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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Six

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Bonds of Time

“Did you think I’d forget you? Just ‘cause I ain’t visited in a while?” Colm shook his head with a soft laugh. “How could I ever forget my only niece? You was a firecracker back then, too, runnin’ around, wantin’ to hold your daddy’s guns and shoot at the rats before the cat got ‘em.”

He laughed again and all she could do was cry silently, her breaths shaky. He talked so fondly.

"Shit, yeah, you was more entertainin’ than your brother—”

“Don’t you dare talk about him, you son of a bitch—”

“But he’s a ball of fire himself now.”

She froze. He smiled, his leg bouncing up and down slightly, as if in excitement, as if he had been waiting for this.

“He’s dead,” she whispered after a few moments, unblinking.

“Is he?” Colm watched her closely, his voice softer. “Or did he just decide to stay with us?”

She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly, her jaw tightening as anger started to build. “He went after you to kill you, he would have rather died than be part of your gang.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said himself,” Colm sighed, “But... when I told him it was Dutch and not me who killed your daddy, then, well... he changed his mind.”

Her hands curled into fists and she would have given anything to be free.

“He wouldn’t have believed you—”

“You don’t seem so shocked at that particular bit of news.” Colm tilted his head, a faux frown settling on his features. “You ain’t callin’ me a liar, either. It was my understandin’ from Thomas that you all thought I was the one to do it, so I guess you found out the truth, too. How recently? Go on, how recently?” he prompted as she remained silent.

"Before we came to meet with you,” she whispered, and he laughed with joy.

“Today? Ah, shit, girl.” He grinned at her in disbelief. “Out of the mouth of God himself, I presume?”

When she didn’t say anything he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Today, I don’t believe it...” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I reckon you might owe me an apology of some sort, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit, you look just like your ma when you look at me like that—"

“Don’t you dare talk about her, you bastard, because of you she is dead.”

That made him pause just slightly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, we were living in Strawberry and your men attacked it a week ago. Do you even remember?” She spat each word out.

He nodded a few times. Then, a corner of his mouth twisted up. “Yeah, I remember. We were gettin’ young Colin and Andrew out of jail before they could spill their guts to the law. We ended up spillin’ 'em nice and good ourselves.”

“You killed them?” She stared at him, horrified. “So all that bloodshed, all those lives taken—”

“Is sometimes a necessity, to keep family safe.”

“You don’t care about family, Colm.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It seems you don’t know me at all, my darlin’ Addy. We’ve lost out on a lot of time together.”

All she could do was stare at him, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d forgotten his nickname for her.

His smile widened a little more, before he sighed contentedly and stood with a quiet groan. “Well, I must be goin’ now, my darlin’.” Straightening up, he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand before returning his gaze to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’ll let you go, the law. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached out and stroked her hair. This time she jerked her head away, her lips curling. He laughed. “Just like your ma... I’d take you with me, but I don’t fancy sleepin’ with one eye open. I’ll come and find you soon, though, once you’ve calmed down and seen sense.” He then gave her another fond smile. “Family should be together. Thomas’ll be so happy to see you.”

“He isn’t alive,” she half-hissed, half-pleaded.

He just smiled, then turned and walked away.

"He’s dead!” she yelled after him, pulling against the rope, ignoring it as it cut into her skin. “He’s dead!”

He didn’t know how he’d found the energy to do it, but he’d freed himself. Freed himself from being hung upside down like a God damn animal ready to be butchered. He’d swung, managed to grab the metal file on the nearby table and picked the lock that held him bound. He’d used the same file to cauterise his wound with the help of the candle and, God, he didn’t know how he kept quiet as pain spread through his shoulder once more. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath─

The doors above opened.

“... he’s dead!”

Annie.

Shit...

“Shut your hole!”

Shit...

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico. I wanna go home... home!” Another voice, nearer.

Keeping hold of the file, he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the wall near the stairs, pressing himself against it.

“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The man, carrying a lantern, moved down the stairs, paused, then darted forward, raising his lantern higher.

“What the hell?!”

Arthur lunged.

Wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing his hand over his mouth, he started to choke the man, then twisted his neck, breaking it. Shoving the dead man side, he sucked in air, the task tiring him more than it should have.

You can rest when you’re dead, you idiot...

Searching the man’s body, he found a gun and throwing-knives. Knowing he couldn’t take them all on at once, he took the knives, opting, and praying, for a quiet escape.

Moving towards the stairs, he crouched as he ascended them slowly, straining to hear who was outside the doors.

“What’s he still doing down there?”

He paused at a new voice.

“It’s one thing torturing a man, it’s another putting him through stories of the homeland.”

A man passed by the open doors, mercifully, without looking down, a cigarette between his lips.

“He better hurry it up... I don’t wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef.”

As the man’s voice grew quieter, Arthur started moving again, and peered out over the doors.

There was no one close by, but he could see lights shining from lanterns in a couple of places not too far off. Pressing his lips together, he stepped out from the stairs and, keeping low, turned to the left, spotting the man he’d seen speaking. Quietly, he approached and lunged once more.

It took mere seconds for him to break the man’s neck. This time he took the man’s gun, gripping it tightly. Glancing about, he headed towards the next source of light that was moving away from him. Fuelled by adrenaline now, he ran to the tree near it, paused for only a moment, then raced at the man, tackling him to the floor.

The man could only hiss out a brief, “What the hell?” before Arthur drove his fist into his face then choked him, watching the man as he died. Throwing him down, he huffed out a breath then stood, searching the area.

Where the hell is Annie?

He strained to hear once more.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, are you implyin’ somethin’ there, bitch?”

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved quietly towards the voices, coming to an old shack and pressing his back against it.

“I didn’t think you would be intelligent enough to pick up on it.”

“I think you’re lookin’ for a fight, aren’t ye? Well, I don’t fight women—”

“How noble of you.”

“You ain’t any better ‘an me, sweetheart, at least that’s what I heard—”

“Shut your mouth, you bastard, or I will kill you.”

All he had to do was wait until the man was completely distracted, Annie was doing a fine job of that—

“Oh, yeah, and how are you goin’ to do that?”

At the sound of a second voice, Arthur grit his teeth and peered through a gap in the slats of the shack. All he could make out was the top of a fire, Annie’s skirt and a man’s hand. Lowering himself, he slowly moved behind one of the crates.

“Huh? Tell us. How are you goin’ to do that when you’re tied up like that? You ain’t gonna do nothin’, are you.”

The man laughed, and Arthur quickly rounded the crate, ducking behind a stack of them and—

His guns. Exhaling a short breath, he quickly collected his revolvers and gun belt from on top of the box beside him and secured them around him as the men continued to taunt Annie.

“You just like talkin’ a good talk, don’t ye? Just ‘cause ye know we can’t do nothin’. Talk all you want, sweetheart, ye’ll be ours soo—”

Ada gasped as the man suddenly choked on his words, a knife buried in his head. He fell to the floor, his eyes wide, narrowly missing the fire.

“What the fuck?!” The moustached man grabbed his gun and made to stand, but before he could even straighten up, a knife sank into his neck. He made a gargled sound and collapsed, his shotgun tumbling out of his hands.

“Oh my God...” she breathed, staring at his body.

“Hey, you all righ’?”

She inhaled sharply as someone suddenly crouched beside her and her gaze darted up—

Arthur.

She stared at him, trying to process that he was actually there and the state he was in.

“Oh my God, Arthur—”

“Are you all right?” he asked again, more firmly, but she could see he was just barely focusing on her.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my, my hands...” Her voice shook, in fact her whole body was shaking, and she didn’t know whether it was from shock finally settling in or the cold breeze that now blew over them.

“All righ’, hang on...”

As he used a knife to cut through her bonds, she took the few moments to study him.

Jesus Christ...

His face was bloody and bruised more than hers, he was only in his red long johns, there was a large patch of dried blood on his shoulder—

“Arthur, your shoulder, Colm said it was bad—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Her arms fell as he cut through the last of the rope and she hissed at the stiffness, her eyes closing tightly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She felt his arm around her back and his hand on the pole behind her.

“Annie... Annie?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You have to stand up with me, all right? We have to get out of here.”

She nodded a few times, wetting her lips.

“All right...”

Tightening his arm around her, he gripped tightly at the pole and pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. Wincing herself, she held onto his good shoulder as they rose, her legs weak. Trying to plant her feet firmly as blood rushed back into them, she leaned against him, her eyes closed.

“Annie, we gotta—”

“I know, I know, just let me...” She could hear how weak he was, could feel it as he swayed slightly against her. Swallowing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, his face close to hers. “All right, let’s go.”

Nodding, he let go of the pole. Keeping his arm around her, either to keep her up or support himself, probably both, he started to move.

“Over there...” he murmured, pointing at at a small group of horses under a tree.

She guided them over as he searched the darkness for any signs of movement. Arthur didn’t believe Colm would have just left those four men to defend the camp, others must be around somewhere.

Ophelia and Faithful lifted their heads and each made a sound as they approached, turning and walking towards them.

“Hey, girl...” Arthur murmured to Ophelia as Annie led him to her, and she ducked under his arm, reaching up to lift his hand and place it on the back of the saddle.

“Up you get, Arthur.”

His other hand settled on the pommel and he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then, he hauled himself up, grunting through gritted teeth. It was painful to watch him, but just as she went to aid him, though, he swung his leg over and sat up, his head tipping back slightly. Exhaling breaths he must have been holding, he wet his lips and held his hand out to her.

“Come on.”

"I’ll be fine, I’ll get on Faithful.”

Before he could protest, she mounted Faithful and clicked her tongue gently, prompting him into a walk. Ophelia, perhaps sensing her owner wasn’t in a good state, starting walking, too.

Arthur, clinging to adrenaline and knowing he had to not only get himself but Annie away alive, too, made himself grip the reins tightly and straighten a little, urging Ophelia into a canter. Annie followed his lead as they turned down onto a wide dirt path. A lake was to their right, waves gently lapping at the shore.

They kept their gazes fixed ahead, searching the distance for anything.

“I reckon there’ll be more of ‘em in the area, so we just gotta get far away, then we’ll make a plan.”

His quiet words were slightly slurred and her eyes darted to him. He was leaning a little to one side.

Christ...

“Arthur—”

“Shit, look, there...”

Her head whipped up as they slowed their horses. There, in the distance, were flickering lights that were growing closer.

“This way, down onto the bank,” she whispered, turning Faithful and guiding him down onto it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur was following.

He stayed behind her and they kept to a walk to make as little sound as possible. Above them, the lights grew brighter and they began to hear the voices.

“Why does Colm want us there? What’s he gonna do if he’s tied up?”

“He ain’t worried about Morgan, it’s Dutch and his gang he’s concerned about. He don’t want ‘em ambushin’ us before the law gets here...”

The voices passed and Ada released a breath. There was no way they could relax just yet, though. Turning, she looked at Arthur. He sat slumped, barely holding the reins, leaning to his right.

Shit...

“We’ve got to go faster, all right, Arthur?” she murmured, her heart racing. “Just for a little while so we can put some distance between us and them, okay?”

He nodded but didn’t respond, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her properly, when he cleared his throat and urged Ophelia into a gallop. Swiftly doing the same with Faithful, they raced along the shore, Ada keeping an eye on the bank above and the other side of the lake for any lights or O’Driscolls. She could hear Arthur breathing harshly beside her, and prayed to God Almighty that he just held on for a little longer as they passed under a train track that sat high above.

Glancing down, Ada noticed deep lines and hoof marks in the sand, evidence it was used as a crossing area.

That coupled with the tracks... She knew where they were.

“Arthur, look...” she called quietly, slowing Faithful to a stop, Ophelia automatically doing the same. “We’ll cross here. We’ll go at a walk so we don’t make too much noise.”

He just nodded again, his head dropping down slightly.

Please, God...

Taking the lead, she guided Faithful into the river, Ophelia following behind. She could have taken them further up the bank, crossed in shallower waters but she knew time was precious. Cool water rose up her legs, soaking her boots and the lower half of her skirt, and she couldn’t help but shiver lightly. Arthur made a sound behind her as the water soaked his legs and she looked back at him, her eyes momentarily darting to the bank behind them to check they were safe.

“Just a little farther, Arthur. We’ll just put the river between us, all right, then we can take it a little easier, okay?”

He didn’t respond.

All she could hear was the water sloshing quietly as the horses swan across. There were no birds, no voices, nothing.

They were so close to the other side.

Just get there, just get there, just get there...

She could have cried when the water started to lower as they made it to shallower waters and the small island close to the bank, and moments after Faithful stepped onto the shore, his gait quickening into a canter.

“Good boy, come on,” she murmured, urging him up the incline to the path above, checking Ophelia was indeed following.

Finally, finally, they made it onto the flat path. Blowing out a breath, Ada gently halted Faithful and turned to Arthur.

“If we just—”

She broke off with a sharp inhale as he collapsed to one side. Swiftly sliding off of Faithful, she lunged forward and caught him around the waist before he fell, her shoulder pressing against his chest. She could hear his ragged breaths against her ear.

“Shit...” she breathed, trying to adjust her stance as she supported the full weight of him. “You’re all right, you’re okay...”

Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut before pushing him up, trying to get him upright. Keeping her hands on his sides, she steadied him as best as she could.

“You’re okay, you’re okay...” she repeated under her breath, almost to herself.

Lights caught her attention.

Staring beyond him, she saw lights moving slowly across the other side of the lake, farther down.

“Oh, shit...”

Whether it was O’Driscolls or travellers she didn’t want to wait to find out.

Gripping the pommel of Ophelia’s saddle, essentially just her straining forearm keeping Arthur up, she placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. Sitting on his bedroll, she slipped her other boot into the other stirrup and gathered the reins. She guided Arthur to lean back against her, tilting her chin up and resting it on his good shoulder.

“There we go, we’re all right...” she murmured, her whole body tense to bear the weight of him.

Nudging Ophelia’s sides with the heels of her boots, she prompted her into a canter, calling quietly to Faithful to get him to follow.

Just get back to camp, just get back...

“All right, girl, come on, take us home...”

Arthur’s head leaned against hers as they rode and she listened to his shallow breathing, her chest tightening.

Please, God, let him make it.

He swam in and out of consciousness.

He was cold and hot all at once, and everything was so painful he was almost numb. A gentle voice sounded close by, so close it felt like it was in his head. He couldn’t hear what it was saying but it sounded soothing.

Hours or minutes passed, he didn’t know.

The next time he came to, though, the voice sounded a little clearer, if strained.

“We’re here, Arthur... Please wake up...”

He gave a slight groan, and he thought he heard the person, the woman, breathe a ‘Oh, thank God...’

Ada watched him for a moment as he groaned, before she returned her attention to the path. She brought them back to camp from the north side; no one had been guarding it.

Please still be here...

As they rose up the small incline, relief flooded through her as the camp came into view, the tents, horses and wagons still there.

Pulling the already slowing Ophelia to a stop, she cleared her sore throat as she dropped the reins.

“Somebody help!” she called hoarsely, unsure as to whether anyone would even hear her.

Swallowing hard, she winced as she slid her boots out of the stirrups and slowly moved a leg back, her hands gripping Arthur’s waist tightly as she dismounted. Her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the floor. When Arthur tipped to the side and leaned against her, they did.

Her body finally gave out as she collapsed, Arthur falling with her. They landed on the ground, he with a grunt, she with a gasped inhale.

She could hear how weak his breathing was and it terrified her.

“Someone help!” she called again, her voice no louder than her first attempt.

Then, mercifully, someone appeared above her.

“Arthur! Annie!” Mary-Beth gasped, her eyes wide as she pressed her hands against her cheeks.

Karen was suddenly there, too, kneeling beside Arthur. “Oh my God, are you two—”

Then, Dutch was there.

“Arthur—”

“I told you it was a set up, Dutch...” Arthur groaned.

Ada gazed up at the sky, trying to regulate her breathing.

“My boy, my dear boy, what?” Dutch continued.

“They got... me and Annie but we got away...”

“He needs help,” she finally whispered, her gaze meeting Dutch’s.

He nodded slightly, staring at Arthur’s wound. “Yeah, that you did, my boy.” Straightening, he looked around, calling out, “Miss Grimshaw? I need help!”

"... he was gonna set the law on us...” Arthur carried on as Dutch, Mary-Beth and Karen helped him to sit up, his voice straining with the effort.

"... They had us over the river from Flatneck Station...” Ada murmured over him, blinking slowly.

Charles was suddenly there, gently brushing the hair from her face as his eyes swept over her and the state she was in. He carefully slid his arms underneath her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

As he carried her away, she heard Pearson apologising profusely.

“... I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m, I’m so sorry, Annie—”

“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped before calling out once more, “Swanson!”

Pearson swallowed hard before gripping Arthur’s arm as he, Dutch and Mary-Beth lifted him to his feet. “Mr Morgan, you’re safe now, you and Miss Sawyer are both safe—”

“Where is she, where’s Annie?” Arthur slurred, trying to look around as Dutch and Pearson drew his arms around their shoulders so they could support him.

"Charles has got her, don’t you worry, you’re both safe now,” Dutch soothed him gently as they half carried him towards his area, his feet stumbling slightly.

“Let’s get him to bed,” he heard Miss Grimshaw order, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Was he insane or was the ground flowing like water?

With a slight grunt from both men, Pearson and Dutch lowered him onto his bed, Dutch repeating, “You’re safe now.”

Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that startled them all. “That’s pretty, Dutch...” He dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes already closing. “... That’s real pretty...”

Dutch watched him, his mouth in a thin line.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he murmured after a moment, “Will you sit with him awhile?”

"Of course,” Susan answered quietly. Pulling a chair from the table beside his bed closer, she patted Arthur’s arm gently. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan, you’re home.”

Dutch stared for a few moments, then turned on his heel and strode across the camp.

“You’re all right, Annie, you’re going to be fine now...”

She gazed at Charles as he carried her. She couldn’t quite believe it yet, couldn’t quite believe they’d actually made it.

“Am I really here?” she murmured, so quietly.

“Yes, you’re here now. You’re safe.”

He had such lovely hair. The soft ends of it brushed against her cheek.

“Arthur’s in a bad way.”

“Miss Grimshaw’s looking after him. She’ll take good care of him.”

She heard herself exhale a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Good. Good old Susan. She would allow nothing to pass that she didn’t want, even death itself. Arthur would be safe.

Charles looked at her as he came to a stop and started to lower her down.

“Are you all right—”

“Put her in my tent.” John was suddenly at his side, a grim expression on his features. “She’ll need the privacy.”

“Thank you, John.”

She looked at John as Charles straightened again, adjusting his hold on her gently, and hoped he understood her silent gratitude, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

John nodded, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, before he was gone, walking in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He passed Dutch, who was heading towards them.

She looked away, returning her gaze to Charles.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“The bottom of your skirt is damp. Did you cross water?” He was speaking as quietly as she was, and it was so nice, like there was no one else in the world.

“Yes, it was the quickest way to get him back.”

“And you, too. We’ll have to get you warm, though.” Charles ducked a little as he entered John’s tent, and gently set her down on the bed.

A long breath left her as she sank against it, her eyes closing. She felt Charles kneel beside her, his fingers lightly touching her jaw, checking for swelling or fractures.

“How do you fee—”

“My dear girl...”

Ada’s eyes opened as Dutch stepped into the tent, concern etched across his features.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Charles continued to carefully check her face as she spoke, her eyes half-open. “They took us on the ledge. Knocked us both out, I think, they certainly did me. When I came to, we were on the move, on their horses. We were crossing water, it was such clear water, I could see fish, and I started calling out, hoping someone would hear us. They hit me, and I just yelled louder, then they hit me again and again and again, and I fainted again...” She broke off to hiss quietly as Charles touched a particularly tender part of her cheek, relaxing at his murmured apology. “... The next thing I knew I was tied to a post. Then Colm...” She broke off again, his words suddenly flooding back.

The tears that had filled her eyes suddenly spilled, slipping down her cheeks. Charles paused his studying, one of his fingers gently brushing the tears away.

“What, my dear?” Dutch prompted gently, his eyes fixed on her. “What did he do to you, Annie?”

Her mouth moved slightly but nothing came out.

“Annie?” Charles murmured, his hand settling on her shoulder.

She turned her head a little to one side, then shook it. “Nothing. He did nothing to me.” She felt Charles relax. “He just... He’s just an awful man.”

“That he is,” Dutch agreed, anger seeping into his tone. “That son of a bitch... Miss Sawyer, I promise you, this great wrong will be righted, I will see to that.”

She just nodded, taking in a slightly shuddering breath.

“What happened after tha—”

“Where is she? Annie?!”

Sean all but burst into the tent, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.

“Oh, darlin’, are you all right?” His frantic tone instantly softened as he knelt beside Charles, his hand finding hers.

She smiled weakly, her features crumbling slightly as she tried not to sob.

Don’t...

“I’m fine, Sean, really. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s probably true,” Charles added, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t feel any breaks or fractures. Is there anywhere else—”

She shook her head quickly when she felt Sean tighten his grip. “No, no, it’s just my face, nowhere else.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Dutch sighed heavily before inclining his head. “I shall leave you to rest, then. Are you all right to tend to her, Charles?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with you, Annie.”

She hummed quietly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Can I stay, too, Annie?”

“Of course you can, Sean,” she murmured, her eyes closing.

“Very good. Rest well, Miss Sawyer.”

She hummed again, hearing Dutch exit.

“Sean, will you get me some clean cloths and water?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Her hand dropped from his, and she heard him leave quickly.

Fingers gently brushed her forehead.

“Sleep, now, Annie,” Charles murmured.

She finally gave in to the exhaustion.

Warm sunlight danced across her face.

Karen hadn’t closed the tent flap properly last night.

Ada didn’t mind, though. It was wonderful.

She’d spent a full day sleeping after their return and the next resting. She’d relayed again all that had happened to Dutch and Hosea on that second day, Hosea sparing her from having to reveal all the details by gently cutting off Dutch’s barrage of questions. After that, the girls had joined her and talked with her, Mary-Beth braiding her hair while Karen and Tilly took turns showing off what they’d stolen recently. Sadie even joined them and laughed along, and when the other women left she quietly told Ada that Arthur was still sleeping but Miss Grimshaw had done the best she could and the wound looked a little better.

On the third day her body felt stronger but Sean had persuaded her to stay abed, telling her she should take all the time she needed to recover. Secretly, she was relieved. Something in her just couldn’t face leaving the safety this tent had provided from reality. He stayed with her all day and she welcomed his distractions, listening to his stories of wild adventures that might not have been all true and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.

On the fourth day, Abigail brought Jack to see her.

“He’s been complainin’ about wantin’ to see you,” Abigail said apologetically but, again, Ada welcomed the distraction, and listened to him talking about his drawings or the books he was reading or the fish he’d seen in the lake for hours. She had to hide her dismay when Abigail came to retrieve him, as the times she was left alone...

The nights were hard. Left alone with only her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t help but turn over Colm’s words in her mind, obsessing over the way he’d said it, his expressions, the language he’d used. Was he telling the truth? The idea of her brother being alive was as unbearable as it was him being dead. She didn’t want the tiny spark of hope it had built within her. If it wasn’t that she thought about incessantly, then it was the knowledge that her father’s murderer was sleeping only a few feet away. Could he even remember the two small children that had been there when he’d killed Michael O’Driscoll?

The only brief reprieve she had was thinking about, despite what Colm had said, Arthur had saved her. He had come for her and saved her. And she had saved him.

If she did sleep, it was fitfully, waking always with a start at the slightest sound. She thought of getting up and walking around the camp but she didn’t want to talk to anyone, too vulnerable in that moment to mask her pain.

It was the fifth day, now, and she knew she could no longer hide away in John’s tent under the pretence she was recovering. She didn’t want to have to explain that while she might have physically recovered, emotionally she was still in complete turmoil. Mary-Beth helped her to dress, gifting her a slightly worn plain black skirt with pockets that went beautifully with the emerald blouse Sean had stolen for her. She then braided her hair again up into a bun, looking very satisfied and proud once she stepped back.

“There. Oh, you look beautiful, Annie! Here, have a look...”

She handed her the small mirror from the barrel on the other side of the tent that John probably used to shave with, and for the first time in five days Ada saw her reflection.

The cut on her eyebrow had scabbed over, making it look worse than it probably was. Bruises along her jaw and cheekbones were smaller than she thought, though they were still faintly purple and blue, only a few starting to turn a little yellow. Dark circles hung under her eyes, evidence that she was perhaps not coping as well as she wanted everyone to think.

What a fright you look, her mother would have said.

Mary-Beth had done a lovely job of her hair, though, so Ada smiled as she lowered the mirror, handing it back to her.

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, you’ve turned me into something wonderful.”

“Oh, gosh, no,” the other woman dismissed gently as she took the mirror, returning it to its position, “You’re very pretty, Annie, I just made your hair a little neater.”

Ada’s smile widened a little more as she pushed herself up to stand. “You’re the beauty here, Mary-Beth, neat hair or not.”

Mary-Beth beamed as she shrugged her shoulders. “I always like to look nice, so, thank you, Annie.”

Ada lifted a grey, probably once white, shawl from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, about to follow Mary-Beth out when the other woman paused before turning back to face her.

“I think it was so brave... how you brought Arthur back like that.” She played with the ends of her chestnut-brown hair slightly as she looked at her. “You could have left him out there and saved yourself, so many other people would’ve.”

Ada looked at her, her forehead dipping slightly. “No, I couldn’t.”

Something Ada couldn’t quite place passed over Mary-Beth’s features, but before she could dwell on it the woman was smiling again. “Let’s go and get somethin’ to eat before Uncle has it all.”

Stepping out with her, Ada smiled gently as she pulled the shawl a little tighter around herself. “Actually, Mary-Beth, I think I’m going to go and see how Arthur is.”

The woman paused and the same expression appeared again, vanishing as quickly as it came. “All right, then. Would you like me to save you a bowl?”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

Mary-Beth nodded and smiled widely before walking away. Ada watched her, her pace quickening as Uncle staggered towards the pot of stew.

Inhaling a long breath of crisp air, Ada tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A clear and brilliant blue.

Just go.

Wetting her lips, Ada turned and began to walk. From the corner of her left eye she saw that Dutch’s tent was, thankfully, empty.

Someone had draped more cloths and blankets over Arthur’s area, probably to give him some more privacy, so she had to pull one of them back slightly to peer in. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, lips parted. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze dropping to his chest to check if he was breathing. It rose and fell steadily; he was asleep.

The chair beside his bed was vacant so she quietly slipped past the blankets and took a seat, her eyes remaining on him. He didn’t move, his breathing remaining regular.

Sadie had updated her on his progress over the past few days and she said he’d seemed to be starting to get a little better. They had to make him eat, but that was nothing new, apparently, from a man who was so busy taking care of ‘business’ he often forgot or didn’t have the time. Someone had changed him into dark brown trousers and a cream undershirt, which had the faintest stain of blood just around where his wound was. She stopped herself from pulling back the open of his shirt to inspect it; Miss Grimshaw had probably patched him and the others up a thousand times before and was therefore most likely an expert. The stubble that usually framed his face had grown a little longer but his skin and hair was clean. He looked... gentle, for once.

What the hell am I doing here.

Blowing out a quiet breath, Ada lifted her gaze from him and stared ahead at the side of the wagon. Then, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

Were they... photographs?

She’d never noticed them before. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been around his area before to notice them. Sitting forward in the chair, she leaned over him a little, getting a better look.

One photograph had three men in it, one standing, two sitting down, in some kind of parlour. It only took her a few moments to realise it was Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, albeit them probably about ten years or more so ago.

A corner of her mouth lifted.

Arthur looked so young.

He probably turned a pretty head or two... I bet he still does.

She had to stop herself from snorting loudly at the sudden thought.

What a silly thing to think about.

Her eyes darted to the next photograph.

It was of an older man, probably around Dutch’s age now, maybe younger, but she didn’t recognise him. He was holding some kind of board, however, and upon leaning a little closer she saw that it read, ‘Lyle Morgan. Larceny. 12-7-1847′.

It really does stay in the family.

There were a few other trinkets and items, too, like a horse shoe and an article that told of a robbery, one that probably meant something to Arthur.

Sitting back, her legs crossing, Ada grazed her teeth over her lower lip. She couldn’t stop herself from continuing to inspect. At the base of the bed was a chest with a rug thrown over it and his revolvers and gun belt rested on top, along with his hat. Beside her on the table was a flower in a bottle (a gift from Mary-Beth?), a cigar, a map and a picture of an older woman. She studied the picture, a corner of her mouth lifting. It had to be his mother.

Arthur mumbled quietly and her head quickly turned to him. His brow furrowed slightly and he mumbled something again, though she couldn’t make it out. She was about to murmur his name when his eyes opened.

Swallowing, he took in a long breath and exhaled it, then his eyes darted over to her.

She smiled automatically, wanting to put him at ease.

“Good morning.”

He watched her for a moment, as if his brain was catching up with where he was.

“Good mornin’.”

His voice was rough and low, somehow prompting her to make her’s quiet.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He looked away from her, then, his eyebrows raising slightly as he adjusted his head on the pillow.

“Deer.”

Her smile seemed to want to linger. “That hungry? I’m afraid it’s fish for breakfast.”

He grunted his disinterest.

“Yeah, I’m not jumping at it either.”

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you look like shit.”

A sudden laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her smile widening as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really? I do?”

He glanced at her before closing his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips, and she suddenly found herself very interested in it.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve been to hell.”

“Oh, I do apologise. You look radiant, however, Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah? I feel it.”

Her smile faltered as she watched him shift slightly, a pained wince flashing across his face. She played with one, frayed end of the shawl.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, Arthur.”

His eyes snapped open and he looked at her in disbelief.

“Are you kiddin’ me? You might be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“I would have been fine. The law doesn’t know I’m with you all, I could have told them the O’Driscolls kidnapped me and they would have let me go.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed slightly.

“What, you would have come back?”

She didn’t answer.

“Nah, I don’t think you would’ve. Maybe I should’ve left you there,” he grumbled, directing his gaze ahead, dismissively.

Why did that notion offend him so?

Her skin prickled slightly.

“Do you remember the journey back here at all?”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at her, slightly suspicious of the sudden turn in conversation. “No.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, “You’d be dead in a ditch or a river right now if it wasn’t for me so show a little gratitude.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Why don’t you show me some gratitude, woman, I got you out of there, and you wouldn’t have been able to be a damn hero if it weren’t for me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to save me.”

“I didn’t have to save you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth, then swiftly quashed whatever it was he was going to bite back as she arched an eyebrow, his teeth gritting.

“You’re a stubborn, irritatin’ woman,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re an ungrateful bastard,” she shot back, crossing her arms as she sat back.

They fell silent as he closed his eyes, probably praying for strength not to murder her, and she stared at him, silently daring him to snap back because there was something so simple and easy about arguing, despite how difficult she knew but absolutely would not admit she was being.

But... the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly.

He just looked so... put out. Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.

The question of the day was still nudging at her, too.

“Why did you save me, then?” she continued. “Seeing as I seem to be such an inconvenience, and don’t give me the ‘save people as need saving’ preaching or I will choke you and I don’t think anyone would stop me.”

His jaw moved minutely. “Save people as need savin’.”

She gave a humourless laugh. “So because Dutch says so?”

He turned his head to stare at her. “Because it’s right and there was no way in hell it was righ’ to leave you with those bastards.”

Her lips twitched again. “So you’re a criminal with a heart?”

He made an almost disgusted sound, looking ahead before he closed his eyes again. “Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to rest here.”

The twitching broke out into a smile. Tilting her head, she lowered her voice into soft awe.

“Thank you, Arthur, for saving my life, you’re a real hero—”

“Ah, shut up, woman, before I tell Grimshaw you’re ready to get back to work.”

She laughed as he grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped as she was suddenly reminded of the absence of her ring. She licked her lips, shifting in the seat.

“I do mean it, Arthur,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he answered, though he didn’t grumble.

Silence fell again, and it felt rather comfortable. She gazed at the photographs again, her eyes drifting from the one of his father to him, comparing. She found herself wanting to know what his childhood had been like. Had his father raised him in a gang? Or had he been kept away from it all as a child? What had led him to—

“He told me you...” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her musings, his words hesitant as her eyes found his. “... you weren’t in a good shape.”

She knew what he was dancing around.

“None of them touched me. In that way, anyway,” she answered, giving a faint smile. “I was just hit to be quiet, then tied to that pole. Nothing else.”

He nodded, casting his gaze over her bruises. “That’s a relief, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

She watched him for a few moments. His gaze returned to hers.

“Annie, can I ask you somethin’?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, rather surprised.

“Sure.”

"When we were talkin’, before we went to see Colm, somethin’ Dutch said... affected you.”

Her heart dropped. Keeping her features neutral, she lifted her gaze, as if recalling the conversation.

“Did it?”

“Yeah. When he was sayin’ about how he killed Colm’s brother.”

“Oh...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. “I just... it all seems so petty, doesn’t it? How this long feud started.”

He frowned. “Petty?”

She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure there’s more to the story but... to play with people’s lives like that—”

“What ain’t you tellin’ me.”

Her mouth stayed open as she broke off, her eyes searching his before she frowned.

“Nothing, why—”

“You said someone was dead, too, when we were bein’ held by the O’Driscolls. I heard you yellin’ it, who were you talkin’ about?”

Her frown deepened. “It— I thought you were dead. Colm was spinning lies, trying to get me upset and he led me to believe you were dead.”

He didn’t answer, wanting to see what she said next. She remained silent, too, just staring at him.

She probably thought she was hiding it but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to not press the matter, to be a gentleman and let it go. But he was no gentleman. He knew a poker face when he saw it, and a liar when he heard one.

“Annie... It don’t have to go any further than you and me, whatever it is.”

She continued to stare, panic starting to claw it’s way up.

“It’s nothing,” she implored, trying to keep her voice low because, God, who knew who else was around, but she knew she had already lost.

“Annie—”

“Not today.” She had to give him something. Shaking her head a little, she murmured, “Please, Arthur... not today.”

He studied her and she didn’t dare look away. Then, he sighed and nodded begrudgingly.

“All right... Not today.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, ”If you’re in trouble, though—”

“You dead yet, Morgan?”

John Marston, her unknowing saviour, brushed past the blankets with a bowl of stew, the widest grin she’d seen from him yet on his lips. It didn’t falter as he caught sight of her, inclining his head.

“Good mornin’, Miss Sawyer, how are you today?”

“Very well, thank you, John,” she beamed, grateful to him for the second time that week. “How are you?”

“Just fine, just fine.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “I’ve been told to feed our patient, here.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake...” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes as she stood, clasping her hands together.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful! How kind you are, Mr Marston.”

“I do what I can, Miss.”

“Can I thank you again for allowing me the use of your tent?”

“Oh...” Arthur opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the younger man. “So that’s why you’ve been lurkin’ around here, snorin’ on the ground beside me.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me get in with you.”

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Annie grinned as she departed and Arthur watched her, his mouth in a thin line.

How could she do that? Change from one person to another just as quickly as blinking? And what in the hell was she hiding? He’d had a feeling from the start she was and now he was so close to finding out—

“Come on, Morgan, I’m gonna feed you like a little baby bird.” John was still grinning as he sat down, holding the bowl towards him.

Arthur groaned. “Get outta here, Marston, leave me to die in peace.”

“No way in hell. Now sit up, old man, come on.”

“I should’ve left you on those mountains with those wolves.”

“But you didn’t.”

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Tagged: @belfry-bat, @sistasarah-sallysaidso

#arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x female oc #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #my writing #flamehairedwritings

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thestormfall · 5 years

Link

Everything about Beat today was a little too much. [TSoS 2019: Hexa-Code Kernel]

----

Characters: Daisukenojo ‘Beat’ Bito & Neku Sakuraba

Wordcount: 2,677

Also on Ao3

hohoho I’ve finally written fanfic again. Gotta give some fanfic love to my fave Beat. feel free to read it there and leave a review if you enjoy it haha

or just here, under the cut.

03/07 10:00AM

- yo, Phones! you free today? lets hang out!

- Sorry, I can't today, I'm kind of busy.

- thats cool

03/09 10:20AM

- man, the weathers sick today! cmon Ill go teach you that move I was talking about

- Can't do today either, Beat. Family stuff.

- No probs man

03/10 09:00AM

- so Doi is doing a special lunch menu today wanna go?

- I've already got lunch plans, sorry

- issokay man

- How about later? We can hang in the park after I'm done with lunch?

- yeah! aight Ill see you later.

Of No Envy

Neku wasn't great at skateboarding but he didn't think that he was terrible. At the very least, after two years of being taught by Beat, he thought he would end up being decent. The unconcealed impish grins of a group of middle-school kids told him otherwise, though. Yeah, yeah laugh it up.

On the other hand, Beat was practising a few tricks that made the kids forget all about him. One of them even clapped. Yeah, Neku wasn't going to manage to do that. He couldn't even remember what it was called.

He resigned to heading towards their resting spot at the top of the skating bowl, leaning against one of the slim trees. Neku wiped the sweat off his neck using his wristband. He always exerted a lot of energy skating with Beat. With him, no matter how idle Neku might have wanted to be, Beat simply dragged him along. Not that he minded, of course.

"Phones, did you see that?" Beat skated up to him, hopping off his board and landing perfectly on the spot next to Neku, catching his board with one hand. For someone so brash, it was almost comical how smooth he was with his skateboard. "Been trying to land that nollie laser for a month!" So that's what it was called. "Gotta see if I can do it again!"

"I'm sure you will."

Beat settled down beside him, crossed leg. "Put 'em here!" He held up a fist, awaiting eagerly.

"Haha, good job." Neku returned the gesture, noting how Beat seemed pretty satisfied with himself today. "So, what? Was that what you wanted to show me all week?"

"Nah, didntcha hear me? That's the first time I've done it." He nudged Neku with his shoulder. "Had a feelin' I wouldn't get it 'till I had you around."

"Oh please, you would have got it eventually. Don't think I know anyone more stubborn than you."

"Thanks, Phones!"

Neku wanted to tell Beat that it wasn't usually meant to be a compliment…but he supposed that in this case, it was. He grabbed his water bottle, poking Beat in the cheek with it. "Want some?"

"Bwaaaah! Phones, that's cold!" Though he said that, Beat took the drink, gulping it down.

"Beat. What's wrong?"

This caused Beat to spit out about half his drink. "Huh? What d'ya mean? There ain't anythin' wrong?"

"Judging how you spit out enough water to keep all the trees in Miyashita Park hydrated, I'd argue otherwise."

His friend opened his mouth, then closed it again. A few times.

"Beat. What's wrong?" He repeated, a bit more sternly this time.

"…Yeah, yeah okay, you've got me." Beat sighed deeply and leaned back against the tree. "How'd you know?"

"You've been bugging me to meet up for the past two weeks," Neku said, drily. "Pretty sure I told you after the last ramen session that I was going to be busy, but there's been a message from you, what…every morning?"

It wasn't just that. Everything about Beat today was a little too much. Yes, Beat was always one to spend the whole day boarding but right now? In the middle of March? Neku had warmed up from the exercise but even after sitting here for a few minutes, the cool spring air was starting to seep into his skin. Beat hated the cold, too. Neku would know, Beat never failed to complain about it.

There was something about the look in his eyes, too. There, even as they were talking. Even as Beat was looking right at him.

"…Is it because Rhyme's leaving?"

Beat stiffened as the words left Neku's mouth.

I knew it.

Neku already knew that Rhyme was leaving, she and Beat had told all of them. She was off to a specialist high school overseas. When Rhyme said that she had a dream to chase, she really meant it. Of course, it would hit Beat hard. They all knew how much she meant to him.

"Hey, I'm going to miss her too, you know," he offered, quietly.

His friend stayed quiet. He lowered his eyes, then looked away.

"That's ain't it, Phones."

"It's…not?"

"Not all of it. It is and it ain't."

Well, that had Neku stumped.

"You're going to have to help me out, here a little Beat. You wanted to tell me what it was, didn't you?"

"…Ya know how you said I was 'buggin' you' for a while?" Beat finally said.

"Beat, you're not actually bothering me," Neku tried to clarify. "It's just a figure of speech –"

"I got that one," Beat interrupted. "At the start, I was jus' wantin' to hang out. I didn't want to ask Rhyme 'cause she's busy with gettin' ready to leave. But you've been busy too. An' Shiki." He paused. "…I even asked Priss." Neku raised an eyebrow, and Beat returned a look that said, 'I know'. "Anyway, everyone was doin' somethin'."

"Beat…"

"So I just kept askin' you. But you've got other friends now, right? You were havin' lunch with them today, right?"

"I guess I do," Neku said. "Beat, yeah sure I was having lunch today with other friends, but it's not like you're any less of a friend to me. Heck, I'm pretty sure you guys were the ones who were telling me to make more friends."

"Yeah, an' you did. I'm not sayin' you shouldn't have. It's a good thing. I know that," Beat said. "I know you worked pretty hard to make friends."

Hearing that made Neku felt slightly embarrassed.

Beat could probably tell. "You did. An' I'm glad you did. I know you didn't wanna have any friends…back when…back when we were in the Game." Beat whispered 'the game', something that they all tended to do. "The point is you changed. An' you kept changin' after the Game. All of you did."

He said the last sentence, with such a bitter sting that Neku was taken aback. "You don't like that we've changed?"

"I don't like that I haven't changed." There was a softer, "not one bit."

Neku hadn't seen Beat like this…not since the Game. It seemed that Beat needed a moment to compose himself.

He wasn't speaking, so all Neku could hear was the sound of those kids skateboarding, laughing with and at each other as they continued showing off tricks to each other. It was jarring, how downcast the atmosphere around Beat was in comparison. It was almost like Beat didn't belong in this picture.

Or maybe it's like that because that's how he feels.

"Rhyme's still chasing her dream," said Beat, speaking suddenly again. "An' she's leavin' because of it. I'm happy for her an' all that but we used to hang out all the time. But she's too busy now, so yeah I thought I'd leave her alone for a bit. But besides you guys, what do I have? Nothin' but this skateboard. The rest of you have tried to change, but I didn't. After the Game, I thought that was enough. Rhyme was back so that was enough. But I'm still a good for nothin' loser who doesn't matter and who has nothin' that matters to me."

Neku wanted to argue because it's not like Beat didn't have other friends. Except thinking back on it, he never mentioned having any. Not having friends was kind of Neku's thing. Perhaps he made such a big deal of it that Beat never wanted to because Neku couldn't recall Beat ever mentioning having other friends either.

Come to think of it…Hadn't Beat always gone a bit quieter whenever Shiki mentioned she was working on a new project? Whenever Neku said Hanekoma was going to help iron out a few things about his new track? Whenever Rhyme went on and on about her new school?

…When had Beat talked about himself?

He knew the answer: not much. Not since the game.

Not until now.

"You're not a loser, Beat."

"I knew you'd say that," was the immediate response. "Doesn't make it true."

He never thought he'd be the one left speechless with Beat. Neku didn't know what to say. He was never good at this. Maybe Shiki or Rhyme could have dealt with this better. Maybe even Josh – no, not Joshua, he would just say something that would make things worse.

Neku hated this, he hated seeing Beat like this.

He just…he just never assumed Beat would be anything but okay. They all had their nightmares about the Game but that was something they shared and talked about. There was nothing to indicate that there were things weren't going well after that.

And he couldn't outright say that Beat had definitely changed because he hadn't. Not in any way that he could tell.

…but so what?

"So what if you haven't changed? So, you haven't made any new friends? Or you don't have a dream? You don't need to have them, it doesn't make us any better than you."

"Phones?"

"Yeah, fine. You're still the same Beat who did everything to save your sister and who wasn't afraid to ask me for help," he continued, words falling out before he could catch them. "You're the same guy back then, who wanted to make friends with me of all people. Then, I'm sorry, but that's perfectly fine with me. Who says you need to change anyway? Screw that. If you want to find a dream or whatever crap, fine. We'll help you, but you don't need to change to do it. Another thing,you don't need a whole bunch of other people as friends because you matter to me."

Beat blinked at Neku.

"…Man, I didn't think you were goin' to get…angry with me."

"I'm not – "

Oh.

Uh, maybe he had been shouting.

Yep, those kids were giving him strange looks.

"The bottom line is," he tried to say with a bit more calm. "You're one of my best friends, and always will be whether you change or not. Or whether you have a dream or not. If you're really having a bad day or something you just need to tell me. And not with just some 'let's hang out' texts that you drop after one reply."

The person Neku was two years ago, before he met his friends, was a thorny person of no envy. Beat, however, had always had a heart of gold. Neku just wished that Beat could see that too.

"…I guess you're right," Beat said, though Neku was unsure if he was entirely convinced. "An' I think maybe I was feelin' a bit left out."

"Yeah…but seriously, if you just want to cry or whatever, I'll drop my plans."

Beat shook his head. "…That would be pretty mean to your other friends."

"I'm serious." Dead serious.

"An' why would I text you, to say 'I'm cryin', that's weird, dude."

"You're crying right now," Neku pointed out.

"Huh."

He guessed Beat, didn't realise, but there were definitely a bunch of tears just rolling down his eyes right now. Beat was always a crier; another thing that Neku was glad didn't change.

At this point, the kids were definitely staring.

"Alright, let's go Beat. The special might not still be on, but I bet you could do with some ramen right now."

Getting up, he gathered his skateboard and helmet, helping Beat to do the same. They got more stares as they left the skate park, but Neku ignored them.

"Phones?"

They only just made it out of the entrance, and Neku turned to see that Beat was wiping his face his hand. "Thanks for that, man."

"Yeah, no worries. Just…just don't keep these kinda things in, okay?" Neku tugged at his hair, a habit that hadn't changed for him after the Game. "I don't know if whatever crap I just said was good advice or not, but that's just what I think. If that's good enough for you, then you know, you can talk to me."

"Okay," he grinned, looking a lot better already, even though his eyes were still puffy. "Yeah, I haven't talked about that before so I guess I needed to let it all out."

Neku nodded. "And I'm here, whenever you need to."

"If you've got anythin' to get off your chest, you can tell me too," Beat declared.

He swung an arm around Neku's shoulder, to which Neku would usually tell him to do a bit less zealously but he would let it slide this time. "Aight, now let's get some of that ramen you were talkin' about."

"Heh, of course."

He was glad that even if Beat wasn't completely better, he had cheered up a little. The idea of ramen probably helped too.

"Thanks again, Neku."

"Anytime."

…Wait, did he just call me –

"Man, I'm starved now, Phones. I'll race ya there!"

Beat took off before Neku could say anything else. He stood there for a bit, wondering if his ears were working right.

"Hey, what're you doin'? This is a race! Pick it up, Phones!"

Shaking his head, he sighed, even as a smile came to his face.

"I'm there!"

A/N: Tadaa! Wow, I haven't posted anything since…June 2017? Not to say I haven't been writing, but most things I posted on Ao3 because the fandoms I wrote for were there…Ew, that makes me feel totally disloyal now. Okay nope, that's it, I'm giving my fics back to ffnet first, always. That said, happy start of TSoS 2019: Hexa-Code Kernel. If you didn't already know, the Twelve Shots of Summer, is exactly that – twelve one-shots all through summer!

And of course, I thought I'd get my gears going into the mood by starting off with one of my still most beloved and favourite things to write about: TWEWY!

I wanted to write something a bit more Beat-centric, though for writing Beat I usually need a bit more of a warm-up before writing in his voice so…this happened. The prompt was 'Open()' and as you probably can tell I used it in an 'opening up' sense. Not to be confused with 'open up your senses' ;D *bdm tsss*

My twewy writing is a bit rusty but I hope I did okay with my fave boy Beat. Always thought that things might not always go well for him, even after the Game so yep. And I would think Neku tried to make some friends from class after the TWEWY game, though of course the Hachiko Gang are still his best friends.

Anyway, I hope this gave you some good twewy feels. Thanks for reading!

- Dina 09/06/2019

#twewy #the world ends with you #neku sakuraba #twewy beat #daisukenojo bito #my post #my fanfic #my fanfiction #uhhhh #beatneku #nekubeat #kindof #I mean when I started writing this I intended it to be friendship #though at points I was like...hm man I could write this shippy too though #but i left it as friendship cause beat deserves some friendship fic #but also when rereading it I was like 'this could easily be a ship fic lol'#so it's whatever you want it to be lol I don't mind #read: depending on my mood I myself might think of it as shippy or not

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spideyy-girl · 5 years

Text

Let Me In ~ Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes

Request: Hi!!! I was wondering if I could request a song fic with wintersoldier! bucky x reader? The song is called Lily by Alan Walker, K-391, & Emelie Hollow. I’ve been listening to it nonstop lately. Thank you!!

Song: Lily - Alan Walker, K-391, Emelie Hollow

Summary: Bucky feels stuck with hydra always controlling him, and he can’t quite get a grip of himself. One day he escapes and finds someone that could change his life.

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings: Sad Bucky, HYDRA being a bitch (as per usual), sorta sad but fluffy-ish ending

Word Count: 4526 (12.6 pages) long af

Date: March 31, 2019

A/N: thanks anon now I’m obsessed with this song too lol. Also, I didn’t know which character you wanted to be “Lily”, but I feel like it suited Bucky better with the whole locked in his super soldier mindset thingy. Hope it makes sense? Hopefully this is what you wanted, and if it isn’t, I’d be more than happy to rewrite it to better suit you! Also sorry if it sorta sucks I was running out of ideas :/

This takes place a few months after CA: Civil War, with a little bit of Infinity War reference at the end.

Lily was a little girl Afraid of the big wide world She grew up within her castle walls

Bucky laid in his board stiff bed, eyes baring straight up into the ceiling above him, a dull beige colour with pipes running along it. He raked his mind, over and over again, trying to remember anything he could. Hydra was starting to get in his head, and he had started to think of what had happened before hydra made him who he is today.

A monster, a murderer. A soldier.

Now and then she tried to run And then on the night with the setting sun She went in the woods away All afraid, all alone

He always thought the word was quite a stretch, aren’t soldiers supposed to help people? He asked in his head. Although his commander says that what they do is to help others, he didn’t feel like that was truly the case. But he didn’t dare say that, not unless if he wanted to be strapped down in that room again, tortured until his mind was a blank slate with nothing but kill.

He hated it. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted out.

From the little things he could remember of his past life, he feels happiness, laughter rings in his ears. There’s one little blonde guy that seems to appear a few times as well. But those are just flashes. He needed answers. And he needed them now.

He sat up from his position on his bed and looked out the window, watching the sun turning from light blue to pastel pinks and oranges. He looked the opposite way, out the open door and into the empty cold hallway. He saw this as his chance. He stood up with haste, grabbing his gun from its place under his bed and shooting the window. As he was climbing out, he heard security screaming the only name he knew.

“Soldier! Get your ass back in here!” He heard his commander yell at him, before hearing the familiar sound of the loading gun. As if second nature, Bucky lifted up his own gun and shot out 3 bullets, hitting his targets with practised perfection, before slipping out and running into the abandoned woods outside of the compound. He was free. Finally free.

They warned her, don’t go there There’s creatures who are hiding in the dark Then something came creeping It told her, don’t you worry

Bucky walked for what felt like days, looking for anything, anyone. Maybe even someone that might help him rediscover his past. The blonde boy from his leftover memories kept flashing through his head. He must know something. So that was Bucky’s new target.

He continued to wander, thoughts running through his head, crowding his brain so much he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t hear the sound of quickly paced footsteps, he couldn’t see the shining brightness of the nearing lantern.

“Hello?” the girl questioned again, putting the lantern up as she continued to walk closer. “Sir? Are you ok?”

The soft sound of her worrying voice triggered him, taking him out of the depths of his mind and causing him to raise his gun, merely missing the woman and hitting the light beside her, causing it to go out. “Holy shit!” she screamed, dropping the shattered object to the murky woodland ground. The feminine voice startled the man as well, and he quickly lowered his weapon. She looked from the shattered glass on the woodsy floor up to the soldier's weary eyes, seeing many things in only a matter of seconds.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I scared you," she whispered, trying to get closer to him, trying to help. He looked like he could use some. "I know you must be concerned, lost maybe. I just wanted to help you." Her words were gentle and held an unfamiliar comfort in them, making him let down his guard completely for just a few moments. He nodded, not knowing why, but not questioning his actions either.

"I'm sorry-"

"There's no need for that," she quickly reassured, cutting off his unnecessary apology. She reached out her hand towards him, in a welcoming matter instead of the usual threatening one he received. "Now, I have a little cottage just a bit down. I don't mean to sound... weird or anything, but you're more than welcome to stay the night and I'll get you some food before you continue on whatever journey you're going through at the moment." She said with kindness, a matching smile adorned her beautiful face. He couldn't refuse, so, of course, he didn't.

Follow everywhere I go Top over the mountains or valley low Give you everything you’ve been dreaming of Just let me in, ooh Everything you wantin' gonna be the magic story you've been told And you’ll be safe under my control Just let me in, ooh Just let me in, ooh

Bucky stayed with the girl he met in the woods, whose name he learned was Y/N. She told Bucky that she lived in New York and that she was going back next weekend, and offered for him to stay with her until then. Bucky told her about his blonde friend, and how he was trying to find him. Of course, he refused to tell her about his super soldier past. Bucky felt an odd sense of protection around her. He felt as if he could trust her, like he already knew her for many years.

Bucky sat at the round wooden table, the room was dimly lit by a weak ceiling fan, the only sound coming from the scraping of the metal spoon against the bowl filled with warm soup in front of him. The annoying sound was almost white noise to him as he stared at the girl visible from the other room, presumably the kitchen, preparing for food for him. The girl felt eyes boring into the back of her head, and she smiled and poured out her own cup of soup and took a sit with him. They sat in silence for a while, both enjoying their meals, before the silence was broken by the super soldier.

"It's good," he said, his voice quieter than what he remembered. The girl looked up, a slight hue of red across her cheeks as a smile spread against her innocent looking face.

"So he speaks," she teased, her bowl completely forgotten about at this point. She put her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands as she observed him in the (not so) better light. "So, you want to talk about what was happening out there? I thought you had to be on something but.. it doesn't look like it." She told him, observing his mannerism or any other signs that might help her find out what a handsome man was doing somewhere like here. Bucky gave her a quick skeptical look but proceeded with explaining the odd circumstances in which they met.

"I'm... I'm looking for a friend," he said in a small voice, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not sure where I am." She sighed, reaching out to grab his hand, trying to comfort him. He flinched back from her touch but let her take his rough palm in her soft, rather small one.

"Ok, listen," she said, squeezing his hand and rubbing her thumb against the "I can't guarantee that your friend will be in New York, but I may have some friends who can help. I just want to let you know, I'm not trying to hurt you Bucky." She said with a smile. Bucky frowned and took his hand out of her grip.

"How did you know my name?" he said, his free hand gliding down to the hidden knife on his thigh. Y/N giggled, but her eyebrows furrowed.

"You told me, don't you remember?" She said, looking concerned for him. Bucky stopped his movements, shaking his head and offering her an apologetic smile and nodded, looking at the floor. "It's ok, there's probably a lot going on in there. C'mon, I'll show you the spare room, leave you to get comfy. You look like you could use some rest." She got up, the old wooden chairs scratching against the laminate floor, Bucky following in suit going down the hallway and examining his new victorian looking room. He smiled and gave a quick thanks to the girl before closing the door, going to sit on the double bed.

On the other side on the bedroom door and down the narrow hallway, Y/N sat in the small living room, picking up the telephone and dialling a well-remembered number. The familiar deep scruff voice picked up the phone with a 'hello?'. "Steve? I think we found our guy." She stated in a soft voice, so the man she met that day wouldn't hear. "And I think he remembers us."

She knew she was hypnotized And walking on cold thin ice Then it broke, and she awoke again

Bucky woke up to the bright sunlight shining through his window the next morning. He rolled off the bed, his instincts telling him to grab for his gun and get suited up for today's mission, that is until he bumped into the tall dresser, which came tumbling down towards him. Luckily, he caught it, but the insides fell out, creating a large crashing sound. Bucky cringed, before pushing the cabinet back up against the wall and trying to stuff the contents back into it. Suddenly the door opened with Y/N showing on the other side, her hair in a messy bun and an apron wrapped around her waist. She saw the current situation and gave out a small chuckle.

"I make you food and give you a bed to sleep in, and in return you decide to trash my house," Y/N jokes with him, rushing over and helping him clean up. Bucky looked at her with a guilty smile, and she rolled her eyes, her grin only getting wider. "Come on, I made you some breakfast before we head out. I hope you like pancakes?" A confused look came on his face as he put the last of the things away before following the girl outside the room.

"Never had them," he said. As he walked into the dining room he was greeted with the best smell in his life, his stack of pancakes placed neatly on the dining room table. She gasped, before pushing him towards the table and seating him on the chair, placing a fork and knife in front of him.

"I like to think mine are pretty great," she said excitedly, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see the girl beaming back at them, before nodding to the breakfast food. "They're my favourite. Go on, eat up!" She smiled before patting his shoulder and going back to finish packing her suitcase. Bucky ate as if hasn't in months, more than satisfied with the sweet treat. Y/N giggled as she saw him scarf down the pancakes, grabbing a plate of her own and going to sit beside him, starting on her own.

"So, tell me more about your friend," Y/N said as she set her fork down after finishing her pancake. Bucky looked up at her, before swallowing what pancake he had left in his mouth and beginning to talk. A good sign.

"He's small, blonde, umm..." Bucky started, trying to kick start his memory, anything else he knew. He saw Y/N across the table tilt her head, slightly resembling a lost puppy, he couldn't help but think. "Truth is, I don't know much about him. But I remember him, from my past." Bucky tried to explain.

"Your past?" Y/N questioned further, trying not to sound suspicious. Bucky looks down and nods. "Did something... happen in between?" Bucky looked up at her, being cautious of what his next words would be. He didn't want to scare her off.

"You can call it that," he said in a whisper. "I can't remember much of my last few years." He tried to explain, Y/N nodded in understanding.

"Like long term memory loss?" She kept questioning. He nodded his head, his long hair falling in front of his face. Y/N's face changed, her eyes going soft as she reached over and pushed his hair out of the way, startling the boy. He's never been shown this type of affection. She blushed and took her hand away, mumbling a sorry. The room stayed in silence for another few minutes, before broken by Y/N.

"I'm sure you'll find him, Bucky," she said, offering a hopeful smile towards him. He looked up and gave her a small smile back. Y/N stood up and took their plates and cleaned up a bit as Bucky took the extra time to freshen up a bit, before trying to get some research done on what might've happened to him before. Maybe it will give him a hint as of where to go.

The week went by relatively fast, and Y/N did everything she could to help Bucky find what could've happened to him and his friend before HYDRA took him back and brainwashed him once again. Of course, Bucky didn't reveal that certain detail to Y/N. Soon enough, Friday afternoon had reached and Y/N was packing her small buggy car and the two now closely bonded pair went on their way home. Well, Y/N's home at least, or what he was told was her home.

Then she ran faster than Start screaming, is there someone out there? Please help me Come get me Behind her, she can hear it say

Y/N was oddly silent throughout the ride. Music played in the background as Bucky kept stealing glances at the girl beside him, she seemed almost nervous. He pushed it off as normal, thinking that he would probably be nervous taking someone he only met a few days prior to his house. But that's wasn't what was running through the Y/H/C's head.

Y/N was starting to wonder if she should maybe turn back, feeling as if she was selling the man off. Of course, she knew what she was doing was for his own good, which is the only reason why she kept on the crowded highway. But she had made a bond with Bucky, and she was hoping this wouldn't ruin anything that's been growing between them. Especially if the said bond would eventually grow into a more than friendship thing. Hopefully, her colleagues would be ok with it.

"You alright?" he asked, looking at the girl in concern. Y/N shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts out of her brain. She put on a smile and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine. A little bit nervous." She laughed, though it sounded uneasy. The music seemed to get louder in the sudden silence as Bucky slowly put his hand on her leg, not in a very implying way, just as a sign of comfort. He felt her relax under his touch and she turned her head to give him a smile. Within another few minutes she pulled into an underground garage park of a tall glass building, with a bit of a weird structural design, Bucky thought to himself. Y/N took her suitcases out of her trunk, which Bucky quickly took out of her hands, claiming: "a pretty girl doesn't have to carry her own bags. Just let me be a gentleman."

They got into the nice elevator, which had plenty of levels. Y/N pressed a button closer to the top, and the sliding doors closed and it jolted before smoothly going up. AC/DC came through the speakers, of course, considering the building they were in. After a minute or two, the metal box stopped and the doors slid open again. The first thing Bucky realized when he walked out with Y/N, was that they were not alone, and he realized this probably isn't her real apartment.

At the sound of the elevator dinging across the room, Steve Rogers halted his talking with Sam, Wanda, Natasha, and Clint. Everyone's eyes darted towards the two new people who entered the room. Bucky's eyes widened as he saw the one and only Captain America. He looked between him and Y/N, who was walking over to hug Wanda, a close friend of hers.

"Y/N, what the hell is going on," Bucky asked once Y/N broke apart from the Scarlet Witch, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards him, but not too harshly. Y/N diverted her gaze and sighed, looking down before meeting his gaze. HEr eyes looked like they were starting to water.

"I'm just trying to help, Buck," she said, reaching for his hand. He pulled it away from her, taking a step back. He looked up at Steve, he knew it was his blonde friend from his almost ancient memories, even though he looked extremely different, he could tell. Actually, he recognized everyone in the room. He doesn't know from where, but he can't deny it. He scanned the room again before turning back at Y/N.

"So you did already know my name that night, didn't you?" Bucky jokes to try and ease the tension. Y/N let out a laugh, sounding relieved, before nodding. A small tear ran down her cheek.

"Yeah, you have no idea how scary that was," she smiled, and he gave her one back. He wasn't mad that she had brought him here like she originally thought. If anything he was extremely thankful. For the first time in his life, he felt safe. Y/N spoke again, raising her hand as if to present the other people in the room. "Well, Bucky, meet the Avengers. Or a part of them at least.

The team went back the large glass table in the back of the room with Y/N and Bucky, to discuss the plan to send Bucky to Wakanda. Steve explained that Y/N would accompany him there, to make sure he stays safe and doesn't go back into Winter Soldier mode again. Bucky was a bit reluctant at first, but with a little bit of convincing from Y/N, he agreed to the plan. The two went to Y/N's room, where she would pack the remaining of her stuff for the trip, and Bucky would pack his new clothes and leftover personal belongings he left there.

"So, you're an Avenger too?" He asked as he neatly folded a t-shirt before placing it in his suitcase. "Got a special power or anything?" Y/N giggled, a sound Bucky had grown accustomed to already.

"Yes I am an avenger," Y/N said, feeling proud. "I can jump through and manipulate space." Bucky looked back at the girl, obviously confused with what she said. She rolled her eyes, a goofy smile coming on her lips. "Basically I can teleport and move objects," she dumbed it down for the 100-year-old man, to which he nodded, an 'ah' coming from his mouth, before looking at her and giving her a smile.

"Sounds pretty badass," he commented, a smirk on his lips as he left his packing for a second to go walk towards her. Y/N laughed at the comment, dropping the jeans she was folding and turning to the taller man as well. She gave a nonchalant shrug.

"I guess so," she said. He smiled down at her, thinking of how cute she was. His hand reached out and grabbed her own, which she gladly accepted with a small squeeze. She glanced at their interlocked hands before looking back up into his brown eyes again, which seemed closer to her than they were a second ago. "I hope you don't mind me going with you to Wakanda. I'm sure you'd rather it be Steve but I'll try and be just as good of a company as he is. I've always wanted to go to Wakanda too, I've heard it's stunning and they've got really amazing technology. I'm sure you'll find it interesting as well. Maybe that might not make up for Steve but-"

Y/N's excessive nervous ramblings were cut off by Bucky, or his mouth did. Bucky's kiss was soft, his hand still caressing the back of her hand as the other one reached up to her jaw. Y/N's hands reached up to his long hair, running her fingers through the surprisingly soft locks. The pulled apart after a few second, foreheads leaning against each other. Y/N kept her eyes closed, but her smile grew slowly more evident on her face. Bucky couldn't help his own grin when he saw this.

"Trust me, I'm more than happy that I'm going with you," he said in a whisper, but just loud enough for the girl to hear. This only increased the growing smile on her face, so much that her cheeks were starting to hurt. But she didn't mind. "I wouldn't want anyone else."

Everything you wantin' gonna be the magic story you’ve been told (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) And you’ll be safe under my control Just let me in, ooh

*A FEW YEARS LATER*

Bucky awoke from the bright Wakandian sun shining through the large window. He couldn't complain about his new life, as if he never escaped HYDRA he'd be waking up to the same annoying alarms and slaps on the back by upper officers. Bucky stretched his arms over his head, a soft groan passing his lips.

"Good morning sleeping beauty," he heard a raspy voice coo from his chest. There lay his amazing girlfriend of almost 5 years, Y/N, looking up at him in adoration. He smiled and left a kiss on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her exposed waist as she cuddled into his bare chest again.

"Morning, darling," he whispered, giving her another kiss on the cheek before meeting her lips. He could feel her smile into it. The cute moment was broken by a knock on the bedroom door, followed by a voice.

"Sargeant Barnes, Miss L/N, they're here." Shuri's voice came from behind the giant metal doors. Y/N groaned before sitting up, followed by her boyfriend as they got changed, exchanging in light conversation and a few stolen pecks here and there. The couple walked out together, meeting Okoye, a fierce warrior and the commander of the Dora Milaje, and T'Challa, the king of Wakanda and a new close friend. As they met, the group walked out of the grand doors to be met by big quinjet and an all too familiar group of people. T'Challa talked to the remaining of the Avengers about what seemed like a defence plan.

"You will have my Kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Molaje, and..." T'Challa stopped speaking and motioned towards the pair walking towards them.

"A semi-stable 100-year-old man," Bucky said as he walked towards them. Y/N kept beside him, Bucky's hand placed on the small of her back. He removed it to go over to hug his old friend, as Y/N took the chance to say hi and give hugs to the rest of her team, her family.

"How you been, guys," Steve said as he hugged Y/N, She happily gave him a tight hug, as Steve was like a brother to her. Y/N returned to Bucky's side as he wrapped his metal arm around her waist protectively

"Uh, not bad," Bucky said as he looked down to the incredible woman beside him. She looked up at him as well, offering him a smile as she briefly leaned on his shoulder.

"For the end of the world, at least," she finished, causing Bucky to roll his eyes, though a smirk was still on his face, and Steve let out a chuckle. The reunited team head inside to speak of how to get Vision's stone out of his head. Bucky and Y/N soon departed to go with the Kingsguard to speak of a gameplan. Bucky and Y/N suited up, getting ready for probably the biggest battle of their lives.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Bucky asked her, slightly worried as he saw her practising her spatial jumps around the room. Y/N teleported right in front of him, a smirk coming across her lips.

"Might I remind you, I am a former Avenger and all-time badass," she joked, wrapping her arms around his neck, to which he automatically put his around her waist. Bucky laughed.

"You remind me at least twice a day, Y/N," he snapped back. The girl feigned a hurt expression, before letting out a laugh. Bucky let go and reached for his gun and soon, an alarm went off from Y/N' kimoyo bracelet, signalling the threat has finally arrived. Y/N sighed, looking over at her partner, and gave him a soft smile.

"Time to go," she said quietly. Bucky gave her a sad smile, not wanting to think of what might happen to either of them out there. He grabbed her face and kissed her passionately. Y/N quickly responded, her hands going up to his hair and his shoulder. He pulled apart before resting his forehead on hers.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered to her, his hands still on her jawline. She smiled up at him, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "So much."

"I love you, too, Bucky," she said, a tear slipping from her eye. Bucky wiped it off with his thumb and Y/N sniffed, parting from him as she stood up straighter and grabbed her knives. She grinned at Bucky one last time before the terrible events that happened during the Battle of Wakanda. "Now, let's go kick some alien ass."

Follow everywhere I go Top over the mountains or valley low Give you everything you’ve been dreaming of Just let me in, ooh Then she ran faster than Start screaming, is there someone out there? Please help me Just let me in, ooh

#bucky barnes x reader #infinity war #avengers #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #songfic #lily #bucky barnes #requested #winter soldier #winter soldier!bucky barnes #winter soldier!au #au #avenger!reader

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samthewrestlingfan · 6 years

Text

BELIEVER: Part 4

LOVEBUGS! <3

Thank you for being so patient with me about getting this update out!

Please enjoy Part 4 of BELIEVER!

...issa good one ;)

(18+ only!)

Characters: Finn Balor/OC

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Occult, Aggression.

Taglist: @wrestlingbabe, @alexahood21, @caramara3, @camm-wow, @isawthesights, @blondekel77, @panda-girl1999, @wweburnitdown, @nickysmum1909, @thirstiswet, @meremaidqueen, @thedeboniardevistation, @soulofaravenheartofawolf

"Finn. what are you gonna do?" I followed his quick pace down the hallway to Hunter's office.

He ignored me. "Finn, please talk to me." I begged.

"Finn!" I shouted. He stopped and turned around, revealing eyes as black as the ocean.

He brought his face close to mine and seethed, "I'm doing what needs to be done."

Keeping it short, Finn barged into Hunter's office. "You better have a good--"

"Shut up." Finn growled.

I stood in silence and in fear, not of Finn, but of what could happen if he continued to speak to HHH like this.

"This was delivered to Ella's room last night." He threw the box containing the heart onto the desk.

Hunter covered his nose at the odor. "Who sent this to you?"

"Well it wasn't fuckin' Santy Claus, that's for sure." Finn snarked.

I stepped forward to place my body between them, "Hunter, Wyatt has come completely undone. He's stalking my every move. I don't know what else we can do."

Finn spoke without looking at me, "You could let me kill da bastard for starters."

I instinctively backhanded his arm, "You're not committing homicide on my behalf just so you can get yourself locked up... or worse."

As much as I would love my Wyatt problem to be eliminated, I couldn't risk something happening to Finn because of me,

Finn rolled his neck muscles around and took deep breaths to calm himself. As his breathing steadied, I felt Balor trying to make his way to the surface.

"Enough! At this point, I don't care how he's dealt with..." Hunter spoke, "Just make sure you do it quietly."

A dark smile spread across Finn's face as Hunter continued to speak. "I'll handle your absences from TV, don't worry." HHH looking into Finn's eyes, "I expect this to be handled, Balor."

A sinister chuckle escaped Finn's lips as he smiled ear to ear, "Done."

Finn gripped my hand, ushering me toward the door, when I felt someone else coming. "Wait..."

I heard the click-clack of heels approach the door. In a moment, Stephanie blocked our only exit. "Not so fast, you two."

Stephanie moved to Hunter and took his side. "Wyatt is a much larger problem than we originally anticipated."

Steph pulled a piece of parchment out of her back pocket and unfolded it, placing it on the desk for all of us to see.

My eyes read moved over the paper, growing wider as I realized what I was reading.

"Soul Apperation?" I questioned. She nodded, exchanging a worried look with HHH.

"Ella, he called you Abigail all those weeks ago because to him...you are Abigail." She pointed at a particular paragraph;

The soul that is to be restored needs a vessel. One whom is gifted, and powerful. The vessel must not belong to another, for if the soul residing inside should fight...you will lose. Once the ritual has begun, it must be completed. If it is not, the soul to be restored will be lost forever, cursed to wander the depths of hell for eternity.

I looked up to her, "Am...Am I the vessel?" I asked, voice shaking. Stephanie nodded, placing a hand on my hand, "He wants to put what is left of Abigail's soul inside you. This way, she would have your power, your body...she could manifest again."

I looked to Finn, "What do we do?" I asked hoplessly.

Finn put a hand on mine, "I'm going to do whatever I need to do to keep you safe, Ella." He put his hand behind my neck, pulling me into him and placing a long kiss on my forehead.

and in that moment...I believed him.

I felt it. I felt the desire to keep me safe surging beneath his skin. I felt the pain, and the anger he felt when he thought I might be in danger. I felt his love, his genuine love for me.

---

I stood under the stream of scolding water trying to rinse away the past few days. I had actually finished showering 15 minutes ago, and just couldn't seem to leave the sanctuary of my steamy hotel bathroom.

Your mood has lightened significantly, wouldn't you say?

I scoffed at the voice inside me, "Considering I have a homicidal warlock after me? I'd say I'm feeling pretty calm."

The voice laughed, You still don't understand, do you my dear?

I turned the knob to shut the water off. "I guess not, why don't you enlighten me? And for the love of God please, no more riddles."

I heard a sigh, The Queen has been reunited with her King.

My body froze as I wrapped the towel around myself. "Wha-what is that suppose to mean?"

Ella, he has been waiting for you. For centuries Balor has searched for you. In every decade, in every one of his lives. He has searched for his Queen. You are his Queen, Ella.

I stumbled back, bracing myself on the edge of the counter. "i-I don't...I-I can't be--I'm not a Queen."

You are not a Queen, Ella. You are his Queen. A demon King needs his better half--his equal. In every past life you have ever had, you have been his, but for centuries he could not find you. Until now.

"I am no demon!" I shouted, quickly shielding my mouth so Finn wouldn't hear.

I never said you were. You are now what you have always been, and yet you are more than ever before.

My head was spinning, and it probably didn't help that it was about 1000 degrees in my bathroom.

I quickly opened the door, slamming it shut behind me, and leaning against it.

"You okay? Thought you drowned in there, Love." Finn chuckled as he packed his duffel bag.

"What? Oh I'm fine, I was just relaxing. Needed some air." I quickly and breathlessly spoke.

Finn zipped his bag up and walked to me. His eyes searched mine for a moment, before he placed his hands on either side of my face.

"Ya don't look that relaxed, Babe. What's wrong?"

With his touch on mine, I saw the jolts of electricity bouncing between our skin. "Huh," I thought to myself, "That's new."

I was suddenly very aware I was in nothing but a towel. "Uhh, nothing. I'm okay. Finn. I promise." I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek, and beard.

Finn turned my palm towards him and kissed it gently. "You're so beautiful, Ella." He whispered while his hand thumbed my cheek.

In that moment, it was as if time stood still. I felt a chill rip through my chest and felt my eyes shift to the bright emerald they usually are.

Finn dropped his hands to my waist and placed his forehead against mine. "An ceann a bhfuil mo anam."

A small smile filled my face, "What's that mean?"

Finn returned the smile, "That you have my soul. For as long as you'd like it, it's yours."

My eyes found his, and before I knew it, his lips found mine. "Ella..." He breathed.

"Shh, I know. I know." I let the towel fall to the floor as Finn lifted me into his arms.

He brought me to the edge of the bed, laying me down on it. Finn lifted his shirt off and threw it behind him, then returned his attention to me.

"You're perfect, Love. Every inch of you." He ran both hands up either thigh, causing goosebumps to cover my skin. "Let me take care of you, Ella." Finn gruffed in a tone so sexy, I thought for sure I'd come right then.

I nodded, shaking at his touch. He kissed my lips, moving to my jaw, down my neck, dipping to my breast taking my nipple in his mouth and nibbling it gently.

Finn placed hot, wet kisses down my stomach, and right above my pussy. His tongue darted out over and over against my clit, and I can't lie, the boys got skill.

"Finn...oh my God." I moaned his name into the dimly lit hotel room, feeling him smile against me. He worked my clit and brought me right to the edge, then stopped, winking at me as he retreated.

He moved so he was stood in front of me, "I've been wantin' this for so long, Love." Finn spread my legs with his knee, and looked at me with hungry eyes. I nodded, giving him consent, and he pushed forward into me.

"Fuck's sake, Els." Finn chuckled causing me to blush. Finn held my hips down and drove his cock into me. "Ella you're so tight, Love." Finn leaned down placing his chest on mine as he fucked me. He moaned in my ear before flipping me over.

"Finn, fuck..." I groaned as he his my spot over and over again. He snaked an arm in front of me as he pounded me from behind and rubbed my clit fiercely.

"Finn, Oh my God, I'm gonna come!" I shouted into the pillow. He brought his mouth against my ear, and spoke. "Come for me, Love."

On his command, I felt my lower abdomen explode, and elation take over my whole body. God damn, Finn was fucking amazing. Literally.

"Oh fuck, Babe." I felt Finn tense up, and explode inside of me. He kissed down my spine as he slid out of me, collapsing on the bed.

As our breathing steadied, he pulled me into his arms. "That was amazing." I breathed.

Finn laughed, "Waaaay more than I ever could have imagined. And believe me Ella, I have imagined that about a thousand times."

I slapped his chest and stood to my feet. I found a PC grey shirt and threw it on. I noticed Finn staring at me from the bed, "What?" I asked with a smile.

He shook his head. "You're so fuckin' perfect. That's what."

---

"I'll be right there, I'm just gonna check out." I said to Finn as I waited in line in the lobby to check out.

"You're sure?" He asked.

I nodded, "Go on Hercules, load up the rental. We've got a lot of driving to do."

He laughed hesitantly, unsure of leaving me alone was a smart move. "5 minutes. Promise."

Begrudgingly, Finn left with the bags, and before I knew it I was up. "Checking out of 128 please."

I tapped my fingers at the receptionist as she typed on her computer.

"You're going to get him killed, ya know."

I turned around quickly to see Alexa. I scoffed in her direction, "Why do you always show up when I'm in a good mood? Do you sense the joy and just have to ruin it?"

She laughed sarcastically, "Listen I'm just trying to make sure your booty call doesnt get murdered because of you."

I felt my blood boiling in my veins. "Alexa I warned you. Stay out of my business or else."

She put her hands up in defense. "Look Ella, we both know Finn is smitten as a kitten for you. That's great and all, but don't you worry about how vulnerable that makes him?"

I recoiled slightly, "Enough."

Of course, she continued. "You Ella. You are what makes him weak. He'd do anything to keep you safe, with complete disregard for his own life or anyone else's."

My whole body relaxed at her words. "Do you really want Finn's blood on your hands if--when something happens to him?"

"Ma'am? You're all set." The receptionist inturrupted my daze.

"Thank you." I said, quickly grabbing my credit card and ID. I left Alexa standing there, smug look and all. Was she right? If something happens to Finn because of me, I could never forgive myself.

I walked to the car, hopping in the passengers side. "Ready, Beautiful?" Finn asked with a smile.

I forced as normal a smile as I could, "Yup, let's get going, Handsome."

Finn pulled out of the parking lot, placing a hand on my thigh as he drove. I placed mine on top of his and squeezed it.

I don't know what's going to happen when we see Bray, but Finn isn't going to lose because of me.

I'll bet my life on it.

Translation:

An ceann a bhfuil mo anam: The one to have my soul.

#samthewrestlingfan #finn balor #wwe finn balor #finn bálor #finn balor wwe #finn balor smut #finn balor fanfiction #finn balor fluff #finn balor fanfic #finn balor fic #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic

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rceebe-blog · 7 years

Text

Ain’t Queer (Commission)

Short-length Patreon story for MrMaxwell, which helps to flesh out a character he and I co-designed: Martin the pandad. This story is tangentially related to Teenage Troubles, Martin being the father of Lars from that story. A sequel to Teenage Troubles is upcoming in which Martin plays a large role, so keep an eye out! Write what you know, they said. Okay, alcoholic assholes dads a-go-go. <:3 I don't condone domestic violence, pedophilia, or homophobia - I just play them on TV. Don't beat other people, especially if you're related to them, and if a friend offers you a blowie, say thank you, because blowies are expensive. Thumbnail background is from Textures.com. Writing (C) me Martin (C) FA: mrmaxwell

Horace wasn't all that surprised to see Martin rubbing every cold beer he grabbed on his knuckles. They were swollen like he'd lost a fight with a nest of hornets, and although Man Code dictated that he not let himself be seen wincing, he favored the right paw by drinking with his left. It was a red flag to somebody as keen-eyed as Horace.

The reason Horace wasn't very surprised was because Martin's old lady could be, to put it diplomatically, kind of a problem. Oh, Sheila was a real beauty, any man would have been glad to have such a pretty wife, but she was damned mouthy. Thought she ran the show sometimes. Martin might have been an alcoholic, he might have been a little rough on their son, but he still provided. She had no right to complain about the drinking when there was food on the table and a roof over their heads, and by God, he had a right to tune her up here and there. After all, if God didn't intend a man keep his wife in line, why did He give him knuckles?

Horace himself believed in the value of busting a woman in the mouth when she lipped off, but Martin made it into an art form. If there were ever wife-beating Olympians, Martin would be the champion to rule them all. Horace had seen Martin tuning up his woman now and then when he stopped by for a cold one after work. They worked vastly different jobs - Martin was a decently-paid mechanic at a shop up the road and Horace worked at the scrapyard, crushing cars and smelting steel - but they got off around the same time, and they came home smelling enough of grease and sweat that they got along just fine.

The weasel, tipping back his beer, made a thoughtful noise Martin's way. The panda looked back at him with a grousing face. "The fuck is it now?"

"Ah, just wondering what that dumb bitch said this time," Horace chuckled.

Martin grinned. It was a hideous, beastly grin, an expression which harbored such evil intent that it made Horace think of a serial killer. Which one, he wasn't sure. What kind of murderer Martin could turn out to be was one of the thoughts that occupied him sometimes when he was laying awake, unable to get any from his frigid wife. If I could give Martha a tune-up like old Martin does his woman, Horace thought in such times of needs like his own on take on What Would Jesus Do? But she was a skunk, and a burly woman besides, and if anybody was getting tuned-up it was usually him. Just once he would have liked to see Martin knock her teeth out for him. It was a fantasy he turned to on lonely afternoons up in the crane's cab, when there was nothing to do and nobody around.

"Cunt climbed up my ass about not mowin' the grass," said the panda. "Like, bitch. Christ's sake. I just worked a twelve so I could come home'n listen to your bitching?"

"Ain't that the truth. 'Sides, your kid's what, twelve? Thirteen? He can cut the grass."

Martin grumbled. He sipped his beer, then went back to rubbing it on his knuckles. "Lars? He broke his ankle. Got into a pissing match with me and fell out the front door. Clumsy little shithead."

Rubbing the sides of his beer can, making smears in the condensation, Horace hummed in thought. "Still. He's a good kid, right? I mean, I've seen him, he's a good-lookin' boy."

"He's quiet." Martin chugged his beer. "Jesus, he's fuck'n quiet. Kid can be in a room and you wouldn't fuck'n know it. I've busted his ass for that shit but he still keeps silent." Suddenly he laughed. "Shit, if Sheila could be that goddamn quiet."

They snickered together and Martin finished off his beer, tossing the empty in the floor. It clattered against a loose pile of other empties; a cockroach scurried out of one on the margins. "Y'ever gonna take these fucking cans in to the dump or what?"

Horace waved him off and passed him another beer from the cooler. "Much as you gotta bust her face, I bet punchin' her is how you get her primed to fuck, huh?"

The panda scoffed. "She doesn't fuck anymore. Not unless I hold her down." The crack of his beer can cut through the still, humid air of the trailer. Horace's chubby wife, off reading a novel in the bedroom where the air conditioner was, groaned instinctively at the sound. "Fuck'n her when she don't want it ain't as fun as it was ten years ago. Even her shit chute's gettin' worn out from it. Need to find me somethin' else."

A creepy smile spread over Horace's naturally sleazy face. His teeth, busted and ugly from innumerable barroom brawls which he never won, gleamed like wet niblets of corn on a half-eaten cob. "Something else, huh? What would your woman think of that, anyhow?"

Martin snapped his eyes on Horace. "Who fuck'n cares? You know that bitch owns a goddamn vibrator? Oh, sorry, yeah - personal massager. My ass. Lars found it in her closet."

They watched the game, sipping beer and eventually going through a couple more each. The panda was only just buzzed when the lanky, tall weasel was starting to lose much of his coordination. He still had the requisite motor skills to keep raising his beer to his lips, however. "Ey... Martin."

"What now?"

Horace tried to hold aloft his beer, to tip it slightly at Martin in a little pointless gesture. Foamy beer splattered on the pleather sofa, neither man noticing it. "You really oughta find another somethin' to fuck. Somethin' young. Soft. Nice tits. Ya' know."

"Mm. Yeah, that'd be just about all right," Martin chuckled.

"Or... if you can't find a second bitch fuckin' dumb enough to fuck you," Horace grinned, leaning across the seat and almost falling into the smear of beer, "you could find somethin' else to fuck."

Martin scowled, and it was even uglier than his grin. "You goin' faggot on me?"

Horace recoiled, blinking. "No. 'Course not. Nuh-uh." After a slug of beer, he reached across and patted Martin's arm. The panda's bicep was thicker than Horace's thigh. "Y'ever helped a friend out before? In high school?"

The panda grunted, looking away. "You're a fuck'n queer."

"No I ain't!" the weasel huffed. He slipped across the couch, kneeling in the wet spot. In his drunk state he found himself thinking (albeit not caring if it were true) that he'd pissed his pants. "Now listen. It's queer if you look him in the eyes. Or you fuck him in the asshole. But givin' your friend a jerk-off is like... it's fine, ya' know? We all used to do that in the locker room. Almost all of us grew up wantin' pussy."

"Mmh."

The weasel chugged down his beer until it was only foam in the bottom of the can. He tossed it aside and almost fell getting up next to Martin. With drunken, hazy eyes on the prize, he put a long-fingered paw on the panda's groin and pulled down the lead of his zipper. "Lemme jerk you off. Suck your dick if you want. Fuck that cunt wife of yours. You're a good man, Martin. Damn good husband and father. You deserve somethin' good."

"Guess I do," Martin mumbled.

Horace's knee slipped on the wet cushion. He grunted, pushing into Martin's thigh as he straightened out. Chancing a look up at the panda - that handsome, beautiful panda who never smiled unless there was something rotten going down - let him see that Martin was frowning more than ever. His eyes were aimed at the hallway. An excited thought raced through the weasel's mind: his fat bitch of a wife waddling out, finding him with Martin's cock in his mouth. Would she have been surprised? Upset? He didn't know. But he loved the fantasy. His circumcised little cock struggled against the insides of his briefs.

The weasel opened the button Martin's fly. His greasy work pants were worn-out and old; the button slipped out of its gouged eyelet easily. He pulled apart the flaps and the bulge of a large penis greeted him, bigger than any of the other men in the neighborhood (or at least the ones he had talked out of their clothes). Even flaccid it made a beastly hump in his boxer shorts. Horace cupped it reverently, feeling so very thirsty as he palmed it.

"Big ol' dick. Real big." The weasel licked his lips. "Your old woman... dumb bitch don't know how good she got it."

Rain started to tick on the roof, pattering on the dead flowerbed outside the fore window. Martin thought half-heartedly of how he'd left his window cracked to keep the heat down some. He reached down - Horace flinched back a few inches - and scratched his inner thigh. "Geddit over with," he grumbled. "I gotta get--, there's shit I gotta do. Hurry the fuck up."

Horace mumbled an affirmative, counting himself lucky that Martin was being passive. He hadn't thought the big panda would be receptive; all the times he'd gone over the scenario (with your dick in your hand 'cause goddamn he's so fucking perfect) it ended before it started, usually with broken bones and so much blood. But Martin was taking it. He was getting hard, making the stripes on his boxers bend with every pulsing inch. He wanted it.

The weasel, fingers trembling, pulled down Martin's boxers. Opening the front flap wouldn't do, he had to pull them down, tuck the waistband under his balls, and that was what he did, taking the utmost care not to let go and snap the panda's nuts as if with a rubber band. The black, vein-pocked flesh of Martin's cock yawned into view, its surface slick with a hard day's sweat. A thick whiff of musk made the weasel's nostrils flare. He tucked the waistband carefully under Martin's balls and outright savored the heavy dew of sweat in their fur as they brushed against his knuckles.

Fearing perhaps rightly that more praise would just drive Martin off, Horace sidled up to the panda and clutched him with his dominant right paw. He stroked Martin firmly, slowly, exhibiting only the utmost reverence. Precum welled in the puckering and stretching flesh, smearing down the length each time he unpuckered the panda's foreskin.

Martin, at a loss for a more comfortable way to sit, draped his arm over Horace's shoulder. The lanky weasel felt tiny but incredibly safe in the panda's embrace. He bit his lip, tugging Martin harder and faster. Soft wet noises accompanied the gestures; his pads gleamed with the panda's precum. "Y'gonna cum? You gonna shoot for me? You like that, don't you?" Horace asked, his voice hopeful.

"Mmh." Martin watched the TV. It presently showed a whimsical commercial for car insurance. "This doesn't make me a fuck'n queer. It goddamn doesn't."

Horace couldn't agree more. Fags were wrong, unnatural things. They went against everything he knew to be good and pure and perfect - and a perfectly beautiful man like Martin couldn't possibly be a dirty fag. He squeezed fast on the panda's cock, closing his fingers over the head. Martin grunted and shifted in his seat, bucking awkwardly but intently into Horace's grip. It made the weasel shudder. He wasn't a queer either; he just appreciated the good traits in his fellow men, and he liked to show that appreciation physically.

The weasel, unaware and uncaring that the seat of his pants was wet with beer, leaned over into Martin. At first it seemed like he wanted to kiss the panda (he did, but that really was queer) but he leaned down as Martin recoiled. His nose dragged along the red panda's beer belly, down his thin black work shirt with oil and transmission fluid soaked into its pores. Finally his snout neared the panda's cock, and he gulped it down like the secret of eternal youth was inside of it. He sucked and slobbered, making noises far more wet and sultry than the handjob could have ever caused.

Martha heard a few sharp breaks of suction over the din of the air conditioner and the rain on its frame. Although she wasn't particularly hot, she turned the air conditioner up. The sounds of her husband's faggotry were lost under its whirring.

Martin absently set his paw on Horace's shoulder blade. From pinky to thumb, his grasp could cover much of the weasel's narrow back; Horace felt small but cherished under Martin's touch.

Drunk and desperate, thinking only of how perfect Martin was and how much he deserved to be shown affection, Horace bobbed and gulped as if possessed to suck dick. He palmed Martin's balls, appreciating their thickness and warmth, loving how the sweat permeated the fur like a marinade. Martin was such a handsome guy, a devoted husband and father who worked hard even when his balls were swampy and itchy. Who did that dumb cunt Sheila think she was, forcing her hubby to bust his knuckles across her face? Horace doubled down, gulping as much as he could fit in his not-queer mouth. His cock ached.

"Fuck. Fuck'n shit-fuck," Martin grumbled. "You gotta be kiddin' me..."

The panda leaned back firmly, chewing on his lip. He forgot he was even holding a beer in his sore paw and some of it spilled into the carpet. Slowly he closed his fingers around the weasel's shoulder, clutching the ball of it where he could gain the most purchase. His testicles gradually pulled taut in Horace's grasp and his penis throbbed madly, precum hitting the back of the weasel's mouth with every pulse. "Fuck... you're gonna make me--, ugh, you're a fuck'n queer, butt-pumpin' piece of shit, Horace."

Horace winced at the stinging words. He was going to stop, to abort and save face with a fag joke or three, but the panda shot into his mouth. Martin came silently, with little in the way of bucking and breathing, but he was shooting his wad and there was no mistaking it for anything else. Horace's very first thought was one of total delight: it was what he wanted, after all. He gulped down Martin's straight seed, happily chugging what the panda's dead fish wife wouldn't go near anymore. His tail swished and swayed, fingers rubbing the Martin's balls.

Martin breathed slowly, looking up at the cobweb-streaked popcorn ceiling. "You got two seconds to get your fuck'n homo mouth off my dick."

Feeling suddenly very sober as danger reared its head, Horace pulled his ugly mouth off of Martin's shiny cock. "Heh--, hey... Martin, hey. That wasn't queer. C'mon, you know I wouldn't do anything like that. I ain't no faggot."

The panda remembered his beer and took a long drink of it, a drink Horace believed was a thoughtful one. "Martin... Martin, come on. Guys do that. They do, it's just..."

Martin tucked away his genitals, pulling up his zipper. He couldn't get the button to stay - sometimes it didn't - and he let it be. "This shit. That homo shit of yours just now. It happens again and I'm bringin' my friends Smith and Wesson over here. D'you understand me?"

Horace winced. "Don't--, hey, Martin, listen to me," he groaned, touching the panda's shoulder.

In all his life, Martin had never been described as quick, but the punch he threw at Horace's face seemed pretty fast to the buzzed weasel. There was no moment of clarity where he saw it coming in slow motion; it just came, plowing into his face like a locomotive with a few hundred thousand tons behind it, and it took him off the couch and dumped him in a stunned and stupid heap. His eyes were only just getting the memo to start watering when Martin got on top of him, straddling his narrow belly and pummeling his face into paste.

"I am not! A fuck'n queer! And if you ever put your goddamn fingers or your fuck'n mouth on me again, I'm gonna drag your faggot ass behind my car until there ain't nothin' left of you!" Martin snarled, throwing one punch after another, smashing and crushing and pounding Horace's face into unrecognizable humps of swollen flesh and jagged teeth.

Fat Martha emerged from the bedroom and ran up the hall, making the floor shake as though there were a minor earthquake. She came to a sharp halt in the threshold to the living room and she watched her husband's pulverization with equal parts fear and appreciation. She knew, but had never said out of being a good wife, that Horace's homosexual tendencies were going to get him killed. Now she was watching it happen. Indecision plagued her. Horace had guns in the bedroom; there was a phone in there too. But ultimately she went back into the bedroom, turned the air conditioner up as high and noisy as it would go, and wept.

When Martin was done, Horace was unconscious. Blood splattered the carpeting. It cascaded down the weasel's neck like a bandit's bandanna. Cuts and nicks covered Martin's knuckles, and one fist was as swollen and bruised as the other then. "You fuck'n piece of shit queer," he hissed, hawking and spitting a big wad of saliva on the weasel's cratered face. He was shocked to see blood when he spat; he had bitten into his lip in his fury.

Martin gave Horace a kick in the ribs for good measure. He went home, and Sheila and the boy were spared licks for their smartass remarks and stupid questions only because his knuckles were so busted already.

The story that went around the neighborhood was that Horace had gotten his ass beaten for welching on a bet. The cops never came to Martin's house - at least not for that.

With his near-murder of Horace, however, Martin didn't snuff out that dangerous gay pleasure he felt. He hated it. Fucking Sheila even when she wanted to give it up lacked the same thrill it used to give him, but Lars was turning out to be a handsome young man. Very handsome, and very eager to please his violent dad. Martin was getting ideas already.

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