.

As if appraising a piece of art in a museum, Dabi lets his eyes slowly trail over flesh that he had seen an endless amount of times in the past. His head tilts slowly, regarding the swell of your breasts in the cup of your bra and the softness of your stomach, the way your hips pudge a little from the tight elastic of your plain underwear.

Still engulfing your personal space with his heat, he lets a hand slide up along your side, pressing dangerously into your ribs to hear the sharp inhale of when his fingers brush into bruised skin and muscle. Cerulean eyes level with your own when he inches around to the back of your bra, his fingers seemingly hardly move before the straps slip down your shoulders and the cups slacken on your chest. He plucks it from your body, letting it drop to the floor before his fingers trail back around to your front.

He keeps his head tilted, gaze redirected down to your chest and he can’t help but wet his tongue in anticipation. You had always been his most prized possession, the most beautiful, a masterpiece that was all for him. Those same too-hot fingers trail along the underside of your breasts, feeling the weight of them before groping one much too hard in one large palm. His fingers curl cruelly, squeezing as if it were a stress ball and all you could do was take it, your face crumpling in pain much to his delight.

“I trusted you, y’know.” He all but mumbles, gaze not lifting from the way your tit spills between his fingers when he gives another squeeze. “I thought it would always be me and you, against the world or whatever the fuck they say.” His thumb and index finger mercilessly pinch your nipple, tugging on it harshly to pull a pitiful cry from your mouth.

The sound has his eyes flicking up to yours, watching the way your lashes clump with unshed tears and how you’re not even attempting to stop the saliva dribbling from your lips. You really were so pathetic. Dabi chews on his scarred bottom lip for a moment, tossing over a thought in his mind but instead he opts to move his fingers to your neglected nipple, pulling and tugging until you’re a snivelling mess.

“‘M sorry!” You sob, the volume of your voice makes your head throb and the tears falling in fat streaks make your head feel heavier. “I’m sorry, Touya! Please, I–I didn’t know what to do without you.” The use of his name makes his eyebrow twitch, jaw clicking in place when he glares at you. It’s a low blow, to use his name like that and he knows you know that. He had always forbidden you from using that name unless you were given permission.

“Last warning, doll. I’m being nice here. You don’t get to use that name when you betrayed me.” His words have your mouth closing, bottom lip wobbling in an effort to keep yourself from openly crying in front of your tormentor. He would only ridicule you for it, tease you and see how far he could go before you broke apart from his words alone. Dabi doesn’t wait to pull down your panties next, the material dragging and scratching at your skin until they’re pooled at your feet along with everything else. “Turn around.”

And you do. You wordlessly turn, letting your hands brace on the sink once again before you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You somehow looked worse, the snot and saliva made you look quite like the snivelling petulant child that Dabi spoke to you like. There’s a clink of a belt before it hits the floor, the dropping of your heart into your stomach threatens to tip you over the edge.

A boot kicks your ankles apart, uncaring for the way you flinch at just how hard he kicks you. You’re perched over the sink, your stomach twitching every time it touches the cold porcelain. Dabi had only ever forced himself onto you a handful of times in the past, at the start of your “relationship”, he always soothed your tears and hushed your refusal with false promises hidden in between his sickly sweet words.

Over time the lines blurred between him forcing himself onto you and you willingly opening your legs for him when he asked for it. It pleased him to see you listening to him, and he became ‘softer’ if that was a possible word to describe a villain like him. Time spent with Dabi got easier when he was softer, it actually felt believable when he whispered into your ear at night how much he loved you, how much he appreciated you and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. It was hard to distinguish his lies and the truth when he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

A searing hot hand pressed to your bare ass has your mind jolting, bile rising momentarily in your throat until you lean into the coolness of the sink once again. Those same fingers that feel as if they had come from the depths of hell brush their way down over your sensitive skin until they find their way between your thighs. And much to your embarrassment, you’re wet. Biology was a cruel mean thing, your body was still hardwired to react to the man of your nightmares lest you want to face the consequences. Your bottom lip wobbles, thankful for the fact Dabi is preoccupied with his new discovery.

His laugh is loud and boisterous, almost manic with the way his eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re fucking wet. I knew it,” he breathes in hard, pushing his hips flush with your own and you can feel the twitch of his leaky cock between your cheeks. “I knew you missed me, I knew you still loved me. This pussy never lied to me, unlike someone.” His words sting, a jab directly into your heart.

He sounds hurt, upset that you’d actually try to lie and hide away from him. It has fresh tears pricking your eyes, how could you hurt someone like him? Someone who loved you so devotedly.

Long deft fingers prod and poke between your thighs, pulling your lips apart crudely to watch the strings of arousal snap and cling to your thighs. He’s still chuckling deep in his chest, elated with the newfound knowledge that you still want him in such a carnal way. He circles your clit in clumsy patterns, enough to have your thighs tensing up and hips arching into the pleasure you’re unwillingly receiving. But the thing about Dabi is—

He’s not a patient man.

The tip of his cock pierces your unprepared hole, the pain shoots from deep in your pelvis and ricochets up your spine until it tingles at the base of your skull. Your hands help brace yourself over the sink, your head drops down and you’re vaguely aware of the way your throat aches with a scream. His fingers find a home in hidden bruises, the sting of his metal staples heating against your skin is familiar. Dabi had always been big, thick and unforgiving with the piercings that he adorned. Each of the barbells digs into your velvety walls, his hips so flush with yours you’re not sure where you end and he begins anymore.

“Fuck, missed this too much. Thought I’d never get to feel your cunt wrapped around me again.” His words are vulgar, but they spark something to life in your brain. Something you hadn’t quite considered until now. Just how was he here? Last you heard Dabi was never getting out, he killed too many people and committed far too many crimes to just be let loose on the world again.

Though you never got to air the question, his hips drawback until they’re smacking back against your ass. The pace from there on out is brutal, the tip of his cock bullies itself into your clenching cunt until it hits against your cervix. Each tap feels like you’re being punched in the gut, your lips parted in a soundless scream.

The pain was too much, the ache in your head was getting steadily worse and the back-and-forth thrashing of your body was making you woozy. “D–Dabi…” You try to speak, the words slurred with the saliva that dribbles from your parted mouth and drips into the sink.

“What?” He snarls, grunting with the effort of how hard he’s fucking you.

“Hurts.” You reply with a gasp, his fingers instantly latching around your throat until you’re pulled up to face what you assume must be the Devil leering over your shoulder with the most disgruntled expression on his face.

You can smell the burning of flesh before the pain registers, the sizzling hardly audible over the sound of his hips slapping against your abused rear. “Yeah? Maybe it’ll teach you a fucking lesson. Next time you think about trying to leave me, you’ll remember how much it hurt.”

His fingers squeeze tighter around your throat until you can’t breathe, the horrid stench of marred flesh the only thing flooding your system when you desperately try to suck in air. Then you’re falling forward, your forehead plummeting with force against the mirror and you think you hear it smashing over the deafening ring in your ears. It feels like your head is being held under a pillow, like someone has pressed two large hands over your ears and held you there. Your throat burns, for a lack of a better word. The flesh bubbles and hisses with a reminder of Dabi’s words.

You’re not quite sure how much time has passed until you work up the strength to lift your gaze to the now-smashed mirror. The first thing you notice is the blood trickling down from a gash on your forehead, trailing down along the bridge of your nose until it meets the plumpness of your lips – filling the cracks with a metallic taste. Then you see it, the burn, it’s gnarly.

The flesh is hardly recognisable as flesh, it looks like butchered meat. It’s blistered already, layers of the skin open for the world to see and the sight finally does tip you over the edge. The bile doesn’t burn quite as much as the 3rd-degree handprint on your throat as you spill the contents of your stomach into the sink.

Dabi groans in anger, snarling as he retches you away from the sink and throws you onto all fours on the floor. “Disgusting fucking whore,” There’s something wet pressed to your mouth, a sponge you realise, as it drags roughly against your mouth until he forces it into your mouth. The scouring pad scrapes along your tongue, replacing the taste of vomit with soap. “Always making me clean up your messes.” Then it’s gone as fast as it came, your body being shoved and pushed until your back is against the bathmat and you’re staring up at Dabi who seems to be kneeling already between your thighs.

He wastes no time once again in pressing himself back inside of you, the stretch this time nowhere near as painful but it reignites the old ache of when he first forced himself inside. Your heart aches when you stare up at him, silhouetted by the flickering dim light of the bathroom bulb. It makes the white of his hair glow, angelic your brain supplies, but he was anything but an angel. His hands grab at your thighs, forcing them back until they uncomfortably press into your chest. The angle makes it hard to breathe, the furious pace he sets is agonising.

But your body is betraying you once again, the lewd squelch of your pussy is giving you away. A deep dark and twisted part of you has missed this, missed him. Missed the way he would fuck you like it was his last day on earth, like he had something to prove. It has an involuntary whimper leaving your throat, and of course, Dabi perks up at the sound – whilst he didn’t care much if you were silent the entire time, he always enjoyed the cute noises you’d make for him and only him. His eyes find yours, and you’re sucked into the endless expanse of the blinding blue Hellfire.

Dabi has a new goal in mind now, to fuck you the way he knows you liked to be fucked. His hips roll a little more fluidly, finding the old rhythm from all those years ago that surely would have your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your lips parting to sing him the most beautiful of songs with your moans. You don't disappoint him either, not when his thumb joins the fray and rubs languid circles against your puffy clit. The initial contact and stimulation have your hips jerking, fighting against the hold he has on you but it’s futile; he has you pinned beneath him much like a wolf would with its prey.

“There she is,” he grins when your fluttering eyes meet his, that contempt and confusion you had held onto for so long being replaced with a glassy look in your eye that must be lust. “There’s my fucking girl. Missed you so much baby, missed your cute noises. Y’gonna give me more, right? It’s the right thing to do, after all, you did hurt my feelings.” He still looks angelic angled over you like this, the shadows of his face almost hiding the glinting staples and scars that cover most of his body now. You can’t help but nod at his words, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

Dabi groans at your assent, fucking into you somehow harder. The slap of his heavy balls against the rim of your ass is loud, the sticky sound of his hips meeting yours fuels your own impending orgasm.

Of course, Dabi knows it’s coming too, his thumb presses firmer against your clit and moves a little faster to edge you closer and closer whilst he drops his hips just enough to have the tip of his cock hitting that squishy spot that no one but him has been able to reach.

You can’t help but gasp and squeal, your back arching off of the floor until it slams back down when your orgasm hits you like a train. It’s violent, shakes through your bones like an earthquake would through a building. Your toes curl uncomfortably in the air, your thighs twitch in an attempt to close them to bar the man still torturing your clit from causing you any more pleasurable pain.

“Enough,” you try and push his hand away but Dabi never listens, he bats your hand away with a harsh slap that has your skin tingling in pain. “You’re gonna take it, like the good girl I know you are.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can,” He grapples your still twitching thighs until they tighten around his waist and then he’s diving down to your face. His breath is hot against your face, the smell of cigarette ash suffocates you.

“I know you can. Now kiss me.” He demands, and the fear of not obeying his command in such a compromising position has you indulging him. Your lips press against his, you work hard to try and keep yourself dispassionate but it’s impossible when he does the thing with the tip of his tongue – drags it along your bottom lip so delicately until he pries you open, lets the smooth expanse of his tongue coax yours out until he can suck on it.

The steadily rising heat of the kiss engulfs you, douses you in an indescribable warmth that you can’t help but lean into the familiarity of it. It’s intoxicating to let go of that fear, to detach yourself from the person you had become in the eight years of solitude and recede back into the one who was simply in love with a man who was willing to burn down the world at her feet. But you’ve never been allowed to live in the illusion you formulate to ignore the harsh reality of things, Dabi would never give you that luxury.

His lips part from yours with a wet smack, saliva coating your lips and he grins again. The staples in his cheeks almost look like they might split as he stares at you, splayed out with a faraway look in your eye when you stare up at him.

“Gonna cum inside this beautiful pussy,” he breathes, eyes coming to life when your eyes slowly start to refocus on him and the words he’s letting spill from his saccharine mouth. “Fill you up nice and good with my cum, get you pregnant so you can never fucking leave me.”

What? Is that what he wanted? You squirm in an attempt to get away from him, but he keeps you uncomfortably pinned in a deep mating press whilst his cock bullies itself deeper – you hadn’t even noticed the way it was twitching so harshly in the depths of your pussy until now. He was too close, he was really going to do it—

“Oh fuck, yeah, squeeze me like that baby. I knew you wanted me to breed you.” You don’t, you don’t want to be trapped with his child. It’s the ultimate thing he would hold over your head until the end of time, you could never escape him if you gave birth to a child that had the same dangerous eyes as his. “Aw, doll, don’t cry. It’s okay, I won’t leave you to raise the brat on its own. I’ll be there, always.” You hadn’t even realised you were crying until he mentioned it.

The groan that rumbles deep in Dabi’s chest and vibrates up through his throat is something you would never, ever, forget. It was a sound that meant only one thing; he was about to cum. You feel the twitch before the first spurt of molten cum paints your insides. That burn of your insides is something you had grown accustomed to after the time spent with Dabi, he had said it was because of his quirk. Everything about him was just hotter.

He holds himself balls deep in your dripping cunt, uncaring at the shuddering sob that shakes your body at the realisation that he’s going to keep his promise of making sure you get pregnant. The thought has your eyes closing, your head far too sore to think about what might just happen if you were to get pregnant with Dabi’s child.

Your body is limp when he effortlessly picks you up eventually, tucking his hands under your armpits before your feet are placed in something cold and wet. Your body starts with a jolt, your skin pricking with gooseflesh before you’re forced to sit down in the bathtub. Just how much time had passed for the bath to grow cold?

A warm chest is pressed to your back, pulling you effortlessly between long defined legs and arms loop around you like a safety belt. Dabi holds you there, his fingers stroking delicately along the skin he had bruised and marred not too long ago. You could almost fall into the allusion of him being a lover, a man who was simply giving you the aftercare you need.

The bath bubbles around you with the raising temperature, his skin is too hot for you to be laid up against like this and you can feel the staples burning their way into your flesh but you can’t find the strength anymore to fight back. He pushes you forward slightly to reach for a washcloth, dipping it into the scorching water and slowly but carefully dragging it along your bloodied skin. He doesn't go near the wound on your throat.

It feels like no time has passed at all since he left you and now, those eight years apart squashed into nothing when he noses his way into your hair and breathes in.

“How did you find me?” You speak eventually, Dabi remains silent for a moment and that only makes you worry more.

“I always knew where you were. You shouldn’t trust everyone you meet.”

And if that wasn’t the truth.

#tw noncon #cw noncon #tw baby trapping #cw dark content #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x you #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut #touya smut #dabi x you

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naktergalen · 3 years

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Rivamika Fic Suggestions List 2

Hey there again! It’s been a while since my last rivamika post and I apologies for that. I caught the reading bug and have just been hitting book after book. I might be doing a book of the month suggestion starting in March. I’m still thinking about it but if that is something your interested in let me know. Or if you just want book suggestions just message or ask me. But for now, I’m back with my second Rivamika Fic Suggestions List.

First of all, I want to thank you for all the comments and messages I received from my first list! I think it has over 150 notes now which is crazy for me. I was going to be ecstatic if it got like 10 likes or something hahaha! I’ve enjoyed talking to some of you about fics and other snk stuff. Feel free to do the same after this post! I know I take awhile to respond but swear I get there eventually.

Same rules as last time. I’ve split this list up into four categories. I wanted to let people know the status of some of these fics in case they did not want to start an incomplete or in progress story. All of these fics can be found on AO3. I’m going to try to link them but we will see how tumblr acts today. If you have any fic suggestions for me, feel free to message me with them and I can add them on to the next list. If any author sees their story on here and wants me to take it off the list, please let me know I don’t wish to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Also, last thing, I highly recommend leaving comments and kudos to the authors. I know that they greatly appreciate it and it helps them with improving their writing through feedback. Okay shutting up now, ON WITH THE LIST!

DISCLAIMER: I know that not all of these stories are not for everyone, these are just my opinions and suggestions.

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Completed:

- Thunder Clouds

Author: K_Lionheart

Rating: Mature

Sometimes I like to go to the very back of the Rivamika archive on AO3 and look for fics that have gotten buried over time. Low and behold what I have found lol! I enjoyed the emotional roller coaster when I was reading this fic, though sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out. Set after the titans are gone, humanity has to repopulate so arranged couples by the monarch are made to be wed. While this new order is being enforced, Mikasa and Levi are trying to work out their strained relationship. A slow burn with angst that will have you staying up till 3am dying to know what happens next. I know that there is a sequel to this fic called Nimbus and I’m slowly working my way through that one. Honestly, it will probably go on my next list.

- Red is the Only Colour

Author: mongoose_bite

Rating: Mature

A cute fic that was a quick but wild ride. A Little Red Riding Hood type of AU where Mikasa is a hunter of some sorts traveling through a town. I don’t want to say how Levi plays into all of this since it gets border line spoilers but just know that he is there. It is an opening ending fic for the author to come back if they plan on doing so but it can be interpreted in different ways. All in all, a fic worth of the quick read.

- Sing Me a Song

Author: LazyTrash

Rating: Mature

First I have to get this off my chest, I love the author’s name hahaha! I freakin wished I would have thought of that for mine! Anyway, this fic is wonderful but I will warn you that its a gut punch. If you like hurt and angst put together, then this is the story for you. I love these types of fics because I adore them so much but they hurt me in my soul. I don’t know what that says about me but whatever. I don’t want to delve into the story too much for spoilers but I would suggest rivamika fans to check this one out.

- Midnight Musings

Author: Raewyll

Rating: Teen

I just started to read Raewyll’s fics so I’m slowly working my way through all her works. This one caught my eye and I had to read it. This is a cute take on a chance meeting through texting the wrong number. I love the way Levi and Mikasa’s relationship blossoms into something more serious after causally texting back and forth. It’s one of those stories that I can only describe as being cute as shit! I’m definitely going to be checking out more of Raewyll’s fic in the future.

Ongoing:

- Beyond the Walls

Author: helena3190

Rating: Matue

If you love RIvamika angst, then look no further than this baby right here. This is currently my favorite ongoing fic. It was supposed to be a shorter story, but the author keeps adding more chapters so I’m not complaining hahaha! This fic is pretty much how I would *personally* picture canon Mikasa on how she would deal with realizing that she’s falling in love with someone. Its mostly told in the perspective of Mikasa as she is dealing with the after effects of war and trying to figure out what should she do with her life now that she is no longer a solider. Her feeling for Levi come with a lot of confusion as she’s discovering emotions that she has never felt before. She has a hard time pinpointing on what exactly describes her relationship with him. I’m anxiously waiting for the final chapter for this fic and dying to see how it will end for Mikasa and Levi.

- After the War

Author: loneackerman

Rating: Mature

I am loving this rivamika slow burn fic right here. Its similar to Beyond the Walls but I think the author adds their own taste of the 1920s into it. Set after the war is over (obviously), Mikasa and Levi have to figure out what they are going to do the rest of their lives. It has great tension, a perfectly paced gradual romance and just the right amount of humor to combat the emotional turmoil it puts you through. Again in my opinion, this is close to how I would realistically perceive Levi and Mikasa’s relationship evolving. I’m really enjoying this story and I’m looking forward to more updates to come!

- The Sound of Lightning

Author: LycheeGreenTea

Rating: Mature

A new fic that is just getting started but I can tell that what the author has in store is going to be interesting. Set several years after the end of the war, Levi and Mikasa are loving parents to a single child. Their peaceful life comes to an end when the family has a threat against them. There are not many long fics about Mikasa and Levi being parent so I was very happy when this one popped up on the AO3 feed. An exciting adventure awaits the Ackerman family now and I can’t wait to see where this fic goes in the future. There are three chapters as of now so head over there and check it out.

Incomplete:

- Home

Author: MissErikaCourt

Rating: Mature

One of the gems I found when diving back into the Rivamika archive. Ugh I HATE that this fic is incomplete!!! Its a good long fic but I’m greedy and I need more! I will give a warning first that this fic does contain heavy themes. Mikasa and Levi are in the underground to fight against a criminal ring. This story is a slow burn with action and emotional trauma. There is a wonderfully written OC that you easily get attached to its not even funny. Even though its not completed, I would highly recommend checking it out. I still have three more chapters to finish but I had to put it on this list. I know that I’m going to be pissed once I reach the last chapter written. If someone know MissErikaCourt, let her know that she needs to comeback to finish this masterpiece!

- Shiver

Author: bornsinner

Rating: Mature

Another one that I DISPISE its incomplete!!! Ugh such a great Office AU. It’s everything that I would want in an Office AU setting. Mikasa struggles between her committed long term relationship and her growing attraction (which starts to develop into some feelings) to her boss, Levi. Its hot, sexy and intriguing and it pisses me off that its not finished! The author writes each chapter as a one-shot but collectively together they tell the whole story. Highly recommend even though its so short. BORNSINNER where ever you are in the universe I hope you come back to finish this!!!

- Two Lines

Author: Crejhov

Rating: Mature

When this was getting updated it was my favorite on-going Rivamika fic. I would find myself checking to see if the author updated with a new chapter every week! The unplanned pregnancy trope is a classic one, but Crejhov does a fantastic job on keeping readers enthralled with soo many anticipated character meet up that are bound to cause hurdles for our expecting parents. This story is told from the perspectives of Mikasa and Levi in order for us to understand where their mindsets are as they plan for their expecting child and deal with their relationship. AHHHHH I want more of this!!! I was soo excited to see where this awkward journey was going to take Mikasa and Levi. CREJHOV COME BACK PLEASE I KNOW YOU HAVE WORK BUT PLEAAASEEEE! I NEEEEEEDDDD!!!

- Cabin Fever

Author: AmayaOkami

Rating: Mature

All I should have to say about this is that its written by AmayaOkami and that should explain it. Amaya is the one that gave us the beautiful incomplete rivamika fic Romance and Rivalry. I just adore her writing. Levi and Mikasa relationship evolves as they are standing guard over the arrested Kenny Ackerman. Secrets are discover about the Ackermans and it gets pretty steamy between our two favs. Great fluff and great sexual tension that leaves you wanting more chapters! Again AmayaOkami where ever you went I hope for some miracle that you come back and complete this one too!

One-Shot:

- Jade

Author: shulkie

Rating: Mature

This one-shot feels like I read a novel, it has such a great storyline. An arranged marriage between Mikasa and Levi leaves the relationship strained in the beginning. Their relationship evolves over time as Levi patiently brings down Mikasa’s wall. With smut added for all of your one-shot needs. Definitely worth the read in my opinion.

- What Remains

Author: Mirime

Rating: Mature

This one-shot gives us a glimpse into the secret relationship that Levi and Mikasa have been having while there are still scouts. This fic is sad but I would say it has a bittersweet ending. I think this was supposed to be part of a collection but I can’t find the rest of them. Still a great read by itself.

- Agape

Author: alienheartattack (Sanneke)

Rating: Mature

This fic is cute as shit! A College AU where Mikasa and Levi are childhood friends. Levi has to deal with Mikasa being at the same college as him while he is struggling with his changing feelings towards a grown up Mikasa. Worth the read as I said cute as shit, leaves you all warm and fuzzy lol!

- As Seen in Shadows

Author: MoraLeeWright

Rating: Explicit

FUCKING MORA! LEE! WRIGHT! UFFFFGGHHH Fuck I’m in love with her writing style. I really have nothing to say more that just go read it! Its hot and sexy and the sexual tension is off the fucking charts in this one. Its just MoraLeeWright smut thats all I can say. It’s great! JUST READ IT LMAO!

- Remedy

Author: NSummer

Rating: Mature

Another hot smut one-shot coming your way! Levi and Mikasa have had an ongoing affair and this just recounts their first time together. Its just some good ol’ Rivamika smut that I think that everyone in this community would enjoy.

- Nutty: Drunk in Love

Author: Hallow17

Rating: Mature

A fun smut to read about Mikasa getting “revenge” on her asshole boss, Levi. Things don’t go the way she plans as things get a little heated in the sexy way. A quick smut that I think is perfect for a little Rivamika crave.

- Spicy: Jalapeno

Author: Hallow17

Rating: Explicit

Another fun smut to read by Hallow17. Levi has been stressed out at work and Mikasa finds a way to help him get his mind off it (if you know what i mean). Again perfect for a Rivamika quick fix.

#rivamika #rivamika fic #levimika #mikasa x levi #levi x mikasa #Levikasa #levi and mikasa #mikasa and levi

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onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

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I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him.

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.

Dead.

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...

Hey babe...

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life) gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

#we can be heroes #we can be heroes fanfiction #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #Marcus Moreno x you #reader x marcus moreno #reader insert #Pedro Pascal #hurt/comfort #eventual happy ending #say hello to doctor batman lol. theres a whole thing i created just for that nickname to happen. ask me about it if you want XD #also you're a sassy BAMF. oops

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

I was in Saint Denis and was doing the rob 5 town people challenge, when some woman started sassing me. Arthur grabbed her so her back was against his chest and put the gun to her head, saying "I wasnt gonna rob you but now I am." Could you write Arthur/reader where a few months later she ends up falling in with the camp and recognises his voice?

Woo boy, this one was fun and honestly could be the start of a multi-chapter fic! Great prompt! Also, Arthur is hilarious when he comes up with stuff like this.

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You watch as the ferry floats away from the pier. Your hand lowers as it would be impossible for your cousin to see you at this point. Part of you still wishes you could have gotten a ticket for this ferry, but at the same time, you’re glad you couldn’t. For the last few days, you’ve gotten a bad feeling about the boat. You doubted it was nothing, that you were just being silly, so you said nothing to your cousin.

As you turn and look down the street at the town of Blackwater, you begin lightly humming to yourself. It couldn’t be a more beautiful day. You’ll miss your cousin, the two of you are good friends, but she lives in Saint Denis with her parents. You live here alone, but you don’t want to leave. Blackwater is all you’ve ever known. It’s where your parents are buried and where you grew up.

You pass the barber’s shop and you get a sudden sense of dread, like there’s a heavy anticipation settling over the town. You can’t put your finger on as to why. Nothing seems wrong or out of place, plenty of people are milling about the town. It seems like a regular day.

As you walk down the street, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling, you suddenly hear shouts and screams. A police officer on his horse runs past you, heading for the lake. He yells out “Ferry’s being robbed!”

You watch in terror as people begin fleeing, cops swarming the streets and heading for the lake. Gun shots ring out. You begin backing up quickly and slam into someone hard.

“Watch it, buddy,” you say, glaring at the man. Of course it wasn’t his fault, more yours than his really, but you’ve never been known for apologizing. Without warning, the man suddenly grabs you, pins your back to his chest, and he whips out his gun, pointing it to your temple. In the chaos surrounding you, no one stops to rescue you.

“Now you listen here, miss,” he growls in your ear, his voice mixing with your heartbeats. “I wasn’t gonna rob ya, I was here to rob someone else. But now I have ya, hand over whatever ya got.”

“Please, mister, I don’t have anything,” you plead, your hands scratching at his arm wrapped around your shoulders, but seem to have no effect.

“Bullshit. You damn city folk always got somethin’. Now hand it over!”

“Okay, okay!” You reach into your pocket and pull out the fifty dollars you had. You’d intended to use the money to pay down your house for this month. You stuff the bills into his hand.

“There, that weren’t so hard. Now get outta here, and don’t mention me!” He shoves you hard and runs towards the lake, following the footsteps of the officers. You don’t get a good look at his face.

The incident of the double robbery terrifies you so much you stay out of Blackwater for the next few weeks. It’s alright anyways as the town is now swarmed by bounty hunters, officers and even Pinkertons, looking for the criminals. They wouldn’t be so bad, until the Governor declared that the town was going into complete lockdown. This meant that all businesses would be shut down until further notice and all residents must stay inside and even open their homes up to be searched in case anyone was housing fugitives.

This turns out to be devastating for you. Your home sits on the outlying border of Blackwater where you run a very small dairy farm. You’ve always managed to make a decent living as everyone buys milk, but with this lockdown, no one comes. The government has even sent in supplies to the residents, such as milk and eggs, in order to keep everyone alive for the meantime.

Blackwater, however, is not a cheap place to live anymore. Not ever since it stopped being a simple trading post, and it’s getting even more expensive now that the train station is being built. Even though businesses have stopped, bills haven’t. You still have to pay for the loan on your home as it wasn’t paid off when your parents died, and with no incoming money, your savings quickly dry up.

Things go on this way for weeks, and your situation goes from bad to worse. The criminals have not been caught yet and there’s been no word on their whereabouts either, so the Pinkertons and bounty hunters haven’t left yet. Your situation is growing dire. Just last week, someone from the bank stopped by to remind you to pay this month’s amount towards your property. You tried to explain that with the lockdown, you no longer have the money. He claimed it wasn’t the bank’s problem and they expected their payment by the end of the month otherwise you risk losing the property.

You would start selling milk again. Hell, these past few weeks all your supplies have basically been thrown away (the cows haven’t stopped milking after all). However, with the government giving out free milk and supplies, no one will pay for yours. You even try to sell the fact that the milk’s as fresh as it can be, but then the Pinkertons catch wind of your business and threaten to imprison you for it as all businesses are still shut down. They don’t care either when you explain your predicament.

The month ends and on the first day, officials from the bank come and seize your property. It doesn’t matter how much you scream and fight, claiming it’s the city government’s fault as you could have paid if you’d been allowed to run your business. They don’t care and by the end of the day, you’re left sobbing in the dirt with the few possessions you could carry. How will you be able to survive?

It’s clear that you can’t stay in Blackwater. There’s nothing left for you here except bad memories. It’s impossible to say how long this situation will last either. Instead of living on the streets, you decide to move to Valentine. Perhaps you can get a job as a waitress. You still have enough money that, even though you couldn’t pay for your house, maybe you can buy a cheaper property up there. Maybe even some cows and you can start over again. Besides, Valentine is a livestock town. You know livestock.

However, when you get to Valentine, things don’t go as you planned. Sure, you got a job as a waitress in the saloon, but it doesn’t pay very much and there are no properties for sale near the town. The few that are for sale are far away and too much for you to afford. You ask the manager of the saloon (who’s also the bartender) if you can live in one of the rooms upstairs until your situation is sorted out.

“Unless you’re working in one of those rooms, I can’t afford to let you live there.”

You know what he means by working in those rooms and you won’t stoop that low. You still have standards, after all. In the end, you have no choice but to sleep outside and work as much as possible during the days. You think things have hit an all time low.

One afternoon, you’re waiting tables. A particularly rowdy group of ranch hands comes in and gets a table. They immediately flag you down and you sigh. These types of men are the worst, but if you play your cards right, they can pay some of the highest tips. Especially if you’re quick on refilling their drinks.

Usually ranch hands don’t stay too long, but this group seems to want to stay. It’s been well over an hour and all of them have had their fair share of drinks, making them even louder and rowdier. As you approach them with more shots of whiskey, one man puts an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

“Hey, how much for a night, missy?” he asks.

“I don’t do that,” you say flatly.

“Oh come on. Bet you’d do it for someone like me,” he says.

“Why would I?” you glare down at him.

“Because I’m the sheriff’s son, miss. I can get you anythin’ you want.”

“Become the governor’s son and maybe I’ll think about it. And maybe think about becoming more than some ranch hand,” you snap and try pulling away. He just clenches your hips harder.

“You hear how this girl talks to fellers like us?” he laughs to his friends. They guffaw and point at you. “Seriously, girl, I’ve made all the other women in this saloon swoon before.”

“Well then go back to swooning them.”

“Nah, been there, done that. I want you.”

“Let go of me! I ain’t that kinda girl! Now take your drinks and get lost. All of you!”

“Hey, you can’t talk to us like that!” one man says. “We’re patrons!”

“I can, and I’m telling you all to get out!” You march over to the bar and tell the bartender your problem. He recognizes the man who was hitting on you and says that the sheriff’s cleaning his slate for some gambling problems, so he has to let his son stay. However, he doesn’t want you getting harassed, so he has one of the other girls cover for you.

When your shift is done, you head outside to have a smoke and dreading the fact that it looks like it might rain tonight. You’re still sleeping practically on the streets, so it’ll be a bad night. As you stand and smoke, lost in thought, you don’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Someone grabs you hard from behind, pinning you to their body. The sheriff’s son’s voice hisses in your ear, wreaking of alcohol.

“Hey there, missy. Just the two of us now. How about we skip talk of pay and just get down to business, hmm?”

His hand suddenly gropes you and you kick him in the shin. He yelps in pain and you push away from him. “I told you I ain’t that kind of girl! Now get lost before I tell your daddy what you do to women.”

His face scrunches in rage and he lunges at you, knocking you onto your back. You try fighting him but he’s much stronger and he’s got the upper hand. His hands pin your arms down as he tries kissing you, so you headbutt him. One hand releases your arm to press on his bleeding nose and you take the opportunity, grabbing his cattleman revolver, pointing it at his gut, and firing.

The bang echoes against the building, and you quickly throw him off of you. He writhes for a few seconds, a gurgling coming out of his mouth. You watch in shock as he draws his last breath. You certainly hadn’t meant to kill him.

The door to the saloon slams open and the bartender steps out. He looks at the body, you standing over it with the gun still in your hand.

“I…. I…” you stammer, not knowing what to say.

“My God, Y/N! You killed him!”

“He attacked me!” you say.

“Sheriff’s gonna lose his mind about this! He’s not one to mess around with the law, but when he hears about his boy… oh, Y/N, this is bad!”

“But he attacked me! I didn’t mean to kill him!”

The bartender comes over and smacks the pistol out of your hand. “You best get out of here, Y/N. I weren’t the only one who heard that gunshot. Sheriff or one of his deputies will be here any second and if they find you like this…. You’ll be hung by the end of the week. Go on, get outta here. I’ll come up with something.”

Without hesitating, you run off. He’s right of course, now that you’ve killed a man you can’t stay here. You run as fast as you can, heading south, but it doesn’t take long for you to lose your breath. By the time you hunker down, a painful stitch in your side, you realize how bad things have gotten. As the reality of it all sets in, you begin to sob.

You killed a man. Sure, he’d been attacking you and if he’d lived, he’d surely have done something truly terrible, but the fact remains. A man is dead because of you. Not only that, but the likelihood of the sheriff discovering the truth is a guaranteed problem. His son’s friends surely must have seen him coming after you. They’d know you’re his most likely killer, and they won’t have a problem telling the sheriff. You’re in big trouble.

The weight of this all forces you down to your knees and you sob harder. What can you possibly do? Should you head on to another town? But which one? So far, you haven’t had any luck being able to afford a new home. You just can’t seem to dig yourself out of this hole.

You hear a voice. “Ma’am? Ma’am, you okay?”

You look up and see an elderly man. His clothes are rough, dirty and torn in places. He’s got a bulbous nose and a thick gray beard and a wide belly. His eyes, though dark, have a kind look to them.

“I… I killed him.” The words slip out of your mouth.

“Killed who?” he asks.

“The sheriff’s son. I… I killed him. It was an accident.”

“Oh so you’re the one they’re looking for.” Fear stabs you in the stomach. This quick and you already have a bounty on you. He straightens up and looks down the road at Valentine. “You say it was an accident?”

You nod, getting to your feet and preparing to run. He’s an old man, he won’t be able to catch you easily. “Yeah. Bastard was trying to rape me, so I shot him.”

The man blinks. “Sounds like you’re in a bad way. Heard he was the sheriff’s son. Say, I don’t do this for everyone, but why don’t you come with me? I got a place you can stay until you get things figured out.”

“You aren’t planning on raping me too, are you? No offense, but I’m not in the mood to trust many men right now.”

“Don’t be thick, come on now. I live with a big group. Sure, there’s quite a few men, but I promise ain’t one of ‘em gonna touch ya. Especially when they hear you’ve already killed the man who tried to get ya.”

Instead of feeling suspicious, you can’t help but trust this man. He leads you down the trail towards a large copse of trees. As he walks into them, he turns to you.

“Think you’ll fit right in with us, miss. Everyone I live with has got a record behind ‘em. Hell, some of ‘em have killed more people than I’m even capable of counting, but don’t tell ‘em I said that.”

“So, you run with a gang of outlaws?” you say, feeling nervous again.

“That’s how you might choose to see it, but they’re alright really. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

The old man leads you into a clearing. There you see several wagons and a few tents. Despite the hour, there’s still plenty of people milling about. A man sits at a round table with two women, a guitar in his hand and he’s singing in Spanish. Around one of the fire’s further away is a man in a plaid shirt talking to some other men. Not too far, near a tent, a woman sits next to a small boy, who’s playing in the dirt with a stick.

“Uncle!” a loud voice calls out. It seems to be directed to the man guiding you in. You look to see the owner of the voice. A tall, well groomed man with dark hair marches over to you, followed by a thin, gangling man with gray hair and a thoughtful face. “Uncle, what the hell are you doing? I said no more passengers!”

“Hey, hey, relax Dutch! Just a girl, got in a spot of trouble in town, figured she needed some help.”

“We can’t afford to feed any more mouths, you old goat!”

“What kind of trouble?” says the gray haired man. The two men look at you curiously. You realize they’re waiting for you to say something.

“I…. I killed the sheriff’s son. He was attacking me, so I shot him. It was an accident.”

Another man saunters over. He’s a broad man with curious blue eyes, a leather hat and a blue striped shirt. He smokes a cigarette, the other hand on his gun belt.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. His voice sounds horribly familiar. You try to pin down where you recognize it from.

“Uncle brought this girl in, says she killed the sheriff’s son,” the gray haired man says.

“That so?” the blue eyed man says. “Well, we got enough trouble, Uncle. Think you better take her back there. Let the sheriff deal with her.”

It suddenly clicks where you know him from. “You! You’re the man who robbed me in Blackwater!”

The man blinks and lowers his brow, clearly confused. “What?”

“You robbed me in Blackwater! The day that ferry got robbed! You’re the reason I lost my house!”

“I didn’t make you lose your house, miss.”

“Bullshit! You pointed a gun at my head and made me hand over everything I had. That money was gonna pay for my house for the next month! I’d still be living there if it weren’t for you!”

Anger courses through you and you want to hit this man. The dark haired man, Dutch you think Uncle called him, looks at the man.

“Is this true, Arthur?”

“Well, sure I robbed a gal down in Blackwater. She was sassin’ me, so I robbed her.”

“I lost everything. Everything because of you!”

“All you had was fifty bucks, hardly anything.”

“That was my month’s payment on my house! Then the goddamn town went into lockdown and I couldn’t make money, so the bank took my house back! Way I see it, you owe me, buddy!”

You’re shaking and quite a few people in the gang have gathered, drawn to your yelling.

“Wait, explain the situation in Blackwater,” the gray haired man asks. You tell him. Dutch and the man trade almost remorseful looks. You stand there, waiting for them to tell you to get lost. Instead, Dutch turns to the man he addressed as Arthur.

“You heard her, son. We owe her. Miss Grimshaw? Please show her a place to stay. What’s your name, girl?”

You’re shocked by this turn of events, but you tell him. A middle aged woman with a stern face comes over. She gestures for you to come over to her and then she puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Come along, dear. We can get you settled. Sounds like you’ve had quite the ordeal.”

She doesn’t ask you for further details nor does she explain anything about her gang. She just shows you to a spot under a canvas where three other girls sleep. They pull out a bedroll and spread it, allowing you to lie down. When you do, you realize how exhausted you are. Despite all the things that have happened, you fall quickly to sleep.

*********************************************

The next few days are a confusing blur. Most of the members are curious, especially when they hear that you lived in Blackwater and had an unfortunate run in with Arthur, who you’re still convinced is the one who sent you on this downward spiral.

Grimshaw explains that this gang cannot carry people who don’t work (which is odd because you haven’t seen Uncle do a thing besides drink and play his banjo), so she sets you to work at a wagon run by a man named Pearson, the camp cook. As you set down to chopping vegetables, Arthur walks over, looking sheepish.

“Um, ma’am, I uh I wanted to apologize. For robbin’ you. Guess… guess I been robbin’ folk so long it just comes natural.”

“I heard Dutch sayin’ you folks only rob from the rich in order to help the poor. I was never a rich woman, Mr. Morgan.”

He lowers his head. “I know. I figured since you was in Blackwater you had money to spare. I’m sorry. I know that if I hadn’t taken your money, you’d probably still have a home. You wouldn’t be in this mess. But I got you this. I know it won’t get you your house back, but maybe it can help somehow.”

He hands you a wad of cash. After counting it, you find it’s well over sixty dollars. You look up at him. “You’re right, it won’t get me my life back, Arthur. But I appreciate the gesture.”

He swallows a bit. “Well, I just wanted to let you know, you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you want. I’m gonna vouch for ya, I at least owe you that. And if there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

You thank him and he walks away. You feel a great weight lift from your shoulders. Your crimes from the other night won’t be erased, but at least you’re not having to be alone to deal with it. You have the possibility of making friends here with this gang out outlaws. After all, you are one yourself it seems. You suddenly wonder where your life might lead now that you’ve started down this path.

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

Text

the darker side

A Deckerstar canon divergence fic, diverging after season 3. The sequel to can we surrender?. Chapter 7/10; blood of the convenant. Read on AO3 here, or the full fic here.

Dan barely manages to make it through ten seconds of explanation--a note in Ella's lab, Kinley spotted on one of the precinct's security feeds, some blood they're rushing through testing--before Charlotte's gotten the judge to call a recess and they're rushing out of the courtroom. Lucifer's eyes aren't bright red, but there's the slightest gleam to it that just doesn't look right.

"Dan, what does the note say?" Chloe asks. Lucifer's taking them farther away from the car, which Chloe would question if she didn't trust his reactions and opinions as much as she does.

"It says Uriel," Dan says, and when Chloe relays that to Lucifer, he closes up even further, expression as distant as it was back when they first met without the mask of amusement and debauchery for it to hide behind.

"I know where to go," Lucifer says. "Dete--Chloe. It's almost certainly a trap."

"Well, obviously," Chloe says. "But it's--Ella, I'm not exactly going to leave her with a murderous psychopath!"

Charlotte groans. "Ugh. Give me the address."

"Charlotte, much I appreciate your willingness to help Ella--"

"I'm not stepping into a deathtrap, thank you, but I can call backup. For Kinley at least, not your--you know."

Chloe shrugs. It can't hurt, probably. Lucifer recites an address off, some street Chloe's never heard of, and then holds his hands out for her to carry. Oh. They're off behind the courthouse, where there aren't any cameras or passersby, so she jumps into his arms and he brings out his wings.

Charlotte stares at him for a second before shaking off the trance. "Save Ella. And don't die." (In that order goes unspoken. Charlotte likes them all well enough, but Dan and Ella certainly take precedence for her.)

Flying is a unique experience. It's a little like riding a motorcycle (or sitting in a convertible that's going way, way too fast, she thinks wryly). The wind's cold and cutting but invigorating all-at-once, and while she knows they're going faster than a plane, Lucifer's arms are grounding enough that she doesn't feel unsafe. If she were just a bit braver, if the circumstances weren't so dire, she'd open her eyes to check out the view.

Lucifer sounds completely normal when he talks, as though the wind isn't affecting him at all. The closer she gets to him, the more she notices these little--quirks, the things that mark him as not-quite-human. "Pierce told me Michael had attempted to make a deal with him, but that he wasn't--and I'm quoting here, certainly not my personal opinion--that he wasn't stupid enough to do something that would harm someone he would feel guilty about."

"Ella," Chloe guesses, eyes still screwed shut. "What did the note mean? Uriel? Is that one of your brothers?" Lucifer's the only thing she's touching right now, and at every point of contact, he tenses. "We don't have to talk about it."

"He was," Lucifer says, and the wind stops all at once. Chloe opens just the one eye, sees that they've come to a stop in front of some old, abandoned church.

"I'm sorry," she says, because she's not sure what else there is to say. He lowers his arms, bringing her to the ground gently. She puts one hand to her hip; good, still armed. She gets the feeling she might need that.

Lucifer barks out a laugh, no humor in it at all. "Detective, I don't deserve your sympathies." Chloe frowns, immediately wanting to refute it, anxiety over Ella beating a too-quick rhythm in her chest. "Another time, then."

His eyes flare red, a grin she's never seen before on his face, not even when he had a blade to Pierce's throat. She should hate it.

But hey, going after Ella? Kinley's got it coming.

Lucifer walks in first, holding the door open for her. When he looks further in, the grin doesn't drop at all, but the line of his shoulders tenses even further. "Kinley."

"Is Chloe Decker with you?" asks Kinley. Lucifer's gaze flicks to her, which seems to be answer enough. "Excellent. Would you both come in, please?"

Chloe, safety already off, takes a few steps in. Ella's sitting in one of the pews, and Chloe can't see her face at all from the entryway. She can see the line of red dripping down her face, and if she couldn't see the gleam of silver in Kinley's hand, no amount of firearm safety training would have stopped her from shooting him.

Kinley doesn't look half as ready to fight as Lucifer, but Lucifer can't stop time, and Ella's so close to him. From a tactical standpoint, what they should be doing is trying to deescalate until a sniper can get a shot But no one will be here for awhile, even if Charlotte can convince someone to send as many cars as possible without any calls in or reasoning as to why. (Yeah, our criminal ex-lieutenant prayed to your consultant about it, so we can definitely trust that.)

"I want you to know," he says. "That I wish it hadn't come to this. Especially not for you." That last part is directed to Ella, who shudders just a little. There's a low growl in Lucifer's chest, distinctly inhuman, low enough that Chloe almost misses it. Kinley doesn't, standing further up. "And that I am doing this for the greater good."

"You're doing this because you're Michael's lapdog," Lucifer says.

Kinley nods enthusiastically. Jesus Christ. "What could be more for the greater good than enacting the will of heaven?"

"Hurting innocent people is the will of heaven? Believers, nonetheless?"

Kinley's arm doesn't shake, no doubt flickers across his face, but his tone isn't quite so firm. "To stop further evil from being unleashed upon the world? Yes. My life--a hundred lives!--would be worth that."

"Oh, zealots," Lucifer says. "There'll be so much to work with in Hell for you."

Chloe's gut twists at that, but she's sure to keep her face calm. It's not as though he doesn't deserve it, right? "Look, we're here. Let Ella go."

"Not until I explain," Kinley says. "There is a prophecy--"

"A prophecy?" Ella says with a little laugh, startling Chloe. Her voice is weak, thready, and Chloe hopes Charlotte had the good sense to call EMS, too. "Something else I don't know about?" What? "I don't..."

Her voice trails off, and Lucifer exchanges a worried glance with Chloe. It's a strange look with his eyes still bright red.

"Yes, Ella," says Kinley, and God, this would be awful for Chloe, hearing someone take that kindly, helpful tone in this context, but Ella--in a church, held at knifepoint by a priest? Jesus. "When the Devil walks the Earth--"

Lucifer starts to inch closer, silent and subtle enough that Chloe wouldn't notice at all if she weren't standing so close to him. Now, with Kinley's focus on Ella, he doesn't seem to be at all aware. Chloe wants to run forwards herself, but she's not half as quiet, and she can do more from a distance with this firearm than worth risking the liability of being in knife range.

"--and finds his first love, evil shall be released," he finishes, tone imbuing it with the weight of all his convictions. "So you see why I had to intervene!"

"And I assure you," Lucifer says. "That Miss Lopez has nothing to do with any of that kind of love whatsoever."

"Of course not!" Kinley says. "But I needed you both here. I needed--you to understand, Chloe. That Lucifer cannot be here. That the balance of the world itself depends on it."

Chloe couldn't give less of a shit about the balance of the world right now, especially when Lucifer doesn't look any more nervous at the mention of it than he does at Ella's fucking kidnapping. "We're here now," she tries. "Let her go."

"And let Lucifer fly you both away?" Kinley shakes his head. "I'm sorry. He needs to return to Hell."

Lucifer doesn't laugh or make any other snarky comment, which is a testament to the danger he must feel. "And why not have Michael attempt to take me there himself? Have his wings failed as well?"

"How dare you disrespect--"

Kinley rears back, just enough that the knife isn't so close to Ella, and Chloe takes the shot, hitting him in the meat of his shoulder--it'll disable the arm, hurt like hell, push him back enough for Lucifer to move, quicker than the eye can see, and shove him against the wall, stone cracking with the force of it. Ella throws her hands over her head, but gets up when Chloe yells for her to run.

"How dare I?" Lucifer says, voice low enough that it shouldn't be carrying all the way to the other end of the church like this. "You kidnap and hurt an innocent here, of all places, and you think my father would want anything to do with this?"

"I'm--" Kinley's voice barely carries, sounds choked. "I--"

"Lucifer," Chloe says, putting the safety back on. "This isn't--"

"This is, Detective," Lucifer snarls. "According to this vile waste of oxygen, I'm the evil that's waiting to be released anyway, so why not direct it at someone truly worth of Hell?"

His skin cracks, Kinley's face lit up with firelight from Lucifer's devil face emerging. Chloe's heart thuds heavy in her chest, but she forces herself through it. This is Lucifer, it's fine, if she self-actualized her rage right now she's sure she wouldn't look pretty too. Ella bolts out the door behind her--one long cut on her forehead, bleeding a lot but that's normal for face wounds, doesn't look too deep, a black eye. She still doesn't hear sirens, doesn't see red and blue flashing lights coming to the rescue.

Just her, the Devil, and a man who might honestly be worthy of hell. But they can't--she can't work like that. He has to be proven guilty--it's not like they don't have the evidence for it, especially with Ella's testimony--in a court of law, and then he'll serve his sentence.

As for after that sentence ends--well, then it's Hell's business.

"We don't even know if that prophecy means anything," Chloe tries, and Kinley drops, just a little, Lucifer loosening his grip, not dropping him entirely. The sound of Kinley's rattling breath is not as reassuring as it should be. "And how would killing him do anything but prove him right? Besides, we need to know how he found out about this, and how Michael got involved." Lucifer's still for a long, difficult moment, Kinley's inhales still labored. But then he drops him, the priest collapsing to the floor, unable to support his own weight. Chloe exhales. "Okay. Okay."

Lucifer's face is his own, expression dark but eyes--well, also dark, actually, no longer glowing red. The beginnings of a bruise are already forming around Kinley's throat, and Chloe--can't bring herself to care too much.

"You should check on Miss Lopez," Lucifer says after a long beat. "I swear I won't harm Kinley physically until you return."

Chloe, halfway out the door of the church, pauses. "Or harm him in other ways, right?"

Lucifer doesn't say anything.

"Lucifer."

"Fine, full Hippocratic oath standards," he says, petulant like a kid who just got told he couldn't get an extra candy bar at the store. The corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile involuntarily; it's a ridiculous situation, but Lucifer's never anyone but himself, and that's reassuring in its own way.

Outside the front door of the church, the California air's hot like a hairdryer against the face. LA isn't usually too bad, but she's dressed for court, not being in the middle of nowhere, LA County. "Ella?"

"Here," she hears, in the shakiest, least-cheerful she's ever heard Ella. It sounds like it's from the other side of the church, probably where the shadow is, and Chloe heads over, sits down by Ella, who's hunched in the ground holding her knees, looking younger than Chloe can remember.

"Hey," Chloe says, gently putting a hand on Ella's shoulder, and Ella leans into her. There's tear tracks on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Definitely!" Ella says, though the hitch in her breath isn't exactly convincing. Chloe shifts the hand on her shoulder to around both her shoulders, tugging her in closer. "What's a killer priest working with an archangel! Who my grandma has a little statue of! By the way! It doesn't look like him at all!"

Chloe waits. Sometimes the best thing to do after a traumatic situation is to just let them talk it out. Granted, none of her handbooks or training have advice on this specific situation, but she's used to trusting her gut in situations like this, anyway, and she's not sure what she'd say.

"And--I don't--I thought he'd be like Amenadiel, you know? Sort of, like, wow! That's an angel! But he just--talked? And he doesn't act like Lucifer at all, and his power is--God."

"Lucifer told me Michael's power is fear," Chloe says quietly.

Ella tenses further. "And you didn't want to share that with me?"

"I--"

"I mean, what else are you keeping from me?" Ella pushes her away, glaring. "If you didn't think it was important to mention that--"

"Ella, I really didn't realize we hadn't," Chloe tries, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Ella looks pissed; it's not something she'd ever expected to see, let alone directed at her. "I'm sorry."

Ella holds the glare for a beat longer before she relaxes, tearing up again. "Sorry. I just--sorry. He was just talking, I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Chloe says, holding up her arms again. Ella leans right into the hug this time. (Damn, she gives great hugs.) "We're up against people who can get in our head, it's not your fault that they managed to for a second."

"Right, yeah," Ella says. "Stupid. Sorry."

"Not stupid," Chloe says. "Seriously."

Backup arrives, finally, and Chloe waves at them from the shadow. Someone brings over a shock blanket that Ella wraps around her shoulders right away before her nose wrinkles and she says, "Way too hot for this, actually, but can I get some water?" The unis, most of whom know Ella by reputation if not personally, oblige as quickly as they can. Kinley gets brought out in handcuffs, and Chloe's arm tightens around Ella. He doesn't look over once. He doesn't look insane like Jimmy Barnes either, but she hadn't expected Lucifer to break his word.

"We should probably get you to the hospital," Chloe says after the car with Kinley pulls away.

"It's a face wound, they just bleed a lot," Ella mumbles.

"Okay, and if I was the one who went through something this rough and had a head wound, you would say--?"

Ella groans. "I mean, of course I'd already be halfway to the hospital with you in my passenger seat. Fiiiine." She's not quite back to herself--her smile's weak and her stance is shaky--but the glimpse of normal Ella makes Chloe's grin back entirely genuine.

Lucifer doesn't lie, which means that Chloe's gotta be thinking about how to explain how they got here even as she helps Ella to another one of the cars. Dan's tip? There's no way they'd make it this far from the courthouse without Lucifer's wings. A C.O? (She thinks about Diana, who was found in a place as out-of-the-way as this, and the stab of guilt isn't easier the seventieth time around.) There's still the possibility that people will ask questions, but Ella's testimony should help their case. It's not as though they actually did anything wrong.

Lucifer steps out of the church, entirely confident as though he hadn't just almost crushed a man's windpipe with a single hand. Something in Chloe's gut twists, just a little, and she berates herself for it as she walks over to him. It's not his fault he had to rule over Hell for thousands upon thousands of years, and she'd had her moments of wanting a quicker justice than the courts, too. (She'd pointed a gun at her dad's killer, and known how easy it would be to pull the trigger even if it weren't for Maze and Lucifer both egging her on.)

"I see you kept your word," Chloe says, thankful that it comes out teasing and not relieved.

"Always," he says, offense probably only half-played up, and she takes his hand. He squeezes it once, as if to ground himself. She smiles, and squeezes back. "Is there a place we can duck out of sight of all the unis? Just for a moment?"

"Lucifer, I've told you, not at crime sce--"

"Give me some credit," he says, though the way he looks down at her shows it's not too far from his mind. "I wanted to explain who Uriel was."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting that for--honestly, months, if previous secrets are anything to go by. Her surprise has to show on her face, since Lucifer's expression shutters, and she starts to pull him back towards the shaded part of the church while the unis case the scene. "Sure. Let's go."

As soon as they're out of sight, she drops his hand, leans back against the wall, and asks, "So what happened?"

"Right," Lucifer says, and as he opens his mouth to say something, she hears the same voice call, "Detective!" from further away. Fuck, she should've been more careful, she's not--

Michael moves to grab her, and her gun would be useless against an angel even if she wasn't way too close. Still, she has to try, so she reaches for her holster, manages to get the gun out when Michael grabs her, tries to knock it out of her hand. Then she's flying, eyes squeezed shut, the invigorating air from before terrifying now that the person carrying her isn't safe.

But he's not quite so careful as Lucifer, and she manages to tuck it into the back of her pants without him noticing. She's not sure what good it'll do, but it's something. Hopefully he'll assume she did drop it, hopefully she makes him vulnerable too (gross, but would be very helpful), hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Lucifer, if you can hear me, she prays, and then there's an intense pain at the back of her head, and she falls unconscious.

#deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer on netflix #fox lucifer #my fics #fic: the darker side #series: the journey of us

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bordeauxatdusk · 4 years

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Mystique (A Detroit: Become Human Fanfic) Part 1

Read the full fic (so far) on Ao3 here!

DISCLAIMER this fic is about gay android detectives in 2038. Please know that I am a BLM supporter and that I do not write in this in support of our current shitty criminal justice system.

Forget-me-nots.

The dead woman’s eyes were the same color as the flowers in her hair.

She was poised, artfully, in an elegant position that looked almost like a sculpture. Rigor mortis held her in place. The crown of forget-me-nots was integrated with an elaborate veil of white lace that fell gracefully down her back.

The bloodstained silk wedding gown she was wrapped in extended outward, rippling over the room, which was staged like a movie set; a host of antique items and classic still-life objects had been structured to frame her. Elaborate globes mingled with vases of flowers mingled with stacks of old yellowing books, covers frayed. Warm light streamed in lazily from large arcing windows, illuminating the oakwood floors of the room.

The light glinted off the pearl dagger embedded in the woman’s chest. In front of her, a gold-leafed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been left open to the infamous scene:

“O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath.”

A human would undoubtedly call the scene beautiful.

To Nines, however, it was simply another murder.

He was capable of appreciating beauty, although many would be surprised to hear it. (Some people were surprised to hear that androids were capable of any abstract thought at all.)

Nines understand the concept of aesthetic value perfectly well. What he was not capable of understanding was how humans, in their love of aesthetic value, sometimes seemed to discard logic and reason.

The concept of a beautiful murder was immaterial to him. It was still murder. Whether it was committed in a wide-open oak room or in a rotting gutter made no difference.

Nines would hunt down and eliminate the murderer either way.

He was glad that Gavin felt the same, although Nines was concerned that he seemed disproportionately unnerved by something. What exactly it was, Nines couldn’t tell.

He knew that Gavin was upset partially from the rising levels of adrenaline in his scans, partially from the fact that Gavin’s pupils were dilated and he was beginning to fidget in the way he typically expressed distress (tapping his fingers together and pacing, mostly) and partially from the fact that he was increasing his profanity from its normal rate of about every one in fifteen words to every one in ten.

Nines had spent a lot of time analyzing Gavin Reed. Perhaps an irrational amount.

It hadn’t helped much.

Nines guessed that the cause of his partner’s distress must be some deeply-held psychological trauma. Humans often experienced it, and Gavin personally had suffered a difficult childhood. Whatever the reason for his distress, it must be very serious.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘ I don’t know ’, Tina?! ” his partner was currently yelling into his phone. “It’s a simple goddamn question! Do they have jalapeno poppers or not?!”

Fascinating.

Nines was well equipped to read Gavin, but very poorly equipped to understand him. The difference, he felt, was vast. He was... displeased by it. Androids were predictable, generally. Deviants much less so than non-deviants, of course, but they were still more logical than humans. At first Nines had been convinced that Gavin was simply uncomfortable expressing his emotions, but the android had begun to discover that Gavin himself was often unaware of them.

Perhaps there was some unpleasant memory jalapeno poppers evoked for his partner. He would have to ask later. Nines would have preferred to have Gavin leave the room and take a few minutes to calm down, but he had learned recently that it wasn’t an option. Apparently, Nines doing what he was designed to do and examining the physical evidence without Gavin’s interference meant he was “being a fucking know-it-all” and a “stuck-up asshole.”

“Look,” Gavin had said a few weeks ago, waving a hand dismissively to try and distract from the fact that he was clearly upset. “ It’s no big deal. Just don’t keep fucking asking me to leave in the middle of crime scenes, okay?”

Nines had been unable to see the point of this request. “ Gavin, you were clearly disgusted by the scope of the damage done to the victim.”

“Well, yeah,” Gavin had muttered sulkily, “but you don’t need to be all weird about it. Look, Nines, I want to do my job. Let me do it. Even if I’m not really helping, just let me feel like I am, okay?”

Nines had been even more confused. “ If you aren’t going to help, why are you so determined to be there? Humans aren’t exactly well-equipped for forensic analysis to begin with. I don’t hold it against you.”

It had escalated into a full-blown fight that left Nines more confused than ever until Gavin was finally able to articulate that he didn’t want to feel useless.

The absurdity and simplicity of the answer had caught Nines off guard. Gavin Reed, useless? They had won a medal together just six months ago for solving an incredibly dangerous case, saving the lives of ten other officers in the process (and possibly the entire DPD). Their success had almost entirely been due to Gavin. Useless?

Nines strongly disagreed.

He had told Gavin so. Nines always said what he meant.

Gavin had huffed under his breath.

“ Alright, shit, I get it,” he’d said, trying and failing not to smile. “You’re a big fucking suck-up.”

Nines knew enough about humans to understand that the insulting response had roughly meant, in Gavin-language,“Thank you, Nines. I’m flattered.”

What confused him is why Gavin didn’t just say that instead.

Humans never said what they meant. It was inconvenient.

Gavin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Robocop. You find anything?”

Nines blinked. Gavin was staring at him, phone in hand, waiting.

Nine shook his head. “This crime scene is so elaborately staged, I can’t move through it without risking disrupting the evidence. Every object in this room is potentially a key to solving the case. There’s a very low probability the killer managed to set this up without leaving some traces of his presence behind-- fingerprints, hair, DNA. It would be better to wait until forensics arrives, and allow them to do their job. “

Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinking. It was a habit of his.

(One that Nines found extremely distracting, but it wasn’t the time for that.)

“Is something bothering you, Detective?” Nines asked.

Gavin huffed. “Yeah, stop calling me ‘detective.’ You know my name.”

He paused for a moment, sighed, and then gestured to the scene in front of them.

“It’s this whole thing, Nines. I hate it when they do this shit. It’s so fucked up. Trying to turn something so horrible into something pretty, or romantic, or-- I don’t know. You’ll see. These cases are always hell to investigate. We can’t let a single drop of this leak to the media, or else this poor girl is going to be on the front page of every newspaper across the country. ‘The Girl In the Wedding Dress’, or some shit like that.”

Nines didn’t understand. “I’m not sure I’m following you. You don’t want her case to be publicized?”

Gavin shook his head. “Hell no. How do I explain this? Okay. This girl, she’s not fucking Juliet, right? What's her real name? You know it already with your facial recognition?”

“Ashley Briggs.”

“Okay. She’s not Juliet. She’s Ashley. Ashley was a whole person, with a life and family and friends, and then some fucking creepy asshole murdered her and dressed her up like Juliet. The media’s problem is, they like stories with publicity. They like stuff that has a nice ring to it. Ashley Briggs, not so much. ‘The Girl in the White Dress?’ ‘The Woman in White?’ some other bullshit like that? They eat that up. A picture of a pretty girl in a wedding dress with a dagger in her chest? That’s the kind of stuff they eat for breakfast. They love it, Nines! It’s like the Black Dahlia. If any of this gets out, nobody will give two fucks about Ashley Briggs, but they’ll all love her death."

Gavin stopped for a moment to take a breath, hands gesturing wildly, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Rumors will be everywhere. Poor Ashley’s family is gonna have to deal with photos of their little girl murdered and dressed up in a fucking wedding dress all over every tabloid in the grocery store for the next eight years. And not a single one of the people obsessed with ‘Juliet’ is gonna give a shit about Ashley. Everyone’s gonna see her how the killer saw her, how he wanted us to see her, how he set her up: as pretty tragic Juliet in a wedding dress. Nobody is gonna know or remember Ashley Briggs. Don’t you see how fucked up that is? They never give a shit about the victim, even though they pretend to. It’s always about the fucking killer and his ideology.”

Nines was stunned. He had never considered that aspect of a crime before. Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem disturbing.

“They’ll romanticize her murder," he finished for Gavin, who looked almost too angry to continue.

Gavin nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The most fucked up part is, that’s what he wants. Her killer staged her this way because he’s trying to put on a fucking show. This is a murder with a message, we just don’t know what it is. I hate that those bastards always seem to get the attention they want. People always remember the killer, but they never remember the victim. Hell, how many people do you think could name a single victim of Ted Bundy? Or Jeffery Dahmer? Or any of the other sick bastards that decide to take their sexual fantasies out on so many innocent people that everyone forgets about?”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know that this murder is sexual in nature.”

Gavin huffed. “Nah, but there’s a pattern when it comes to motive and method. There’s tons of examples. Um. Execution-style gunshots to the back of the head are cold, professional. Victim’s turned away, there’s a distance between them and the killer. No eye contact. Hired killers, a lot of the time.”

Gavin demonstrated with a finger gun, eyes distant, like he was remembering cases he’d seen before.

“Stranglings are personal, and a lot of the time they’re sexual. Killer’s up close, right in their face. Looking them in the eye, watching them slowly die, hands-on contact. It’s ‘intimate’ for those fucked-up pieces of shit. They’re normally sexual sadists. Hate those ones.”

Gavin’s brow wrinkled in disgust as he demonstrated.

“Stabbings are personal too, but in a different way. Bloody, aggressive, painful. Personal vendetta, lots of times. Someone close to the victim with a grudge. Betrayal maybe, ‘cause there’s anger behind it. Besides, she’s staged as fucking Juliet. Who do you think her Romeo’s supposed to be? The mailman?”

Nines hummed in response. He didn’t doubt Gavin’s theory, but any investigation should work from the external to the internal. The solid evidence should be interpreted to form theories, not theories interpreted to fit the evidence. The second an investigator began to let their personal opinions dictate the situation, they became biased.

“I still believe we should wait for the evidence to be analyzed before assuming anything.”

Gavin crossed his arms. His body language throughout this speech had been aggressive. Nines’ scans told him that Gavin was intensely angry.

“I’m not fucking assuming, I’m theorizing. If the evidence says something different then I’ll change my tune. I’m just saying, maybe the fact that she’s being staged all pretty in a fancy room in a wedding dress mirroring the suicide from goddamn ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ might have some tiny romantic undertones, Nines.”

“So perhaps we should interview her neighbors first.”

“Hell yes, we should,” Gavin said. “Starting with whoever found the body.”

He started to turn away to head out the door.

Nines stopped him. “Gavin, wait.”

He twisted back around in surprise. “What?”

Nines pressed his hands together, standing stiffly. “Are you angry with me?”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment in an emotion Nines was unable to read. There was a second of tension, and then Nines’ partner seemed to crumple inward as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“No,” he said to the floor by his feet. “Sorry. It’s this case. Stuff like this- it’s fucking creepy. I get all tense. Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. I’m just- I’m not good at expressing shit, y’know. ”

Nines walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin’s entire demeanor changed, going from aggressive to something much more vulnerable instantly. It was a switch that, even though they’d been together for six months now, Nines had rarely seen.

“No,” Gavin said softly. “I just want to catch the bastard. Otherwise, cases like this, they always stick with me. I’ll- I’ll see her everywhere. Ashley, I mean. In mirrors, reflections, dreams. Asking me why I couldn’t do it. People always act like murder investigations are some cop-show badass bullshit, but they aren’t. The pressure’s gonna be hell. We’re gonna have to go through her whole life and dig up a lot of secrets. Everyone has graves that are better left buried. Take my word for it, it’s gonna suck. And even if we find the fucking bastard, he still might get off. Normally, I can distance myself from it, I guess, but when it’s something this creepy- I just- I don’t know if I can do it. There's something about this case. I have such a bad fucking feeling about this whole thing. It’s driving me crazy. ”

Nines reached out and wrapped his arms around Gavin, pulling him close. It was meant as a comforting gesture, and he noticed with satisfaction that his partner’s distress seemed to decrease.

Nines was beginning to understand how to react to Gavin’s moods, even if he didn’t always understand the reason why they were happening. They had both worked dozens of homicide cases. Nines didn’t understand how this case was any different, but it didn’t matter. He was programmed to adapt to human unpredictability.

He never knew what to make of Gavin’s hunches, though. They were objectively irrational, and they were also always right. It drove him insane. It defied reason.

Then again, nothing about Gavin was reasonable.

“We’re professionals,” Nines began, “and-”

“And you’re hugging me in the middle of a fucking murder scene,” Gavin interrupted, voice muffled from pressing his face into Nines’ shoulder, “like a true professional.”

“You needed a hug. Let me finish. We’re professionals, and there’s a lot of potential just in this room for the killer to have made a mistake. The chances of him staging all this with zero forensic evidence left behind are very low-”

“Mhmmm,” Gavin said, leaning into the hug.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope,” Gavin muttered.

Nines sighed.

He gently pulled Gavin away from him, brushing off his partner’s coat, which was eternally covered in cat hair.

“We need to go interview the neighbors. Listen. We work very well together. We’ve faced near-impossible odds before. Compared to our last big case, this will most likely be easy.”

“Nothing’s ever easy,” Gavin groaned. “Especially not in fucking homicide.”

“Well then, we’ll support each other, just like last time.”

Gavin smiled wryly. “Are you going to break a rib and give me a concussion again?”

“That highly depends,” Nines said, “on whether or not you plan to shoot me a second time.”

“You told me to!”

“I was paralyzed and all my communications were disabled. I couldn’t tell you to do anything."

“Your light flashed!”

“My LED,” Nines said, raising an eyebrow, “never stops flashing, unless I’m decommissioned.”

Gavin shoved him-- an adorably futile effort, considering he didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Come on, smartass,” Gavin said. “We have some friendly neighbors to interrogate.”

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #nines

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iffeelscouldkill · 5 years

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Adjusting [Part 3: Campbell]

A/N: It liiiives! Here is a long overdue Chapter 3. As compensation for the wait, this chapter is longer than the other two chapters put together :D

I originally drafted this chapter some time ago, but then once I started serialising the fic on AO3, decided that I wanted to rework the middle part. I wound up redrafting most of it over the past few months, and it was a bit of a slog at times, but I'm much, much happier with the final result. A big big thank you once again goes to my wonderfully encouraging beta @dragonsthough101, and to @whelvenwings for writing with me and listening to my Fic Woe and helping me fix That One Section that I was struggling with!

A heads up that this chapter contains some quite heavy conversations about wartime under an oppressive regime, loss and regret. There are no graphic descriptions of violence, just a lot of fairly grim introspection. It probably goes without saying, but I'm not a military veteran myself, so I based all of this on the podcast canon and my own imagination.

Please take care of yourselves, and I hope you all enjoy 💜

---

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

---

About three weeks on from the Iris’ flight from New Jupiter, Sana calls a crew meeting. It isn’t their first by any means, but until now, crew meetings have either been about the division of chores or about pooling information to convey to the resistance movement. This one is different.

“We’re making another stop-off,” she tells the crew once they’re all assembled, Arkady looking half-asleep and disgruntled at the earliness of the hour. “I’ve arranged to meet a… long-time contact of ours. I know that we need to be careful about who we trust outside of the crew on this ship and confirmed members of the anti-IGR resistance, but… he’s a friend. An old friend.”

RJ raises their hand. “Is it Ignatius Campbell?” they ask, feeling like they’re on a quiz show.

Arkady revives slightly and snorts. “Got it in one, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” RJ shoots back automatically. This is old, well-worn banter between them at this point.

Sana blushes slightly. “Right. I forgot that of course… you and Park know exactly who Campbell is.” She gives them a sidelong look, and RJ suspects that she’s remembering her fractious exchange with Campbell after Elion, and thinking about exactly what they would have heard.

“If it’s any consolation, we’ve been trying to forget about the recordings, too,” Park offers, slightly abashed, as he always is when this subject comes up.

RJ finds it awkward, too, but doesn’t see any point in pretending that they weren’t at one point on very different sides. Or that listening to the recordings from the Rumor wasn’t literally their job. But Park is right – they have been doing their best to forget about those long days and nights spent cooped up in their tiny office, replaying audio over and over. Know thy enemy had practically been RJ’s motto back in those days, but the Rumor crew aren’t their enemies any more. And RJ wants to move on from the person they were back then.

“I’ve spoken to Campbell a couple of times since… Well, since Elion,” Sana continues. “Trying to smooth things over since we-”

“Accused him of backstabbing us?” Arkady volunteers drily.

“To be fair, we really didn’t have any other good theories about what was going on,” Brian puts in. “None of us would have ever jumped to ‘an invisible robot nanoswarm’ as the source of our leak.”

Sana nods. “I know, and Campbell understands that, too. That’s why he’s willing to meet with us, and help us out – with supplies, and with information about the situation on Telemachus as well as some of the other Regime planets.”

“What about payment?” Violet asks. “We’re pretty light on funds at the moment, and we don’t have any cargo to trade either.”

“Campbell has agreed to effectively give us the goods on credit, with the understanding that we’ll pay at a later date,” Sana replies. “We’re also trading a little information in exchange for what he knows. Nothing top-secret, just a bit about the Regime’s movements, to help him keep two steps ahead.”

“And did you ‘barter’ with him to get him to agree to that deal?” Arkady asks, raising her eyebrows in a significant way.

Sana reddens a little, but says with dignity, “I don’t know what you’re implying. But yes, we did haggle for a bit.”

“Nice to hear that you two are back on ‘bartering’ terms,” says Arkady with a smirk.

Krejjh, looking between Arkady and Sana, grins as if Ferin has come early.

Ignoring this, Sana continues, “It’s obviously too dangerous for us to land on any of the IGR planets, so I’ve arranged to meet Campbell on Halton Station, in the Neutral Zone.”

Brian instantly perks up. “Dude! We’re going to Neuzo? Wait, isn’t Halton Station-”

“Where Thasia and Emily Craddock grew up,” Krejjh finishes eagerly.

“Yeah. To be honest, I picked it half because I knew the name, but it happens to be in a particularly convenient location for us, too,” says Sana. “It’s also not that populated, so there’s less chance of us attracting unwanted attention.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to go outside?” Krejjh asks, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, for the gentle caress of the wind! The touch of the ground beneath my feet!”

“I don’t see why not,” Sana says with a smile. “Just try to keep things, uh… low-key?”

Arkady snorts eloquently.

Later on, RJ is on joint kitchen cleaning duty with Violet, who is chatting aimlessly about the rendezvous with Campbell.

“…it’s just going to be Sana, Krejjh and Arkady going out to meet Campbell on Halton Station,” she says. “It’s still not safe for Brian to set foot on Neuzo, and having a huge group would definitely attract unwanted attention. So, I guess we won’t get a chance to meet Campbell this time, unless he comes back to the ship.”

“Is that likely?” asks RJ.

“If things go well between Sana and Campbell, I guess,” Violet says with a small smile. “At least, that’s what Arkady thinks.”

“So, are Sana and Campbell… a couple?” RJ clarifies. Violet laughs a little, moving a dishrag in slow circles over the countertop.

“Not that I know of? My impression from Arkady is that they’ve always been close, but never actually, uh… been romantically involved,” says Violet. “Then, after Elion… well. We didn’t really know who we could trust, and… Campbell was one of the only people who knew about our destination and had our new IDs. Or at least, so we thought.”

“Mmm,” RJ responds, which seems safer than ‘Sorry for being part of the evil government eavesdropping operation that made you paranoid and destroyed your friendships’.

“But now it seems they’re patching things up, so maybe…” Violet smiles brightly. “It would be great if they could make it work.”

“That’s true,” says RJ with as much enthusiasm as they can muster. Romance has never held much of an appeal for RJ – it’s nice for other people, but RJ realised some years ago that they just don’t feel the thing that people have devoted endless poems and novels and movies to, and trying to get invested in other people’s romances feels similarly awkward. But RJ likes Sana, and she deserves to be happy.

Violet, who is sensitive to that sort of thing, seems to pick up on RJ’s train of thought. “Sorry, I realise we might seem a bit… romance-obsessed on this ship sometimes,” she says with an embarrassed smile. “If it gets to be too much… feel free to tell us to knock it off any time, really.”

RJ thinks about working under the IGR, and the way that no-one ever felt safe being themselves. They’ve already started to take this new freedom for granted – but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the way things used to be.

“It’s fine,” they say.

---

This time, it’s not unsettling dreams or racing thoughts that are keeping RJ awake. It’s just energy. It’s midnight, but they feel as tense and jittery as though they’ve just downed four mugs of that overbrewed sludge the IGR used to serve employees in the breakroom.

A lot happened during the day. A huge amount of planning went into the rendezvous with Campbell on Halton Station, and even though RJ wasn’t part of the group who went out to meet him, they were involved in every other part of the endeavour.

Halton Station might be in the Neutral Zone, but they’d already established that the IGR was willing to cross huge lines and even violate the Treaty in order to get what it wanted, and the crew of the Iris is wanted on every IGR planet. It’s impossible to be too careful. Park and RJ had advised Sana to the best of their knowledge on steps that the IGR might take to try and survey the area, on the resources that they might try to use.

Meanwhile, Brian and Krejjh – both over the moon at being back on Neuzo, where they first met – had taken it in turns to tell stories about Ryedell Station, where Brian once worked as a bartender alongside his friend Alvy Connors.

Inside the Republic, the Neutral Zone was referenced only sparingly, and always characterised as a den of vice and iniquity. RJ had hardly ever thought about it except to be glad that they’ve never had the misfortune to set foot on any of its stations. But hearing stories about a place where humans and Dwarnians co-existed alongside each other, talking, trading, bartering… It’s made RJ realise just how narrow their world was until recently. And it’s sobering.

Sure, they’ve been watching Dwarnian soap operas, which deal with a completely alien (literally) species and set of cultures – but those are overblown and feel removed from RJ’s day-to-day reality. This doesn't.

So, RJ processes by pottering around the kitchen, making a late-night cup of tea. The light in the kitchen is kind of busted and it only emits a very dim glow – Sana has been swearing that she’ll tackle it once they’ve got the supplies from Campbell, but RJ finds it soothing, particularly at this hour.

It does make them jump, however, when the door suddenly slides open to admit a tall, dark shape.

“Apologies,” says the man, in a rough voice accented with a slight drawl. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ignatius Campbell,” says RJ in realisation. His voice, though RJ has only ever heard it over comms (and recorded comms at that), is pretty distinctive. Also, process of elimination dictates that there’s only one person this could be.

“The very same,” says Campbell, inclining his head forward. The door slides shut behind him. “And you must be RJ McCabe? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

RJ would like to say something witty like ‘The one and only’, but doesn’t really think they could pull it off. Instead, after a few dumb moments of deliberation, they manage, “You can call me RJ.”

Okay, so maybe they’re more tired than they realised.

Campbell raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, then, you can call me Ignatius.”

RJ doesn’t think so. Even Sana still calls him ‘Campbell’ – well, at least as far as RJ knows. Does his presence on the ship mean that the rendezvous has “gone well” like Violet and Arkady hoped?

The water comes to a boil, and RJ busies themself with pouring it out. “Would you, uh, like some tea?” they ask, mostly out of politeness – Campbell doesn’t really look like the tea type.

“Actually, I was planning on drinking something a bit stronger, if you don’t mind of course,” Campbell says, pulling out a battered metal flask from the pocket of his heavy brown coat. “It’s not moonshine,” he adds, at RJ’s slightly sceptical expression. “Just whiskey. You’re welcome to some, if you want.”

The opening notes of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ immediately start up in RJ’s head, and they inwardly curse Violet, who has a habit of humming it when she’s nervous. And when she’s happy. And when she’s been spending time with Arkady.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” says RJ, taking their tea and sitting down with it at the table. Campbell manages to locate a mug and pours his whiskey into it, but stays standing, drinking it slowly and staring into the middle distance. It puts RJ a little on edge, but they force themself to relax and remember that Campbell isn’t a threat.

It’s harder to resist the impulse to run through the collective intelligence that the Intergalactic Republic had on the man known as Ignatius Campbell. Known contact and long-time associate of the crew of the Rumor; expert forger; suspected aliases include Alexander Cole and Jonathan Johnson. Based in Telemachus, but with an extensive network of affiliates and possible connections across multiple galaxies.

As if picking up on their thoughts, Campbell suddenly asks, “You used to work for the IGR, right?”

RJ tenses. “Emphasis on ‘used to’,” they reply.

Campbell waves a hand. “Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to accuse you of anything. God knows everyone on this ship has stuff in their past they’d rather not go back to – me included,” he says, a little darkly. “No, I was just wondering what kind of intel they might have on me up there. Any good rumours?”

“Most of it was inconclusive,” RJ tells him, but thinks back anyway. It already feels unnatural trying to access the headspace and knowledge that they had while working for the IGR, after going to such pains to put it behind them. “W- They suspected you might have links to the notorious pirate Kim Hoff and her Bald-Cat gang, potentially as a supplier of intel or documentation, but nothing was proven.”

Campbell gives a low chuckle of amusement. “Believe it or not, I’m not the one on this ship with links to Hoff,” he says. “Though I can’t say we’ve never crossed paths.”

In response to RJ’s look of confusion, he elaborates: “She was Brian Jeeter’s thesis advisor.”

“You’re kidding,” says RJ in disbelief.

Campbell lays a hand on his heart. “I swear – you can ask him about it. For all that he might seem mild-mannered and harmless, Brian Jeeter has some interesting connections.”

“I’ve heard about his run-ins with the Dwarnian mafia,” says RJ, partly to show that they aren’t completely uninformed.

“Yeah, that’s another good example,” says Campbell. “There’s a reason why I’ve kept doing business with the Rumor crew all these years: they have some damn good stories to tell.”

RJ snorts in acknowledgement. If it weren’t for the fact that they’ve listened to some of the Rumor crew’s insane exploits (and been present for one or two of them) they wouldn’t have believed half of the stories that they’ve heard since they came aboard the Iris.

Neither of them says anything for a while, and RJ contemplates taking their tea back to their room so that they can carry on thinking. But the prospect is dull and a little claustrophobic, and part of them wants to take this opportunity to find out more about this person who is obviously so important to their crewmates.

“So…” says RJ, and Campbell’s gaze flicks over to them from where he’d been contemplating the cupboards. “What’s got you up so late, drinking whiskey in the kitchen with a total stranger?”

One corner of Campbell’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not a total stranger,” he points out. RJ just raises an eyebrow, and Campbell relents.

“Not sure, really – Sana and I were talking, but then she wanted to crash, and I wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. Got a bit too much going round in my head.”

RJ nods; in other words, a very similar reason to their own. “So I take it you’re staying the night?”

This immediately makes Campbell flustered, and RJ can’t make out his face very well but they imagine that he’s probably gone red. “I – I mean I am, but I promise that there’s nothing improper- It’s just for the one night. And we’re bunking in separate rooms,” he says in a rush.

RJ snorts and manages to keep from rolling their eyes – just about. “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” they tell Campbell. “I only asked because I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow morning, so I wanted to know how many people I’d be cooking for.”

“Oh.”

“Also, ‘improper’? What millennium is this, again?”

Campbell coughs, and says with the air of someone trying to pull the conversation back on track, “So – what about you? What has you up in the kitchen past midnight?”

RJ sips their tea, stalling for time as they try to decide how much to say about what has been keeping them awake. They settle on,

“I guess I’m… learning a lot about the universe that I never had the chance to before. Working for the… for the IGR, you’re told that only you have access to the real facts about everything – Dwarnians, the war, the upper limits of science and space exploration – and that anyone who tells you differently is lying or trying to confuse you. I prided myself,” they stress, bitterly, “on the thoroughness of my research. On having all the information. Now I realise just how little I really knew.”

Campbell nods, slowly. “All repressive governments control their people’s access to information,” he says. “The better to make sure that no-one gets any ideas of their own.”

“Yeah, I know,” says RJ, a little wearily. “I’m not under any illusions about what the IGR really is. Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Campbell points out. “Sure, maybe there were things you could’ve questioned and didn’t. There are also folks up at the top of the whole operation who have access to all the information and make a very different choice with it. At the end of the day, you still thought for yourself when it counted. You got out.”

RJ eyes Campbell warily. “I’m not fishing for reassurance here,” they tell him. “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Campbell holds up his hands in apology. “I know,” he says. “It just sounded to me like maybe you were being a little harsh on yourself.”

RJ shakes their head and searches for the right words. “When I joined up with the Rumor crew on New Jupiter, it wasn’t some heroic stand,” they say eventually, quietly. “It was a strategic decision I made to survive. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been killed on sight.”

“The crew of this ship knows a thing or two about survival,” Campbell tells them. “They’re not all on some grand moral crusade.”

RJ knows that Arkady worked as a guard for the IGR, that Violet used to be a government scientist, that Krejjh fought in the war on the Dwarnian side. But on nights like these, the gap between their experiences still feels vast.

The others, they all have this bond, a camaraderie forged from venturing out into the deepest parts of space, from facing near-death experiences and defying the Regime side by side. RJ might have tagged along at the end, but they don’t have that history. They haven’t earned that bond, yet.

RJ realises that Campbell is still watching them – considering, almost. Their first instinct is to break eye contact and look away, but instead they meet his gaze, raising their chin slightly. RJ thinks they see Campbell’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

“You know that I served in the military,” he says suddenly. It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” RJ replies cautiously.

“Do you want to know why I left?”

“Uh…”

RJ is well aware that Campbell fought in the war. They vividly recall the argument with Sana where Campbell angrily spoke about losing ninety percent of his first unit. RJ remembers listening to that exchange in their cramped office with Park, and looking over at him, wanting to ask for more information. But Park’s brow had been furrowed, his expression dark as he stared down at the wood of the desk, and the question died on RJ’s lips.

Park had fought in the war, too.

RJ doesn’t feel like they have a right to Campbell’s story any more than Park’s, but apparently, he's offering. “If you’re… okay with telling me,” they say uncertainly, pressing their mug between their palms until it’s a little painful. “I’m… sure it was nothing good.”

Campbell gives a short nod, his expression grim.

“I enlisted in the military in 2178, two years before the coup,” he says. “My first unit, they were… a really good group of people. Some of the best I’ve known. When the coup took place in 2180, we were excited. The old government had left the military drastically under-funded and over-stretched. The Regime promised better funding, better resources, more troops – of course, they accomplished that via the Mandate, but they made that seem like a great thing. A stable career path; an opportunity for everyone who was able to “serve the human race”. As they put it.”

RJ nods slowly. “I know. They’re pretty big on teaching that as part of the history of the Republic,” they say. “‘How the Intergalactic Republic transformed our military’.”

“Yeah, well, I experienced it first-hand. And for about a year, everything was as promised. But then my unit got word that we were being redeployed to the Dwarnian stronghold of Nreech-shlegga.”

RJ frowns. “As in… the Battle of Nreech-shlegga?”

“The very same,” Campbell confirmed. “But this was years before that battle. We were told that it was a small outpost, largely unmanned – an opportunity to score an early victory over the Dwarnians and make an incursion into their territory.”

RJ feels a sick sinking feeling, and unconsciously grips the edge of the table with one hand. “What happened?” they almost whisper, although they know the answer.

“On the basis of the briefing we were given, we stormed the stronghold,” Campbell says, and RJ suspects that he might not really have heard their question, lost in the memory. He’s not looking at them anymore, staring down at his mug, but he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course, Nreech-slegga was the exact opposite of what we'd been led to believe – it was an extremely well-defended military stronghold. My entire unit, barring myself and six others, was wiped out in less than an hour.”

Campbell is silent. RJ breathes out quietly, trying not to interrupt his thoughts by drawing attention to themself. Their throat is dry, but they’ve drunk all of their tea and daren’t move to make some more.

Several long minutes later, Campbell shakes himself a little, seeming to come back into the present. “Sorry,” he apologises gruffly, taking a swig of whiskey.

“Don’t apologise,” RJ says quickly, and then clamps their mouth shut, in case they sounded overly familiar. But Campbell nods, and they think they see his lips quirk upward slightly.

“What did you do… after?” RJ ventures, after another long moment of silence. They hate to pry, but they’re still not clear on why Campbell decided to tell them this in the first place. Maybe he’s not sure anymore either.

Campbell nods again, once, as if agreeing to something inside his head. He meets RJ’s eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I defected from the military?”

“Of course,” RJ says immediately. “After what they did to your unit? Your superiors must have known the reality of the situation, but they withheld crucial intel. It cost the lives of dozens of good soldiers.”

“I notice you haven’t considered for a moment that the IGR might have had a good reason for giving those orders,” Campbell points out. He sounds amused.

“I—” RJ falters. “I mean. How could they have?”

People died needlessly, they want to say. But they know that while they were on the IGR’s payroll, they came across all kinds of evidence of similar incidents and found ways to rationalise them, to explain away the devastating loss of human life. Like the planet where the inhabitants were left to starve without aid after their food supply was consumed by ants – because of “improper paperwork” and “budgetary concerns”. Or the fate of the original Iris, in which an entire crew had been murdered in order to silence one man.

Why had it taken RJ so long to see the Regime for what it really was?

Because it’s easy to make excuses, to explain things away, when it’s not your life on the line, RJ’s brain supplies. When you’re not the one they’re coming for.

“If you see any of the Rumor crew, or Agents McCabe or Park, shoot to kill.”

Until you are.

“You’re right,” Campbell says, and RJ stares at him for a few seconds, having lost the thread of their conversation. Their head feels heavy and over-full, their mind whirling. “My superiors had perfect intel on the situation in Nreech-slegga and knew the full extent of its defences, but they lied to us because they wanted to test the Dwarnians’ response times on their own territory. We were just cannon fodder to them.”

The phrase rings a bell in RJ’s mind – they remember him using the same words to Sana in ‘Report 6: Parallel’. They nod mutely.

“But in the wake of The Nreech-Slegga Disaster, as it became known – though only among the troops, as official reports of the incident were largely suppressed – they told us that they’d been fed false intel by double agents working for the Dwarnian Federation. They even used it as an excuse to purge a few members of the rank and file who’d fallen out of favour.

“I could tell something was off about it all – if the Dwarnian counter-intelligence efforts were so effective, why tip their hand so obviously? Why waste them on eliminating a single ground unit? But at the time, I couldn’t envision a life for myself outside of the military. And I was afraid to follow that train of logic any further, for fear of where it might lead me. So I stayed enlisted – for three more years.”

“Three… years?” RJ echoes in shock. “But…”

“Why would I stay?” Campbell finishes for them. “It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you’re on, to leave behind everything you know. I didn’t have them, then.” He stares off into the middle distance, mug held loosely in one hand. “A lot of people who fought in the war didn’t really believe in the Regime’s cause. They had their own reasons, and I told myself I had mine.”

Campbell raises his mug to drink from it again, and then – evidently finding it empty – picks up his flask and drinks directly from there instead. “But I spent a hell of a lot of time regretting those three years.” His voice is a low, bitter growl, almost too low to hear.

A more profound silence descends this time, and RJ isn’t sure how to break it. Their instinctive response to hearing how Campbell lost his first unit had been to assume that he would have left the military and refused to serve under the regime that caused the deaths of his comrades – just as many people would question why RJ had stayed and continued to work for the IGR after Park was taken away.

Like Campbell said, at the time, they thought they had their reasons. It's only in hindsight that those reasons become a lot harder to justify.

It takes a lot of guts to choose a different path to the one you're on, Campbell had said. RJ can't find it in them yet to think of their decision to turn against the IGR as something that took "guts".

But no matter how adrift they've been feeling since then, they also haven't regretted it for a moment.

“Apologies,” says Campbell abruptly, and RJ looks up from toying with their mug, surprised. “I probably shouldn’t have dropped all of this on you at once. It’s just been… on my mind, what with the renewed crackdowns from the Regime, and skirmishes breaking out everywhere…”

RJ’s stomach turns over. They knew that there were protests on Telemachus, and a couple of the other large planets as well, the ones that were harder to control. But they hadn’t realised it had broken out into all-out fighting.

They realise that Campbell is still looking at them, and try to force their mind back to the subject at hand. “No, it’s fine – it actually helped. Uh, it’s nice to hear…” They trail off, not sure if it would be presumptuous to say, ‘a story similar to mine’. RJ isn’t a war veteran. It’s not the same thing at all. “That is, I uh, really appreciate you… trusting me with this.” There.

Campbell gives them a slight smile, and then ventures, “I’m not sure how well it’ll go with the aftertaste of whiskey, but… can I take you up on that tea?”

“Oh! Sure!” RJ jumps to their feet so quickly they almost upset their chair. They do their best to cover it up by holding the box of tea out to Campbell, who raises his eyebrows. “What kind would you like?”

“Uh… Why don’t you choose,” Campbell suggests.

“Oh, if you’re sure…” RJ looks down at the tea, wondering what kind would be appropriate to give a former-soldier-turned-forger after a heavy conversation about serving under an oppressive regime. They decide to go for vanilla and honey.

As RJ is busy boiling the water again, making another cup for themself at the same time, they realise that Campbell never actually told them how he came to leave the military. They wonder if it would be pushing it to ask him, or whether it would be best to leave the topic alone.

They procrastinate by pouring out the water, then finding a spoon to stir the tea with. “You can leave it in for as long as you want to – three minutes is usually a good amount of time,” they tell him, handing over the mug and the spoon.

“Thanks,” says Campbell appreciatively. “It smells good.”

“You’re welcome.” RJ goes back to pour out their second cup of jasmine green tea. Campbell gives a little chuckle to himself, and RJ looks over, curious.

“Oh, it’s just – I realised that after all that, I never finished my story,” Campbell explains. “But uh, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing-”

“Actually, I was wondering-” RJ begins, and then stops awkwardly. “Uh. That is. I’d like to hear the last part?”

“All right then,” says Campbell. His manner is a little more relaxed than before, and RJ senses that this part of the story is easier for Campbell to tell.

“I served in the military for three more years,” he says, “after the Nreech-Slegga Disaster. I rose up the ranks a little bit – but not that much. I wasn’t great at taking my superiors’ orders without question, especially when they were irrational, stupid orders. A lot of soldiers who started out below me on the pecking order quickly got promoted ahead. But that was fine – I never wanted to be in command. I knew there was all sorts of corruption in the upper ranks of the force – bribery, dirty deals, a comfortable life lived on military funds.

“But the breaking point really came when I was put into a situation that reminded me vividly of the Nreech-Slegga Disaster – a campaign where we were given almost no information about the situation on the ground, and were ordered to go in, guns blazing, and mount an attack. I refused to lead my men in blind – I demanded more information from the officers in command. And when they ordered me to go ahead with the offensive regardless… I left. I couldn’t watch it happen again.”

“Where did you go?” RJ asks.

“I disappeared,” Campbell says simply. “I had an old friend I’d never completely severed ties with who had links to the criminal underworld. Not, uh, Sana,” he adds quickly. “We met later. I went underground with a new identity, and set about methodically erasing every trace of my former life. Officially, I’m listed as Killed in Action during the offensive that I refused to participate in. I honed my skills as a forger at the same time.”

“Did you have, uh…” RJ realises partway through asking the question that it might be an uncomfortable subject – well, another uncomfortable subject. “…family? You don’t have to answer that,” they add awkwardly, but Campbell is nodding.

“My parents had passed away, but I had a brother I’m close to. I wasn’t able to make contact for several years. But now I… see him, occasionally. And his kids, my nephews.” He says the last part softly.

“That must be nice,” RJ says without thinking, and then flushes when Campbell looks at them quizzically. “Um, that is…”

At that moment, the door slides open and a voice says, “Hey, I woke up and I wasn’t sure where you’d – oh! RJ, sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Sana stands framed in the doorway, wearing loose sleeping clothes, her hair twisted into a side braid. Because she’s Sana, rather than being embarrassed or discomfited, she immediately shifts into Concern Mode. “Is everything all right?” She looks between the two of them, obviously curious as to how they came to be talking in the kitchen.

“Hey, Sana. Everything’s fine, we were… just having tea,” RJ says.

“I think mine’s vanilla and honey,” Campbell adds, lifting his mug. Sana seems tickled by this, grinning broadly.

“All right, well I’ll leave you both to it, if you’d prefer – I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay–” RJ says, at the same time as Campbell begins, “Actually, I’d be happy to come back to–”

They both stop, and RJ presses their lips together in amusement and then stands. “I’m gonna head back to my room. It was… really nice talking to you, Mr. Campbell.”

Campbell gives an exasperated huff at being called ‘Mister’, which makes RJ smile. “Likewise,” he says.

“Goodnight, then, RJ,” says Sana, standing to one side so that RJ can get past her. “Don’t be afraid to come and knock if you still can’t sleep.”

RJ nods, though they have no intention of doing anything of the sort. “I will. Oh, and Campbell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like eggs?”

This throws Campbell for a loop. “Do I… like eggs?”

“For breakfast tomorrow. Sana said there would be some eggs in the supplies we were getting, so I figured I’d make eggs.”

Campbell laughs a little with surprise. “Sure. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“Great.” RJ looks back at Campbell. “See you at breakfast.”

What they really mean is:

Thank you.

#TSCOSI #The Strange Case of Starship Iris #RJ McCabe #Ignatius Campbell #Sana Tripathi #Violet Liu #late night tea drinking and heart to hearts #war stories #I want to promise that RJ will get a break from chatting to traumatised war veterans in the next chapter but uhhhh #let's just say I can't promise that quite yet

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lady-hammerlock · 5 years

Text

Through the Looking Glass - Chapter One (Telltale Batjokes & DC Comics Crossover)

AN: Hey all. I know I haven’t posted any Batjokes in a while, but I’m back! It’s been hard finding time to write with my new job, but I’ve missed it. With this new fic I’m hoping to post a new chapter every second weekend after these first two chapters.

The Telltale half of this fic is based loosely on the world state I had at the end of Enemy Within, plus my own headcanons. The basic gist is that Bruce has ended up alone apart from John, who is now out of Arkham and helping him with his work in the field. Bruce and John aren’t a couple when this story begins.

The other half takes place in a world that is sort of a mix of the Arkham games and comic book canon.

This fic is going to stay relatively safe for work. There’s going to be a bit of canon-typical violence and a fair amount of canon typical ableism and all of the other terrible stuff that usually comes with Arkham though, so heads up for that.

You’ll find the first chapter under the cut. I’m also hosting the full story on AO3, so if you’d prefer to read along there, here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628810/chapters/44174716

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS - CHAPTER ONE

“I’m approaching the address now,” Bruce said. “Going radio silent.”

“Ooh, is it a proper lair?” John’s voice burst out over the radio. “Please tell me Tetch has a themed lair. Themed lairs are always the best.”

“Going radio silent,” Bruce repeated.

“Ooh. Right. Sorry,” John said. “Wouldn’t want the bad guy knowing you’re coming. Radio silence it is.”

Bruce found himself smiling, despite the slight difficulties of working with John, and despite the fact that he was wearing the cowl. Batman smiled rarely after all, or at least that had been the case before he had started working with John Doe.

It had taken a long time before the doctors at Arkham decided John had recovered enough to be allowed to live in the outside world again, but it had been worth it. He had only been living with Bruce in the manor for three weeks, and had only been helping Bruce out with his work as Batman for two, but they were already starting to settle into a rhythm that fit them both surprisingly well. Bruce had hope that, unlike John’s disastrous attempt to become a vigilante, working together in this manner might actually work out well for the both of them.

John was not silent, or tactful, or any of the things that someone working with Batman should have probably been. He chimed in with random observations whenever he felt like it, would tell Bruce jokes or funny stories as he was travelling through the city, and there had been one time when Batman had been sitting on a rooftop, staking out the building across from him, when John had decided to serenade him.

It felt far removed from what he was used to. He had been on his own for the past two years after all, and when Alfred had been guiding him before that it had always been as a voice of reason; always calm and collected and logical. Having John prattling away in Batman’s ear grounded Bruce, reminded him of who he was behind the cowl in a way that wasn’t always productive, but which made him happy nonetheless.

Over the past few days the two of them had been investigating the deaths of three girls. All of them had been young and blonde, and the crime scenes in which they had been found had been some of the most elaborate pieces of criminal theatre that Bruce had ever seen. Bruce wasn’t sure what had been more disturbing; the identical blue dresses that each girl had been found in, or the look of terror that had been on each of their faces when they had died.

They had already traced the murders to one Jervis Tetch, a man that, if his and John’s hunches were correct, they would find hiding out in the small, run-down milliner’s shop that Bruce now found himself standing in front of.

“What is a milliners anyway?” John asked, and Bruce sighed fondly. He had a feeling that Tetch wasn’t going to get very far if he tried to run, and from the couple of glimpses of Tetch he had gotten so far, the small, squirrelly man wasn’t going to be able to put up much of a fight. So perhaps there wasn’t much point in insisting upon silence.

“It’s a hat store,” he explained.

He reached out and opened the front door, finding as he did that it was already unlocked.

On the other side of the radio conversation John let out a gentle gasp.

“Then it’s absolutely a themed lair,” John said. “Hats! Like the Mad Hatter! It totally fits with the whole Alice in Wonderland theme he’s got going on.”

“Except Tetch doesn’t actually own this place,” Bruce pointed out. “So I’m not sure it can qualify as his lair.”

The store in question looked as though it had been closed up for years, which wasn’t all that unusual in this particular corner of the East End, which had been slowly turning more and more into a deserted slum ever since Harvey Dent had blown up several blocks of it during his violent and short-lived reign as mayor.

Old hats still lined the shelves of the milliners, all of them gathering dust and cobwebs. Here and there a blank circle in the dust gave away where one of Gotham’s many criminals had been looting.

John scoffed.

“If he’s the one hiding in it then it’s his lair,” John insisted. “Actually owning the place doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

The lights were off, but luckily Bruce could use his cowl’s night vision to pick his way through the fallen furniture and debris towards the back of the store, where just a hint of light was shining from beneath a heavy wooden door.

Bruce cautiously opened the door and then stepped into the small hallway beyond. It hadn’t gathered as much dust or been subjected to as much destruction as the front room, but it had still gained plenty of cobwebs.

A light shone from an open door near the end of the hallway. Bruce walked towards it, noticing, as he grew closer, that he could hear someone muttering quietly beneath their breath. At first it was too faint to make out any of the words, but he caught a few snatches as he approached the open door.

“No, no, no,” the voice muttered. “This doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all. I want to go home Alice.”

Bruce entered the room slowly, a batarang held at the ready in case Tetch tried anything. Tetch didn’t seem ready to fight though. In fact he barely seemed to notice that Bruce had entered the room at all.

He sat hunched over in one corner of the room, his back to Bruce and his body curled over something that he was clutching tightly to his chest. The man was wearing the same ridiculous outfit that Bruce had caught sight of at the last crime scene; an oversized top hat and a raggedy old jacket. It occurred to Bruce in that moment that Tetch looked almost exactly like the Mad Hatter that John had compared him to earlier.

“Jervis Tetch,” Batman growled.

The man glanced over his shoulder and let out a whimper when he spotted Bruce approaching. He then turned back, his attention landing on the strange object that he was holding once more. Bruce caught only a glimpse of it. It looked like a gnarled and twisted chunk of wood, several branches twisting and turning over one another in a way that made the wood look distinctly unnatural, and far darker than wood usually was; a deep brown that looked almost black. Some sort of sculpture? Bruce had no idea why such an object would be so important to Tetch, but he had every intention of finding out.

“No, no, no,” Tetch muttered as Bruce lowered his arm and the batarang that it held and continued to approach the smaller man. “This isn’t fair. Not fair at all. This is supposed to be our home but it isn’t our home. Oh, we don’t even have any of our friends to help us out.”

“Joker, I think I’ve found our suspect,” Batman said over the radio. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to make a run for it.”

“Okay Batsy,” John replied. “I’ll let Jimmy Gordon know. The G.C.P.D. should be on their way soon.”

Tetch hadn’t seemed to react to anything else that Bruce had said, but at the mention of Joker he turned around and stared at him with wide eyes and what looked to be absolute terror on his face.

“Joker?” he said, his voice breaking just as much as it had before. Tetch let out a long, low whine, and curled in upon himself and the object in his hands.

“Joker!” he repeated. “Why is he talking to the Joker!?”

Bruce could understand why a criminal might be scared of Joker after John’s short and violent stint as a vigilante. Tetch’s confusion was a little harder to fathom however. Bruce had thought that most people in Gotham had realized that Joker had been Batman’s ally. That association, in fact, had haunted Bruce for months after the fact. The criminals and police of Gotham had both been more scared of Batman and far less likely to trust him for a lot longer than Bruce had been happy with.

“That’s not your concern,” Bruce said. “Jervis Tetch, I’m here to apprehend you for the murders of Maria Blackwood, Kiera Millhouse and Eden Thatcher. This will go a lot easier for you if you don’t resist.”

Tetch flinched as soon as Batman reached out to him, as though he expected Batman to hit him at any moment. Despite knowing that Tetch had been responsible for the deaths of three innocent women, Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him in that moment. Tetch was obviously anticipating pain, and was clearly very far away from being mentally stable.

“I’m just going to handcuff you,” Bruce assured him.

He tried to grab the wooden sculpture, or whatever the hell it was that Tetch had been clinging to, but that just made Tetch hold onto it even tighter, and made him lash out at Bruce on top of it, kicking and flailing at him where before he had been still and silent.

“No, not my Looking Glass. No! You don’t understand!” Tetch said, struggling against Bruce’s grip. “Oh, Alice, tell them. Tell them! It’s the only way that we can get home again. They take that away and we’ll be stuck here forever!”

Bruce didn’t like the sound of that. He stopped trying to grab the sculpture and focused instead on stilling Tetch, both of his hands grabbing Tetch’s upper arms and keeping him pinned in place. Bruce had already known how small and slight Tetch was, but feeling how skinny the other man’s arms were on top of his diminutive stature just brought home exactly how small and frail he was. Bruce wondered when Tetch had last eaten. He certainly didn’t look well.

“The wooden sculpture,” he asked Tetch, holding firmly onto each of the smaller man’s arms. “What does it do?”

“Do?” Tetch asked. “What does it do? Oh, I already said what it does. It takes us home. It brought us to this topsy-turvy place where Batmans and Jokers are friends and it will take us back home where everything makes sense again.”

Bruce shook his head. Whatever else Tetch was, he was clearly very confused.

“Is he making any more sense to you than he is to me?” John asked.

“No,” Bruce said, dragging Tetch to his feet.

The G.C.P.D. shouldn’t be too far away, which meant that hopefully he would be able to hand Tetch over to Gordon and call it a night. “This one clearly belongs in Arkham.”

It wasn’t until the G.C.P.D. had arrived and Bruce had someone else’s help to restrain Tetch that they were able to handcuff him.

Bruce held on to the object that Tetch had referred to as a ‘looking glass’, turning it this way and that and wondering just what on earth it was supposed to be. It weighed a lot more than wood alone could account for, as though there was something much heavier at the object’s core.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Commissioner Gordon asked as he approached, taking a deep draw from his cigarette as he did so.

“I’m not sure,” Batman replied. “But Jervis Tetch seemed to think it was important.”

“Well, if you think it’s worth investigating then be my guest,” Gordon said, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stomping it out. “I’m gonna have my hands full just trying to make sense out of this guy. We still don’t even know how he managed to do it! Little guy like that, overpowering three fully grown women without any help. He must have had some sort of trick. I would have said drugs but the coroner didn’t find anything.”

Gordon paused, and looked over at the looking glass that Bruce was still holding with obvious suspicion on his face.

“You don’t think…?” he asked. He didn’t need to finish his question. Did the object in Bruce’s hands have anything to do with how Tetch was able to manipulate and then murder his victims?

“If I find anything important then I’ll let you know,” Bruce said.

“Right,” Gordon said. “Same here I guess. I’ll let you know if we get anything interesting out of this guy.”

Bruce looked over at Jervis Tetch, who was being bundled into the back of a police van and making it as difficult as he possibly could for Renee Montoya and the other officer assigned to him. He was kicking and struggling, despite the fact that his hands had been cuffed behind his back.

“No, no, no,” he screamed, looking absolutely terrified. “Not Arkham! Not there! Give me back my Looking Glass. I need to go home!”

“Should have thought about that before you murdered those girls,” Montoya told him.

Montoya definitely had a point. Tetch was far from innocent, but his protestations against being sent to Arkham reminded Bruce a little too much of the ex-Arkham inmate that was waiting for him back at the Batcave, and he found himself suddenly in the grip of an almost overwhelming desire to get back home and check on John.

Bruce found himself in the Batcave along with John less than an hour later. He had been unable to resist the urge to run up to John and throw his arms around him as soon as he saw his partner, holding him tightly until John was giggling and begging him to stop.

“I missed you too big guy,” John had said, pulling Bruce’s cowl off with a swiftness and precision that would have suggested that he had been doing this with Bruce for years instead of weeks.

Eventually Bruce had removed the Bat-suit completely, and the two of them had settled down with tea; a habit that Bruce hadn’t quite been able to kick, even now that it had been years since Alfred had left the manor, while they discussed the case.

“You know, I just remembered something,” John said as he paced backwards and forward in front of Bruce, who was sitting in front of the computer and still enjoying his first cup of tea long after John had finished his second.

“There was a guy named Jervis Tetch back at Arkham as well,” John continued.

“What? Really?” Bruce asked. “It’s an unusual name. Are you sure it wasn’t the same guy?”

“I guess?” John replied. “I mean, I only met the guy a couple of times because he tended to keep to himself and didn’t leave his room or talk much. Pretty sure our Tetch was at least a little bit taller than the guy you put away tonight though, and from what I heard, the guy at Arkham was relatively harmless. Didn’t sound like the kind of guy who would just go around murdering innocent girls.”

“What was he in Arkham for?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know,” John replied, almost giving Bruce a heart attack as he tossed the artefact up into the air once more. “Like I said, he didn’t really talk much, and he wasn’t very interesting, so I never looked into it.”

“Hey, that could be dangerous…” Bruce began, but the words had barely left his mouth before John was almost yelling in reply.

“But what the heck is it supposed to do?” John asked, stopping throwing the object around in favor of pulling at and poking the small box experimentally.

“Don’t do that!” Bruce snapped, reaching out to jerk John’s hand back from the mysterious contraption.

John frowned at him, and Bruce realized that the action had come across as being far angrier than he had meant it too.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he massaged his forehead, trying to rub away the tension. Bruce hadn’t been at all worried when it had been him holding the object, but now that it was in John’s hands he found himself almost irrationally afraid that the object would prove to be dangerous, and that something would happen to John because of it.

“I know it probably doesn’t make much sense, but the last time I let someone care about handle an object I didn’t fully understand, it was Lucius Fox, and the object in question was the box that the Riddler used to kill him.”

“Foxy; the friend whose funeral I crashed, right?” John asked, his anger tempering immediately.

“Yeah,” Bruce said.

They were trying to get better at expressing their feelings and letting one another know what was bothering them. It was slow going, but Bruce felt that they were both making some progress at least. After Arkham Bruce had known that maintaining a good relationship with John was going to be a lot of work, but by god was he going to put that effort in and make sure it worked.

John scoffed and shook his head at Bruce’s confirmation.

“Riddler was such a… a…” John fumbled for a while, his fingers curling as his hands tensed in anger. “Such a nuisance!”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, reaching out to place a hand on John’s shoulder, hoping to calm him down a little before John got too worked up. “The point is, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you like it did with Lucius, so let’s just be careful with that thing, all right?”

He gave John’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, savoring the feeling of John, alive and warm and safe beneath his touch. He had meant what he had said. He really wasn’t sure how he would cope if he lost John. Not now when he depended on John for so much, and when he had let the other man into his life and into his heart to the extent that he had.

“Oh, don’t worry Bruce,” John said, offering his partner a wink. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Bruce sighed. “Still, let’s wait until the Bat-computer scans this thing and tells us it’s safe before we go touching it too much, all right?”

Almost an hour and several scans later, John and Bruce still weren’t any closer to knowing what the strange box was or why Jervis Tetch had been so attached to it.

“Is it safe to touch?” John asked. He was still curious about the strange wooden object. There were so many strange gnarls and shapes that could possibly be buttons that he wanted to try prodding and poking. There were few things that infuriated him more than a mystery that he wasn’t allowed to solve.

“Because I’m getting really, reeaallllyyy tempted to touch it Bruce.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said. He had been staring at the Bat-computer for ages, trying to make sense of the readings that it had taken of Tetch’s device. John was completely lost, having only the vaguest idea of what any of the numbers on the computer screen even meant. “It’s been giving off a strange sort of radiation; one that neither I nor the computer can make any sense out of.”

“It has to be really weak though, right?” John asked. “I mean, if there was something really wrong with it then the two of us would have felt something by now, right?”

“In theory,” Bruce said. “The box I gave to Lucius seemed completely harmless too though.”

“Come on Bruce,” John said, his fingers twitching as he stared at the box. “Please let me touch it. The radiation is really weak, right? There’s nothing to worry about, right?”

“I guess so,” Bruce said. John barely waited for the words to exit his partner’s mouth before he was reaching out and grabbing the box.

His fingers wrapped around it greedily, pulling it close to him.

“Wait, John!” Bruce called out.

John froze, the box clutched to his chest. The box had, so far, done absolutely nothing.

“See Bruce?” John said. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

John could see his partner relax, his shoulders immediately slackening and the look of terror on his face disappearing to be replaced instead with Bruce’s patented ‘stern and disappointed’ look. John didn’t know what Bruce had been so worried about. Well, he did know, and he guessed that he could understand it. He was terrified of losing Bruce as well, but there was no way that the strange wooden thing in his hands was going to be enough to tear the two of them apart.

“You know buddy,” John said. “You really need to lighten up sometimes; learn to live a little and take some risks.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow in John’s direction.

John sat down cross-legged on the floor and made himself comfortable as he inspected the dark, twisted wooden shaped in front of him. It had to do something, didn’t it? If it didn’t then Tetch wouldn’t have been so concerned with it.

The closer John looked the more sure he was that certain parts of the wooden object were designed to move. He ran a hand over what looked to be nothing more than a strange twist in the wood, and found that it could be pressed in pretty easily. He pressed it, expecting perhaps for the box to open and reveal whatever was inside.

Instead the room was flooded with blindingly bright light.

Next chapter

#batjokes #batman telltale #bruce wayne #john doe #my fic #batman the enemy within

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shealynn88 · 5 years

Text

Destiel Fic Recs

Recently, someone was starting to watch SPN and was reading fics, and I wanted to provide a spoiler sensitive fic rec list.

I started organizing a list, but that seemed like...a lot. So, now I have a bookmark tagging system on Ao3 that I will share.

All of my tagged Destiel Fic Recs

If you opt to sort further, use the ‘Search Bookmarks’ feature, limit to Bookmarker: shealynn88, and add tags as listed below to get what you’re looking for.

More will be added, I have almost 100 bookmarks so it’s going to take some time.

Tag details under the cut, I tag by Category, Length, Season and Pairing.

On tumblr, you can also look for the tag, shearecsfic

Category:

These may be included in combination.

Plotty: there is significant amount of plot build

Smut: Mainly sex focused, some plot sprinkled in.

Fluff: Mainly day to day interaction. These may have a little angst, but it will be low grade

Emotional: These are the ones that really tore me up, but in a really good way. Unless otherwise marked, these will never have a miserable ending. I really only read good ending fics.

Fantasy/SciFi

Dark Fiction: Dark themes ranging from a very dark history to torture, please read tags

Creature MC: One or more of the main characters (here, Cas or Dean) is a creature - octo, shapeshifter, dragon, etc. Angel cas doesn’t count.

BDSM: ranges from tame (praise kink) to dark (whips and chains), read the tags

Dark Characters: There’s one where the characters are dark (criminal) but the fic isn’t.

Modern AU: Modern AU, typically not set the SPN universe.

Apocalypse AU: Any number of post-apocalypse scenarios, canon related and otherwise.

Soulmark AU: Characters have soulmarks that demonstrate they’re meant for one another

A/B/O AU: Alpha/Beta/Omega verse - a wolf-like AU that is common across fandoms. Feel free to google it, there’s lots of info.

Length:

Short: Less than 10k

Medium: Less than 60K

Long: More than 60K

Pairing:

Destiel: Dean/Cas

Sabriel: Sam/Gabriel

Wincest: Dean/Sam

DCJ: Dean/Cas/Jimmy, typically with twincest

Wincestiel: Dean/Sam/Cas, wincest

RPF: Based on the actors as we know them

RPF AU: Based on the actors’ personalities in other worlds/situations.

Season: Season/Series 01

These are all in Season/Series 0X format. If you have seen the entire season listed, you’re good to read it. Note that, in some cases I have marked things for a season where some of the fic characters haven’t been encountered yet, but there are no spoilers associated with those characters in that fic.

Tagging: @doespeterparkerisgay

#shearecsfic

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stylinsonlibrary · 6 years

Photo

DISTOPIAN FIC REC

Be sure to check all tags/warnings/author’s notes before reading! These types of fics deal with heavier themes.

redamancy (10k)

Harry lives in a world where, at the age of 18, everyone gets paired up with a life mate, a perfectly compatible partner. When Harry gets Liam Payne as his soul mate, he thinks nothing of it. It must be true love, right?

But then he meets Louis Tomlinson, a 19 year old who is already partnered up. Harry starts to fall for Louis, and it is not unrequited, but it is against the law.

Harry had always known he’d end up breaking some rules, he just hadn’t quite imagined the magnitude of them.

Sparks (10k)

It's not that Harry’s life is boring or aimless. He’s a rubbish collection robot; he knows his purpose is to clean the planet, and he's satisfied knowing he is accomplishing his tasks each day. But sometimes, when it's late or too dark to work, he wonders what it would be like to have something else. Someone else, like he sees in films; someone who would hold his hand and never want to let go. A WALL-E AU.

And listen to the thunder (12k)

2063, the world is overpopulated and the rich and wealthy have built a space habitat for them to live on - Elysium. Louis and Harry try to find their way through many difficulties together but will their love survive?

Amor Deliria Nervosa (13k)

In a world in which love has been outlawed, two boys meet and fall in love at first sight. Despite the danger and against all the odds, they are determined to stay together, no matter what the cost.

the beauty of the blistering sky (14k)

When the world goes to shit, it's all Louis can do to keep himself alive. That isn't enough, though, when his mother and siblings are back in their hometown, and he has no way of getting in touch with them. He plans to make the journey alone, but a twist of fate brings him Harry, a stranger with a kind smile in a world that's forgotten what kindness means.

Together they set out for Doncaster, and along the way Louis finds out that, with people like Harry around, there might be hope for the world yet.

Vanity Over Empathy (17k)

“Listen,” Louis growls, his voice at a scarily low level. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. If you don’t let us stay here, it’s going to be tragic when your minions find out you’ve been killed with your own weapon.”

They stand there for a moment, wrists tight, the veins of their arms fiercely evident as Louis holds the spear in the direction of Harry’s abdomen with everything he has. The air of the tent is thick with tension as they stare each other down and Louis continues to use his utmost strength.

Louis finally releases him harshly, locking eyes with him in order to understand that the guy is on the same page.

In a world with no remorse, Louis is getting along just fine in the race of survival, but he faces a minor setback once he finds himself stuck with a polar opposite.

Last Day Alive (42k)

Harry Styles was born to the leader of the Following - the organization that keeps their world peaceful and just. Without the Following, the world would only return to the ways of the Old Times and all of them would come to an untimely end. Or, so he thought, until he meets Louis, the leader of the Rebellion.

Please Remember Me Once More (58k)

Everything has gone to shit, as in most of the UK has been destroyed by the corrupt government and nobody can be trusted. Louis and Zayn are partners in crime armed with devilish good looks, quick wit, and actual weapons. Liam is a guarded badass with a soft spot for one particular boy. Niall is a box of giggles and dick drawings, and a surprising amount of knowledge. Harry is a particularly affectionate boy with no memory of a life before Louis found him in the woods.

Sugar & Spice (63k)

With a Psychiatry and a Psychology degree finally under Louis' belt, he feels like he can conquer the world. That high, of feeling untouchable, only strengthens when he accepts an extremely well paying job at Gotham's notorious insane asylum. Being the in-house psychiatrist may seem like a dream come true for Louis, but he quickly gets more than he bargained for when he falls madly in love with the most dangerously insane person in the asylum-a hauntingly beautiful criminal named Harry. Or as everyone else seems to call him-The Joker.

these bountiful silences (123k)

they live in a world where they can only say four words per day. harry meets some people that don't want to live that way.

With a whimper (132k)

Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

reveries_passions is posting a dystopian au fic as a part of the big band so be sure to subscribe to their ao3 to be notified when it posts!

You may also want to check the zombie apocalypse masterpost because some of those fics may also fit!

#larry stylinson #larry stylinson fic rec #larry fic rec #stylinsonlibrary #masterpost #dystopian #dystopia #dystopian society

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whumppile · 7 years

Note

How about a MacGyver fic where Mac and Jack are trapped somewhere. Mac is injured, and Jack has to talk to him the whole time while they're waiting to be rescued to keep him awake and his mind off the pain.

First off, I’m soooo sorry this took so fucking long for me to finish. I promise I was working on it since you sent it but I had zero inspiration for it. I kept going back to it and seeing if I could but I finally got it finished. So, I really hope you like it and please let me know what you think. Thank you for sending the prompt I actually really like how it turned out. I’ll also post it on my ao3 and ff.net accounts it;s called “Holed up.” (lol its like a pun cause theyre hiding and laying low but also mac has a bullet hole in his side, okay anyway)

Jack cursed again as he pressed harder on Mac’s side, in anattempt to stop the bleeding. He looked back up to the kids face when he hissedin pain, and apologized for the hundredth time.

“Sorry, sorry, but I have to get this bleeding stopped.”

Mac panted, teeth clenched shut against the pain. “It’sokay.”

But it wasn’t okay, not really. Because there was a certainway they did things, and Mac getting hurt was not supposed to be one of them.In every mission they went on, no matter how dangerous, Mac was always supposedto find a way out. Because he was still a kid, because he was a hero, becauseJack couldn’t stand to lose him.

The older agent pressed a hand to his ear, voice harsh andworried as he spoke to the rest of the team back at headquarters.

“We need an evac, right now! He’s not going to be walkingout of here; we can’t make it to our ride.”

Mattie would usually tell him off for yelling at her likethat, but she was just as worried as he was, and she remained patient with him.

“That’s going to take a little time, Dolton. We can’t getanyone in there to help until the storm passes, you’re just going to have towait a while.”

Jack’s voice cracked as he yelled once more. “Dammit,Mattie, he’s bleeding out!”

Mac coughed, scrunching his eyes shut against the pain ashis chest rattled horribly. He’d been shot a few times before, and it justwasn’t something you got used to. But he knew that he’d be okay because Jackwas there, and Jack always had his back.

He lifted a hand to the one Jack had pressed to his side.“It’s okay, we’ll…ugh, we’ll figure it out.”

They’d been trying to retrieve stolen information, from somecyber terrorists, and although they’d successfully recovered the data, Mac hadbeen shot in the process and the criminals had gotten away.

Jack didn’t care about the mission, he only cared about hisfriend, and at present his friend was bleeding out in the dirt. He’d never beengood at handling Mac getting hurt, it made him panic and freak out and hecouldn’t think of anything but saving his team mate.

Mac coughed again and groaned in pain, body shaking underJacks blood slick hands. He needed to get him off the ground, and somewheresafe. They couldn’t stay out in the street, especially not if a storm washeaded straight for them.

He blinked through his wet eyes and looked around, spottingthe cyber terrorists abandoned hide out. He turned back to the kid on theground.

“Okay, I’m going to get you inside that house, and it’sgoing to hurt to move but we have to. So, just hold on to me and let me do allthe work okay?”

Mac nodded. He didn’t want to move at all, even laying stillhurt and he didn’t want to think about how much it would hurt to stand or walk,but Jack was right, it had to be done.

Jack offered one last apology before carefully gathering theyounger agent in his arms. He took the kids arm around his shoulder and pressedthe other to the wound. He wrapped his own arm around Mac’s waist and got tohis feet, dragging poor Mac with him.

The kid was tough but having a bullet stuck inside you hurtslike hell, and he let out a series of whimpers and curses as he tried to stayon his feet as they made their way to the house.

Riley’s voice came through the coms just as Jack managed toget Mac onto a couch, she sounded scared. “Mac? Are you going to be okay?”

Jack looked down at the blonde, his eyes were tightly shutagainst the pain and he was struggling to get a decent breath in. He wouldn’tbe answering Riley’s question anytime soon. Jack tried to sound as if he wasn’tlosing his kind with worry.

“He’ll be okay, Ri. I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry.”

First thing to do would be…stop the bleeding and keep Macwarm. It was really hard to concentrate with your best friend’s blood all overyour hands, but unfortunately it wasn’t the first time Jack had done this for afriend.

He had spent too many nights washing the younger agents bloodfrom his hands, or waiting for him to wake up, the incessant beeping of theheart monitor driving him mad. He had done it before, but god, it never goteasy.

He always managed to convince himself it would never happenagain, that he would protect him; but now Mac was just another name on the listof people he let down.

Mac panted beneath him, and Jack hated it, but he needed toleave for just a second.

“Mac, stay awake okay? I have to go get supplies, but I’llbe back, I promise.”

The genius barely managed a nod, and although Jack was thoroughlyworried, he had to leave anyway.

The agent pulled Macs hands up to the wadded-up shirt overhis side, hating the wet squelch it made when he pressed those weak hands downonto it.

“Hold that tight, kid. Keep pressure on it.”

Mac’s fingers curled a little, into the makeshift bandages,as his eyes blinked sluggishly. Jack sighed; it would have to do. “Good enough.”

Jacks feet hesitated as he went to leave, because Mac wasalready looking like he was going to pass out, and he knew that if those eyesclosed, they may never open again.

“Mac, I always forget how the table of elements goes, canyou sing it to me again?”

In reality, Jack could almost manage it, he’d heard it somany times, but Mac had always liked singing it to himself when he needed adistraction, and it would mean Jack could keep him awake and hear him whereverhe went in the small hide-out.

Mac blinked at him, smiling a little. “I love that song.”

Jack smiled and tapped his coms. “I know you do buddy, andRiley and I would really love to hear it. Right, Riley?”

Riley quickly answered, sounding amused, which Jack wasgrateful for. He hated hearing her worry.

“Uhh yeah, I’d love to hear it, Mac.”

Jack moved to the doorway. “You start singing, and I’ll lookfor some supplies but I’ll be listening, okay?”

Mac’s words were slower than usual but the kid still had hisgiant brain working as he started singing.

“There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminium, selenium. And,hydrogen, and oxygen, and nitrogen, and rhenium.”

Jack smiled a little to himself as Mac continued, as helooked through the house for anything he could use. It had been used as atemporary hide out for the cyber terrorists, so there wasn’t much to work with.He wished he could just get the kid to a hospital, but since they were operatingon foreign soil without permission, that would be a no go.

He found some duct tape, and a few clothes, but not muchelse. Mac fumbled over a word and stopped singing.

“And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germainimom…haha I said mom.”

Jack smiled, unable to help himself when Riley startedlaughing through the coms, and called out to their wounded team mate. “Keepgoing, Mac! I still can’t remember them all!”

“Umm…Oh germanium. And Iron, americium, ruthenium, europium,zirconium, lutetium-“

Jack went into another room as he shook his head to himself.“Damn, how many are there.”

Riley’s voice was that amused warm, that let him know shewas smiling smugly, with just a hint of love. “One hundred and eighteen.”

“Jesus.”

Mac let out a giggle. “Jesus is not an element, Jack.”

The older agent laughed, and picked up a bundle of blanketsfrom a pile of the hackers abandoned things.

“I know that! Keep singing, Mackie, I’m sorry for interruptingyour little talent show.”

The singing continued, as Jack searched the rest of therooms.

“-Vanadium, and lanthanum, and osmium, and astatine, andradium, and gold, protactinium, and indium and gallium.”

When he’d found all he could, he came back to where Mac waslaying on the couch, head leant back and singing. From the amount of blood, he’dlost, Jack was surprised Mac could say all the complicated words, let alone rememberthem. But then, who else could remember something so ridiculous in such aserious situation.

He smiled when he saw him, but it quickly turned into afrown as he saw Mac’s side. The kid could remember the entirety of theelemental table, but had forgotten to keep pressure on the bullet wound he wasbleeding out from. He quickly dumped the stuff he’d found and rushed to the kid’sside, pressing a fresh towel to the wound.

“Mac! You were supposed to press on this, what happened tothe plan, my man?”

The blonde looked up at him, then down at his side, liftinghis hand to look at the blood dripping from it.

“It wouldn’t stop, anyway. And it hurt to push on it.”

Jack was trying to keep calm as his forehead creased inconcern. “I know, but it’s important okay? I gotta keep pressure on this but Ineed my hands free to take care of you so, look what I got.”

He kept one hand on Mac’s side, holding the towel over thealready soaking shirt, while he picked up one of his dropped supplies and heldit up for the other man to see.

“Duct tape! Your favourite.”

Mac smiled, as he watched Jack use it to tape the compressesto his side. “I love duct tape. Did you know NASA has stored it on board every missionsince the early Gemini era? Because it was used to save the Apollo 13?”

Jack frowned as he concentrated on his work, wincing insympathy as Mac let out a small grunt of pain. “Yep, I do know that because you’vetold me a hundred times. You’ve also told me that it was first invented tosolve issues the military had with bullet storage, and everyone called it ducktape at first.”

Mac smiled and patted Jacks shoulder with a clumsy hand. “Hey,you do listen to me.”

“Most of what you say is dorky science nonsense, but whenyou say something enough times, I can’t help but remember it.”

Mac frowned a littlebit, as Jack secured the duct tape and towel. It wasn’t great, but again, it wouldhave to do.

“S’not nonsense Jack. It’s science, and that makes it cool.”

Jack reached back to his supplies, picking up a waterbottle. “Whatever you say, little man. You want something to drink?”

“No.” Mac went to wipe his eyes, but Jack stopped him beforehe could smear blood all over himself, wiping the kids hand on an extra towel.

“Well, too bad, you need to keep your fluids up, you knowthat. Here.”

He handed the bottle to him, frowning when Mac pushed itaway before it even got to his mouth.

“Mac, drink it!”

The kid shook his head, tired eyes just a little amused. “No,Jack that’s not water.”

The agent frowned, but brought it to his nose and sniffedit, quickly pulling it away. “Woah, that it is not. Those hackers really likedto party. This house has barely anything in it, but Vodka they have?”

He took a quick swig from the bottle, making a face at thestrong spirits. “Damn, that’s definitely the cheap stuff, but it’ll kill germseither way.”

Matty spoke up from the coms, reminding Jack that she wasstill listening in. “And what exactly was the purpose of trying it, Jack?”

“Well, boss, what if it was something else? What if it wasnail polish remover or-“

Mac narrowed his eyes. “If it was you’d be throwing up.Also, did you know that acetone poisoning makes you have a ‘fruity’ odour? Isn’tthat weird?”

Jack frowned and began unravelling the duct tape andbandages from Mac’s side. “Yes, Angus that is very weird, and really unhelpfulright now. I’m gonna clean this out, and it’s going to really hurt, so hold myarm really tight okay? Think about something that’ll keep you calm and happywhile I do this.”

Mac obediently took Jacks arm, loosely holding his bicep ashe thought. “Hmmm, my motorbike. Or the elements song. I really like that song.”

Jack didn’t want to remove the bandages and risk morebleeding, but he didn’t want to risk infection either, and since they wereusing anything but bandages, that likelihood was high. He needed to do it, butit really was going to suck.

“Just pick one and focus on it. Try to hold still. I’m sorryman, here goes.”

The bandages were peeled back, revealing the bullet woundand causing blood to flow down his side quicker; and then Jack poured the vodkaover it.

Mac screamed in pain, before grinding his teeth and tryingto muffle the sound. His hand squeezed Jacks arm so tight his knuckles turnedwhite, and Jack could feel the bruises forming.

Jack winced but kept going, making sure it was properlyflushed out, trying to hold the kid down with his one free arm.

“Almost finished, Mac…There, breathe. All done.” He pulled thebottle away and set it doused the crappy, homemade bandages they were using,before setting the bottle down on the floor and tying the compress back to Mac’sside.

“Shouldn’t be any bugs in it now, but I don’t want to takeany chances with infections, so I’m gonna keep a close eye on you okay? Hey,breathe.”

Mac was panting, eyes closed as he rode the waves ofexhaustion and pain that came after something like that. He stopped squeezing Jack’sarm but didn’t let go, only opening his eyes when he felt Jacks hand across hisforehead.

“You feel a little cold, probably from the blood loss, but atleast it’s not a fever.”

He went to stand, only to be stopped by Mac’s and on hisarm, tugging him back down. Jack looked to Macs face, those big eyes asking whathe couldn’t say out loud. Don’t leave me.

Jack patted his hand and knelt beside him again. “It’s okay,I aint leaving ya, I’m just getting a blanket and some actual water.”

Mac slowly released his arm, but closely watched him as hemoved back to his supplies pile, grabbing a blanket and another water bottle.

He shook the worn quilt over the kid, tucking his feet inand pulling it high up on his chest, before grabbing the bottle and taking alittle sip.

“Yeah, this one’s water.”

He gave the bottle to the other agent, watching himcarefully until he was satisfied he’d had enough.

Once he was done, Jack sat on the ground, next to the couch,and turned to his friend as Mac took his arm again. His tone was tired, andmade him sound younger, more vulnerable.

“It hurts.”

Jack sighed, and patted his hand, taking his fingers, andsqueezing them gently. He wouldn’t admit to holding his hand, but that’s whatit was.

“I know, we’ll get you home soon.”

Riley spoke this time, a little worried but trying to reassure.“Storms passing overhead, looks like it missed you completely. Medevac shouldbe there in thirty minutes.”

Jack cursed softly, because he didn’t know if they had thatlong. Mac had lost too much blood already and he couldn’t afford to lose anymore; but he knew they were all doing their best, and it certainly wasn’t Riley’sfault they couldn’t get there faster. He swallowed his frustration and managedto keep his voice level.

“Thanks, that’s good. You hear that Mac? You’ll be feelingbetter soon. We’ll get you on those good drugs and you can sleep the whole ridehome.”

Mac relaxed into the couch, and turned his hand in Jack’sgrip so they were properly holding hands. Jack had cleaned Mac’s hands, but nothis own, and the blood stained the blondes skin once more.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Jack. You’re the best.”

Mac’s eyes were full of more words, bigger ones, that would definitelymake Jack cry. He squeezed the kids hand and smiled.

“No problem. You know I’ll always be here for you, Mackie.”

It was a nice moment, until Riley’s voice came throughagain. “You guys are adorable, but why can’t you just say, ‘I love you’ and getit over with? We’re all family, it’s not weird.”

Jack rolled his eyes and held a finger to his earpiece. “Shutup, Ri, he knows I love him.”

He didn’t turn to look at him, but saw Mac smile out thecorner of his vision. “Love you too, Jack.”

“I love you guys too!” Jack frowned, confused, at the voice comingthrough the coms.

“Bozer? When did you get here?”

The happy voice came back, making Mac smile at the sound ofhis friend. “Just now, when you guys started being all adorable. What did Imiss?”

Mac and Jack were picked up twenty-five minutes later, andJack stayed with his partner the whole way. Cause even though they got into sometrouble, and maybe had some minor issues with saying how they really felt, they’dalways be family, and always have each other’s back.

#hurt/comfort #whump #macgyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #mine #fanfic #reboot #blood #bullet wounds #humor #fluff

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tiaraofsapphires · 7 years

Note

prince cassian & smuggler jyn (like han and leia) pls?

Boy oh boy did I do a thing…instead of a drabble this turned into a fic just shy of 3000 words (I also kinda probably tweaked this from what the prompter probably intended but….eh. It’s fine.) (EDIT: NSFW)

Title:mydarling, i’ll tuck your name under my tongue

Summary:It’sbeneath his station, what he was doing. Cassian couldn’t bring himself to care.

Read it here on Ao3

Drabble (in theory) Prompts for Rebelcaptain are still (tentatively) open but there is a line!

Cassian could already hear Kay telling him how stupid andirrational he was being. The man, Cassian’s attendant and closest friend, madesure to tell him that at every chance he could. Words that always fell on deafears.

Risking his safety by leaving the palace unescorted, to oneof the shittiest areas of the capital city, to meet with a criminal.

Well, ‘meet’ was a loaded phrase. It made what he was doingsound more innocent than it was.

This was his secret, his indulgence that broughtsatisfaction and pain in near-equal measures.

He dressed in plain clothes, as plain as a prince couldmanage. The jacket and boots, to the trained eye, would give away that he hadmoney or that he stole the items from someone who had money.

Nobody would notice that the heir-apparent of the Festanthrone was wandering the streets, ducking around stalls and children andbeggars. Dusk was falling, casting shadows over everything, making his identityharder to pin down.

Not that anyone really knew his face. His parents were theones in the spotlight, unwilling to let their son to be subject to scrutiny.Fest wasn’t that wealthy or powerful a nation to begin with, the monarchsnear-figureheads in the face of the Parliament.

Still, the ransom of a prince would definitely be ofinterest to some of the characters who lurked in the shadows.

While he was a prince, it didn’t mean he didn’t know how todefend himself. He wouldn’t have dared come out all this way if he didn’t. Theblaster tucked in his waistband and the vibroblade tucked in his boot were hissecurity and he knew how to use them.

Down an alley in the south side of the city, where theground was cracked and split and the buildings were claustrophobically crammedtogether and stretched to the heavens.

The second to last door on the left.

The bartender, Saw, nodded when Cassian entered.

It had bothered Cassian that Saw remembered him, but hewould be a fool not to. Cassian was in there at least once a week, never stoppingby the bar to have a drink, instead going up the stairs in the back to therented rooms.

One of the only good things about this place was that therewere very few people who stuck around for more than a couple of days, neveraround long enough to see the pattern of a prince sneaking around. Cassianremembered those who stayed, permanent fixtures under the low light.

There were the blind man and his bodyguard who always stuckto the righthand corner of the bar. That was a constant. The blind man alwaysseemed to find him with his sightless eyes and would smile knowingly. That toowas a constant.

Cassian wasn’t sure what the blind man knew and could neverfind the courage to ask.

Instead, he just walked past and up the stairs.

He could hear the sounds of snoring and sex through the thinwooden doors as he walked to the last door down the hall. There was nobody buthim out there, no one to recognize him, no one to know his secret.

Knock once, pause for a beat, knock twice in succession.

Quick footsteps met his ears before the door opened, justenough for him to slip inside.

He turned to her as she glanced at the door, closing andlocking it. Then she looked to him. Her stare always seemed to pin him down. Itwas like he wasn’t able to hide anything from her.

Relief crashed over him to see her, breath catching in histhroat. She was here. She was alive and unharmed, from what he could see. Shedidn’t leave in the night, with no way for him to find her.

Though she had known he was coming, she was dressed like shewas about to see a client. Her brown hair was in a messy ponytail.

Nondescript, utilitarian clothes, ready to blend into acrowd and disappear. Her belt looped around her hips, holster carrying herfavorite blaster.

She always looked like she was ready to run and fight.

There were at least half a dozen places in the room whereshe hid weapons for easy access and those were only the ones Cassian knewabout.

She had made a name for herself, and that made enemies.

Though the name was not her name.

Cassian knew the truth: that famed smuggler Liana Hallik wasactually Jyn Erso, daughter of a nobleman from a kingdom miles and miles away.A nobleman who held court to a tyrant, but a nobleman all the same.

Neither of them spoke, only watched each other.

He shrugged off the small bag slung over his shoulder andset it on the rickety chair pushed to wall next to the door. In it was somewine and rice and cheese and a small bag of credits.

It wasn’t out of charity or pity. It was of a lover’sconcern. To make sure she didn’t go hungry. It helped him sleep at nightknowing that she had the money for food and pay her rent.

He didn’t want to think about the things she might have todo if the money ran out, having to go further than smuggling.

Later, when he lay in bed alone in the palace and tried notto think about the woman who dominated his thoughts, paranoid thoughts—in Kay’svoice, of course—would worm in, wondering if she was taking advantage of him.That she was letting him into her bed for the credits, gaining his trust tobetray him later.

But, now, that didn’t matter.

He was in too deep.

Jyn stepped forward until there were mere inches betweenthem, enough that she had to tilt her head up a little to keep eye contact.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” she said, like shewas scolding him.

It was easy banter, something he could find in few people.

He shrugged with a levity he didn’t feel. “Wouldn’t miss itfor the world.”

Cassian wasn’t sure who moved first, but they met with aclash of lips and a flurry of hands, sloppy and possessive.

It had been a few days, almost a week, since they last saweach other. It felt like forever.

Jyn sighed against his mouth, a tiny pleased thing thatCassian refused to forget, and pressed the lines of their bodies together.

Home was a gilded palace that lost its glimmer by the yearas slowly the money was leeched out. Home was a mother and father who tried tomake his upbringing as normal as possible, making sure he knew the ways of theworld as well as to fight.

Home was also in Jyn’s arms, in a rundown motel in theshadows of the capital city.

She smelled like cheap soap, hands rough and calloused wherethey rucked up his shirt and skimmed over the skin of his back.

He always felt so soft and posh in comparison to her. Shewould tease him about it, sometimes. The pampered and groomed prince with thetough and world-worn smuggler.

Other times, she would bury her face in the crook of hisneck and make some comment about the cologne he was wearing, then chase thepretty words with a wicked bite that could only just be hidden by his shirt.

Their clothes hit the ground at random intervals, his jacket,her belt, as they stumbled the short distance to her bed. The signs of theirstatus were stripped, prince and smuggler turned to simple lovers.

Hands and lips found the revealed skin, claiming andgrasping.

With a small push, Jyn was on her back and the mattresscreaked in protest.

Cassian knelt at the edge of the bed, pulled Jyn forward soher legs were draped over his shoulders.

He kissed a line up her right inner thigh, stopping justbefore her cunt, then kissed a line up the left. She liked the way his facialhair scratched and tickled against her skin, something Cassian exploited asoften as he could.

When Jyn bucked up with an impatient noise, Cassian leanedforward and spread her with his fingers, licking a stripe over her.

He worshiped her with his mouth and let his hands roam overwherever he could reach. Jyn moaned and sighed above him and raked her fingersthrough his hair.

He loved this, being able to do this for her. Gods knew howmany times he touched himself thinking of Jyn, of everything about her.

He could probably get off on this alone, having his mouth onher. He was painfully hard between his legs, practically bobbing against hisstomach, but he didn’t care about touching himself.

This, this was all he needed.

One finger, then two, pushed into her tightness, stretchingher open.

Jyn whispered encouragements into the still air. Her handstightening and softened where they gripped at his hair, just shy of painful.

He knew she liked it hard and fast, so that’s what he did.He sucked at her clit, one hand fingerfucking her, curling just right, whilethe other held her thigh and kept her spread open for him.

She bucked and writhed, half-formed pleas spilling out ofher mouth. She sat up on shaky arms and met his eyes.

Jyn’s cheeks were flushed and her lip was caught between herteeth. Cassian groaned at the sight, the vibrating over her clit.

With a wordless cry, Jyn stiffened and went boneless and herthighs around Cassian’s head. He eased her through her orgasm by peppering herskin with light kisses and slowly moving his fingers in and out of her.

“Please fuck me,” she breathed, reaching forward and down tocup his cheek.

Not one to keep a lady waiting, Cassian stood and closed thesmall amount of space between them. Jyn moved farther into the bed and hefollowed to rest between her spread legs.

Their mouths met languidly, Jyn could probably taste herselfon his lips.

His body covered hers and he was greedy for it, for everypiece of skin he could reach.

Jyn hooked her leg around his hip, pressing her heat oh soclose to his hardness and with a hidden strength they were flipped so Jyn wasstraddling him.

Cassian opened his mouth to say something smart, but endedup groaning like a wounded man when Jyn lined him up with her opening and sankdown with a sinful roll of her hips.

“Jyn,” he breathed and she shivered above him.

Their true names were always exchanged like secrets, likeprayers. Just loud enough for the other to hear.

“Cassian.”

He bucked into her, jolting her just enough to draw a cryout of her mouth.

Jyn leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, andstarted to move.

She rode him like she was born to do it, each time she sankdown on him was exquisite agony.

Cassian braced his feet against the mattress and thrust upto meet her. His hands roamed, sometimes gripping her hips, sometimes strokingover her skin.

He cupped one of her breasts and rolled the nipple betweenhis fingers and grinned as it startled a whimper out of her.

This was desperate, a desperate coupling between two peoplewho didn’t know how much time they had.

It seared in Cassian’s blood, the need to bring Jynpleasure, the utter yearning to tuck her inside himself where she would besafe.

The latter was impossible, pride and circumstance making itso he couldn’t protect her from everything this life could throw at her.

He could do the former.

Cassian threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling herin for a kiss, as he brought his free hand down to where they were joined.

Jyn sobbed against his mouth as he rubbed tight circlesagainst her clit, still thrusting back in a frantic race to completion.

She broke the kiss to look at him with green eyes misty withlust. She breathed his name, over and over like a litany, as she shook apartabove him.

One day, he hoped against hope, that she would be able toscream his name, with no heed to secrets and danger.

He fell off the precipice shortly after, groaning Jyn’s nameinto her collarbone, spilling inside of her.

Gently, he helped ease her off of him and she flopped nextto him. Still touching, as they caught their breath and their heartbeatsslowed.

The reality of their situation crept in slowly, still usingborrowed time.

The knowledge that he should leave pulled at him, leavebefore people noticed he was gone and come looking for him. It was a risk, everymoment he stayed. He couldn’t expose her. She stayed hidden, changed her name,for a reason. The reason came to him in snippets, in the afterglow, during ashared meal: a tale of death and betrayal and struggle. It was a good reason,and, no matter how he felt, he couldn’t fault her for hiding in the shadows,living a criminal’s life.

He didn’t want to leave. Her bed was better than any thronethis world could offer him, somewhere he wanted to stay until the world ended.

He braced himself on one arm, enough so he was just hoveringover her face. He kissed everywhere he could reach.

Then he pulled back, so he could watch her again.

“I wish you could come back with me,” he said.

She smiled sadly, eyes overly bright. Her fingers brushedover Cassian’s cheek, and the urge to stay there forever wormed its way deeperinto his chest.

He really did. He wished every day that he could bring herback to his home. This woman, who helped him in a time of need, when he neededhelp to protect his family, his nation. This woman, who bickered and jabbed andannoyed the ever-living hell out of him every step of the way. This woman, whocould drink anyone under the table, sung painfully beautifully, and could sneakanything anywhere for the right price.

She took his heart and he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.

“One day, maybe.”

He swallowed around a lump, wishing he could find a truth inthat lie.

“Will you be here? In five days?”

Jyn exhaled through her nose, bitterness twisting her face.

“I have a job in Jakku. Got a scavenger and her littlecircus to back me up. If it goes well, I’ll be back in eight days. Longer, ifit doesn’t.”

Cassian nodded, panic and concern like iron fists around hisheart, though his expression stayed relatively neutral.

He never liked the idea of her leaving the city, much lesstaking a job where even she knew there was a chance she could get hurt orkilled.

There was no point in telling her not to go. He had triedthat once, back when he thought his feelings for her were limited to concern ofa friend and not anything else. That ended in a shouting match, whichunexpectedly turned to him pressing her against the wall and kissing her likehe would die if he didn’t.

Cassian eased himself out of bed and got dressed, delayingthe inevitable as much as possible. Just being in the same room as her feltlike a balm on his soul.

He put himself back together, making it look on the outsidelike nothing had happened. His hair probably still looked a bit like a mess, nomatter how many times he combed his fingers through it.

He sat back down on the bed as soon as he was done, ignoringJyn’s protests about him putting his dirty clothes on her bed, as if theyweren’t just fucking on it minutes earlier.

Cassian reached out and touched her face, committing eachdetail to memory.

“Come back to me, okay?” he asked, feeling a bit like achild asking for reassurance, a steady hand. He had little right to ask her,but he did anyway.

She nodded solemnly, kissing the palm of his hand.

“I will.”

Jyn was the strongest person he knew. She would try to comeback, as uninjured as possible. And he had made it clear that if she everneeded help, she could come to the palace. He would let her in, take care ofher. He knew she would never take that offer, but he felt better knowing thatshe had that option.

He hated this feeling of helplessness.

Jyn’s expression didn’t change when he stood up and startedfor the door.

Each step brought them farther away from each other.

This could be it. Cassian might never see her again. Shecould die on this job or leave for a distant land. He could die at the hands ofan assassin, an agent of an enemy government.

If this was the end, would she know how much she meant tohim? Would she understand?

Cassian turned back before he could think better of it. Shehad been watching him from the bed, a terribly wistful expression on her facethat didn’t evaporate fast enough when he saw her.

It brought him some twisted sense of hope, that she wasfeeling something similar.

“I love you,” he said, meaning every word, knowing it wasbetter not to leave this sort of thing unsaid.

It hung in the air a bit like a death knell for a beat.

Then, Jyn smiled, this time a bit happier, a bit brighter,and it felt like a balloon was expanding in Cassian’s chest.

“I know.”

#Anonymous #therebelcaptainnetwork #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fic #jyndor #cassijyn #cassian andor #jyn erso #cassian x jyn #my fic #my fics #ToSdrabbles #ask and ye shall receive

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