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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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A Demon Has Claimed My Soul! (Among Other Things…)

Your Guide to Possessive Demons!

So you've made a pact with a demonic hellspawn, the powers of which are beyond your comprehension, and now you want to become an item? Fantastic! Love can still be found even in the most unholy of unions! However, there are some very important things that any human should know before giving themselves away to the forces of Hell and that is what we here at Mammoney, Inc. plan to provide! In our award-winning guide, A Demon Has Claimed My Soul! (Among Other Things…), you will receive a comprehensive overview of the possessive behaviors of your new lover as well as the Dos and Don'ts for keeping your relationship on track! Remember, your satisfaction is a definite possibility!

(Mammoney, Inc. accepts no responsibility for injuries caused due to taking our advice. No refunds accepted, terms and conditions apply).

Lucifer

Lucifer, huh? Are you sure you really want to go through with that, human? He’s really no fun at parties, hell no fun in general! But if you’re into being told what to do all the time then he’s probably a dream come true so whatever floats your boat...

If you decide to start a relationship with Lucifer, the first thing to know is he plans to have you and keep you. Once you've gone down this road there’s no going back now, human.

Lucifer will show his possessiveness most often through stating it outright. He will be pretty blunt about claiming who you now belong to and isn't shy to tell that to others too. Get used to the reminders.

He’ll do those old school kind of moves like letting you wear his coat over your shoulders or keeping a hand on your waist. He doesn’t have to do all that much more because no one would be dumb enough to try anything after he’s staked his claim.

DO: Pretty much anything he says

DON’T: Defy him, ignore his requests, or piss off Diavolo.

Leviathan

Levi? Really? You know he hasn’t left his room in centuries right? And you’d be playing second fiddle to an actual anime character? In our astute opinion, human, this ain’t a good choice.

Levi is the Avatar of Envy so he’s going to be pretty possessive at all times. If you’re going to choose with him then just know that he won’t be letting you go any time soon… Literally. He will cling to you like his life depends on it.

Levi’s primarily going to show his possessiveness of you through being hostile to others like a pissed off snake.

Any time that you’re not alone together he’ll be on edge or glaring at everyone around you. If someone gets too chummy he might start hissing until they back off. He won’t actually do anything unless someone tries to make a move, but if they do get out of the way in case he summons Lotan.

DO: Stay close to him (especially in public), let him hold your hand or stay on his arm, keep conversations with other people short, and always tell him if you’re going out to meet someone.

DON’T: Basically wander off anywhere without telling him first, flirt with anybody else while he’s watching, scratch that, just don’t be overly nice to anybody while he’s watching. Not even the Chihuahua.

Satan

Okay so yeah Satan is smart, but all those smiles are hella phony! He really ain’t as nice as he looks and… What we mean to say is, Satan will act nice to lure you in but you better watch out, human.

Satan can act pretty chill when he wants to so he might not come off as all that possessive for a while. But the second he sees someone acting a little too close with you he’ll snap and start shouting at them. Doesn’t matter who it is or why, he won’t be able to stop himself.

When he does show his possessiveness he is shameless, almost as bad as Asmo, because then he’s trying to make a point to someone or other. PDA for days, but he’ll be glancing at whoever he’s trying to piss off like an asshole…

Satan's the guy who'd leave a lot of marks on you like bruises and hickies to speak for him when he ain't around.

DO: Get used to PDA, invest in sweaters, borrow Asmo's concealer.

DON’T: Do anything that pisses him off. (For more on this, consider purchasing our other guide: How To Calm My Demon Boyfriend)

Asmodeus

Oh come on, Asmo??? Human, be real for a moment! He’s never gonna be faithful to you at all, I mean we’re all demons so it’s not like we really care all that much but humans care doncha?? You could pick better is all I’m-er We’re saying!

Asmo is going to cling to you about as much as Levi but that’s because he wants attention, not because he’s jealous or anything. He really won’t get possessive of you until someone tries to tell him he can’t be around you for whatever reason. Then he’ll whine, complain, and make a scene until he gets his way.

Asmo will show he owns you by trying to make you into practically the same person. Not in personality, just in appearance.

He’ll start by buying a lot of matching or very… Asmo-looking clothes and jewelry for you to wear. He’ll look for any excuse to put you in his outfits or make sure you use the same perfumes so you smell like each other all the time. Demons have sensitive noses so that’s as good as marking you for his.

DO: Wear the clothes and don’t complain, tell him what sort of style you’d prefer so he can pick more of what you want, try not to get annoyed by his diva act

DONT: Wear somethin' else without telling him, have sex with anyone else without permission first (who knows, ya may get it with him), ignore him. Ever.

Beelzebub

…. Just a friendly reminder that he could eat you.

Beel isn’t going to come off as possessive of ya until he starts getting lonely. He’s pretty busy with practices and taking care of his appetite, but if he starts feelin’ like you haven’t been paying enough attention to him, he’s gonna get needy and want ya around more.

He can be pretty childish about it, really. If someone comes over and asks if you want to go do something he’ll just pick ya up and tell them no. He’ll put ya down if you make a fuss about it but he’ll get grouchy so you’ll have to make it up to’em later.

If he’s feeling lonely, he’ll invite you out for food a lot more and try to keep you away from his brothers. He won’t even like you talking to Belphie. It’ll pass after a couple days, so just sit tight and things will go back to normal soon enough.

DO: Feed him. Constantly.

DON'T: Stop feeding him. Ever. Or look too delicious.

Belphegor

Okay we all know what makes him a bad choice, so let’s not even go there! Honestly human, have some survival instinct, will ya??

Belphie will take the clingy route of always wanting to be around ya, but if he wants to go nap or somethin’ he'll just take ya with him. Doesn't matter whatcha doin'. If he wants ya there, he'll drag ya along too.

Belphie’s gonna be passive-aggressive about his possessiveness when others are involved, a lot of stare downs and lookin’ annoyed. He won’t tell’em to piss off like Beel would but there’d a general aura of “Go the Hell Away” around him so it’s gonna be around you too.

If you two aren’t sharing a nap together then expect him to lean on ya a lot, probably with his head on your shoulder. Don’t stand still for too long ‘cause he will fall asleep like that and then you're stuck draggin’ his dead weight.

DO: Get used to being a pillow and not going anywhere for long periods of time.

DON’T: Keep him up too long, wake him up early, or toss and turn in bed.

Mammon

Obviously, the Great and Powerful Mammon is really the best choice, human. It's clear ya got a good head on your shoulders and that’s a good sign. But for the sake of being helpful, we will still give ya advice, for your sake and mi-… his.

The Great Mammon knows how lost and pathetic you’d be if he wasn’t around so he’ll take it on himself to be sure you’ve always got someone to help ya. Don’t go thinkin’ that he’s just lonely and lookin’ for a little comfort, ‘cause that Ain’t! It! And don’t go letting any of his brothers try pullin’ the same crap because he’s the only one who’s allowed to do that, ya hear??

The Great Mammon doesn’t need to act possessive because everyone will already know you’re his!... Okay, sometimes they need a refresher but there ain’t nothing wrong with that!

You'll never have to worry about his brothers botherin' you because he’ll always be there to scare'em off. He’s your first man so he better get priority and doncha go forgettin’ it! It's gotta be you and him against the world, got it?

DO: Show the Great Mammon appreciation for his time, "appreciation" can be cash, gimme cash.

DONT: Forget about the Great Mammon, ignore the Great Mammon, refuse to gimme cash.

#shameless Mammon propaganda #tw: possessive behavior #mammon stole my laptop #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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scribblingplace · 2 years

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Coffee Break

More Rp server based Shenanigans. The Artful Dodger would like to finish his Coffee, Griffin wants to bother a small child.

The afternoon outside was slow and chilly, and the society offered free coffee. You could hardly blame Dodger for taking advantage of his "membership." He was pretending to read the newspaper because it hid his face, drinking a coffee that was much too sweet to be good for anyone, and enjoying the warmth of the coffee room's fire.

He'd go soft if he kept this up.

Dodger was lost in weighing the pros and cons of that, of staying here and getting all cozy when there was work to be done, and if there wasn't some work he could do that didn't involve him freezing his toes off outside. The coffee spoon had already made its way into his pocket. Surely a stroll around the library, or that big basement would yield even better treasures.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice jolted Dodger from his ruminations and he froze up in place trying to remember who it belonged, looking up over his paper things clicked into place. Goggles, bandages. Several threats from their first encounter ran through Dodger's mind as he grimaced and forced his anxiety down.

"I'm a member," he started, and seeing the goggled mummy in front of him looked like he was about to counter that claim Dodger went on before he could interject.

"An' I speckt I could ask the same 've you. This is a respecktable 'stablishment an' you 'ardly look the type."

Dodger said, with no concern for his volume, if anything he was hoping to get some attention, Bandages seemed like the type to avoid a scene, maybe one would make him piss off. Goggles tensed, Dodger could see his gloved fists clench.

Running his mouth was always something of a risk, but here in a well lit coffee room with plenty of witnesses should violence break out, well the risk was lowered.

The bandaged man sat down across from him snatching the newspaper away to glower at him through those inscrutable lenses. They were downright unnerving, made it so hard to get a read on him, on what he was staring at, what he was thinking, Dodger wondered if that wasn't the point of them.

"You're casing the place aren't you."

"I'm enjoyin' my coffee is all I'm doin',' Dodger answered, taking a large sip of said coffee.

"Nice t' 'ave a warm drink on a day like this." If there was a scene here he probably wouldn't get to do it again.

Goggles mumbled something Dodger couldn't catch, he'd put money on it being a curse, before speaking, his volume still low.

"If you are. Don't." It was an order. "I don't particularly care what you're doing here so long as you don't bring the police in with you. You're welcome to all the mediocre coffee you want. But the minute you bring your coterie of associates in here to do some real damage," He cut himself off. Maybe he hadn't planned this far ahead in the speech. Still Dodger could guess where this was going.

"You don't want the authorities investigatin' anythin', I got that much, an' seein' as I don't neither, well, you ain't got anythin' t' worry 'bout, I'm gettin' real used t' the mediocre coffee, an t' be frank, I'd like t' keep drinkin' it, so, long as no one rats me out t' whoever is in charge, then I won't make off with nothin' anyone 'll miss, an’ no one’ll ‘ave t’ call in anyone t’ investigate it, and you can keep doin’ whatever it is you do wiv yourself when the pigs ain’t lookin’.

He suspected he was being glared at, maybe it was some shift in the wrappings that gave that impression, maybe Dodger just knew when he’d managed to agitate someone. He had a real knack for it.

“Not that I’ve got any idea, or for that matter, interest in what it is you are doin’ ‘ere. Just so we’re clear on that.” That might have done the trick, Goggle relaxed a little. “I’m mostly concerned wiv’ knickin’ snacks ev’ry now an’ then, an the pantry’s open anyway, so I don’t think no one will notice.” He wished the big lummox would say something. Or leave. Or give him back his newspaper. Instead he was just being studied by this grumpy diving helmet of a man. Dodger finished his coffee, looked around for anything that might provide a distraction, didn’t find anything, and settled back on studying the stranger right back.

“You ‘ot under all that?” It kind of just came out. “Blistering.” Something in the tone of his answer made Dodger think he was poking a wasps nest, that carrying on would be more like going at one with a crowbar. The stranger drummed his fingers along the edge of the coffee table in thought, or agitation.

“I Think we understand each other. No trouble while you’re here.” He said, Dodger nodded.

He’d already agreed to that much, but clearly the man thought he had to really drill that point in.

“No trouble, cross my ‘eart,”

“Good, then we’re done. Enjoy your shitty coffee.”

The stranger rose and left, taking Dodger’s newspaper, which, well he knew Dodger couldn’t read, but the fact that every time they met this tosser walked off with more of his stuff. It was really starting to grate.

One might be able to find some kind of irony in it, that he was being robbed, but it just had Dodger in a mood. He rectified it by helping himself to some more cutlery when he left a moment later.

#Writing #Crossover #Oliver Twist #The Artful Dodger #The Invisible Man #The Cavalier Society #I should apologize for Dodger's accent #but I won't #Honestly have a lot of fun writing these guys hanging out so there is a part three coming where they make sandwhiches #maybe plot some crime

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earlysunsetsoverambrose · 3 years

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Fool For You (4/4)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader

Warning: Cursing

A/N: Final part of a request for @mynameisliterallycash!

As soon as you were out of the cabin, you started sobbing. Raw, painful cries fell from your lungs and throat, wracking your body. You felt empty and dejected; utterly pathetic, crying like a lost little kid with nowhere to run. You were too miserable to even feel the bitter cold of the rain. At least no one would be able to tell you were crying. Your sprint eventually died down into a slow walk. You were in no hurry to get anywhere. You weren’t ready to go back to Ambrose just to face more humiliation from Bo. God, you felt so stupid. You just wanted to curl up and let the rain wash you to some other place.

Just as your sobs subsided to quiet hiccups, you heard the roar of tires along the road accompanied by the honk of an all too familiar horn. You didn’t turn. You couldn’t. You were determined to keep walking. You saw Lester’s truck pull up from the corner of your eye, slowing to match your pace.

“Y/N, will ya please get in the truck?” Lester called to you from his window.

“Go away, Lester.” You said, continuing forward while your heart pounded painfully against your chest, “I just want to be alone, okay.”

“You’re gonna catch your death out there! Please just get in and talk to me!” he tried to reason. You didn’t respond this time, “Fine, then, don’t talk, just let me drive ya the rest of the way. I’ll do all the talkin’.”

“I don’t want to hear it right now!” You said, desperate to get away and escape the consequence of your confession, “I know we have to talk eventually, but I’m just not ready right now, okay! So, leave me be, please, Lester! Just go!”

“Ya know there ain’t no way in Hell I’m gonna just leave ya.” Lester said, offended at even the suggestion of abandoning you.

After a few more feet of following next to you, Lester pulled over and got out of the truck. You hear his footsteps quickly approach behind you. He caught up to you, taking a step in front of you and blocking your path, holding up his hands defensively.

“Please, Y/N, just hear me out. I wanna explain some things, if you’ll let me. I know ya don’t want nothin’ to do with me right now, and I got no right askin’, but I got a lot I gotta say, and I’d really like for ya to hear it. After that, ya can do whatever ya want. I promise I won’t stop ya.”

The frantic, pleading look in those eyes you loved so much drew you to comply. You glanced back at the truck and then at Lester. With a heavy sigh, you turned started toward the truck. Lester opened the door for you and helped you up before sliding in next to you.

He took the jacket he had on the seat beside him and wrapped it around you. He rubbed up and down your arms, doing his best to dry you off and warm you up to ease your shaking. You were now very aware of how cold you were. He looked you over, making sure you weren’t hurt any worse than he could see.

“Ya okay?” Lester asked carefully, brushing away the hair that stuck to your face; relieved you didn’t pull away this time.

“I’m tired, Lester.” You answered honestly, “I’m so tired of these feelings. I’d been waiting and hoping to tell you all about this someday, but now that I have, I just feel like an idiot. I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself today, so whatever you’ve got to say, please just say it.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Lester said looking at you, hoping you’d return his gaze, “I must be the dumbest guy alive to not get what ya was tryin’ to tell me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault if you don’t like me.” You told him, throwing him a half-hearted smile, as bitter as it felt.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Lester said in an even voice, “I never said that.”

Your eyes widened at his words, dangerous hope started bubbling in your heart again. You turned to face him completely, hanging on everything he was about to tell you.

“All the nice things ya been doin’ for me: the huggin’, the treats, all the extra time ya spent with me, were cause ya love me?” Lester asked, looking to you to reaffirm his understanding. You nod. “I’m still tryin’ to get it through my head is all.”

“I know I dropped a lot on you. I’m sorry about that.” You said, finding more patience at the sincerity in Lester’s realization unfolding before you.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ever makin’ ya any less than happy. I didn’t mean to make ya feel like ya didn’t matter to me. Cause that just ain’t true! Far from it. And I never ever wanted to make ya cry. Don’t think I’ll ever quite forgive myself for that since you’re the last person I wanna hurt.” Lester told you, shaking his head at his previous ignorance. He looked back up, straight into your soul, “Y/N, I love ya too. Much more than a friend. And I know now I shoulda told ya a long time ago, but ya mean more to me than anythin’ in the whole world.”

“What?” you asked, practically short circuiting. Your mind went blank and your heart stopped in place, stalling your breath in your lungs. That’s all you ever wanted. Tears of joy pooled in your eyes as a hopeful smile took over your features, “You love me?”

“Are ya kiddin’? The sun rises and falls with ya, far as I’m concerned.” Lester told you as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He beamed at you, with his famous toothy grin lighting up his face at your reaction. He hesitantly reached out to cup your cheek in his hand, taking your melting into his touch as permission to keep it there and stroke your soft skin, “I’ve loved ya since day one, and I’m gonna keep lovin’ ya til the day they dress me for my coffin.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” you asked

“Hell no. I thought I was the last man you’d ever love, and I wasn’t lookin’ to get my heart broke.” Lester said with a remorseful chuckle, “Never thought you’d see anythin’ in me worth carin’ ‘bout. Course ya see the beauty in everyone, so shouldn’t’ve ever doubted ya.”

“You’re right. You should never doubt me,” you teased, “But I understand. It’s not like I was very forthright or mature about any of this, either.”

“I won’t make that mistake again, believe me. I just thought all those things ya been doin’ for me was cause you’re naturally so sweet anyway.” He explained.

“Guess we should have had a little more faith each other.” You said, somehow able to laugh at the situation, burying your face in Lester’s shoulder, clinging to his arm once more, “We’ve been wasting all this time wallowing in self-defeat before we ever even tried.”

“Ya know, the funny thing is that I’ve loved bein’ your friend so much that even if that was all God or whoever granted me, I’d die a happy man.” Lester admitted, “Ya just seemed so out of my reach, that when Bo told me ya had a crush on me, I figured he was just havin’ a go at me so I’d embarrass myself in front of you.”

“Bo told you I like you?” you asked, a little pissed that he had been meddling in your romantic affairs. But you should’ve guessed, knowing Bo.

“Well, yeah, but he also convinced me that girls lay eggs right ‘fore they start bleedin’ every month, when I was a little kid. So, he don’t always tell me the truth.” Lester recounted, rubbing at his neck, embarrassed that he ever bought such a bogus story, “Got caught checkin’ the toilets at school for eggs once. I really got an earful from the principal for that. Confused the hell outta the folks when they heard.”

“You what?” you responded, unable to contain your laughter. You both burst into a seemingly endless fit of laughter. All the pain and sadness from just moments ago had dissipated, and you were left with faces that hurt from smiling too much and cramps from laughing too hard.

When you were finally able to collect yourselves, you and Lester simply looked at one another, dreamy smiles taking over both of you. He had your hand in his once again, playing with your fingers as he spoke,

“I should tell ya, I nearly choked on my guts when we met. I saw ya and that smile of yours stopped me in my tracks. And, lord, your laugh could bring a man to his knees. Felt like I got the wind knocked outta me the first time I heard it.” Lester told you, reliving the very moment in his memory as he said it out loud. “S’pose that’s why I always try so hard to keep ya laughin’.”

“Well there’s no one I’d rather laugh til I cry with.” You said, bringing your other hand to encompass his, “Besides, you’re the best at making me laugh, doesn’t seem like you have to try at all.”

“Good, I’ve got ya fooled, then.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a fool, alright.” You told him, affection and fondness at the forefront of your every thought. Lester felt giddy at your words, turning the lightest shade of pink as he rubbed his neck again. Emotion shone through his captivating earthy eyes, finally showing you all that he never allowed himself to feel before. Longing grew across his stare, echoing the same look running wild in yours.

“Uh, ya know, earlier, when ya kissed me back there? I know it don’t seem like it, but that kiss damn near set me on fire.” Lester confessed, his voice in a hushed voice “And I know I’d give anythin’ for a little more.”

“Les–”

“I know I ain’t anythin’ to write home ‘bout. I ain’t smart and handsome like Bo, or artsy like Vincent, and I certainly don’t got much money. I can’t give you nothin’ ‘cept me and this rickety heart ya got beatin’ a mile a minute. But I’m ‘fraid it’s the best I can do.” He told you, with a guilty smile, trying his best to fight through the feelings of inadequacy that had run rampant in his system for so many years.

“Listen to me, Lester,” you started as you took his face in your hands, so you knew he would hear you, “You don’t have to be anything other than who you are, because that’s who I fell in love with. You are everything I ever dreamed about or wanted out of love. I love you as you are.”

Lester felt tears welling in his eyes this time. That’s all he’d ever wanted to hear all his life, and it meant everything coming from you.

“I think I’m the real fool between the two of us,” Lester said, “But if you’ll still have me, I’d like to make up for everythin’ I missed; and take all the time I got left in the world and give it to ya.”

“I’ll have you as long as you’ll do the same for me.” You answered with a tearful smile, absolute joy taking full control now. You leaned your forehead against Lester’s, caressing his cheeks, “I don’t want to waste another day without you.”

“Well, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Lester promised. His beautiful brown eyes almost glimmered to emphasize the heartfelt nature of his oath. He stared at you for just a moment, wanting to memorize every single part of this moment between you. He could think of only one more thing to ask of you, “Would it be alright if I kissed ya?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” you told him, nuzzling your nose against his with a smile that sent his heart skipping all the way to Mississippi.

He took you into his arms, drawing you closer to him with your hands still cradling his face. He caught your lips in a firm kiss, steady and careful, yet still brimming with passion and all the affection he had to offer. Your two hearts were beating in time with one another, falling into a familiar rhythm known only to you and Lester.

When you both pulled back, you were out of breath in the best way. This was so much better than anything out of your dreams.

“I love ya, Y/N.” Lester told you once more. You would never grow tired of hearing him say that.

“I love you too, Lester.” You responded, tenderly. Lester leaned in again, kissing your cheek before sitting back up in the driver’s seat. With one hand on the wheel, he kept his other arm wrapped around you, drawing you to his side like he’d been doing it all his life. He kissed you once more on top of the head, right after he started the engine.

“Let’s go home.” Lester said, never more satisfied.

The rumble of the road beneath the tires was now a comfort to you, as it brought with it the unique familiarity and intimacy that came with knowing Lester. You rested you head against his shoulder, cherishing every bit of what you used to miss.

As you started your journey back home, you couldn’t help but notice the storm clouds had finally given way to the brilliant shades of the sunset; painting your world in a thousand hues of pink and orange. You glanced up at Lester once again, both of you glowing with the light of a brand new love of your own. Good thing you got out of bed. If you hadn’t, you might never have lived to see a view as perfect as the one from where you were seated.

You closed your eyes, smiling as you pictured the road ahead. Good or bad – it didn’t matter to you either way. Life had never seemed more beautiful. You could hardly wait.

#lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #Female reader #House of Wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #My writing #request #tw: cursing #fool for you

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ddixons-angel · 4 years

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Fated: Season 3

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff), character death

A/N: And we’re back with another chapter! A bunch of stuff happens here so please do let me know what you guys think!

Chapter 7

Daryl had separated with the rest of his old group and gone off with Merle, like how it was supposed to be in the beginning. Just him and Merle wandering the woods together, tracking and hunting their dinner. Unfortunately, they didn’t catch much, only a few squirrels to split between the brothers. Daryl wasn’t with Merle; physically he was, but his heart and mind weren’t. All he could think of was Gloria, and what Glenn had told him today. She loves him.

“Foods gettin’ cold, baby brother.” Merle calls out as Daryl stares into the campfire they’d lit.

Daryl grunts and throws his portion to Merle, then continues his staring contest with the embers. Merle glances at their supper then back up at Daryl, eyeing him with a frown.

“Wha’s wrong wit’ ya? Missin’ yer old pals, that it?” Merle accuses and scoffs when Daryl doesn’t respond, “or is it about what the chinaman said ‘bout Gloria?”

Daryl finally looks up at Merle when he says her name, earning a cackle from the older Dixon.

“So, ya were finally able to step up yer game after I was gone, huh? How far’d ya get with her?” Merle heckles, leaning in.

“Don’ know what the hell ya talkin’ ‘bout.” Daryl mutters, throwing a few sticks into the fire.

“Don’ think I didn’ see how ya were lookin’ at her since day one, little brother.” Merle says, making Daryl look at him warily, “yeah, I saw it. Ya were like a beast eyein’ its prey, ya wanted her bad.”

Daryl looks back down at the fire, hoping that Merle wouldn’t catch the blush in his cheeks. He couldn’t deny that what Merle was saying was true, the moment he laid eyes on Gloria he was attracted to her. Her beauty was beyond compare to any other woman he’s seen, and his attraction to her only grew the more time he spent with her. Gloria was someone who could carry her own and not need to be protected, hell, she could beat up Merle without breaking a sweat, and that only made him want her more. So, when she offered herself to him at the C.D.C., he couldn’t resist her, especially with the alcohol in his system.

“Did ya fuck her?” Merle smirks, trying to get a reaction out of him.

“Don’ talk ‘bout her like that.” Daryl mumbles, his fingers fidgeting with a rock.

Merle scoffs, “fine, did ya ‘make love’ to her? ‘S that better?”

Daryl glares at Merle, “what’s it even matter to ya? Ain’t yer damn business anyway!”

“I’m jus’ concerned for my brother! Ya got yer mind all wrapped ‘round this one girl, can’t think straight, can’t hunt, can’t even eat! Let me tell ya, that girl prolly don’ give a rats ass ‘bout ya.” Merle makes it over to Daryl’s side and puts his hand on his shoulder, “I’m the only one who’s ever gonna care ‘bout ya, little brother, don’t ya think otherwise.”

Daryl’s eyes narrow at his words, his blood boiling as he shrugs his brother’s hand off him angrily, “she cares. She cares more 'bout me than ya ever cared to show!”

“The hell ya talkin’ ‘bout?!” Merle shouts back, angrily getting up as Daryl stands.

“Ever since she brought us back to that camp, she cared! She helped me when I was hurt and made me feel like I was part of the group when she didn’t need to!” Daryl yells.

“She was jus’ usin’ you! Ya hunt for the group and bring ‘em fresh meat, tha’s why she helped ya!” Merle argues.

“She cared ‘bout ya too but ya didn’ give ‘em nothin’.” Daryl spits out.

Merle frowns at this, “how’d she care ‘bout me? Huh? Punchin’ me in the face and tryin’ to break my arm in front o’ everyone?”

“How ‘bout stayin’ wit’ ya on that roof and makin’ sure ya didn’ bleed out when ya cut off yer own damn hand?!” Daryl reminds him, “she saved yer life and what did ya do? Stuff her into a damn closet and leave her there?! She blamed herself for ya leavin’, ya know that?!”

“I did what I had to, a'right?!” Merle shouts back, “ya have any idea how many damn walkers were on ‘em streets? Makin’ their way into where we were? Huh? I had to go alone, I had to lead 'em away! Otherwise, ya and the Chinese kid wouldn’t’ve gotten to her ‘fore gettin’ bit.”

The brothers stare at each other in silence for a moment before Daryl sighs and looks away, “they’re Korean.”

“Whatever...” Merle scoffs, “look, she can't be the last woman out there, we can find ya another one if tha-”

“No!” Daryl cuts off Merle before he can finish, “I ain’t gonna care ‘bout any other woman like I care ‘bout her. She’s special to me an'... we had somethin’ good goin’... best thing I ever had goin’ on in my whole life!”

Merle falters at his brother’s confession, “y-ya gonna go back to 'em then?”

“Nah...” Daryl sighs, “she’s gonna be pissed that I left in the first place... might never come back from that...”

“‘M sorry.” Merle says, almost sounding sincere.

“Only thing special I ever had and I fuck it up ‘cause o’ ya...” Daryl mumbles and walks away.

---

Unable to sleep, Gloria had spent the entire night up on the platform. She’s been keeping a lookout for any potential threat to the prison, looking for any kind of distraction from the pain in her heart. She saw Sasha and her group leaving the prison the night before, figuring that Rick had made a decision that they weren't welcome, but Gloria didn't care. She glances to the side as she hears the door to the platform open as Glenn comes to join her.

“Hey, you need to take a break, you’ve been out here since yesterday afternoon, rest and eat something.” Glenn tries to convince her but as she doesn’t respond, he sighs and sits down next to her, “look, I know Daryl meant a lot to you-”

“Did he?” Gloria scoffs bitterly, not even looking at Glenn.

“Yeah, I’d say so, I’ve never seen you so worked up over a break up before.” Glenn frowns at her reaction.

“Break up? This isn’t a break up, Glenn, you wanna know why?” she snaps, finally turning to look at Glenn, “Because there was never anything to break in the first place! All those times you asked me if there was anything between me and Daryl, I told you there was nothing because that was the truth! There is nothing going on between me and Daryl because we mean nothing to each other!”

Glenn looks at her sympathetically, he knew that denial was her way to cope with what she was going through, that if she kept denying it, maybe she'd end up believing it herself, “you know that’s not true... Daryl almost came back when I mentioned you.”

“Yeah... the keyword there being ‘almost’.” Gloria laughs bitterly, her sarcasm breaking through her words.

Realizing that this was not the approach to go for, Glenn tries something else, “Daryl might not be here but you still are, and we still need you with us. Maggie’s going through a lot and Rick isn’t fully in his right mind. You’re the only one who can hold the group together.”

Gloria sighs at his words; Glenn definitely knew her too well. He knew that she would only be willing to take care of herself if it’s for the sake and convenience of others.

“Someone needs to keep watch.” Gloria says in a small voice.

Glenn gestures for her to go, “I’ll be here. And get some food while you’re at it.”

Gloria nods and gets up, walking past Glenn, “I still plan on sleeping up here tonight.” causing Glenn to chuckle at her.

She makes her way down to the main area and takes some food Carol had made for the group then heads over to the cell block to check up on Maggie. She sees her lying on the bed, her frontside facing the wall. Gloria goes up to her bedside and gently pats her shoulder.

“Have you eaten yet?” Gloria asks.

Maggie glances up at her then looks back to the wall, “no, I’m not hungry.”

“There’s still food out in the kitchen if your stomach changes its mind, and if you need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you.” Gloria says, not wanting to pry into what happened at Woodbury.

Maggie nods, “I know... thank you.”

Gloria exits the cell and heads outside to the picnic bench where she can oversee the courtyard, she starts to pick at the food on her plate. She watches as Rick is on the outside of the fences picking off walkers as Hershel is on the inside of the fences, accompanying their leader. Carol and Axel are overlooking the courtyard as well but standing closer to the inner fences of the prison. Gloria jumps at the sudden sound of a gunshot and sees Axel fall to the ground, his body falling on Carol as more gunfire erupts onto the prison.

“Carol!” Gloria shouts as she jumps off the table to gain cover.

Maggie runs out from the prison as she heard the gunfire from inside, carrying rifles and shooting at whoever was shooting at them.

“Carol, go! I’ll cover you!” she shouts as she shoots.

The gunfire ceases and Carol is able to get to where Maggie was hiding, she straps on the rifle Maggie had given her and gets ready for the second round of gunfire. The roar of an engine disturbs the silence as a van heads straight towards the prison, ramming through the gate. It stops in the middle of the courtyard and the backend of the van drops open, letting dozens of walkers stumble out.

Gloria had made her way over to the fence and panics when she sees the herd going straight towards Hershel who had fallen inside the courtyard, “Maggie, Carol, cover me!”

Gunfire erupts again as Gloria dashes towards the gate, opening it and slamming it closed behind her as she rushes out into the courtyard. She runs towards the herd of walkers, flailing her arms around.

“Hey! Hey! This way! Over here!” Gloria shouts at them, taking their attention away from Hershel.

"What is she doing?!" Maggie wonders aloud as she shoots, covering Gloria from any potential bites.

Carol looks around, examining the situation and spots Hershel in the field, "she's trying to save Hershel."

Unsheathing her daggers, Gloria stabs any walkers that come too close to her. The driver door of the van pops open and the driver climbs out, taking out his gun and pointing it directly at Gloria.

“Shit...” Gloria swears as she sees this, walkers starting to surround her.

Two simultaneous shots are fired. The first one being Carol’s, hitting the driver’s throat; the second from the driver’s gun, hitting Gloria in the shoulder causing her to fall to the ground. The herd is now split in half; one half going towards the driver and eating him alive, the other half making their way towards Gloria who fights her way through the walkers. To her relief, a katana swings right above her, killing the walkers coming for her and freeing Gloria.

“Come on.” Michonne helps Gloria stand and directs her to start running towards the truck Glenn had driven into the courtyard.

They both climb into the truck and Gloria is relieved to see Hershel is safe and sound in the truck. As Glenn drives towards the gate, Hershel looks over to Gloria who is pale and looking weak.

“Gloria... you’ve been shot.” he announces when he sees her bloody shoulder, causing Glenn to worriedly glance in the rearview mirror.

“It’s a deep one...” Gloria groans in pain.

Glenn drives the truck through the open gate, parking the truck he quickly helps Michonne carry Gloria into the cell block.

“Maggie, get the supplies, we need to get the bullet out of Gloria!” Hershel calls out as he goes into the cell block with the others.

Michonne and Glenn rush Gloria into an empty cell on the lower level of their block. Setting her on the bed then moving back to give Hershel room as he examines her wound. Gloria glances at Hershel and sees a frown on his face.

“I-is it really as b-bad as it feels?” Gloria says, breathless.

“It’s a deep wound like you said.” Hershel looks over at her with a serious look, “your bone stopped it from going straight through, and it’s close to your joint.”

Knowing what Hershel is getting at, she groans, “so if you don’t get it out now, I might not be able to use my arm again.”

“It’s going to be excruciatingly painful for you, Gloria.” Hershel tells her, concern all over his face.

“Well, I can’t exactly wait for any anesthetic to kick in, can I?” Gloria grimaces, then she looks over to Hershel’s oldest daughter, “Maggie, get me a towel to bite on.”

“Glenn,” Hershel calls out to him, “I need you to hold down your sister, try and distract her from the pain.”

Glenn sits on the lower half of the bed and leans his body on Gloria’s legs, holding her hands in place, “It’s gonna be okay, sis, you’re gonna be okay.”

Maggie comes back with a clean towel and Gloria takes it in her mouth, biting onto it as Hershel looks at her with steady eyes. She nods at him, doing her best to ready herself for the pain to come. Hershel digs into the wound, causing Gloria to scream out in agony as she squeezes Glenn’s hands tightly, trying her best not to thrash her body.

Outside the cell block, Rick had just come inside with Daryl and Merle. He let Daryl know that Gloria hadn’t been the same since he left. Rick frowns when he sees Carol rushing into the cell block with towels, he also sees Beth and Carl looking on from outside the cell, a look of fear and worry on their faces. Before Rick could even ask what happened, a blood curdling shriek erupts from inside the cell.

“Carol, who is it?” Rick asks.

Carol glances over at him with teary eyes then spots Daryl, “it’s Gloria.”

Blood drains from Daryl’s face at the news and he dashes into the cell block but Carol holds him back from going into the cell.

“You can’t go in! Hershel’s still removing the bullet!” Carol shouts at him through her tears.

Daryl is right at the cell, standing outside as he watches Gloria crying and screaming in pain and agony. His heart breaks at the sight of her being in so much pain. To Gloria, it felt like hours had passed when in actuality it was only a few minutes when Hershel had finally gotten the bullet out. She lets out a pained whimper as her grip on Glenn’s hands loosen. Glenn starts to panic when he sees her unconscious.

“W-what happened?! I-is she...” Glenn looks to Hershel, his face stained with tears.

“She’s just passed out, her body must be exhausted from all that pain she just had to endure. I’ll patch up her wound and we should all let her rest.” Hershel tells him, nodding at him reassuringly.

Glenn nods, sighing in relief as he looks to his sister who’s laying still on the bed. Daryl stands in the doorway, still, and unsure of what to do. He’s unable to take his eyes off her pale face. He’s relieved that she pulled through but the sounds of her pained screaming haunted his mind. With guilt pulsing through his veins, he escapes into the main area where he had left Merle.

“Hey...” Merle calls out, “‘s she okay?”

Daryl swore he could hear a hint of genuine concern for her in his voice, “she will be, she’s a tough one. She’ll pull through. She has to...”

---

Next Chapter

Woo! That was a doozy of a chapter... so now Daryl and Merle are back at the prison with the others but Gloria is injured... I loved writing the dialogue between each pair of siblings, it was really fun especially with the Dixons, what did you think of it?? Next chapter coming this Friday!

I hope everyone stays safe and healthy, please don’t panic, we will get through this!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon Fanfic #Daryl Dixon Fanfiction #Daryl Dixon Imagine #TWD #TWD Fanfic #TWD Fanfiction #TWD Imagine #The Walking Dead #The Walking Dead Fanfic #The Walking Dead Fanfiction #The Walking Dead Imagine #Glenn Sister!OC #Glenn Sister!Original Character #Glenn Rhee #Fated: Season 3 #Fated: S3: Chapter 7

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savage-rhi · 4 years

Note

what would higgs do if gene was like unavailable relationship-wise because we all need jealous Higgs in our lives ok

@avenged-nightmare YO. You made me think of this whole drabble when I was in the car doing errands. I think you’re right we need some jelly Higgs 😂💙

Higgs was never the type to regret much, but he could feel it twist and coil in his chest as he watched the locals in town dance to music a small band was playing. As his eyes scanned the horizon, looking over everyone’s happy-go-lucky demeanor, his gaze settled on Gene. Under most circumstances, he would have been amused watching her having fun with folks. Higgs wasn’t a social butterfly, hadn’t been for three years since he went into hiding after Amelie tried to destroy the universe and all life in it, but Gene made it interesting for him. That was until Nick came into the picture.

Higgs was beating himself up, watching Gene and Nick from afar laughing at some sort of joke before they started dancing. The two couldn’t keep their hands off each other even if their lives depended on it.

Since Higgs and Gene decided to rest in a settlement after escaping MULEs and needed to ration up for the delivery Eastbound, she had been with Nick the entire time. He was local, an ex-porter turned carpenter in a world where BTs no longer dwelled on earth and civilization could rebuild. A young guy in his late thirties, dark features, a muscled body, had his shit together unlike someone else. Nicks energy outshined Higgs’s charisma, and Gene took to him like a moth to a flame. There was chemistry, even if Higgs dismissed it.

It shouldn’t have bothered Higgs. Gene could mingle with whoever she wanted. She had needs and Higgs respected that, but that didn’t tamper down how pissed off he was knowing they were joined at the hip the last three days. His mind stupidly wandered over thoughts that further aggravated his stress. His blood constricted as he caught those little teases of the assumption his brain had conjured about the relationship brewing between Gene and Nick.

Higgs squinted his eyes, glaring menacingly as he noticed Nick’s arms wrap around Gene’s waist, pulling her closer to him while the music went from vibrant to sensual. His blood boiled. Higgs was tempted to use the last of his remaining powers to put Nick in his place right then and there.

“How are you holding up?” One of the locals asked Higgs, making him clear his throat as he tried to gain his composure.

“Pardon?” Higgs asked.

“You look like you’re close to going on a killing spree,” the man chuckled, shaking his head as he looked in the direction of Gene and Nick. The two were laughing as they swayed, their bodies perfectly synched with the music rising through the crowd.

“You know, if you want to impress your lady friend, you’re going about it the wrong way.” The man stated as Higgs furrowed his brows, looking over him like he was a lunatic.

“Ya’ll got the wrong idea, we ain’t an item. I’m just the bodyguard.” Higgs said, crossing his arms. In turn, the local shot Higgs a look that screamed he knew a liar when he saw one. Higgs growled, shaking his head as he looked away and back at the pair.

“Sure doesn’t explain the crap you’ve pulled these last few days trying to one-up Nick at everything when your porter gal comes around. The arm-wrestling match, the banter, you sabotaging one of Nick’s buildings on purpose, trapping the poor guy in a ditch, trying to knock him down when he was on the portapotty before your gal caught you red-handed and bitched you out in front of everyone and their kin,” the local laughed, slapping Higgs’s shoulder as he shook his head.

“Call it whatever you want, people can see through your bullshit.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and leave me be?” Higgs said firmly, his voice low as he looked down at the local, who shot his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist if he goes in for the kill tonight cause you were too stubborn to say anything about it. I had an idea to help your little predicament, but I guess you’re too proud.” He smiled at Higgs, genuinely, then began to leave.

Higgs sighed, rubbing his face before he hollered.

“I’ll bite! What the hell ya had in mind?”

“Thought you’d never ask!”

The music settled down while the band adjusted the set. The local shoved a guitar in Higgs’s arms while he bs’d with the lead singer for a moment, talking on Higgs’s behalf while Higgs looked at the crowd. No one was paying attention, too busy enjoying their drinks and chatter to notice what was going on at the front. He eyed Nick and Gene who were taking a break, drinking together. Higgs felt his fingertips squeeze the neck of the guitar, watching how genuine Gene’s smile looked while Nick’s larger than life persona engulfed her attention.

“Okay! You’re lucky I know the band. You get one song. Make it count,” The local chimed in, snapping Higgs out of his trance as he swallowed.

“What?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? What song are you gonna play? You said you were good at guitar, no?”

“Yeah, I am but--”

“Don’t get cold feet, you’re this close to serenading your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girl you two-faced fuckin’ shit weasel--!”

“And you’re on!”

The local grinned from ear to ear and backed off with the band members. The focus was on Higgs the moment the crowd noticed there was only one person on stage. Higgs would have given anything to punch not only the smug look but thick mustache off the guy's face as he gestured for Higgs to follow through.

“Fuck me,” Higgs murmured under his breath, gently strumming the strings. He took one last glance over the small waves of people, seeing Gene wasn’t paying mind to anyone but Nick and his shit-eating grin. He could put a cupie doll to shame as far as Higgs was concerned.

Taking in a deep breath, Higgs sat down on the stool the singer had been using and started to hum. His fingers tested the waters of the instrument, strumming a soft melody as his body began to move along with the beat.

His brain was fighting with itself, wanting to focus on his envy while the other half debated on what to sing. He had no time to prepare and had never performed in front of a large crowd before. When Higgs was a porter before he threw his lot in with Homo Demens, he played here and there for associates during breaks but that was the extent of showing his talents and hobbies off.

It was now or never.

“Unkempt hair, unbroken gal. Strong as the rocks cuttin’ her feet. Never seen somethin’ like you. No, no, I never did. Strange creature, what are you doin’ in an untamed land?” The words broke through Higgs’s lips, voice steady like water smoothing the edges of a rock over time.

“She crawled up the mountain to me. Her voice soft and steady, I-I don’t know why I never saw stars until that day. Those long, long days. Somethin’ about the way your hair falls in your face brings me back to a place where I could run, and never look back again. Too much spirit for me to take, she’s gone again, free of me free of sin.” Higgs closed his eyes, letting the instrument and its rustic tune speak words that couldn’t be spoken, only felt. He didn’t sense the crowd, not even Gene and Nick--too enraptured in the memories he had of when they had first met.

“Those eyes wide, that smilin’ shine makes me make a beast of myself. Come back to me, come back to the mountain and be with me. Her voice soft and steady, I-I don’t know why I never saw stars until that day. Those long, long days.” There was a pain Higgs allowed to come through his voice, his renewed feelings for life clashing with old ideals and bad habits he had spent years in hiding trying to reconcile.

“Crawl up the mountain to me. Just a while longer, no-no-no,” Higgs briefly opened his eyes, and he swore in a single split second, Gene was staring right at him. Peering at a past reflection of Higgs that once upon a time begun to quit surviving and started to live when he first became a porter. He’d never admit how much he loved that. Not even to her.

“Little warrior, crawl back to my mountain and be with me.” Higgs finished, feeling euphoria push down the ill feelings he carried as he received applause. He was quick to let the band go back to their routine, not wanting to steal their thunder despite how much his inner child was relishing at the moment--feeling like a rockstar for a few seconds.

He needed air. He needed it fast.

Higgs let out a deep sigh of relief when he exited the huge tent. His fingers shook, carding through his hair for comfort. In hindsight, he probably embarrassed himself, but Higgs wasn’t going to lie, it was beautiful getting a taste of what he could have done with his sad life.

“Hey,” Gene’s voice broke his train of thought after a while. Higgs cleared his throat, shooting her a quick smile.

“Hey yourself darlin’,” Higgs mused. His face felt warm as she smiled back.

“I didn’t know you wrote your own material,” Gene laughed as Higgs grinned briefly, giving a playful smirk.

“You never asked.”

“That’s fair.” Gene nodded.

“Where’s Nick?” Higgs asked, looking over Gene’s shoulder before she shrugged.

“Probably getting more beers,”

Higgs could sense a disturbance in Gene’s voice, and a twinge of guilt began to sink his gut. As much as he was a jealous asshole, and had been a dick to both of them, deep down Higgs didn’t want to take away Gene’s fun. He knew he was a selfish bastard, realizing it even more so than before.

“He’s probably lookin’ for you. You’re like a mother duck and he can’t stop paddlin’ towards ya.” Higgs said sarcastically.

Gene snorted, shaking her head.

“I don’t care. I’m sure he’s got plenty of others he can entertain.”

“Guy’s a-walkin' distraction. Hell, I thought I was a peacockin’ creep way back when. I see what folks admire about Nick.” Higgs chuckled.

Gene smiled slightly, before taking in a breath. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“If you’re ready for a personal answer,” Higgs smirked. “Shoot.”

“That was us--wasn’t it? The song.”

Whatever grandeur persona Higgs had been putting on during this conversation lept out a window and dived headfirst into an ocean. He was silent for a long time, almost to the very second where Gene prepared to change the subject.

“It was you,” Higgs murmured. “It was all you.”

Gene’s mouth formed into a grin that made Higgs’s knees feel heavy. Nonetheless, he realized he must’ve embarrassed her doing that whole stunt, much like he did the past few days terrorizing both her and Nick. He was surprised when he felt Gene’s lips on his cheek, her nose softly nudging his skin.

Gene shrugged keeping her gaze down, smiling big as she walked off to their camp. Higgs watched with a look of awe on his face before he murmured a proud yes to himself.

He didn’t have the balls to admit his growing attachment to her, the mere porter he bumped into a year ago, but Higgs owned the little victory. It was enough for him.

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

#higgs monaghan #death stranding higgs #gene dawkins #death stranding gene #higgs x gene #death stranding #death stranding fandom #drabbles #one shot #quick write #free write #thank you! I KNOW ITS LONG #SORRY #MAYBE CORNY BUT FUCK IT #IT MADE ME HAPPY #hope it made you happy too!#sky of atoms #fanfic verse #avenged-nightmare

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edierone · 5 years

Note

26 and 77 for the mash up list

Five Miles Is a Long Way to Walk In Florsheims

She really did it.

She — she just pulled over, told me to get out, and — kept on driving.

I know I was pissing her off this entire case (but especially today), I know I probably (definitely) pushed it too far when I did the vehicular version of Dutch-ovening her just now, a little juvenile humor to lighten the mood … ok, honestly, with the heat on, it was really kind of nauseating, even for me.

She’s threatened to dump me out before, like a dad yelling at the kids to pipe down or he’ll make ‘em walk home.

But — this time, she really did it. And here I am, by the side of a two-lane road in the far yonder of cow country, in a cold drizzling rain, in my suit (minus the jacket, which is … still in the car) and cheap dumb dress shoes from JC Penney — thank god I left my Nunn Bush oxfords at home, I guess? — watching the rented Ford’s taillights recede in the far distance.

I’ll wait a few minutes. She’ll come back.

Nope. It’s been fifteen already. New plan: Walk till I’m just over that next rise — probably she’s sitting there, waiting for me to catch up, parked on the narrow shoulder with the radio on one of her channels (theory: might’ve been the fourth airing of “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” that pushed her over the edge; note to self, that’s enough classic rock for today). I’ll show up, she’ll forgive me, and we’ll get back to finding the Phantom Murderin’ Cowboy of BFE.

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

Nope. Fox and his tired old dogs are walkin back to Cowburg.

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

Five miles is a long way to walk in Florsheims, especially when the seams start to give and your socks are soaked and your hair is in your face and even your belt is ruined. It’s enough time to get titanically self-righteously angry, then run out of steam on that and rethink your position, then feel like utter dogshit for the way you’ve treated the most important person in your life, then script and rehearse your most abject apology speech dozens of times, refining it to remove all traces of self-pity and accusation and adding a few jokey lines so she knows it’s you and not some shapeshifting asshole wearing you as a skin suit or something.

I’m — I’m properly chastened, is what I’m saying, and all I want is to get back in her good graces. And maybe get some dry clothes on; my balls are rubbed pretty raw at this point.

Room 27, adjoining room 28, the last two on the end farthest from the road. I start to feel just how bad off I am as I cross the parking lot: I’m freezing, my left knee hurts like a bastard, my ankles feel swollen to the point of sloshiness, my back is killing me, and my feet — oh god, my feet … I limp to good old 27, then realize with a wave of despair that my key is in the pocket of my suit jacket, which I can see crumpled on the floor of the Taurus’s backseat.

Shit.

Rather than add “broken rental car window” to my list of crimes and expense items, I gather what’s left of my dignity — there ain’t much — and shuffle over to 28.

“Knock knock, it’s the bog monster of Black Rock Creek, I’m here to —”

The door swings open so fast I almost fall through it.

There she is, keys in hand and coat on — that determined/worried little furrow between her eyes quickly smoothing out and hiking skyward as she takes in my bedraggled state. I don’t get a chance to give my apology speech, because she’s already launched into hers: “Jesus, Mulder, you look like a drowned rat! I’m so sorry — I thought it was only a mile or so, but it took you so long, I got worried — you — I was so angry, I guess I just didn’t realize how far it was — oh, look at your shoes! I was coming to get you — god you must be so cold —”

The whole time, she’s dragging me inside, running to the bathroom to grab towels which she tosses at me, bending to help me shuck the worthless bits of leather that used to be size 11 Fed footwear, checking through my sopping-wet hair for head trauma — at least I think that’s what she’s doing, but I don’t really care cause it feels pretty good.

But I can’t let her do all the apologizing, so all the while, I’m trying to interject with my own mea culpa — about how it’s OK, I’m OK, I was being a dumbass and I deserved it and I’m sorry for questioning her take on the third vic’s cause of death (she was right, I was reaching, and being a dick about it besides), if she wants to Dutch-oven me as revenge, I’ll take it like a man …

That one finally makes her stop fussing and laugh, her big surprising Scully-laugh that makes me feel like a god for bringing it forth.

“Mulder …” she finally says, looking me up and down with a mixture of pity and amusement that kinda makes me tingle. “I’ll save that idea for another time. Why don’t you go get a hot shower and I’ll — try to find something to eat. I’m already dressed to go out anyway.”

I agree to this plan, and in less than an hour, we’re side by side in comfy warm sweatpants on the surprisingly decent couch, eating some of the best tortilla soup I’ve ever tasted. She brought icy cold glass bottles of Coke, too — “Hecho in Mexico, oh man, Scully, that’s the stuff!”

She puts hers down and hops up, going to dig something out of her trench pocket. “I almost forgot! I found something else to warm you up.” She holds it out to me — a pint bottle of Jameson’s.

“Heyyyyyy!” I reach for it, cracking it open and smelling it. “Where’d you get this? I thought this was a dry county.”

“It is,” she smiles, with an arch aren’t-I-clever look. “I bought it off the front desk clerk — smelled something on her breath and took the big investigative leap. She charged me a pretty big markup, but I thought it was worth it, under the circumstances.”

I agree, and ask if we have glasses — but this isn’t the kind of place that furnishes barware, so I guess we’ll have to swig it like a couple of winos under a bridge.

“I don’t mind swapping spit with you, Scully, if you’re ok with mine,” I say, landing a pretty ill-timed glance at her lips that I hope she doesn’t notice.

She does. It makes her blush a little, which she brazens through with a big manly belt of the Jameson’s. She hands the bottle to me and dares me with her eyes to do better.

I can’t, of course, but I try, and as the first gulp slides down my throat, warming me from the inside, I have one of those hot pulses of the deepest kind of affection for her — the kind that just shouts in my head, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, so loud that I almost give it voice for real.

But, of course, I don’t; we finish our dinner, taking occasional nips of whiskey, calling out increasingly sloppy answers at Jeopardy! and then Wheel of Fortune on the crummy motel TV.

The news is next and neither of us is in the mood, so I click through the five working channels and get lucky: North By Northwest is just starting. I scooch around to get comfortable, but I must’ve stiffened up — both of my hip joints and something up high in my back crack audibly, and the girly scream whistling out of me at the way my calf just seized would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

Well, I guess it’s funny to Scully — she laughs, but apologizes. Then laughs again. She’s ruthless, not to mention mean. I tell her so. She laughs harder. I pout dramatically, and eventually she relents.

“All right, all right — you’ll be useless in the morning if I don’t get you fixed up, and I don’t plan on carrying your bag through DFW airport. Get up on that bed, I’ll massage the kinks out.”

I swear I do not even have time to open my mouth before she warns, deadly serious: “And if you say one word about this is how some of your favorite movies start —”

Ahh, she knows me, doesn’t she?

I make like a totally innocent man — pure of heart, mind, and deed — and lie down on my stomach with my feet toward the headboard, propping my chin up on a pillow so I can keep watching the movie. Scully gets to work.

And she’s good. Got those doctor hands. Whoever’s in 26 must think we’re making the world’s weirdest sex tape in here, or else that we’ve kidnapped a moose that sometimes converses with Cary Grant.

By the time she gets to my feet, I feel like a melted marshmallow.

Scully says dreamily, “I remember watching this once somewhere when I was about twelve, and thinking Eve Kendall was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.” I make an inquiring noise. “You know — this scene —”

They’re on the train. Eva Marie Saint’s lookin ol’ Archibald in the eye, telling him she’s twenty-six and unmarried and likes his face, how it’s gonna be a long night, and

“And I don't particularly like the book I've started,” Scully murmurs along. I crane my neck to look back at her; her lips curve upward in the most delicious-looking arc, her eyes twinkling with that sort of mischievous/impressed look she gets toward me sometimes.

I love it, but it makes me a little jealous, so I tell her so. She just giggles and says, “Oh, don’t be jealous of old crushes!” I want to ask her who’s the crush, Eva Marie or Cary, but she grabs the other pillow and flops down on her stomach beside me and suddenly I can’t talk — I just lie there, grinning like a fool.

She passes me the one-third-full Jameson’s — one more sip each before she caps it for the night. We watch for awhile longer. During the next commercial break, she turns to me, studying me with a gentle smile.

“You look a little dopey,” she says fondly, and I laugh.

“I’m also happy, sleepy, and tipsy — wonder where the other three dwarfs are?”

Her eyes are on the TV again. “Doc … Bashful … Horny …”

Suddenly my heart is thumping way too hard. When I talk, it comes out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t think ‘Horny’ is one of the original septet, Doc …”

She shifts a little. She’s smiling but she won’t look at me. “Neither is ‘Tipsy,’ but I spotted you that one — fair’s fair, Mulder.”

“Oh, we’re being honest?” Where did this voice come from, the one that makes her shiver? There — just then — she did, she did shiver. I saw it. “Well, maybe there was a Horny. And a Woody, and a — Smitten, and a —”

“I think you better stop there, Prince Charming,” she interrupts, finally half-turning her face toward me. She still won’t make eye contact; maybe she knows, like I do, that if she does that, we don’t stand a chance of keeping this from happening.

The thing is, I want it to. I have for a long, long time, and I think — so does she, so has she.

That’s the source of so much of the tension between us; that’s really why we fought earlier, why there’ve been so many of these little flareups lately, embers dropped into dry grass and then stomped out with such vigor. We’ve been careful not to get into situations like this one, where the space separating us is so small that we can feel the other’s exhales on our own skin.

I drop down from my elbows to lie flat, facing her. I can see her eyelashes silhouetted against the washed-out lights of 1959 onscreen. “Scully,” I say, barely above a whisper.

It’s a long moment before she finally whispers back, “Not here.”

I know what she means, of course I do. Not on a case, not in a janky motel, not even a little bit under the influence.

“Then where?”

She shakes her head, a tiny movement that makes her hair fall forward, obscuring any part of her I could read.

She doesn’t know? Or she doesn’t want to say? I can’t tell, so I try another question.

“Soon, do you think?”

She tenses, and for a second I think she’s going to get up, or order me out of here. But then she drops her head to the pillow, facing me. Her eyes are huge, serious, full of something unnameable that I nonetheless understand.

“Soon,” she agrees.

I nod, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, the tremendous weight of this moment, the desire that’s been there for so long I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t.

She reaches to touch my face, skimming lightly along one side, barely barely barely there on my eyelid, so softly; I close my eyes as she traces where she likes.

Her hand falls eventually, coming to rest in the little valley between us. I take hold of it, gently, risking a glimpse at her. Her eyes are shut now, but I’m not sure she’s asleep.

“I love you,” I say, but silently, the coward’s way. “So much.”

If she hears me, it’s only subliminally; that’s all the daring I have tonight. Sweet dreams, Scully, I think as I drift off. Sweet dreams.

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

[Thanks for the long-ago prompt, anon -- from the Fic Trope Mashup list, Massage Fic and In Vino Veritas]

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 5)

Light Duties

Mostly just some conversation in this chapter because damn it I love doing dialogue! I’m sorry if this seems to end abruptly, as I was writing this chapter it got really long so I split it in half. The next chapter is (hopefully) a bit more exciting :P

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

I was so embarrassed. My memories of that night had been hazy, partly because I had tried not to remember. It wasn't a good night; my brother wasn't the nicest of men but I still grieved for him, it was like Arthur had said, family was important and that night I'd lost the last of mine. But I'd acted like such a fool, a hussy, a disaster of a woman. Arthur must've wanted to run a mile when he saw me at the camp for the first time, wondering how on earth I'd decide to harass him this time. I wished I hadn't brought it up.

I stared at a rock on the ground as we stood in silence for a few moments, both of us recalling how it’d gone down. The worst part was, Arthur likely remembered more than I did. Who knows what else I'd said that had slipped my mind.

I'm such a goddamn idiot.

“I remembered you as soon as I saw you.”

“I'm surprised, it was a year ago at least,” I noted.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement. “Normally I might've forgotten, but... I won't lie, every time I thought back I felt a little guilty, since that night.”

I looked up at him in shock. “What? Why would you feel guilty? You helped me.”

“Yeah, well, I had the opportunity to help your brother and I didn't. I was back in town the next morning and I heard what had happened. I checked at the hotel, but you'd already gone.”

“You did?” I questioned, the crease in my brow softening as he nodded. “Well, I couldn't stick around. The guy who owned the bar wanted me to pay up for damages; whoever starts a fight pays, he said. Since it was my brother, the bill fell to me.”

“I'm sorry about your brother. I saw how bad the fight was getting, I should've stepped in.”

“And got your own face caved in? Henry wouldn't've stopped for much. My pa tried to pull him off of me once, ended up looking worse than I did.”

“You mean he hit you?” Arthur's eyes flashed up at me in horror.

“Sometimes. He'd hit anyone if they bothered him, I learned to keep my mouth shut around him and it didn't happen often towards the end… of him,” I explained. “I know it's bad, but– well, he's gone now.”

“Suddenly I don't feel so guilty,” he said, his voice low. I looked at him, not really sure what to say to that, so I steered the topic a little.

“I apologise for my behaviour that night. I was a mess.”

“No apologies necessary.”

“No, it is necessary. I was not respectful of you at all, even though you were nothing but kind to me. I wouldn't've blamed you if you'd just left me there, but you didn't. You're a real gentleman and you deserve my apology,” I lifted my head and spoke clearly and concisely despite the fact my face was burning and I wanted to hide away.

“We've all been there, acted silly on the liquor. It's fine,” he shook his head, flushing too. I knew he was recalling some of the things I'd said.

“Thank you, Arthur. I'd like to pay you back for that hotel room, soon.”

“You don't have to do that, I was just doing a good deed. I don't want nothing from you, ma'am. Besides, it was a year ago, I'll waive your debt,” he smiled at me and touched my elbow; my cheeks burned hotter. He looked lovely when he smiled.

“Well then, I'll return the favour some other way,” I decided, turning and running my fingers through the horse's mane so I had something to do with my hands.

“Just keep on doing them chores, new girl, that's good enough for me,” he said, finally stepping away and heading towards his horse. “Come on, let's take these animals back to camp. Good work on those rabbits, all this’ll keep us fed for days.”

“I'm glad I could be of some help,” I told him, mounting my horse.

“You've been a real help, these last few days. Moving to a new camp ain't easy, we haven't been there long, you've helped us more than you know,” he told me, climbing onto his own horse. He started trotting back the way we came, I sidled up to him.

“I've only been doing basic chores,” I reminded him.

“Basic chores still need someone to do 'em. The girls always have their hands full with keeping things going while us fellers are out lookin’ for opportunities. I'm sure they appreciate you shouldering some of that. Like I said, we ain't been here long, and the first few weeks is always the busiest.”

“You were staying in Blackwater before, weren't you? I saw it in the newspaper. I thought Dutch was gonna… well, do something not so nice to me when I realised who you all were. Dutch's Boys, that's what they called you in the papers.”

“Yeah, I know that made him think twice,” Arthur sighed. “But don't worry. You're one of us now, at least for the meantime. You're eager to work, Dutch likes that. He told me so.”

“So that's why he spared me?”

“That and he don't take kindly to hurting ladies,” he frowned, as if remembering something. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Well I certainly am eager to work, I like to keep busy. And Dutch said if I stick around to help he might help me out too; getting my horse back,” I said and Arthur looked at me with interest, prompting me to continue. “I mentioned that a while back my horse was stolen. I'd been planning on robbing the guy who took her, it obviously didn't go to plan; but I'd know him if I saw him and he kept mentioning Emerald Ranch.”

“So you wanna go over there and get her back?”

“At least try to,” I nodded. “I'd kept meaning to when it first happened but I was on my own and I'd already pissed the guy off enough, I didn't know what I was stepping into so I just– I was too much of a coward.”

“Well, we'll help you get her back. No promises though, don't get your hopes up.”

“I know. For all I know he could've sold her and she's long gone. But even if there's a chance, I wanna try, especially since I wouldn't be going it alone.”

“You've been completely on your own, then, since Henry passed?” He questioned and I nodded my head.

“That's right. I imagine I've been living not too differently to you, moving around, camping out, going into towns for the sake of making money. In my case, I made most of my money off'a meat and animal hides. It weren't a lot, but enough to buy everything that needed buying. Ammunition, arrows, soap and clothes, you know.”

“You ever get lonely?”

“Sometimes. Mostly after Rayna, my horse, was gone,” I shrugged, not dwelling on it. “She was like a blanket, kind of, I felt safe and warm when she was outside my tent at night. It's been rough without her, I won't lie.”

For the first time in months, I felt a lump in my throat. I coughed and turned my head, taking in the scenery to distract myself.

“I guess it explains why you're so quiet 'round camp. I barely heard a peep out'a you 'til today.”

“I ain't used to talking this much, I'll end up with a sore throat,” I chuckled, turning back to him. He smiled at me with a trace of pity in his eyes. I hardened at that. “Don't get me wrong. I enjoy being alone, too.”

“So do I,” Arthur breathed. “Sometimes I like to just take it slow getting back to camp, like we're doing now. Gives me a chance to think,” he adjusted his hat and looked forwards. We were getting close to camp.

“That's true. Though I must admit, it's been nice talking to you today. Sometimes I forget that human contact ain't always bad,” I laughed.

“Glad I could remind you,” he smiled.

When we got back into camp, Pearson came straight over to us, looking pleased. He pulled the deer off of the horse I was on as Arthur took his own. I followed them, taking the rabbits with me, towards the camp's makeshift kitchen.

“Am I glad to see all this,” Pearson said, I could hear his smile in his voice. “These look like a good pair of deer, should be able to make something nice with them.”

“You good to skin those rabbits? We'll take the deer,” Arthur said, dropping his deer down on the ground.

“Sure, you got a knife?” I asked and Pearson handed me one.

I'd had a lot of practice with skinning animals, and I'd gotten better at it over time. My pelts fetched a decent price. I cut down the underside of the first rabbit and then used the knife to gently prise the skin away from the tissues underneath. I couldn't help but notice that my technique was a little different to Pearson and Arthur's; who seemed to favour brute force and after making the initial cut pulled the pelt away mainly with their hands, using the knife sparingly. I cocked a brow but otherwise didn't comment.

“They got you skinning rabbits now? Sure ain't no work for a lady,” Karen walked by and teased me. I looked up at her after finishing up the first rabbit.

“And I killed it myself, too,” I quipped back, moving onto the next one.

“Wow,” she lilted, face wrinkling just a little in disgust. She watched as I drew my blade down the rabbits belly. “I think I'll leave you to it.”

By the time I was finished with the three rabbits, Pearson and Arthur had hung the deer from the side of the wagon, Pearson took the rabbits from me, thanking me.

“Those are some clean pelts,” Arthur said, running his hand over the rabbit fur. “If you want, we can go out now and sell 'em.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. We'll bring the deer ones too, put a little money in your pocket,” he placed them both down on the table by the rabbits.

“You'd let me keep the money?” I asked as I rolled up all of the pelts, bundling them nicely together.

“You killed almost all of 'em,” he laughed. “You've helped enough with the meat, I think you deserve the pelts.”

“It'd be nice to buy a new dress or some pants, so Mary-Beth can have her dress back before I ruin it.”

“Well then, let's go–"

“You can't go, Arthur. Aren't you supposed to be meeting Trelawny and Javier? Charles just left,” Pearson piped up, cleaning off his knife.

“Sean,” Arthur sighed, remembering. “Yeah you're right. I'm sorry,” he turned to me and I shrugged.

“It's okay, another time.”

“John ain't doing anything, why don't you ask him?” he pointed over at where he was sitting at the table nursing a bottle of beer. He looked up when he heard his name. “He's mostly on light duties anyway, on account of that little scratch on his face.”

Arthur was wearing a smirk and John sighed, slamming his bottle down a little too hard before getting up, coming over to us.

“What do you need?” He asked.

“This little lady needs taking out to sell these pelts. You can handle that, can't you Marston?” Arthur asked, hands on his hips.

“'course,” he said, eyes narrowed at Arthur, who only chuckled.

“And drop by Valentine too, she'd like some new clothes.”

“Women and their priorities,” John teased me, and once again I was quick on the defense.

“One or two outfits is fine for me, this dress ain't mine,” I explained as I followed him over to the horses.

“I know, I'm messing with you. We'll get you some clothes,” he chuckled. He climbed onto his horse then held his hand out to help me up too; this time I rode sidesaddle with the pelts on my lap. It'd save some of the awkwardness of the dress riding up as I was sitting right behind him.

“Where am I taking you?”

“I know a guy who gives me a good price. He moves around a lot but he should be over on the other side of Dakota river, near the station,” I told him, holding onto his waist.

“I think I know the guy,” he nodded. “Arthur mentioned him once after taking down this massive bear Hosea helped him find. Came in wearing the damn thing on his head,” he laughed as we set off.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, looked pretty stupid if you ask me. I told him that, he ain't worn it since," John snorted.

“Aww,” I said sadly. “You must've hurt his feelings.”

“He's a big boy, he can take it. Besides, he gives me enough crap about these wounds.”

“I noticed that. How'd you get them? Some kind of animal, I'm guessing,” I said, tilting my head so I could see the side of the face and the claw marks marring it.

“Wolves. Nasty business, thought I'd had it,” he told me with an audible breath.

“I bet. That's my worst nightmare, I think. I've had a couple of run-ins with angry bucks, but other than that I've been lucky. Though, I was bit by a snake when I was just a girl, I'd recommend that about as much as your run in with the wolves.”

“Owch. You suck the venom out?”

“My pa did,” I nodded. “Like you, I thought I was done for. Never been in so much pain in my life.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #simon pearson #fanfiction #ATINK #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader

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fallout4holmes · 5 years

Text

Journal 51

None of us slept well. At the first sign of morning, we made our way toward the Old North Church. Danse, Preston, and I compared notes on the Mechanist’s robots; they’d encountered a group of them on their way east from Sanctuary. I described meeting Ada, and explained that robobrains might hold the key to tracking down the Mechanist.

“Robo-what?” Preston asked, his eyes wide.

“Robobrain,” Danse said, as if it should be obvious. “Before the War, they were supposed to be the next generation of robotic soldier, but they were never fully implemented into the Army. They’re multi-purpose robots, with programs stored inside an organic brain contained in a domed shell atop their chassis.”

“They’re disgustin’,” Cait said.

“Sounds like it,” Preston said, indeed vaguely disgusted by the idea.

“How do you know about them, Danse?” I asked, surprised.

“They’re not an uncommon sight in the Capital Wasteland,” he said. “The Brotherhood Outcasts used them. Some were repainted in Brotherhood colors when Elder Maxson brought the Outcasts back into the fold.”

“Outcasts?” I asked.

Danse nodded, “They thought Elder Lyons, Maxson's predecessor, had lost sight of the Brotherhood's true mission. He was too focused on aiding the local populace. The Outcasts saw themselves as the true Brotherhood, devoted to the recovery and preservation of advanced pre-War technology instead of charity.” Preston made a sound. Danse looked at him, “You would hate them, Garvey.”

“Yeah, I would,” Preston stated. “And they had these robobrain things?”

“Since they couldn't increase their numbers through recruitment, they supplemented their forces with a variety of combat robots. Robobrains may appear clunky, but they are more durable, accurate, and dangerous than any protectron.”

“Even more so now that the Mechanist has modified them,” I said.

Cait grumbled, “Covered in armor, with a… what did ya’ call that sparky arm thing?”

“Tesla coil,” I supplied.

“That shite,” she nodded. “Not to mention all the other walking scrap piles fightin’ with it.”

“The main problem with fighting robots is they never know when to surrender,” Danse said.

“That’s the main problem?” Preston asked, skeptical and surprised.

“Of course. Robots aren’t much of a challenge otherwise; they’re so predictable.”

“I disagree,” I laughed. “At least, the ones we fought held no discernible pattern of combat I noticed, but then again I was preoccupied with keeping my limbs intact.”

“And yet,” Danse said with some amusement, “you consistently refuse to wear power armor.”

“How would I achieve any of my infiltration and stealth work in armor?” I said with a grin, glad to see Preston’s fond eye-roll at his soldier.

“So,” Preston cut in, “Nick’s with this Ada you mentioned? The robot with the plan to find this Mechanist person?”

I nodded, “He is.” I switched on my Pip-Boy’s radio and tuned to the Valentine Agency signal. No messages were there, so I switched to Radio Freedom. My companions remained silent as I attempted to ascertain the status of my partner. There was indeed an alert, but not exactly what I was expecting to hear.

“You’re listening to Radio Freedom, Voice of the Minutemen. We have a special alert! Keep an eye out for a robobrain near the Mass Fusion building. General Holmes needs a piece of it to track down whoever has been making the robots terrorizing the Commonwealth. If you confront it, be careful! It’s keeping dangerous company.”

Preston cranked a charge into his musket, “Guess that’s us, huh, General?”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed a piece of another robobrain,” I started, and then I realized what must have happened. “Oh, the beacon,” I hurried forward, “I hope we’re not replacing the first one, but I presume this is Valentine and Ada’s doing.”

“Mass Fusion is still a Brotherhood outpost,” Danse stated.

I nodded, “I know. Let’s hope Maxson’s agreement to work with the Minutemen regarding the robots extends to his men on the ground.”

Cait scoffed, “Assumin’ he told anyone in the first place.”

“She’s got a point,” Preston muttered, then he said, “General, unless you got a way to fly or sail across the bay, we aren’t going to get to Mass Fusion in time.”

“I'm aware, but what else can we do? We’ll make it as far as we can.”

We made it as far as Bunker Hill before we needed to stop and rest. Danse and Preston took advantage of Mr. Savoldi’s bar while I asked Old Man Stockton if he could inform our mutual business partner I would be arriving with guests. He said if he saw them, he would let them know.

Cait initially wandered toward the bar, but soon joined me as I purchased some ammunition, a bottle in her hand. “That Danse fella sure knows how to make a girl feel welcome,” she sarcastically commented.

“I wouldn’t waste time flirting with either of those soldiers,” I said.

She smacked her forehead, “Fuckin’ idiot, of course.” She helped herself to the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, “Don’t get excited, I know you ain’t interested, either.” She lit her cigarette and walked with me back toward the bar, “You’re worried about the brain on wheels gettin’ away, aren’t ya?”

“Yes.”

She drew deep from the cigarette and drank from the bottle, “We could just keep movin’.”

“My men are tired and, though I am loathe to admit it, so am I.”

“I’ve got somethin’ that could fix that—”

“No.”

“If it’s so damn important that you get this piece," she demanded between gulps, "then why not?”

“Do not tempt me, Cait.” I breathed deep, and when I spoke again I sounded level, “Please. I know how easy it would be. That’s why I can’t.”

“You’re not makin’ any sense.”

She sounded honestly confused. So I honestly replied, “Once that door is opened again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to close it.”

She huffed, exasperated. “Where is Mass Fusion, anyway?”

“South of here, north of Goodneighbor. The gentlemen who run the bar here also rent a space to sleep. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

Cait was gone at sunrise. Preston and Danse had noticed her missing, but hadn’t thought much of it. She’d purchased some chems, they assumed she was somewhere using them. The traders around Bunker Hill were unhelpful, though one mentioned he saw her going for a walk. We had no choice but to continue on.

A few hours later, she found us.

“Here,” she said, hurrying up to me out of breath. “This the thing?”

She handed me a device identical to the one I took from the first robobrain. The implications terrified me. “Cait. What did you do?”

“You’re welcome!” she scoffed, offended. “I went down and grabbed the thing, what the hell do you think I did? I had a bit of trouble makin’ sure I wasn’t leavin’ anything behind, but I had to work fast what with them Brotherhood bastards roamin’.”

“It seems complete.”

“Look, if you’re worried about me startin’ somethin’ you have to clean up later, don’t. They didn’t see me. The robobrain was just lyin’ there, along with all the other piles of scrap. Looked like the Brotherhood had been doin’ clean up of their own all day, so they weren’t about to start scavenging.”

“I’m not worried about the Brotherhood.”

She was startled, “Oh. Now don’t be dumb, might as well use what you’ve got, right? You needed it, I got it for you, because you couldn’t. Gonna be a mite twitchy today, but what else is new? But, uh. I figure this makes us even.”

My concern shifted to confusion, “Even?”

She nodded, “I’m stayin' behind. You don’t need me. I’m not ungrateful," she hurried to add. "You've been damn decent to me, which is more than I can say for most people in me life, but I feel pretty damn useless runnin’ next to you with those soldier boys. I’m used to lookin’ out for number one, you know? Your circle keeps gettin’ bigger and bigger. I like you, you don’t take any shite from anyone and I respect that, but I don’t want to be just a hired hand, tagging along because I have to keep bullets off you. And that's the way I see this headed.”

"I understand," I said, and it was true. "Where are you going to go?"

"Figure I’ll head down to Goodneighbor. I can find work that suits me there," she said, and then she smiled. "If you ever want to get piss drunk and pick a fight, come find me."

I shook her hand, “If you ever need assistance, whatever it may be, come find me.”

"Pff, I doubt you'll feel that way if I ever show up at your door, but thanks." She walked away.

“Too bad she didn’t stay,” Preston said.

“Really?” I was surprised. “I thought you’d be glad to see her leave.”

He shrugged, “Honestly, I am. But, at the same time, you’ve got a way of helping folks if they just stick around long enough.”

“She knows where to find him,” Danse said.

“If she lives that long.”

I sighed, “Our priority right now is to get to the Church without the Brotherhood realizing where we’re going. If Maxson was telling the truth and they really have discovered the location of the headquarters, then it is imperative they do not see us step inside it. We don’t want to announce that the Railroad has been warned. If Maxson was bluffing, then it is even more important that we not be discovered.”

“Then we wait for night and proceed under cover of darkness?” Danse asked.

I shook my head and lead the way, “We don’t have time. Instead, we’re going in the back door.”

I led them to the Railroad’s escape tunnel, all of us taking cover at every sound of a vertibird’s engine. Waiting for us inside the tunnel was a particularly formidable woman with white hair holding a minigun.

“Ah, Glory. Good afternoon.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Railroad agent demanded.

“I have to speak with Desdemona. It is important.”

“You think you can bring a soldier in power armor through our back door and not raise any eyebrows?”

I frowned, impatient, “Considering I’m attempting to save you and everyone else’s life, yes as a matter of fact I do.”

She thought about debating me for a solid three seconds. “Fuck. Fine, hurry up.”

We followed. As we entered their headquarters, Glory announced, “The power armor was with Detective! Or General, whatever you want to call him. Says he needs to see Dez.”

Desdemona was in her usual place at her table, looking over reports. “General. Stockton told us you would be coming. He didn’t mention you’d be bringing a suit of power armor with you.”

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Danse,” I introduced him.

Danse removed his helmet, “Had I known my presence was going to incite panic, I would have left my armor at the door.”

“We’re constantly spied on by Brotherhood of Steel soldiers, you understand we’re a bit cautious when it comes to suits of armor outside,” Desdemona said.

“Caution can often be misinterpreted as hostility.”

“I think a little paranoia is justified in her line of work, Danse,” Preston said.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“The man’s sense of humor is drier than the Mojave,” Deacon said from the corner. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, a pompadour wig on his head and the same sunglasses as always. “But to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Desdemona rolled her eyes, “We don’t have time—”

“You don’t have time for anything right now,” I interrupted. “Elder Maxson claims to know where you are located. The only reason he hasn’t ordered an attack is because he knows the Minutemen would immediately retaliate, because of my association with your organization. I believe he wants to strike firmly at once, and obliterate the Minutemen and Railroad as one.”

Everyone had gone silent, listening closely.

“Maxson is likely putting his soldiers in place as we speak,” I continued. “You have to evacuate. The Brotherhood only know of one location for certain, assuming they aren’t bluffing in the first place.”

“And may I ask, General,” Desdemona spoke carefully neutral, “why the Minutemen haven’t shot the Prydwen out of the sky by now?”

"There are children on board.”

Desdemona blinked. “Children.”

“They’re called Squires. It’s not their fault they were born into the Brotherhood, raised among its ranks, and brought to the Commonwealth.”

She sighed, "This is war. Collateral damage—"

“Is never acceptable," I fumed. "Do not presume to lecture me about war, madam. I have seen first hand its horror wrought on the world, both before and after the apocalypse it birthed. It should be avoided at all costs, and yet remains a tragic product of human nature." I forced myself to calm, "That’s why I need Deacon.”

“Boss?” Deacon asked, unreadable.

“I need you to get those children off that damn ship.”

For the first time, his falsely modest charm was grating, “Hey, as flattered as I am by your faith in me to infiltrate the Brotherhood base of operations—”

Danse spoke over his objection, “I still have my Brotherhood of Steel uniform back at Sanctuary. It won’t fit you perfectly, but if you move quickly and with purpose you won't be questioned. The Squires remain on a strict schedule that I don’t imagine Lancer-Captain Kells will have seen any reason to alter. They’re accustomed to following orders, and are often assigned to a soldier for the day to observe them in action. There are only a few of them, but even so the greatest difficulty will be bringing the whole group out of the airport without being questioned.”

Deacon was quiet a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, I’ve gone into ops with less.”

Danse smiled, small but approving. “I can give you any intel you need regarding the layout of the Prydwen and the airport,” he turned to Desdemona, “provided your leader approves.”

Desdemona stopped the protest that had been forming on her lips and glared. Glory spoke, “We don’t have time for this. If our position is compromised, our first priority is getting everyone out of here.”

“Glory’s right, Dez,” Deacon said, “we gotta get everyone out of here for now. But you don’t need me for that. Holmes isn’t going to fire on the Prydwen without at least trying to get those kids out of there, and right now the Minutemen are our best hope. We’ve lost all our other windows of opportunity. I’ll go in, find the kids, try to get them out, and if I can’t, I’ll blow the place to hell.”

Danse’s jaw clenched at the sound of that, but he said nothing.

“Where are you going to take them once you get them off the ship?” Desdemona asked Deacon.

“Uh… away?”

“Cambridge,” Danse said.

Deacon was alarmed, “Whoa, what?”

“Someone needs to disable the communications dish in Cambridge, or else the Brotherhood will be able to contact the Capital Wasteland for reinforcements.”

“So you want me to deliver a bunch of kidnapped Brotherhood kids into their western base and then say 'mind if I look at your dish?' Man, this mission just keeps getting better and better.”

"If it were easy, Deacon,” I said, “anyone could do it. You are one of the Railroad’s best.”

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Detective. Ok, that's a lie.” Deacon turned to Tinker Tom, “Hey Tom, before the Institute became an irradiated swimming pool, you were working on the vertibird thing, right? You ever figure out how to fly one?”

The Railroad’s inventor nodded, “In theory. Never had a chance to practice, for obvious reasons.”

“Good enough, just give me all you got. I’ll figure it out as I go. Can’t be too hard, right?”

“Vertibird thing?” I asked.

“We were going to hijack a vertibird, get onboard, set some explosives, and blow the Prydwen out of the sky,” Deacon explained. “Harebrained scheme, but I had high hopes for it. Then the Institute exploded and we suddenly had a bunch of panicked synths to look after, so Operation Red Glare was abandoned. Oh, I won’t need your old uniform, Danse, we nabbed a couple already.”

Danse's voice was strained, "I'm not a pilot, but I can at least tell you if there are any grievous errors in your… research."

Tom gestured to his desk, "Step into my office, my man."

Desdemona regained command, "Alright people, while Deacon helps the Minutemen with the Prydwen, the rest of us have to get out of here. Standard evacuation, take only what's necessary. There haven't been many patrols reported over the Boathouse, we have to hope that it hasn't been discovered. We’re going to move everyone out in waves through the day.”

She detailed the order of evacuation, and the Railroad Headquarters became a whirl of activity. Danse, Tinker Tom, and Deacon remained in tense discussion. Deacon seemed to know how much Danse hated the idea of handing his former home over to a Railroad spy, and kept somber. Preston and I helped with the preparations when we could, and tried to stay out of the way when we couldn't.

In a few hours we'll make our departure.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #danse #preston #cait #deacon #the railroad #the minutemen #the mechanist #sherlock holmes #crossover

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa [3/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47879533

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #danger #enemies to lovers #i’ll protect you #soulmark tattoo #soulmate aversion

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): Low and behold, plot, and not just Tim whump. (Although there's definitely a big hit of that, too)

________________________________________________________________

Jason maintains that he doesn’t run. He just makes a well-timed exit.

Out of Gotham.

He meets up with Roy and Kori who are in Key West of all places and convinces them to do something on the other side of the planet. Somewhere dusty and without reliable communication technology, where he hopes they’ll end up being abducted by aliens again.

It has nothing to do with wanting to ignore the whole soulmate thing, or the nagging flickers of guilt he experiences for having been an epic douchebag to Tim, who he now knows gives a shit about being soulmates.

Which isn’t Jason’s fault.

It’s not on either of them that Tim got stuck with Jason or that Jason had to make clear where he stood on the issue. There’s nothing worse than giving someone like Tim false hope.

“Not even breaking his heart?” Kori asks, cross-legged on the couch in her trailer, hair flickering above her like a crackling fire. She ended up getting the story out of him within a day because she’s Kori and lying to her feels like slapping a kitten or something.

“First, I didn’t break his heart. Second, if I did, he’ll get over it,” Jason insists. “And it’s better it happens now than let him mope about it for the rest of his life. At least this way he can put an effort into findin’ someone who actually cares.” Kori tilts her head to one side and presses her lips together. “I mean, it’s not like I want the kid dead anymore, but I’m not lookin’ to make friends or family or whatever with him. And at the end of the day, he’s a decent person and I’m not, so there’s that, too.”

Jason ruins everything he touches—case point, the soulmate he’s already tried (and temporarily succeeded) to kill.

“It sounds as if you already care more about the mate of your soul than you wish to admit,” Kori remarks.

“He’s not my mate.”

“No, not with that attitude.”

“You think I have an attitude? Because I don’t want anything controllin’ my actions or my destiny? The idea isn’t supposed to bother me?”

“I did not say that. But you are looking at the whole thing from just the one angle.”

“You’re tellin’ me it doesn’t bother you?”

“It does not. But I am not you, and matters of the soul are a subjective issue,” she says and leans forward. “You always have a choice, Jason. There are many who have been linked by fate yet choose not to be together. You have seen me and Richard.” Jason’s eyes flick to the creeping pattern of blues and greens that wrap around Kori’s wrist. “Xhal may have decreed we be together, but we decided it was best not to. We have different values, different understandings of the world and relationship—and we both have deep commitments outside of ourselves. That is why I believe the universe ensured he also has Barbara.” She smiles, gentle but sad. “We choose to be mates of the soul from a distance. And I am content with this. It gives me…freedom, in a way. But that decision was made after a long bit of thought and much discussion. Not because we disliked the notion of fate.”

“That doesn’t mean I need to do the same,” Jason points out, a little stiffly.

“No. It does not. But whatever you feel, you and Timothy have a bond. And you are knowingly cutting it off without giving it a chance, something which no doubt does him harm.”

“Not as much as it would if I were around him.”

“You do not know that.”

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“Very well.” Kori’s brow furrows. “I will not argue with someone that has set their mind to something. I have given you my views on the matter, or rather concerning your mate and your own self-worth. Do with them what you will.”

And she strides out of the trailer; Jason sees a burst of flame outside suggesting she’s flown off.

“And what’s your take on this?” he grumbles, glancing at where Roy’s been sitting the whole time, fiddling with what might have been a DVD player once but now more closely resembles a miniature drone.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Roy grunts around a screwdriver in his mouth.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Although,” his best friend continues, putting down his tools, “don’t you think by avoiding Gotham, you’re pretty much letting the whole soulmate thing decide how you’re living your life? How’s that different from fate or destiny or the Giant Spaghetti Monster?”

Which Jason can’t summon an argument against.

He hates it when Roy makes sense.

It’s another day of procrastinating before he throws up his hands and says, “You both suck and I’m never comin’ to you for anything ever again.”

“Just call ahead next time,” Kori hums. “Stella is teaching me to make carne asada and I will require another test subject.”

“We’ve only needed to get the fire extinguisher twice,” Roy adds, and Kori nods proudly.

“You two disgust me with your domestic bliss,” Jason informs them before he leaves, although seeing them has made him feel somewhat better.

His friends are an excellent example of a successful relationship despite not being soulmates. Kori’s embodiment of joy was the perfect balm to Roy’s garbage pile of a life. Rejected by his soulmate, his addiction, losing Lian…

Actually, now that he thinks about it, Roy’s life only really started on its downward spiral after Jade ghosted him.

There’s something worrying about that knowledge, but Jason doesn’t examine it too closely.

He heads back to Gotham, a little chastised and a little wary, but determined to keep giving fate or Xhal or whoever the finger. If anyone asks (and no one does), he’s not back to the city because of Tim, but because he still hasn’t figured out who put the contract out on Johnny Lino.

It’s nagging at him more than the death of one of his informants usually does. The trail went cold almost immediately, nothing beyond the traces of a sniper in the opposite building. He’s calling it a coincidence for now, although he’s mentally earmarked it for potential problems in the future if anything else like this happens.

Maybe Johnny just got too big for his britches and pissed off the wrong mobster. One with access to the quality hitmen he couldn’t afford.

Two nights later, when he stops into a club that’s the front to a high stakes illegal poker game, he decides it’s no longer a potential problem, but an imminent right-the-fuck-now problem.

He’s there to collect his percentage from a few of the guys around the table, but once the door closes behind him, he’s suddenly getting ambushed by a table for people with knives and no qualms about dying.

Jason has never liked killing people; it’s something that occasionally has to be done, in the same way a cop sometimes has to pull his service weapon. Certain people in particular—serial rapists and pedophiles and the Joker—are part of that ‘it needs to be done’ category. Thugs like this are just small-time losers with bad judgment, so he’s not really aiming to kill any of them.

Immobilizing shots and the like.

Which is why he’s a bit concerned when he goes to interrogate the bastards about what’s going on, and the guy he reaches for suddenly starts foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back in his head.

“What the fuck?” Jason jerks backward, glancing at all the rest and finding that they, too, are now convulsing and twitching as the life leaves their bodies.

Cyanide, he realizes when he leans close to his guy’s mouth and detects the smell of almonds. Again, I say, ‘what the fuck’?

It’s the second time a visit to an underling has resulted in death.

Something’s going on in his house, and he doesn’t like it. Maybe the trip to Florida wasn’t a good idea just now; he needs information, and he needs it now.

Except, when he canvasses the streets between Park Row and Byron, he discovers quickly that his people aren’t talking. The girls that are usually so chatty cross quickly to the other side of the streets, the hustlers on the corners are suddenly all on breaks, and the bodega clerks simply beg him to leave their shops, they have kids, you know?

The only one that will talk to him is Rhonda, one of the prostitutes that has been there longer than the rest. She’s a raw-boned woman with leathery skin and bleached, teased blond curls; once, a john tried to act out a rape-murder fantasy on her and she tasered him in the nuts until they burned off.

He’s not sure how much of that’s true, but if anyone could pull that off, it’s Rhonda.

“Someone put a price on your head, baby,” she informs him when he tracks her down, taking a long drag of a menthol cigarette. “Someone scarier than you.”

“Not possible,” he replies, trying to inject some of his usual cockiness into the words.

“There’s always someone scarier,” she informs him gravely. “Lotsa girls and runners gone to the new player. They says he’s gonna protect us better than Red Hood ever did, offer us a bigger take. More of our money in our pockets. Even gonna keep the kids safe better than you could.”

“Which you don’t believe, or you’d be jumping that bandwagon.”

“I believe what I sees, and I ain’t seen this guy,” she replies. “But he did send those Pike bastards outta here, runnin’ with their tails between their legs. Last I heard, they got picked up by one of the Bats before they set much on fire.”

“Which Bat?”

“Red Robin, I think.”

I guess I owe him for taking care of that particular headache.

“He’s pretty decent for a mask,” she adds. “Always comes down here when you ain’t been seen for a few days. He a bit softer—never leaves anyone crippled—but the alley stays safe when he comes by.”

Jason scowls inside his helmet. He didn’t come here to talk about his replacement.

“What do you know about this new guy, then?” he asks, redirecting the conversation back to his current problem. “The one trying to move in on my turf, not the wannabe Bat.”

“Oh, no, honey, that’s all I’m givin’ you. Anyone hears I told you even that and I’m in trouble. But I hear you ain’t the only one having troubles with him. Penguin’s stepped up his muscle a lot lately.”

“I guess that means I’m going clubbin’,” Jason says, and hands over a few hundreds. It’s more than the information she gave him is worth, but she’s got a kid to feed. “Take a night or two off, Rhonda. Could be a hard few days.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” she replies and pockets the money, slinking into the shadows.

The next stop on his list that night is the Iceberg Lounge. As usual, Penguin doesn’t intend to be helpful in the beginning.

“I assure you I have heard nothing of this newest player,” he croaks after Jason goes through the obligatory routine of threats and a show of violence. “But then, a good portion of my clientele has absconded to the Hungry Ghost these past weeks.”

“The what?”

“A new club—little more than the front for a brothel. But rife with rumors and scandal.” He smiles his oily little smile, the one that Jason’s broken more than once since he was thirteen and has to fight down the urge to do again now.

“It’s not like you to be so calm about this. You’re usually more of a control freak over the information game.”

“The wheel never stops turning, Hood. There’s a reason I’ve been around longer than anyone else in this business. It’s knowing the proper time to stand and fight…and the proper time to move out of the line of fire. I will still be here when the dust settles.” The man grins wide, showing yellowed teeth. “But from what I hear, you might not be.”

“That a threat?” Jason growls, hand moving to his holster.

“An observation. And don’t look like that, do you really think I’d dirty my hands on someone like you?” Penguin sniffs. “I am remaining Switzerland on this issue.”

“Switzerland, huh? So armed neutrality?”

“Indeed.”

His cold eyes following Jason as he takes his leave—and knocks out a few bodyguards that try to make a move on him as he goes.

“What the fuck?” he asks for the third time in as many days, absently rubbing the back of his left wrist. “How does Penguin not even know what’s going on?”

“Since he’s trying to stay alive,” a voice replies, and Jason almost—almost—jumps when he notices the shadow leaning over a nearby fire-escape. Red Robin materializes fully into the light but remains a conspicuous distance away from Jason. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

Tim’s tone is careful.

“I didn’t exactly put it on MySpace.”

“MySpace hasn’t been around since 2009.”

“Yeah, well, I was dead that year, so sue me for not knowin’ that.”

He expects a reprimand or a bit of tooth-grinding like he always gets when he makes oblique jokes about his death. But Tim just shrugs. Which seems…off, somehow.

“A week ago, all the major players were sent packages,” Tim informs him, going back to the subject at hand. “Heads, hands, and hearts of their top lieutenants, and a warning to wait for orders from the new boss in Gotham.”

“So basically, someone took my schtick and went the extra mile,” Jason suggests.

And is trying to edge me out of my own business.

“B is monitoring the situation. It hasn’t spilled into the civilian sphere yet, so he hasn’t deemed it an immediate threat.”

“Of fuckin’ course not, it’s not his head the new guy wants on a pike!” Jason growls, somewhat irritated by this, but also a bit surprised. Bruce wouldn’t be leaving the matter alone if he thought Jason was in any actual danger; maybe, for once, he understands Jason can handle it.

Doesn’t explain why the kid’s here tonight, though.

“So what are you doing here?”

There’s a slight squeak of leather as Tim shrugs. “Protection detail. We’ve all been assigned to keep an eye out if whoever this is makes a move on one of the bigger names. I’m on Penguin tonight.”

“Capes guardin’ criminals,” Jason snorts. “The irony of that never gets old.

Tim doesn’t answer. No witty rejoinder, no impassioned defense of Batman’s credo.

“Still, at least you’re doing something,” Jason allows, somewhat grudging. “And you’ve been busy with the Pikes, from what I hear. I was savin’ them for a rainy day, but I guess it’s a headache I don’t have to worry about now.”

He expects Tim to display some kind of reaction to that, even if it is dark sarcasm.

“It’s my job,” he says instead, in a way that makes Jason frown. But not as much as he does when Tim shoots a grapple line and takes off without another word.

Well, that was weird. But…okay? I guess?

Tim didn’t mention anything about their soulmarks; didn’t even bother bringing it up. Clearly, he took Jason’s message to heart and is trying to be professional. Which is also good. Not a lot of people can handle rejection with any sense of maturity.

A little cold, but it’s Tim. He’s not as emotive as Dick is, anyway.

Jason puts it out of his mind, ignores that tiny flash of wrong that crops of when he thinks about the younger man’s behavior. Which doesn’t happen all that often, since he’s too busy running down his list of contacts trying to find out who exactly the new player is in Gotham.

In theory, he could go to the other Bats for information—could go to Oracle, if he butters her up a bit. She still has a thing for cinnamon buns from that place on 4th, it wouldn’t even be out of his way…

But he’s not really keen on talking to any of them right now, and not to put too fine a point on it, this is his business. It’s bad enough they’re even on the periphery of the case already.

⁂

Two days later, tracking a snitch that’s been avoiding him causes him to stumble upon a weapons deal going down in Tricorner. No local colors, but from the gear Jason calls mercenaries.

Red Robin’s in the middle of it, outnumbered by a lot and outgunned by more, and Jason throws himself into the fight without thinking too much about it. It’s what anyone in the Family does, after all, no need to ascribe any meaning to it.

Red grunts an acknowledgment—that he sees Jason and won’t accidentally break his jaw with his bō—and they settle into their usual fight pattern. Jason’s always found this all too easy—there’s something about fighting back to back with another Bat that’s just instinctive, whether it’s Dick or Damian or even Bruce.

But with Tim, it’s always been more than that. They work together like gears in a clock.

He always shied away from attributing that to their soul bond, because that would mean having to acknowledge it. Better to think it was because Tim obsessively stalked Jason when he was Robin and that Jason learned everything he could about his replacement’s style when he and Talia were planning his big return to Gotham.

But it’s out there now, isn’t it? They both know, it’s not a secret.

Just like Jason knows after several minutes that there’s something still off about Red.

Half his attention on his own fight with his own portion of the goons, Jason can still observe the other vigilante’s movements. Red is telegraphing his moves more. Nothing these brainless thugs would notice, but someone with Bat and League training could spot from a mile away. There’s a languidness in his movements like he’s not entirely present in the moment, and a lack of care in his attacks.

Jason watches as Tim takes a running jump, kneeing one thug in the chest and knocking him to the floor, then using him as a steppingstone—steps down harder than usual, dislocates the shoulder—twists and grabs the next nearest thug by the arm. Holding him, he hobbles him in the knee, then follows up with a kick to the head.

As the bullets fly, Tim tucks and rolls between two more assailants, sweeping the feet out from beneath the third, who stumbles, allowing Tim to weave beneath his outstretched arm and the gun he has pointed at him. Bowing his back into him, Tim tries to go for an elbow to the solar plexus, but the guy is shooting now even as he struggles with Tim.

Usually, he’d be attempting to ensure those shots remain nonlethal, but this time he doesn’t seem concerned with it. It’s by sheer chance that several of the slugs only hit the fourth guy in the shoulders, at points that Jason dimly recognizes as close to fatal.

Tim’s assailant is still shooting, they’re still struggling, and even as Tim twists and tries to get it out of his hands, bullets nearly hit Jason as he’s in the process of clotheslining his own opponent.

“The hell, Replacement?” he snaps as he ducks the wild spray of gunfire.

Tim ignores him but has apparently lost patience. He digs a birdarang out of his bandolier, slamming it into the meaty part of his opponent’s leg. There’s a shriek of pain and the guy crumples around the wound, then Tim whirls around and brings him down hard on the floor. As the fifth man comes at him, Tim breaks his nose and shoves him toward the sixth man, who he kicks in the chest, then backhands the last guy, using him as leverage to snap a kick at his buddy.

The guy goes flying backward, and Tim throws the final thug down on the floor, smacking him face-first against the hard pavement with enough force that blood pools around his head.

It’s quick, efficient, and merciless, and if it were anyone else the sheer beauty of the takedown would impress Jason.

Except, this is not the way Red Robin fights. Tim is always efficient, yes, but there’s a certain amount of force he always holds back. No matter how quick and brutal the fight, he takes the extra effort to avoid critical injuries.

That wasn’t there tonight; hell, he almost got Jason shot.

“What’s with you?” Jason demands when they are surrounded by feebly twitching bodies and Tim is calling in the GCPD to deal with the remaining contraband.

“Nothing you need to care about,” is the mild reply.

“I fuckin’ care if it gets me killed!”

“Then maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The tone isn’t the dry, snarky confidence Red Robin usually uses to deliver a line like that. It’s robotic and toneless and weary. Jason only remembers him sounding like that after Batman’s supposed death, when no one believed him about Bruce still being alive.

Wait. Did something happen while I was away?

“Christ, kid, who died while I was gone?” he demands.

“If we’re done here, I have a report to write,” Tim replies without answering the question, and is already walking away.

“Yeah, fine! You do that!” Jason shouts after him. It’s not like he actually cares for the answer.

And yet…

The whole thing bothers him.

Kid’s going to get himself killed, and it’s not even something I can blame Bruce for.

Mostly because he’s almost certain he has something to do with Tim’s mood. He might have overestimated Tim’s ability to handle rejection by his soulmate.

Which is disappointing, because of all the teenaged clichés he expected the younger man to fall prey to, giving up on himself the first time he faces rejection?

Typical rich boy. Got everything handed to him, so when someone tells him ‘no’, he has an existential crisis. Well, whatever. Screw him. It’s none of my business.

Though that assertion is easier said than stood by.

⁂

The next morning, Jason is still feeling uneasy about the whole thing. He didn’t sleep well, just tossed and turned for four hours before he gave up and went a few rounds with his punching bag. He decides to calm himself down another way and heads for the café he sometimes frequents that does tea almost as well as Alfred’s.

The place looks like a bar, but instead of alcoholic beverages, there are exotic teas and fancy cold drinks on display. It’s early enough in the day there aren’t more than two or three other patrons. Usually he comes in later when it’s packed and bustling and easy to disappear into the crowd; today, he appreciates the silence.

In the back corner, a television is on, broadcasting the morning news. The screen switches to a conference and, of course, it’s Tim fucking Drake front and center. Talking up something to do with his Neon Knights thing.

And it looks like Vicki’s up to her shit again.

The intrepid thorn in the collective side of the Family is needling Tim about his personal life. He’s deflects everything with his usual smile until Vale brings up Tam Fox.

Tim’s face is always so composed when speaking to the press, his smile rivaling Brucie or maybe the Mona Lisa for secretiveness. But as Vale’s questions veer toward the subject of soulmates—and Tim’s apparent lack thereof—it’s as if a thundercloud has taken residence on the teen’s face.

When Vale ignores Tim’s third polite side-step of her questioning, he jerks as if a physical snap takes place inside him.

“The last time I checked, this conference is about increasing funding for underprivileged students, not about my personal life,” he says, tone frigid. “And in case your many years of reporting haven’t drilled it into your head, no comment means no comment. If that continues to confuse you, maybe I should replace it with ‘fuck off’.”

The TV censors bleep it out, but you don’t have to be a lipreader to know it’s what he said. As the press clamor, Tim then stalks out of frame, which—

Shit.

Jason is both impressed—because even he never managed to do that when he had to deal with the press as a kid—and disquieted. Because Tim Drake doesn’t lose control like that, not least of all where the public might see it.

What the hell.

Jason heads back to his current safe house, wondering if maybe this might be something he should tell someone about. He doesn’t have to get touchy-feely about it, but he might drop a hint or two to Dick, or to Alfie, or someone who gives a shit about Tim.

They can have, I dunno, some kind of intervention or whatever white hats like they do in situations like this.

All thoughts of that vanish, however, when he turns the corner and notices a crowd gathered outside the building where he’s been staying. Large plumes of smoke are billowing above it, and there are a firetruck and two police squad cars parked out front.

What the…?

Jason hurries over and stares up, dumbstruck, to see a chunk of the edifice missing.

The spot where his bolthole used to be.

Someone firebombed the place.

Murmurs rise up all around him.

“I heard the guy living there was cooking meth, and it blew up.”

“Nah, there was a terrorist holed up in there. Probably didn’t set the timer on his bomb properly.”

“This fucking neighborhood.”

“I know, right?”

But Jason barely synthesizes the information, so fixated on one thing.

Someone knows.

Maybe they don’t know about him—he’s never come out of here without either a mask on or a hoodie or hat—but someone must have seen Red Hood come to this place. He’s swept for bugs and cameras, so there’s no way they’ve got a visual on him, but somehow they knew that was his apartment.

It’s too precise.

Which means his other places might be compromised, too.

Jason turns and walks away from the building, thoughts racing.

He wonders furiously about who it could be, who knows about his boltholes. Roy and Kori, obviously; he told them in case anything ever happens to him or if he doesn’t contact them for a while. He’s got a list of Roy’s in Star City and the tropical hideaways Kori’s come to enjoy over the years. They all call it insurance, but it’s a way of checking up on each other.

He could see the Joker figuring it out, but the gradually escalating attacks on Red Hood are too subtle for that maniac. Jason doubts they’ve seen the end of him since he made his last disappearing act, but this isn’t him. The clown likes an audience, likes to be noticed. These attacks are being done from the shadows and required a lot of planning.

Could be Talia, since he’s sure she’s been keeping tabs on him even long after they parted ways. She’d see it as leverage, as protecting an investment even if it didn’t give her the returns she expected.

And the Bats, of course, but none of them is the type to send a message with explosives, even when they’re all at odds.

It looks like Jason will have to lie low for a bit, watch his territory from the shadows. Deep surveillance.

He heads for his apartment in Crime Alley, which should be safe enough; he never goes anywhere near it when in uniform. Jason can regroup from there, remote-access surveillance from the moment before the safe house was bombed, check on the other boltholes from afar and—

And run straight into Tim Drake.

The kid’s bundled into a winter coat, but it hangs open, revealing the clothes he was wearing during his news conference meltdown. He’s missing the suit jacket, and his tie is loose under the collar of his shirt, carrying a plastic bag from the bodega down the street. Jason can see what looks like a week’s worth of ramen and TV dinners through the flimsy plastic.

All of which only serves to magnify that expression of absolute defeat on his face. That shifts into careful blankness when he recognizes Jason heading toward him.

The sight of him is the cherry on the top of Jason’s already shitty day.

“No,” he snaps, stalking forward and shoving a finger at Tim. “Fuck you. I’ve got enough of my own shit going on, I don’t have time to deal with your…all of this.” He gestures at the remains of Tim’s billionaire playboy costume. “What the hell are you even doin’ here, anyway?”

Tim sighs, weary. “I live here. Like…a block away.”

And it’s a measure of how messed up this new player in town has Jason that he actually forgot that tidbit. It makes him angrier to have it pointed out to him.

“Of fucking’ course you do! You’re everywhere else, why not my neck of the woods now, too?”

“I’ve lived here for a year and you never said anything,” Tim points out.

“Yeah, well, I never ran into you before, did I?”

He doesn’t add that that was before their whole soulmates thing got yanked out in the open.

“Being off-planet helps with that, I always figured,” Tim says blandly, and shoulders past Jason with all the strength of a sleepwalker.

Which just rubs Jason the wrong way.

He feels like he’s being dismissed, feels guilt that he doesn’t want to be feeling, and is still raring for a fight. Jason snaps his hand out and roughly pulls the other man around to face him; he expects a fist to block him, or for Tim to shove him off. Instead, he simply sways a bit on his feet like he’s trying to find balance.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

“What the hell is your problem, Drake? Don’t tell me you’re sulkin’ about the soulmate thing? Is this the reason for the lame-ass robot impression you’ve been doin’ lately?”

Tim’s expression doesn’t change. “I honestly haven’t had the time to think about it. There’s a lot of work to keep me busy.”

“Right, forgot, you’ve got to be the perfect clone of B to get him to notice you. Guess that tanked today, huh? Newsflash, kid, you weren’t the first to be replaced, and I’m bettin’ you won’t be the last. Go get a life.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Tim replies vaguely. “It would be easier to do if you stayed away, though.”

“Yeah, well, my life would have been a lot easier if you didn’t exist!”

There’s a breath of heavy silence in the wake of that sentence.

Jason’s fury fizzles out like a candle doused in water the minute the syllables pass his lips. Right away, he wants to take it back, because of the way Tim nods, his expression slamming into a wall of resignation that gives Jason an uneasy feeling at the back of his neck and a pit in his gut.

He backtracks. “Look, that’s not what I—”

Whatever convoluted explanation he was going to dredge up is lost, because at that moment two things happen near simultaneously: a gunshot rips through the ambient noise of the night, and Tim jerks forward, suddenly in Jason’s space, shoving him to one side.

Blood sprays across Jason’s face, and there’s a searing hot pain on the side of his neck, that experience tells him is a bullet.

Just like experience tells him the kid now slumped in his arms, eyes wide and still trapped in that awful blank stare took the brunt of the shot—to his head.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #batfic #prompt: soulmate #jason todd #tim drake #oswald cobblepot #danger #enemies to lovers #i'll protect you #soulmark tattoo #soulmate aversion #angst #drama #whump

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scornedlove · 4 years

Text

Chapter Twenty-Six

ROBYN

”What now” I groaned, putting out the blunt I was smoking to answer the door. I just poured my second glass of Moscato, and was about to get comfortable on the couch, but apparently I wasn't gonna get any peace today. After all this drama, I just wanted a moment and a blunt to myself. Before opening the door, I looked out the peep hole and was the least bit surprised when I realized who it was.

“What is it Dre?” I asked, cracking the door enough to see his face.

“If that mother fucker comes back, you need to get a restraining order on him!” he commanded, inviting himself in. I figured he'd be upset, but not enough to come back.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but don’t do that again. Why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay. He ain’t putting his hands on you is he?”

“No, he ain’t crazy. It really wasn't that serious, I'm fine.” I rolled my eyes before sparking the blunt back up. I took a long drag and blew a cloud in his direction, knowing how much he hated when I smoked. Maybe he'd take the hint and dismiss himself.

“Fuck that. It is that serious. You don’t see what he’s doing to your mental health, but I do. You stay high or drunk, trying to mask whatever hurt you won’t let go. Which obviously isn’t working. If you keep fucking with him you’re going to continue to go downhill. I promise you, if I see him over here again, I’m kicking his ass.”

"Woah, chill out Dr. Graham. You don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m not stupid Ana, I know he’s the reason you lost your shit last night.”

“It’s not what you think”

“Oh, it’s not what I think? Well enlighten me.”

“Aundre, I'm over it, so drop it. I don't want to talk about it” I stated, turning away from him. I left him by the door and went to the kitchen to refill my wineglass, but when I turned around, he was right on my tail.

"Alright, you don’t wanna talk about that so let's talk about how horny yo ass was last night." He retorted blocking me by the kitchen counter.

"I thought you said we didn't fuck"

"We didn't, but that ain't stop you from getting yours"

"Sorry...Its been a while" I shrugged, after realizing what he meant.

"It didn't have to be"

"Aundre-”

“Tell me you would be mad if I laid you on this counter and stroked you from the back until I found our favorite sweet spot. You obviously miss it as much as I do.” he stated, closing the distance between us.

“I....I don’t want to ruin our friendship” I stammered, taking another long drag before putting my blunt back out. I turned around and attempted to maneuver around him, but he wasn’t letting me out that easily.

"We've already crossed lines that can't be undone. Just let me take care of you. I can show you how a man is supposed to love a woman.” he pleaded as he slid his right hand across my breast and began to pinch my nipple through the thin shirt I was wearing. That’s all it took for me to give in and stop resisting. His left hand began to creep up my thigh while his breathing tickled my spine, driving me crazy. It felt so good to be touched. He was almost inside my panties when someone else knocked on my door, scaring the shit out of me.

“Stop” I paused, hoping whoever it was would leave. Only they knocked again, even harder this time.

“It’s me, open up” Mel called out between knocks. I pulled away from Dre, pushed him towards the back of the house, and smoothed out my clothes before opening the door for her.

“Why you knocking like the damn police?”

“Bitch, I been blowing yo shit up since last night. I got off the plane half an hour ago and rushed over here because I was worried about you, and you lookin fresh out the salon!”

“Calm down. I broke my phone last night” I explained, breaking from her tight embrace.

“Well I called your house too”

“I just got her-”

“What’s up Mel” Dre interrupted, coming from the bathroom. “Or shall I sall Mrs. Coleman”

“Oh hey Dre. What ya’ll got up?” she asked, looking from him to me, then giving me the side eye.

“Nothing, just-”

“He was just leaving” I exclaimed, cutting Dre off before he said something to get her started.

“Yeah, I was just leaving. Call me if you need me to come back” he added, leaning in to kiss me. I turned, giving him my cheek and rushed him out the door, hoping Mel didn't notice.

“Uh, what was that?” she asked, the moment I’d closed the door.

“What?”

“Don’t bring him into this back and forth shit you got going on with Chris. You know what, we’ll get to that later, what I really want to know is what happened between you and Rayven?”

“I don’t know, I was drunk as fuck last night. Wait, how do you know about Rayven?”

“Out of all people, she called me crying and said you flipped out on her last night. She was in her room watching TV and you picked a fight with her about Chris. Next thing she knew, you were choking her.“

”She gotta be exaggerating. I don’t remember any of that shit. “

”Nah. You fucked her up, look at these pictures she sent me" she stated pulling out her phone.

“Damn” I grimaced when I saw the black eye, busted lip, and bruises on her face and neck. I refused to believe I did all that. Was I harboring that much hate for her? “There’s no way I would beat her ass unprovoked. She must’ve done or said something to get that type of reaction from me.”

“Honestly, I don’t care or even feel bad for her. I’m glad you finally gave her that ass whooping she needed” she admitted with a chuckle. “Just be grateful she didn’t call the police on you.”

“I’m grateful she’s gone. I’m tired of babysitting, hopefully she went home”

“So you gonna tell me what’s going on?” she asked, before setting her purse on the counter and lighting up the blunt that was in the ashtray. We smoked while I filled her in on the drama from the past twenty-four hours, none of it was surprising to her.

“How many times will it take him stepping on your heart for you to realize he ain’t shit?” she quizzed, referring to Chris. “Not only that, but you’re gonna fuck around and get Dre’s ass beat by Chris. I love Dre and all, but Chris is kinda psycho. I’ve seen him mad before.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen both of em pissed, and that’s not a fight I want to witness. Anyway, it wont get that far, because I’m over this shit. I’m done with the back and forth and Chris can burn in hell for how he treated me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all-”

“I’m serious Mel. He’s gonna pay for it too, imma make sure of that.”

“What you mean”

“I have Shontae’s contact info. I’m telling her everything”

“What’s everything?”

“Everything he’s done to me, she deserves to know, and I know Chris ain’t told her shit”

“Well, what you going to do if she already knows? He’s supposed to be this changed man, so he probably already told her”

“Yeah right, Chris ain’t told her shit.”

“You don’t know that. I know you’re hurt sis, but I think this is a bad idea. You should let it go and let him go. Having that much hostility towards him just means your not over him, that’s why I mean it when I say don’t bring Dre back into your drama. He was heartbroken when you dropped him a while back, he finally stopped asking me about you like a month ago.”

“Well excuse me, I didn’t know you and Dre were tight like that”

“No, Dre and J are tight like that. I’m surprised he’s sticking up for you after you used him like a boy toy then tossed him to the side. Those were his words, by the way.”

“He said that?” I frowned with irritation. “See that’s why I can’t stand men. They’re never satisfied and always in their feelings.”

“Not all men, but you should definitely leave those two alone. Stop running in circles and meet someone new.”

“I’m not worried about no man. After dealing with all this shit, I’d rather be single.”

“I’m telling you, all you need is a good cuddy buddy or two. Have fun and stop taking shit so serious. You will be so much happier.” she advised, checking her watch for the umpteenth time. “I caught an earlier flight when I couldn't get in touch with you last night, so J doesn't know I'm back yet. If I’m going to surprise him, I have to beat him home from work.”

“Ok, thanks for coming to check on me” I added, walking her to the door.

“Of course, and I mean it when I say don’t bother that girl. That’s asking for bad news.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m not making any promises I can’t keep” I shrugged.

“Well think hard, because I don’t want to hear shit else that’s Chris related” she ordered, before hugging me goodbye.

I watched her get in the car and drive off, while her advice echoed in my mind. Maybe she had a point with this cuddy buddy thing. Dre left my hormones in shambles, and the fact that I'm already in a dry spell only intensified it. I needed someone to release all this excitement on.

Just when I was about to go inside, a moving truck pulled up in front of my neighbor’s yard. Four men jumped out and began unloading boxes and furniture, so I decided to stay on the porch and be nosy for awhile.

My block was pretty quiet and full of older people, so I was glad to be getting new neighbors. The last guy was an old perve and my other next door neighbor is an old cat lady. Hopefully the new neighbor would be a closer to my age.

I watched the movers work hard and fast, but the boxes were never ending. They were all drenched in sweat in no time, but the one doing most of the work seemed to be really enjoying himself. He must’ve had headphones in, because he would randomly belt out in song while busting a dance move.

I was laughing hard as hell at his lack of rhythm when he finally realized I was watching. He smiled showing his pearly whites and nodded at me, so I returned a friendly wave.

He began walking in my direction, and I could make out his face a little better. He was cute enough for a hit and quit to help me get over this dry spell. Plus, he was my neighbor's mover, it's not like I'd ever see him again.

The closer he became, the more I set my mind a quick fuck. He didn't even know what he was walking into, and by the way he licked his lips, I knew he didn't stand a chance against my hidden agenda.

CHRIS

“Okay, okay. I’m up.” I muttered at Diamond as she bit at my toes, trying to wake me. Last night was the Day of the Dead event for the gallery and I didn’t get in until early this morning. I was so tired, I crashed on the first couch I stumbled across.

I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes when Diamond started barking, so I got up to let her impatient ass out. When I opened the door, Ryan was standing there about to knock, but was practically ran over by Diamond instead.

“My bad, she’s really got to go. What are you doing here?” I asked, letting her in. We hadn’t kicked it since she started hanging with Anthony. She had to know he wasn’t staying here anymore.

“It’s about Anthony”

“Oh, he came to get the rest of his shit a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know where he’s staying now”

“He’s at my place. I told him he could stay for a few days, but it didn’t even take him that long to hop in Kiki’s bed. Now she’s dickmatized and I can’t get him to leave.”

“Wow, he’s fuckin your roommate?” I asked surprised. He was just talking about how much he missed Ryan, so I didn't see that one coming.

“Yeah, I should’ve known he would do this. I feel so stupid for falling for his cunning ass. I thought he would at least have an ounce of respect for me, but I was fooling myself.”

“Talk to your girl, she’s probably your best bet at getting him to leave”

“I tried that already. She’s the one who convinced him to stay. I hate her for fucking with him, but I hate myself even more. I guess that's my karma, I shouldn’t have done the same thing to you. I’m sorry.” she mumbled, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry about it"

“It’s just… Don’t you miss our talks?“ she asked, sliding her hand down my arm and resting it on mine. I quickly pulled away, putting some distance between us so there would be no confusion. I wasn’t even remotely interested in her.

“I’m not tripping on that. It’s not like we wer-”

“I know, but still. It was wrong and now I’m paying for it. You would’ve never slept with a friend of mine. I should’ve just stuck with you” she blurted. Her eyes widened as she searched for my reaction to her confession, but truth is, it didn’t faze me.

“I can’t even pretend to be interested in someone who’s been with one of my boys. Like I said before, I’m not tripping. How do you expect me to get Anthony to leave your place?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

“I don’t know, threaten to kick his ass. He listens to you."

"I hate to break it to you like this, but I have a girl now, I can’t get involved in y'all’s shit.”

“Oh” she frowned as I opened the door and whistled for Diamond. Usually she’d come running in within seconds, but this time she didn’t. I went out and called her several times and still nothing.

“Want me to drive around the block and see if I can find her?” Ryan offered, before she took off and I gladly accepted.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll stay here and keep calling her. She’s never done this before, hopefully she’ll come back” I explained, before continuing my search down the sidewalk.

Ryan drove through the neighborhood, while I walked up and down my block for an hour, but Diamond was nowhere to be found.

“I should’ve kept my eyes on her” I muttered after explaining to Tae that Diamond was gone.

“Don’t beat yourself up, maybe she just wanted to do some exploring. Put her bowl outside, she might come home eventually.” She suggested.

As soon as we hung up, I took her advice, but after a couple of weeks a raccoon found the food instead. I didn’t realize how attached I’d gotten to Diamond, but since she disappeared I noticed how lonely and depressing my life was.

I’d rush home after work, in case she was waiting for me. It was pitiful, but it’s not like I had anywhere else to be. Trey was in full blown honeymoon phase, so it’s not like I could blame him for wanting to be up under his wife 24/7. I made the crazy move of being committed to a long-distance relationship, so it’s not like date night was in the question.

Shante worked so much, that we only talked late at night. On top of that, she was always tired, so our talks seemed to get shorter with each phone call. I couldn’t help but to question whether this long-distance shit was worth losing another chance with Robyn. All I had to do was break it off with Tae and Robyn and I could’ve picked up where we left off. Only this time, I’d do everything right.

I’d been lying on the sofa for at least a half hour, lost in thought about the what ifs, when my phone interrupted my thoughts. Guilt rushed over me when Tae’s name popped up on the screen.

“Hey babe” I answered after sitting up and clearing my throat.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?” I asked, wondering how she knew something was off.

“You’ve been in your feelings since Diamond’s been gone. I know you miss her, I just wish I could make it better”

“You can. Come see me. You know I’m lonely as fuck.”

“Aww baby. You know I would if I could, but this is the busiest time of year for me.”

“Yeah, I know. You got time to Facetime?” I quizzed, willing to settle for a video chat.

"Not really. I’m on break, but I only have one more client tonight. Imma go home, shower, and I’ll Facetime you when I’m done” she promised before we hung up. The moment I hung up with Tae, Taylor called.

“What you got up tonight?” He asked as he smacked in my ear.

“Not shit. What the hell you eating like that?”

“Bbq and buffalo wings. I was high as hell so I had my chef make a big ass pan of em. Come hang, I know you haven’t had a home cooked meal since Mama and ya girl been gone" he teased, cracking himself up.

"Alright. Send me the address” I replied after debating on it. Not only was he right about the home cooked meal, but I also hadn’t been out in a couple of months, so I got up, showered, then headed out to his place.

I thought I had a bachelor pad, but my place was nothing compared to his. He had a four-bedroom, five-bathroom house with the works sitting on a quarter acre above Sunset Blvd. I was impressed and a little jealous all at once, but when he told me it was one of the things he inherited when his mother passed, I felt bad. No amount of money could replace my mama.

We ate and had a couple of beers before I kicked his ass in pool a couple of times. It didn’t take long for him to get sick of losing, so we got on the PlayStation. After I kicked his ass in basketball, he was over that too.

“You wanna go for a ride?” He asked, leading me through his garage. He rummaged around a drawer, then tossed me what he’d been looking for.

“You sure?” I asked, realizing it was the key to his Harley Davidson.

“You know how to ride?”

“Yeah, it’s been a minute tho”

“It’s still the same” he reassured me before starting up his Yamaha. He took off out of his garage and I followed suit, right on his tail. It wasn’t my first time riding, but I was no pro either.

We rode around the streets of Beverly Hills for a couple of hours and I actually had a blast. He taught me how to do donuts and pop wheelies. I caught on quickly and even popped a wheelie while going 70 mph. It was exhilarating and I’d definitely found my new addiction.

“You should’ve seen me whipping” I boasted to Tae, still high from the rush the drive gave me. I’d just made it in when she called me back, this time on video. Actually seeing her face while we talked made all the uncertainty I’d had earlier disappear.

“You’re gonna have to get your own so you can take me for a ride next time I visit” she suggested, talking through a yawn. She was tired as usual and her hair was a mess, but she was still sexy. That made me miss her even more.

“Speaking of visiting, when are you coming to see me again?”

“You know that I can’t. Not any time soon, so stop asking”

“I’m just saying I miss you.”

“Sorry. I’m just, you know, tired. It’s making me cranky”

“I can have Tina do some rearranging on my schedule so I can visit you for a few days.”

“That’s cool, but with the holidays around the corner, I’ve been at work 24/7. I wouldn’t even be able to spend time with you.”

“Not even on Thanksgiving? I know you’re off for Thanksgiving. I’d be cool with coming out there for one night.”

“I work Thanksgiving too. A couple of my clients are high profile models. They have a shoot that weekend and Thanksgiving is the only day I could squeeze them in. It’s a fantasy color, which means it’s going to take at least half a day.”

“Wow. You just ain’t fucking with me anymore huh?”

“Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. I love you, I just... I can’t lose my best clients and I’d hate for you to come out here and not get to spend much time with me.”

“You know...you can tell me if you change your mind about this long distance thing.”

“I haven’t and I won’t. Why would you even say that?”

“It’s obvious you’re losing interest.”

“I miss you just as much as you miss me, if not more. Stop overthinking things. I’ve just been busy, I promise. When things slow down, I’ll be out there on the first thing smoking.” she reassured me, making me feel silly.

She was right. All of the alone time I’ve had lately had me overthinking and now I was acting like the needy boyfriend. If this is meant to be, then I won’t have to force it. I know what I have to do now, fall back and give her some space.

#robyn rihanna fenty #chris brown #ff #fanfiction #fanfic #RiRi

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gwynbleiddyn · 5 years

Note

If you’re taking requests, maybe a little snippet about Arthur meeting a trans guy reader and befriending him?

oh this is my JAM, of course anon! hopefully this gets somewhere close to what you were after

|| REQUESTS OPEN ||

arthur & male reader / all the stolen voices

Perched at the bar, you can feel a few pairs of eyes on you from across the dingy room. Nothing unusual, you’re used to the staring - it’s gotten less, sure, but a subtle shift of posture means curious eyes catch the glint of a revolver at your hip. Most turn away after that. Those that don’t, well, they either meet the business end of your fists or a bullet if they dare to tread in your footsteps on the way out.

Tonight, though, nobody’s stare lingers and you’re grateful for it. It’s been a miserable day of hunting, the piss-poor weather making a poor show of what little tracking you can manage, and you’re left with barely a few coins to rub together for a drink to warm you up. The whiskey is unpleasant, lukewarm, tasteless by the time it hits your throat with its signature burn. It keeps you warm, though, and especially through the sodden layers of clothing you’re not about to remove anytime soon. It’s uncomfortable, but being without them is worse. The solid weight of a dark, worn leather duster on your shoulders keeps you sane most days, so the brief spells of discomfort in-between are a small price to pay.

You keep your hat pulled low and ears to the ground, listening for any sign of trouble. It’s routine. Safe and comfortable for the most part, and that’s become a valuable thing for you. Taking another sip of the forgettable whiskey, you pick up a pair of footsteps approaching. They’re slow and ambling, but not those of a drunken fool or a old man either. Someone solid - they’re not light footsteps exactly, but whoever it is seems to be actively making an effort not to stomp their way across the dirty floorboards. Cautiously, you turn your head - and your ear - closer to the sound.

“Just a beer.” A rough, low voice filters through the uproar of the evening, settling in at the bar next to you. On instinct, you tense up and pull your drink closer, dipping your head to avoid being seen.

You apparently aren’t as subtle as you hoped. “Oh, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”

That makes you glance up, slow and uncertain. A rough and ready looking bastard has propped himself up on the bar next to you - granted, the place is filled to the rafters and you can hardly blame him for finding a spot next to you, given as you’re probably one of the smaller folk taking up space. Managing a jerky nod in response, you make sure to get a better look at him as you settle back down at the bar, arms folded around your whiskey glass. He’s tall. He could easily loom over you and send you running, you figure, but he makes no effort to do so. Like you, he keeps his arms folded, even as the barkeep sets his drink in front of him and stomps away back to the braying fools at the other end of the bar. Everything about him is quiet and curled in, even the way his hat sits low over his eyes and the scruff at his jaw and chin hide the shape of his words.

“What?” He’s noticed your scrutiny. Shit. Heat bubbles up in your chest and spreads across your cheeks, and you bite the inside of them to keep from scowling in distaste. You always hated how easily you blushed. Gets you read like a sissy from a mile off, even if that ain’t the truth. Huffing, you shake your head and shift in your seat, pushing your voice deep into your chest before you try and speak.

“Nothin’, mister. Just keeping myself awares, is all.” You manage a half decent reply, and the man seems satisfied with that. You feel a new pair of eyes on you then, and it makes sense - your voice doesn’t match your look, or at least, you don’t think it does. He’s wondering why.

“Well like I said, no trouble.” The man relaxes a little, unfolding his arms to pull his drink closer to him. You feel yourself doing the same although you push your now-empty glass away instead. “What’s your name, kid?”

You stammer something out in a knee-jerk reaction. He doesn’t question it at all, and only gives you a nod - which you assume is meant to be an acknowledgement, maybe, but you’re really not sure. He’s hard to pin down, and you’re used to being able to read people far easier than this. It throws you off.

“Arthur.” He introduces himself bluntly, and you feel a little better for knowing his name. Arthur. It sits nicely with your hastily conjured image of him. He does look a little worse for wear, but otherwise clean and well dressed - not like the usual stock of brigands who frequent this place. Though he could be a killer for all you know, and you tell yourself that before you start letting your guard down too quickly.

“You look like you’ve been through it.” Arthur says drily after a moment of two of silence, and you glance down at yourself. Mud splatters line your trousers and your coat, there’s a dribble of blood on your boot that you hope is from some buggered hunting job, and you can feel the prickly sensation of dried dirt on your chin. Yeah. He’s not wrong.

“You could say that.” You reply tersely, pushing your voice deeper still. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“What are you? Some kind of hunter? Don’t look like a city type, don’t look much like a cold-blooded killer neither.” Arthur seems to be dropping his thoughts like pennies, and you get the impression he’s blowing through some bullshit of his own in the rambling, senseless way that lost folk seem to do. You know the feeling well. Something about that settles you, and you find yourself turning towards him a little if only to see him better.

“Sure. Why not? I ain’t much of anythin’ else, a hunter describes what I do prettily enough.” You admit, truthfully. You really are just scraping by, trying to find some way to survive without compromising yourself in the process. So far, this is the only thing that comes close.

“Huh, by yourself?” Arthur continues his aimless questioning. You’re happy enough to comply for now, so you nod, Arthur pays your way for another drink or several, and you find yourself in the company of a pleasant acquaintance instead of a stranger barely an hour later.

By the time you get up to leave, though, you’ve somehow missed the group of shady looking bastards holed up by the door with their ugly little eyes flickering back and forth to you. The steady stream of whiskey hasn’t quite dulled your senses to the point of non-functionality - that stuff is almost definitely being watered down - and your instinct kicks in as you step off your barstool, Arthur’s laugh trailing off abruptly behind you. One of the men stops talking, looking directly at you with a sneer.

“You ain’t right.” Is all he says, but it’s enough for you to snap to the draw, fingers finding the familiar revolver at your hip. That kicks up a commotion and a half, the men clustered by the door now leaping into the fray with slew of insults, all jostling to back up their slimy excuse of a leading man. You’re just about to draw when a heavy hand settles on your shoulder and begins to push you out of the commotion. Arthur’s shouts are far louder than the pathetic snivelling of the men inside, and you’re glad that you can’t hear them as you hit the cool night air, shrugging Arthur off your shoulder and making a beeline for your horse.

“Hey!” Arthur calls after you, leaving the barkeep to settle matters inside. You glance over your shoulder, still walking, trying your hardest not to let the shame bubble up into a nasty remark to a man who’s been nothing but friendly to you all evening.

“Sorry, Arthur. I think it’s time I got the hell out of here.” You say, a little unsteadily. His strides are much longer than yours though, and he catches up easily.

“They ain’t worth your time, but I guess you figured that out a long while ago.” Arthur tells you. You’ve heard the sentiment before, but hearing it from Arthur - a no-good outlaw who seems to be on the run from God knows what - makes you listen a little more. You slow up, reaching out to pat your horse, seeking familiar comfort before your emotions started getting the better of you.

“You’re right. I did.” You’ve been through this shit plenty of times before now without anybody at your back, but the sentiment is appreciated this time. “But... thank you. It was real good talking to you, Arthur.”

He seems confused for a moment, as if he isn’t expecting a thank-you, or even a kind sentiment in return. Blinking, he manages an awkward nod in your direction, and a hesitant clap on your shoulder in lieu of further rambling. You give him a warm grin before turning to swing yourself up into the saddle, wanting some peace and quiet and rest - things that you knew how to find in the wild, at least.

“Don’t go lookin’ for trouble now, you hear?” Arthur says as you pick up the reins. You manage a weak laugh, the minor rush of adrenaline from the almost-altercation beginning to make you shake.

“It usually finds me, mister. But I won’t go lookin’, I promise.” You give him a salute from the brim of your hat and as you turn away from a new friend, you sincerely hope it isn’t the last time you see him.

#arthur morgan #male reader #rdr2 #scribble request #thank you pal i enjoyed this!!#Anonymous

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neversatisfiedswitch · 6 years

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Home

Author’s Note: Sort of a plain title, but I couldn’t think of anything else. X’D I’ve wanted to write this for a while, once I gave my child Colton a Detroit: Become Human verse I wanted a Hank to like... take him in. Anyway! I don’t know how to Hank, I RP Connor but Hank is still kind of a mystery to me, so if he’s ooc then I apologize!

Warnings for language (as per the norm, only with Hank this time, he curse a lot), mentions of blood/gore/suicide, and a n g s t. But there’s fluff, too! :3

Summary: As Hank Anderson is just starting to get used to his android partner, he also opens his home to Colton-- a young man who is not fully android or human, and who helps him remember the way things used to be.

Word Count: 4531 (my longest thing yet!!!)

After his and Connor’s investigation at the Eden Club, and after leaving the android to go drink more, Hank was just as drunk as he’d been when Connor had found him, save for passing out on his floor. He cursed at the broken window in his kitchen, truthfully pissed off at Connor for more than just the shattered glass-- he was pissed about everything.

However, as he moved to get a broom to sweep the glass up, knowing he’d have to call to replace the window in the morning, he noticed something... odd. There was blood on the floor near the window-- not blue blood, meaning Connor hadn’t cut himself, but red blood. “ ... Sumo? You didn’t cut yourself, did’ja?” The Saint Bernard came waddling out from the hallway, the Lieutenant meeting him on the other side of the table to look him over. No cuts, no blood, which only meant...

Drawing his gun, Hank moved to the end of the hallway, clearing his throat to attempt to keep his words from slurring. “Whoever the fuck’s in here, this’s private property. Come out, don’t make me shoot-- an’ put your hands up.”

The light in the bathroom turned on, the slightly-ajar door moving open as a foot pushed it. Two hands were lifted-- Hank could’ve sworn through his blurry vision that one of them looked like an android’s, and the other was the cause of the blood on his floor, a large gash splitting the palm open. But what he didn’t expect was the eyes... or eye, rather, since the other was covered by hair. Gunmetal blue, scared and soft, peeked out from behind an arm-- both were shaking. With how skinny the person was... Hank assumed it was a kid. And it wasn’t just his arms that were shaking-- his whole body was trembling, from his shoulders to his knees. Whether it was from pain, cold, or fear, Hank couldn’t tell, but he surmised it was a combination of all three.

He holstered his gun-- seeing as how this kid was bleeding, and couldn’t be a threat due to his full-body tremors, there wasn’t any need to threaten him. He held one of his hands up, his voice quieter. “Alright, calm down, kid-- you can put your hands down now. Shit, you’re a goddamn mess.”

Sumo approached the boy as he lowered his right hand, the left being the one that was bleeding. Hesitantly, he petted the top of Sumo’s head, the dog’s tongue lolling out in a pant as Hank snorted. “Some fuckin’ guard dog you are.”

If he’d been sober, he might have been more abrasive, and definitely more harsh-- seeing as how this kid had come in through his window, he had every right to kick him out. But...

“Alright, I don’t know why you came through my goddamn window, but I’m not gonna send you back out. ‘Specially when you’re bleeding like you are. C’mon, sit down.” He pulled a chair back from the table, moving back over to the pile of broken glass so he could sweep it up. When he looked back to find the kid had taken maybe a few steps toward the table, he shook his head, sighing. “Kid, I just said I’m not gonna kick you out. Now if you don’t sit down, I’m gonna have to make you.” A few more hesitant steps and the soft sound of the chair scraping against the floor, and Hank smiled-- tiredly, but he still smiled. “There. Wasn’t so fuckin’ hard, was it?”

After getting up all the glass-- he’d get the shards outside tomorrow-- he dumped the broken pieces in the trash can, then rummaged around in his cabinets, coming back to the table with a warm, damp rag, some gauze, some bandages, and some hydrogen peroxide. “Alright, gimme your hand.”

The boy’s gaze lifted from the table, alarm clear on his face. While Hank was used to yelling at other people, even slamming his fists on surfaces to make his point, he knew he couldn’t do that-- with the way the kid was still shaking, he had to be patient. He sighed quietly, keeping his voice level. “Look, kid, I’m not gonna let you walk around with a bleeding hand. Lemme see it so I can make sure there’s not any glass in it.”

For a few moments, the boy didn’t move-- but with hesitance still clearly written on his face, he finally relented, carefully bringing his hand up and setting it on the table. Hank was gentle as he took it, surprising even himself, and he studied the wound, cursing softly. “Christ... coulda been worse, ‘cause I don’t see any bone, but that looks like it hurts like Hell. No glass, which is good news...” Carefully, he wiped the blood off of his hand, making sure not to touch the wound itself. He heard a hiss from across the table, and when he looked up the boy had his eyes squeezed shut, his head ducked down until his chin touched his chest. Normally, Hank wouldn’t feel bad about making someone else hurt-- but he tried to be more gentle, a frown on his face as he set the rag aside.

He opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, looking at the boy before he lifted it. “This might sting some-- so don’t freak out, alright?” He waited for the kid to nod before he carefully poured some of the liquid onto his hand, his frown deepening at the wince the peroxide drew when it made contact. It fizzed slightly for a moment, then it was gone. As he placed some gauze over the wound and began to wrap the bandages around it, he decided he should at least try and get some information out of the kid.

“Shoulda told you my name instead’a pullin’ my gun on ya... I’m Hank. Hank Anderson. I’m a police Lieutenant.” He focused on gently winding the bandages around the boy’s hand for a moment, thinking that after the silence, he’d ask the kid his name-- but his question was answered before he could speak again.

“Colton Robinson...” Colton had long since lifted his chin from his chest, but it wasn’t until Hank introduced himself that he’d decided to look back at the man. Pleasantly surprised, Hank smiled warmly, continuing to wrap Colton’s hand.

“Well, Colton... it’s nice to meet ya.”

Hank arrived to work the next morning to note that Connor was impatiently waiting at his desk-- impatience was uncharacteristic of the android, and he held his hands up in defense when the RK800 stormed over to him.

“Where have you been, Lieutenant? I understand you said you were drinking more, but I didn’t expect you to be late. Did you drink again after you woke up this morning?”

“Whoa, whoa, cool your fuckin’ jets, Connor. I ain’t drunk now, don’t fuckin’ worry about that.” He pushed past the android to sit down at his desk, glowering when Connor sat on the edge. “Then why were you late? What held you up?”

Hank held up his hand again, watching the android’s LED quickly go from gold to cerulean in seconds. “Just shut up for a minute. Jesus, Connor, lemme get my thoughts together.”

Connor held his tongue, waiting patiently for Hank to speak. Finally, the man sighed, shaking his head. “A kid came through my window last night, ‘fore I got home. He’s harmless, cut himself on some glass. I overslept ‘cause I spent a few hours tryin’ to get him to sleep.”

There were a few moments of silence before Connor spoke. “I’m sorry about the window, Lieutenant-- assuming the window he entered through was the one I broke. But... how old is he?”

Hank shrugged, rubbing his chin. “Dunno. All I got from him was his name. Colton Robinson. Looks young, though, late teens.” He looked up to see the android’s LED spinning yellow, and he groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re lookin’ up his name to see if he’s a criminal. That kid’s so easily fuckin’ scared that it ain’t funny.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke. “I can’t find anything on him specifically... but I found--” A hand was placed over his mouth, and he glared at Hank, who glared right back.

“Told ya to shut up. He ain’t a criminal. I don’t wanna hear anything else from you ‘bout him, got it?” Reluctantly, Connor nodded, and Hank removed his hand from his mouth. There was silence for a few moments before Connor spoke again.

“Could I meet him? If you’re alright with me coming to your home again, of course. Only to satisfy my curiosity, I promise.” He held up a hand when Hank’s ice-blue eyes stared a hole through him, but after a few moments, the man sighed in defeat.

“Alright, but we’re goin’ in through the front door.”

“I detect sarcasm in your response, Lieutenant.”

“Fuck you.”

Hank was careful as he opened the front door, not wanting to disturb Colton as he and Connor entered. He’d given the kid one of his old hoodies and a pair of his old sweatpants to sleep in, seeing as his clothes were wet and had his own blood on them, and in addition he’d given him pillows and blankets to use on the couch. So as they both walked to the living room, that’s where Colton was-- fast asleep on the couch, curled under the blankets with just his head out from under them.

“Heh... I was hopin’ he’d still be asleep. Good to know Sumo ain’t as useless as a guard dog as I thought. Well--” He glanced over at Connor, whose eyes were wide as his LED flashed yellow more frantically. “Uh... Connor?”

He carefully shoved the android’s shoulder, and Connor blinked rapidly, looking over at him. “Apologies, Lieutenant... I seem to be getting conflicting readings when I scan him. Did... he mention anything at all about himself?”

Hank shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, like I said, he only gave me a name. But he also kept hidin’ his right arm from me, tried to ask if he was injured but he said no. Hey-- what’re you doin’?” Connor carefully lifted the blanket from the boy’s arm, grateful he was laying on his left side. Both he and Hank were left speechless when, as Connor pushed up the sleeve, the unmistakable alabaster color of an android limb became visible.

“No fuckin’ way he’s an android. His blood was red, it was on my fuckin’ floor.” Hank moved to stand next to Connor as the android knelt down to study Colton’s face. “He’s not an android. That much I can say for sure. He seems to have a few android components on his body, and I can understand why he would want to hide them from you. He had a black eye recently, and a scrape on his neck. They’re healed enough that you can’t see them, but I can.”

Connor was keeping his voice soft, but Colton wasn’t a sound sleeper-- he had nightmares so often that it affected his sleep, even if he had a rare night of complete sleep. So as Connor was looking away, Colton’s eyelids were fluttering, and as if on cue, when Connor looked back into his face, his eyes were open. Instead of two normal gunmetal blues staring back, though, his right iris was glowing softly, pulsing a gentle blue much like Connor’s own LED.

The blue soon turned to yellow when Colton realized just how close the android was, and that his arm was uncovered-- and before either Hank or Connor could do anything, Colton was off of the couch. He backed away until his legs hit the table, hiding his right arm behind him again even though they’d seen it.

Hank was quick to cross the room, stopping just behind the couch when Colton looked like he was going to run. “Kid, it’s alright. Connor’s my partner. We’re not gonna do anything to you.”

Connor’s gaze was focused on Colton’s eye. As he approached-- slowly and calmly, so as to not spook the boy-- he kept his focus on it. As he stood in front of Colton, he was able to fully scan the eye, discovering something that fascinated him.

“Hank... these components are early prototypes. His eye is the earliest prototype of an LED-- originally androids had one normal-looking eye and one eye with the LED attached, but the LED was moved to the temple to make it easier to see.” Colton stared at Connor in amazement, his eye returning to a gentle blue as he shifted to sit at the table-- he kept his arm behind him, though, at least until Connor held his hand out.

“May I?” Colton hesitantly slid his hand between Connor’s, a slight shock going through his body-- though he couldn’t interface with androids, apparently he could still feel when they touched his arm. It was more than just the normal pressure something would have on it, it was full feeling, and it was strange and intriguing at the same time. Connor was busy scanning the limb, his thumb grazing the panel under his wrist-- the panel that didn’t do shit, as Colton had previously discovered-- when he turned his head back toward Hank.

“This is one of the earliest android limbs put into circulation... before they made androids more human in appearance and began adding artificial skin.” He looked to Colton again, squatting down in front of him and releasing his arm. “Is there anything else that you can show me?”

Colton seemed hesitant, his fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt. But looking into Connor’s eyes, despite them not being human eyes, made him at least feel like he would be okay, and he swallowed, leaning over to grasp the ends of his pant legs. He slowly pulled them, one at a time, up until they were above his knees. Hank was shocked at what he was seeing, and he moved to stand beside the table, staring in bewilderment at Colton’s legs.

Much like his arm, they were of the same plastic material that all android limbs were comprised of. His legs, from the knees down, were pure white, though when Connor took his ankle and lifted his leg, both he and Hank saw that the bottoms of Colton’s feet matched his skin-- meaning the soles had been attached separately. “These are both from the same batch his arm came from...” Connor mused, more to himself than to either Hank or Colton.

Colton looked... ashamed. That was the only word Hank could think of to describe the expression on the kid’s face, besides upset. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with Connor’s examination, but he looked distant-- more distant than he was with Hank the previous night. Against his better judgement, he carefully placed a hand on Colton’s shoulder, feeling the boy jolt slightly in surprise but ultimately relax once he knew it was Hank.

Connor stood, and Colton quickly pulled his pant legs back down, bringing his knees to his chest as the android leaned back against the couch. Crossing his arms over his chest, Connor’s expression showed that he was deep in thought. “How does a healthy human end up with three android limbs and a prototype eye on their body, especially one so young?”

The question was rhetorical, really. Connor hadn’t meant for Colton to answer, but the boy’s soft voice was loud enough for both of them to hear. “My father put them there.”

Both Hank and Connor’s heads snapped up, and they looked straight at Colton, then at each other. Connor’s LED flashed red for a split second before returning to yellow, and his eyes were wide as he spoke. “Hank-- at the precinct I was trying to tell you that I’d found something. Not on Colton, but on someone sharing his last name.”

Hank and Colton were both watching Connor now, and the android moved to stand in front of Colton again, his voice unfaltering. “Is your father’s name Oliver, by any chance?” The way the boy’s muscles tensed was enough of an answer for the partners, who looked at each other grimly as Connor continued his train of thought.

“Oliver Robinson’s name is one that isn’t heard much anymore. Elijah Kamski hired a few people to help design his first androids, but Oliver’s designs are the ones that Kamski followed the closest. I knew his name from when Amanda was giving me files on CyberLife to consult with, but it didn’t occur to me until I saw it again when I was searching at the precinct.” He pursed his lips, brows furrowed in thought. “That means... Oliver might have been testing his creations before he could get them approved.”

The small nod from Colton was all the confirmation the Lieutenant and the android detective needed. What they didn’t expect were the words that followed.

“I watched him build the parts. Wh-when I was younger, he’d let me play with the spare or unneeded components.” He swallowed, and when Hank squeezed his shoulder, he leaned into the touch. “H-he was a good dad, until my mom... died.” Clearly there was something beyond that statement, but neither Hank nor Connor were willing to prod further. “After that, h-he... knocked me out. I woke up... like this... covered in blood, and everything h-hurt... and I ran.”

Colton felt his vision blurring, and his breath hitched. “I-it was four years ago, a-and I still s-see him when I fall asleep. I...” Tears interrupted his words, and he buried his face in his hands, his breaths hitching and threatening to morph into sobs. Hank and Connor shared a look-- though Hank’s eyes showed more pain than Connor’s, they understood each other perfectly.

Connor knelt in front of Colton, under the pretense of pulling him into an embrace-- and while Colton froze at first, he wrapped his arms around Connor’s neck near-automatically, making it easier for the android to place his hands under Colton’s legs and lift him. Looking back at Hank, Connor was surprised to see that the Lieutenant was gesturing for Connor to follow him to his bedroom, and even more surprised when he motioned for Connor to lay Colton on his bed. Certainly, in Connor’s mind he thought that maybe Hank was thinking about his son, and what he’d do if this were Cole-- but he dared not say anything, instead just laying Colton on the bed and gently patting his arm as he moved away.

Hank’s fatherly instincts had kicked in. Of course, he wasn’t this way with every kid that he came across-- he’d seen more kids at homicide scenes than he’d wanted, but this was... different somehow. He couldn’t really figure out how, if he was honest with himself. But he didn’t focus on it, instead just pulling the covers over Colton and sitting down next to him, gently wiping tears from his face, then running a hand through his hair.

“You don’t gotta say anything else, Colton. You just try’n sleep, alright? Connor and I ain’t goin’ anywhere, just in the next room. I’ll even let Sumo in to keep you company, if you want.” A small nod, and before Hank could turn around, Connor had already called the St. Bernard, who trotted into the room and leapt onto the bed, laying down next to Colton. The boy smiled shakily, immediately wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck in a hug, and Sumo did nothing but snort, his tail smacking against the bed.

“Sleep well, kid. I’ll be back later.” Hank didn’t turn out the lights as he and Connor left the room, keeping the door open a tad in case Sumo wanted to leave later. He grabbed Connor by the arm and pulled him to the door, whispering to the android. “Do me a favor-- look for more information on that fucker, his dad. Prick doesn’t deserve to be called that, really. I wanna know--”

“Apologies, Lieutenant... but I was already doing so while you were tucking Colton in. It appears that about a year ago, Oliver Robinson was found dead in his home. Suicide. He left a letter, but it was covered in too much blood to be readable.” Hank’s tension faded, and while Connor would have been worried to see relief on the man’s face were it any other human being that had been found dead, even he knew this was an exception.

“Hope he’s rottin’ in Hell, where he belongs.”

Colton had been sleeping on the couch again, despite Hank telling him he could sleep with him-- Hank had found that the kid could be stubborn, about as bad as Connor, except Hank didn’t have to live with the android. Unsurprisingly, Sumo stayed in the living room with Colton, not that Hank really minded.

But tonight was different.

The Lieutenant nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt someone crawling into bed with him, and he quickly jumped into his more alert state of mind, turning on the bedside lamp... to find Colton, looking an equal amount of sheepish and scared as he was halfway under the covers.

“Jesus, kid... you scared the hell outta me.” His tone wasn’t angry, or even frustrated-- just tired. He’d found that it was hard to get mad at Colton, he was just too nice to be frustrating. “Is everything okay?”

Colton swallowed, looking down at the sheets and anxiously rubbing them between his fingers. Hank knew right away from how red his eyes were that it was a nightmare-- probably a pretty bad one, too. “Got it... c’mon over, kid.” At least now, Colton had begun to trust Hank more-- and it showed when he pressed himself against Hank’s side, resting his head on the man’s shoulder.

Hank chuckled at just how quickly Colton had moved over, ruffling his hair-- but as he lowered his arm, feeling for where the blanket was, his thumb brushed Colton’s side and the kid squeaked, jolting. Hank’s brows raised, he knew Colton hadn’t been injured-- mostly because he stayed around the house, and with Hank around his harassers had been few and far between. So...

“You alright, kid?” The fact that Colton was covering his side and nodding his head very quickly sold it for Hank-- clearly, Colton wasn’t hurt. “You sure? You made some godawful noise, I wanna be sure nothin’s wrong.”

Before Colton could protest, he’d been pulled into Hank’s lap as the Lieutenant sat up-- and Hank wasn’t even trying to hide the grin on his face. Colton squirmed slightly, already starting to giggle despite himself-- he might not have had many good memories of his father, but this was one of them.

“I’m not even touchin’ you, and you’re already laughin’? You must be real ticklish, then.” The word itself made Colton blush bright red, and he ducked his head against Hank’s shoulder, making the man snort. He jumped as he felt fingers digging into his side from where Hank had pulled him over, and immediately, hysterical giggles poured from his lips. He twisted in Hank’s hold, but only succeeded in making the fingers migrate to the side of his tummy-- and that was when he shrieked, genuine laughter escaping him.

“Shit, kid, you’re a sensitive one, ain’t you?” Hank chuckled and moved his other hand to tickle Colton’s tummy as well, aiming for the middle rather than just the side-- and the dam broke completely, Colton tossing his head back against Hank’s shoulder as his laughter became louder. “Seems like I found a bad spot here, huh?”

Colton was laughing too hard to be able to say anything-- that was how it had always been. In the back of his mind he remembered one day when he was younger, when it was just him and his father in the house, before his mother died. How his father chased him up the stairs and tickled him until he was near tears, and held him until he fell asleep afterward.

Of course, Hank wasn’t his father, but when the older man’s finger wormed into his navel, Colton certainly felt that they must have known each other somehow, what with how they both targeted his worst spots as soon as they found them. His body jolted and he tried to squirm away from the tormenting fingers, but found himself unable to-- he was tired, and despite him grabbing onto Hank’s wrists to pull his hands away, it was no use.

His laughter quickly became silent, his eyes squeezed shut as tears of mirth formed in them-- but before they could fall, the tickling stopped, and his whole body slumped, his head laying back against Hank’s shoulder as he wheezed softly.

“You alright, son?” If Colton had been more aware, and less out of breath, he would have frozen where he was. Hank had never called him anything but “kid” or his name... and it was strange to hear that word come from someone else, someone other than his father. He sluggishly nodded his head, glad that at the very least, his slight blush would be confused for being out of breath. As soon as he was able to breathe normally again, though, he knew he couldn’t just leave the man’s question verbally unanswered. After wrestling with himself for a few moments, he cleared his throat, finally speaking.

“I’m alright... dad.” It was Hank’s turn to freeze, and Colton felt as though he’d done something wrong. He closed his eyes tightly again, waiting for Hank to kick him out, or yell at him, or just get pissed at him... but it didn’t happen. Instead, Hank smiled, mussing up Colton’s hair and chuckling when he yelped.

“Alright, enough excitement... I gotta get up early, or Connor’ll come an’ break another window to get in if I don’t show up on time.” Colton giggled, starting to move away as Hank reached to turn off the lamp. He was surprised when Hank looped an arm around his waist and pulled him back over, squeaking again like he did earlier.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, kid? I told you t’sleep over here, you don’t gotta be shy.” Colton didn’t respond at first, but slowly he leaned to rest his head against Hank’s chest, the sound of the man’s heartbeat helping him as he closed his eyes. When Hank began to card his fingers through Colton’s hair, that was it-- he was out like a light.

Hank wouldn’t notice it in the dark, but for the first time in a long time, Colton was actually smiling in his sleep.

#fsdlkfj thIS TOOK SO LONG #I CAN'T BELIEVE IT TOOK SO LONG #AND THAT IT'S LONG #SFLAKJFLDKJ #anyway #; colton #; dbh!colton #; hank anderson #; dbh #; ticklish!colton #Colton's just a cutie and I love him a lot okay #fsdjfjdkl

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not-a-perfect-metaphor · 6 years

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One Summer Day (weecest) pt.1

This is a 4-part story, with parts 1 & 2 being posted right now, one after the other, and the last 2 parts being posted soon. Sam is 16, and the story as a whole is VERY explicit, but parts 1 and 2 work as a stand-alone if you only enjoy moderately explicit weecest, so...yeah! Tagged with “one summer day” if you ever need to search for parts.

Off we ride!

————————

One Summer Day, pt.1

The sand was hot and scratchy against Sam’s back as he stared up into the part of the sky where dark-blue turns to lighter-blue, squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun and tapping his heel to the beat of the song playing too loudly through his headphones.

Dean suddenly loomed over him, shadowing out the light as he bent to a crouch next to Sam with the curl of one of his charming smiles playing around the corners of his mouth, saying something that Sam couldn’t hear and looking like sheer God silhouetted against the sun, all bare muscle and jaw-line and flashing eyes that always made Sam feel a bit like collapsing at the center.

Sam tugged his headphones out of one ear, propping himself up onto his elbows and grinning at his big brother in return, his mouth too-dry in that way it usually was these days when Dean was so solidly in his personal space, and of course this afternoon he was shirtless, too...which was just…

Not fair.

“Wha-what was that?” Sam finally asked, remembering that Dean was still waiting for him to respond to something, “I didn’t, uh, headphones-“

He gestured toward the CD player resting on his bare stomach, and Dean chuckled, grabbing the freed earbud and holding it up to listen while Sam protested in annoyance.

“Huh, looks like I rubbed off on you, after all, Sammy,” he murmured, bobbing his head playfully to The Unforgiven II before tossing the bud back onto Sam’s chest and tousling his hair, “Come on. I met some people. They invited us over for the afternoon, and since Dad won’t be back until tonight, I figured why not, right?”

Sam threw him a small frown at this news, averting his eyes and fumbling aimlessly with the tie on his shorts, his stomach clenching up in what had become an all-too familiar way during the past couple of years.

“What people?” he asked, sounding more sullen than he would have liked and quickly adding, “I mean…whoever they are, they invited you, not me, so it doesn’t really matter, anyway. Why don’t you just go? I’ll walk back to the motel later.”

Dean scoffed at that, rolling his eyes and easing himself down into a cross-legged sit, glancing over his shoulder and signaling something to someone before turning back to Sam.

“Hey, they invited both of us,” he said softly, tacking on another one of his dazzling smiles and pressing the back of his hand to Sam’s heated forehead, “Wouldn’t it be nice to get out ‘a this damn sun somewhere besides that grimy motel room? There’s air-conditioning!”

He winked, flip-flopping Sam’s stomach, heaving himself to his feet again and reaching for Sam’s hand after brushing the loose sand from the backs of his thighs.

“Come on. It’ll be fun. You’ll like ‘em!”

Sam pretended to sigh in exasperation, despite having immediately known that he was going to go with his brother, gathering his player and his sunglasses together under one arm before accepting Dean’s haul to a stand and narrowing his eyes at the small crowd of people waving excitedly at Dean from about fifty yards away.

“Yeah, yeah…I guess. Alright, let’s go.”

—————————

“You want a toke?” Mandy asked, pulling a loosely-rolled joint from her shorts pocket and giving it a little shake in Dean’s direction.

Dean quickly glanced at Sam, nervous and unsure, and Sam huffed in real frustration this time, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest.

“Jesus! I’m sixteen, not ten,” he shot back with another eye roll, drawing a tinkling little laugh from one of the other girls on the porch and causing Dean to throw up his arms in defeat before plucking the joint from Mandy’s fingers.

“Christ, ‘course you are, touchy touchy. I mean, uh, what-you…you want some?”

Sam mulled it over for a few seconds, finally deciding that saying no might directly clash with his declaration about not being a kid anymore and giving Dean a little nod, shifting his weight in his chair and feeling anxious about it despite the fact that Dean had smoked for the first time long before sixteen.

“I’ll help him,” Hannah chimed in, hopping up from her rocker and practically skipping across the porch, “He’s a cutie, huh? Good genes, boys. How old you say you were again, cutie?”

Sam coughed, resenting nearly everything Hannah had said (nearly), but before he could reply either way, Dean stepped in front of Hannah dauntingly, widening his stance and bringing one hand down to rest pointedly on her shoulder.

“Sixteen,” he said loudly, overemphasizing both syllables and reddening Sam’s face with embarrassment, “So hands off. Besides, I’LL help him. He’s my brother.”

Sam groaned, palming his face and kicking out at the backs of Dean’s legs with the toe of his sneaker.

“Oh my god!” he protested, half-wanting to disappear and half focusing still on the fact that Hannah, presumably at least an eighteen year old very attractive girl had called him cute, “Dean! I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s not rocket science…jesus.”

Dean laughed at that, patting down over Hannah’s shoulder, now, to ease any tension that might have briefly arisen and giving his head a little shake.

“Suppose you ain’t wrong about that,” he quipped, flicking at his lighter and inhaling a deep drag off the joint, tapping his heel while he held in the smoke before finally breathing it out in Sam’s direction, perfectly O-ing with his mouth to the “oooh”s and “aaah”s of the four girls and privately winking once again at Sam, extending the joint between two fingers and tossing his lighter into Sam’s lap, “your turn, hurry up though and you won’t have to re-light it.”

“I know how to do it, Dean,” Sam lied through another mild glare, too fuzzy from Dean’s second ‘just-for-him’ wink in an hour to really care too much about anything else and sucking in a heavy lungful of harsh smoke that he coughed out immediately in violent fits and starts, much to Dean’s obvious delight.

“Don’t even think it!” Sam warned ominously as soon as he could breathe again, but Dean just crinkled his face into another low chuckle, grabbing the joint delicately from Sam’s fingers and walking it over to Mandy without a word of teasing.

As soon as he was back, though, he leaned down slightly, shielding his mouth with the back of one hand and sprawling against the wall while the girls passed the joint between them through high-pitched giggles.

“I would have been pissed anyway if you’d smoked with someone else for the first time,” he murmured, heating up Sam’s blood in his veins and quickening his pulse while Hannah shrieked out a laugh at something on the other side of the porch, “So…yeah, I dunno-“

He trailed off, his gaze landing on Mandy as she sauntered back in their direction, wriggling her hips provocatively with each step in a way that made Sam suddenly want to hit her.

“Yoo-hoo, no secret telling, boys!” she chimed, sidling in right next to Dean and offering him the joint again, her other hand snaking eagerly around his shoulders, “How you feeling, Sam, huh? Fun, isn’t it?”

She had her head turned toward him, smiling warmly, and he forced himself to smile back, wondering if she could still tell anyway how much he hated her and finding it very difficult to care as a thick, happy, dulling fog crept in around the edges of his mind, brightening all the colors and slowing down his thoughts to an inching crawl that somehow still felt like a lot more than usual happening all at once inside his head.

Well this was…interesting.

Fuck.

It was going to be a very…very interesting afternoon.

——————————

“What’cha lookin’ at?”

Sam startled from his reverie, glancing up from his spot on the couch to lock eyes with Dean, who was SO close…so close…

How had he gotten that close?

“Wha…I…nothing, the, uh, nothing,” Sam stammered, giving his head a little shake and trying to keep his gaze in the appropriate place as it kept trying, instantly and insistently, to pull down to Dean’s mouth.

Dean grinned brightly, sliding in swiftly next to Sam so thoroughly that their legs were pressed flush together from calf to thigh, his arm looping around Sam’s shoulders and his foot actually weaving over to twine together with Sam’s at the ankle in a way he hadn’t done for at least two years.

Sam wondered if Dean even realized he had done it.

“You’re totally hammered, huh?” Dean teased, his face less than two inches away, nudging with his hip and catching Sam’s breath in his throat alarmingly as he tried desperately to remember any tiny segment of the English language.

Settling for just a weak nod and a laugh that sounded far too…something, Sam mentally willed his pulse to quiet, suddenly terrified that…parts of him…might get overexcited in his highly inebriated state and hastily grabbing a throw pillow to shove unceremoniously over his lap, raising Dean’s eyebrows sky-high.

Goddammit…

He hadn’t even considered what covering his crotch with a pillow would connotate.

Fucking weed.

“I…was…”

He broke off, utterly panicked, his forehead sheening over with a light sweat and his thoughts freezing in place uselessly until Dean offered a tentative-

“The girls, huh?” lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper and fixing Sam with an unreadable expression that Sam would have to interpret later, because right now, a response was needed to save this moment from rapidly spiraling out of control.

He tried to laugh again, swallowing thickly afterward and clearing his staticky, dry throat two-too-many times before finally managing to say, “mhm, ye-yeah, uh-huh,” while Dean continued to intently watch him to a degree that seemed unusual.

Was it?

Damn it…he was too high to even keep the question in his head, let alone answer it.

“One in particular?” Dean pressed, glancing around the room swiftly before honing back in on Sam, his thigh seeming to press even more solidly close and his fingers playing with the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt in a way that drew all of Sam’s nerves together into a tight bundle directly under the touch.

As if on cue, Hannah chose that moment of all moments to pad over to them across the room with Mandy linked to her elbow, and Sam was certain that Dean would ease away from him…would put at least a small crack of space between their bodies, but…he didn’t.

Smiling casually up at the girls and then back down at Sam, he gestured for them to sit, leaning back into the cushion behind him and continuing to twirl the fabric of Sam’s shirt, his fingertips actually pushing slightly beneath the cotton to brush against the bare skin of Sam’s upper arm.

Sam forced air into his lungs, shivering uncontrollably in a way that absolutely couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but Dean just continued talking smoothly to Mandy and didn’t even skip a beat, now blatantly petting at Sam’s skin while asking the girls what kind of music they had, and Sam just…floundered silently…wondering almost hysterically at this point if maybe he was losing his mind.

“Sound good, Sammy?” Dean purred in his direction, about…fuck…something? and Sam, to his horror, couldn’t even seem to muster out a half-assed response this time, just gaping dumbly at Dean like he’d suddenly gone deaf (which he might as well have) and opening his lips around a nonexistent word, his expression somewhere, he knew, between confused and aroused…and glued to his face no matter how intently he tried to scrub it away.

Dean amazingly still didn’t falter, remaining seemingly unphased and segwaying effortlessly back into exchanging light words with both girls despite their curious, stolen glances at Sam…which only further cemented the fact that Dean not acknowledging his sudden inability to function was…weird. It was weird.

But what the hell did it mean?

“-got the hots for my brother, huh? I guess I can live with it.”

Sam bridled, having at least picked up on that particular snippet of the conversation, and Hannah giggled, actually giggled, turning to wink at him behind Dean’s back and spinning more heavy fog through his head like numbing, tingling cotton candy while Dean continued to coo out suggestive little flirts on his behalf.

What was happening??

Suddenly, before Sam could get through even half of one single thought, Dean was moving his arm, pushing between their bodies and behind Sam to curl around his waist, hauling him in toward the center of the couch like he did things like that every day and cocking his head in Hannah’s direction.

“Made you some room over there, babe.”

Sam’s chest constricted around too many confusing neurons firing up all at once in his brain, realizing with certainty now that Dean was trying to set him up with Hannah…right here, right now, and it made no sense, it made fucking negative sense, because this was Dean, and he wouldn’t-…he never-

“Well hi there, cutie.”

Hannah squeezed in on his left, keening toward him immediately with a hazy-eyed smile and draping a warm hand over the back of his neck.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Feeling a bit over the moon, so to speak, huh? Mandy’s got the good stuff, that’s for sure.”

She inched even closer while Sam struggled to process, a big part of him urging his logical mind to just shut up and go with it but the other part of him turning his head toward Dean again, who was…who was...fucking god...palming down Mandy’s chest and side-glancing Sam with an expression that made Sam instantaneously hard…achingly hard, his muscles nearly seizing around the unfathomable hottness of being flush against his brother while he was…while he was…while they were-

Jesus…fuck.

“Go ahead, Sammy,” Dean murmured, his voice low and practically dripping with sex, dragging Sam’s stomach nearly into his throat and pulsing his cock painfully under his shorts, “the other two girls just left, have a little fun, yeah?”

Sam actually groaned out loud, trying too late to swallow it down, his arms pricking wildly with goosebumps as he watched Dean’s eyelids flutter undeniably at the sound.

How they had transitioned from Dean practically locking him in an untouchable box and throwing away the key as far as Hannah was concerned to…to this…was utterly beyond all reason, but Sam stopped even trying to work through it all when Hannah moved up against him with a sexy little moan to kiss his neck, sliding him further into Dean and searing him white hot all the way through to his core.

“Fuck,” he managed to grit out, pawing at Hannah’s back and bucking the pillow from his lap to the floor, “fucking…fuck-“

Hannah made pretty little sounds at Sam’s sudden responsiveness, pressing into him from everywhere and sliding her lips up his jaw-line to finally connect with his mouth, her fingers trailing down his arms and one of her thighs moving to drape across his lap, rubbing against the outline of his cock and dragging a deep, rough sound from his chest that he barely even recognized as his own voice.

Sliding his gaze sideways again while Hannah shifted her weight to half-straddle his lap, his breath hitched almost violently to see that Dean was watching him, blatantly, over Mandy’s head…watching him with blown pupils and heavy lids, his mouth actually curled into a silent growl that spiked immediate daggers of lust through Sam’s insides, his cock leaking and straining through a dizzying rush of blood and his teeth clenching around a frantic groan that seemed to drag up and out from his center...primal and hungry and utterly beyond his control to hold back.

There was a sudden flurry of noise from upstairs that Sam could only barely focus on, still reaching for Hannah, reveling in it, trying to touch her everywhere while sneaking glances at Dean, but Mandy was…hushing them, now, practically leaping from Dean’s lap to grab Hannah by her shoulders and signaling in a haze of panic to Dean.

“Shit! It’s my Dad. He’s home early,” she half-mouthed, half-whispered, jerking her head toward the back door leading up to the porch and scrambling to straighten her shirt while Hannah giggled silently.

“You guys gotta go, out that way, c’mon, hurry up, just-shut it, Hannah! Seriously Dean, I can’t get in more trouble and my dad’ll kick your ass if he finds you down here.”

Dean just stared, open-mouthed, for a long moment, presumably trying to re-access the rest of his brain before finally understanding what was being asked of him and jumping up, hiking Sam to a stand by the front of his shirt and herding him toward the door before tossing a loopy grin behind him in Mandy’s direction.

“To be continued,” he murmured, pushing Sam by the small of his back and steering him breathlessly up the stairs and onto the porch.

“Let’s make a run for it, Sammy, come on!”

#weecest #fan fic #fanfic #ficlet #wincest #sam and dean #dean and sam #sam/dean #dean/sam #young sam winchester #young dean winchester #first time #one summer day

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