#like they woulda been so much closer to the try line if he just kept hold of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

Note

ian + mickeys neck (was thinking of the drunk ian fic and wondered if you would be interested in pursuing this idea further?) <3

anon i am CRYING thank u so much for this!!!! i have been feeling like i need to make my contribution to the “mickey’s neck” discourse for a while lmao and this is my opportunity (esp bc ian holding mickey in the 11x12 stills wrecked me)

in the spirit of following up 11x10 i decided to write this based on an amazing post @mickey-millagher made/a prompt that @pombby sent me about ian teaching mickey to swim at a public pool during lockdown at some point early s11- i hope u enjoy<3

(this is the tiniest notch steamier than what i usually write but it isn’t smutty fyi- tw for descriptions of choking😌)

There was no one at the park— the air hung heavy and humid over the empty picnic tables and wooden benches that punctuated the fields of dying grass. As much as people on the Southside were definitely not taking any part of this lockdown shit seriously, it didn’t surprise Ian how silent the public park was— there was still a scarcer number of people out on their stoops or lounging on street corners this summer. Ian guessed that the few people who didn’t think that this was a hoax realized that this COVID shit was serious enough that they couldn’t afford healthcare if they got it, or whatever— but regardless, that meant that this Southside summer was weirdly stagnant somehow, and felt different from the noisy and crowded rhythms of summers past.

It was the late morning, just as the air started heat like a convection oven as the sun rose over the skyline— and Ian had his heart set on teaching Mickey to swim today. The conversation had come up last night at dinnertime, when Debbie was complaining about the heat wave— and they had all started reminiscing about the rickety, tin-sided pool they used to put up in the backyard years ago until Carl had taken a hatchet to it when he was 11 when he was trying to tear it down. Sitting next to Mickey at the kitchen table, thighs pressed where their chairs were scooted close together, Ian had suddenly remembered his words from their road trip to the border, years ago now:

“You could try swimming across the border.”

“I never learned how, man.”

And he’d immediately opened his mouth, not catching the words before they moved from his brain to his mouth, and asked Mickey in the middle of the dinnertime chatter: “Hey Mick, did you ever actually learn to swim?”

It was funny, and arbitrary, and stupid; they were married now, but for some reason this small fact about Mickey, the fact that he used to not know how to swim and by now he might have learned without Ian’s knowledge, made something warm pool in Ian’s stomach. He’d known Mickey, and had been itching to be closer and closer to him, for a full decade—and there were still so many things that he didn’t know. And this was proof, this question that Ian still didn’t have the answer to about some weirdly fundamental aspect of Mickey’s identity— he was always going to want to keep asking things about Mickey. And he was always going to get to.

Mickey had looked him with daggers in his eyes, then flickered a defensive glance at all the smirks growing on Ian’s siblings’ faces. “Fuck you. I was doing plenty of other shit in Mexico, didn’t really get the chance to lounge on the fucking beach.”

Ian had reached under the table and placed a hand on Mickey’s knee—a peace offering, an apology for whatever Mickey-can’t-swim quips Carl and Lip would inevitably think up as a low blow the next time they all butted heads at breakfast time— but as the chatter about backyard pools and heat waves continued at the dinner table, Ian felt an idea stirring.

Which is why the next morning he’d woken his husband up by pressing a tender kiss to his jawbone, both of their skin damp and clammy from the heat in the stuffy bedroom, and whispered into his neck:

“I wanna try something today.”

Mickey’s mind had immediately veered in… other directions, his eyebrows raising in vaguely disappointed disbelief when Ian had explained his idea to go to the public pool and teach Mickey to swim with an exuberant grin on his face; but after some very enticing morning persuasion that had a lot to do with the fact that Mickey was still half asleep while Ian had pressed kisses down his spine and dragged him out of bed and handed him a pair of swim trunks, now they were at the public pool in the nearest park at midday, with Ian leading the way and Mickey dubiously and sleepily straggling behind him.

Ian slid open the lock on the chain-link fence that surrounded the pool, the same pool that was usually crawling with groups of teenagers smoking weed and toddlers in floaties who were sticky with melted ice cream on a summer day like today. And maybe he was just all hopped up on nostalgia, but Ian was feeling cheerful— there was a lightness to the blinding summer sunshine, radiating through him as it pooled on his skin, that made him feel weirdly exhilarated and giddy about teaching Mickey to swim in this grimy Southside pool, just because he could.

“I still can’t believe you never learned how to swim.” Ian said it over his shoulder as he strode through the gate, holding it open for Mickey.

Mickey just flipped him off, following behind him and setting down two towels and the 6-pack of beers he’d grabbed from the fridge as they’d shuffled out the door minutes before. Ian grinned. He knew the beers would be warm and syrupy in minutes—the air was muggy and humid, without any hint of a breeze for relief. Ian could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his t-shirt; he peeled it off as he walked over the sunwarmed concrete towards the pool’s edge, crumpling the shirt and throwing it on top of the pile with the beers and the towels. Mickey was hesitant, not following Ian to the border of the water just yet.

“Seriously. I can’t count the number of times I was shoved into our bacteria-infested backyard pool when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that Frank tried to drown me in there at one point.”

Mickey just shrugged noncommittally, his fingers slack around the bottom hem of his shirt and his eyes zeroing in on the pool of water. Ian thought Mickey would say something in reply— but the only sound in the air was the faint shouting of kids playing a basketball game the street over.

Holy shit. Ian had been so buoyant and excited about his nostalgia-fueled idea of going to the public pool on a summer day and teaching his husband to swim, dragging Mickey out of the house without a second thought, that he hadn’t realized it until now— Mickey was scared.

Ian swallowed down the grin that was threatening to overtake his face— one he knew that Mickey would immediately notice and hate, because he it drove him crazy when people gave him shit in vulnerable moments like this, when Mickey couldn’t do something. So instead Ian kept talking, hoping his chatter would loosen some of Mickey’s nerves.

“Didn’t you and your brothers ever go down to the other pool over on Trumbull?”

Mickey met Ian’s eyes then, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Clearly not.”

And, okay. This was understandably bringing up some childhood shit. Ian tried to snap Mickey out of his head— he strode over to where Mickey was standing, a good six feet from the poolside, and snaked a hand onto the back of his neck, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a grounding and comforting touch that would drain the trepidation from Mickey’s defensive stance.

“One summer Debbie was so afraid of getting drowned at the public pool that she learned how to hold her breath for 4 minutes.” Ian grinned at the memory of Debbie dunking her head in a tub of water in the kitchen, making him and Lip time her. “Honestly, it was probably for the best you never went to the public pool. It was a shit show.”

Mickey scoffed, but the lightness was back in his eyes. “If I knew how to swim back in the day I probably woulda been the one doing the drowning.”

Ian barked out a laugh— and why did he immediately turn back into his 15-year-old self, with a god-awful crush on Mickey Milkovich, whenever Mick said shit like that? He pressed his lips into a smile, squeezing Mickey’s shoulder once more for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, king of the Southside. You ready to get in the water?” Ian’s hand trailed down from its grasp on Mickey’s shoulderblades, dropping to encircle Mickey’s wrist and guide him towards the water.

Mickey immediately recoiled, yanking his hand from Ian’s hold and taking a step back, squinting and holding up a hand to block the bright rays of sun out of his eyes now that he wasn’t standing in Ian’s shadow.

“Fuck d’you mean? I’m not just gonna fucking hop in there and drown. You gotta show me what to do.”

Ian grinned again, without being able to hold it back. He knew what Mickey was like when he was afraid of something— defensive and grumbly and avoidant to touch. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t really teach you to swim when we’re not in the water, Mick. C’mon.”

Ian walked over to sit on the edge, then slid his torso down into the pool. The water was lukewarm and tepid, barely providing any relief from the sticky air— but it felt nice. Ian let out a little breath of relief from the heat as he waded over to the shallow end. Mickey was still standing by the mound of the towels the ground, watching him warily. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey aggravatedly pulled off his shirt, tossing it behind him— sunrays bounced off of Mickey’s pale skin, owing mostly to the fact that Mickey had barely left the house in the last few weeks because of their prolonged “honeymoon.” He slowly walked to the very edge of the pool and, in a movement that made Ian’s heart grow ten sizes, hesitantly dipped a toe into the water like a cat trying to paw at something. A corner of Mickey’s mouth flickered downwards almost imperceptibly, a worry line sprouting on his forehead.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian breathed out a laugh. Leave it to Mickey Milkovich, shit-talking king of the Southside, to be afraid of the shallow end of a public pool. Ian reached out a hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, still smiling like a sappy motherfucker at his painfully endearing husband.

“C’mon Mick, just stand here with me first.” Ian was waist-deep in the shallow end, the water pressing against his upper thighs— he knew that at this height the water would be at Mickey’s waist, right where his swim trunks met his hipbones.

Mickey’s brows furrowed from where he was still perched on the concrete lip of the pool ledge, his two feet firmly rooted. “Explain what I gotta do first. To swim, or whatever.”

Ian blew out a breath, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s not that hard, Mick. You just gotta circle your arms and circle your legs. But you have to get in the water first.”

Ian treaded over, pushing through the water to where he could rest his upper arms on the edge of the pool beside where Mickey was standing, staring up at him with what he hoped was a convincingly pleading face. Mickey’s eyes were still fixated on the water, lapping at the pool’s edge from where Ian had rippled through it. And suddenly Ian had an idea.

With a teasing grin, he reached a wet hand out from the water and encircled it around Mickey’s ankle, splattering the concrete with drops of water. Mickey immediately jerked like an electric shock had jolted through his body.

“You gonna come in, or do I have to make you?”

Mickey tried to shake his ankle out of Ian’s grasp, but Ian had hold of him with an iron fist. Mickey leaned over and tried to swat at Ian’s arm without losing his balance on the pool’s edge.

“Cut that shit out right now, Gallagher.”

Ian just grinned, squeezing Mickey’s ankle like he was about to tug him in. “Come on, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and, just as Ian had imagined he would— he started to freak the fuck out.

“Ian stop that shit right now, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you—”

They were at the 6-foot marker in the pool, right where it was deep enough for Mickey to stand on the very tips of his toes; and with this knowledge, Ian tugged at Mickey’s calf— causing him to falter, his arms circling like a cartoon character before he lost his balance and crashed into the water on his side.

Ian immediately placed his hands on Mickey’s hips, standing him upright before his head even fell under the water— but Mickey was still sputtering and splashing, like the drama queen that he was. Once Mickey regained his composure and realized he was easily standing on the bottom of the pool, his head bobbing just above the water, he swiftly splashed healthy burst of water into Ian’s face, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nose.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!”

Ian coughed at the water that had shot up his nose, but immediately splashed Mickey back—and then, because there wasn’t any way this whole pool situation was going to go anyways, he and Mickey were immediately engaged in a life-and-death splash battle, circling each other in the middle section of the pool.

Ian was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side— and Mickey was finally grinning again, water dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his hair. After a few minutes Ian threw his hands in the air in surrender, the water cresting at his shoulders.

“Truce!”

Mickey splashed one more surge of water at Ian’s chest for good measure, grinning like a kid in a candy store— then he took a step closer to Ian, eyebrows raised.

“Truce.”

Ian beamed down at him, pressing a quick peck to the top of his damp hair. “Sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But in my defense, it had to happen eventually.”

Mickey shoved him squarely in the chest, taking a step back. “You ruined the fucking truce.”

Ian gave a smug smirk. “Do you wanna learn how to swim, or not?”

Mickey flicked another burst of water at him, just enough to cast a slew of droplets onto Ian’s cheeks. “Alright. Get coaching, Michael Phelps.”

Ian hadn’t really considered how he was actually going to teach Mickey to swim— but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He tried to think back to when Lip had taught him how to tread water, on an equally as sweltering day in the backyard pool, when the yard was packed with lawn chairs and drunk neighbors and smelled of ashy barbeque smoke.

“Okay. So you’ve gotta move your arms in circles, kinda, to stay floating. And your legs too.”

Ian swam over to the deeper end of the pool, just an arm’s length away from where he and Mickey’s feet could touch, and tried to demonstrate how to tread water. “I feel like the easiest way for you to learn is just by doing it. C’mere.”

Mickey looked at him reluctantly, brows furrowed again in an outward display of his bundled nerves. “No fucking way.”

Ian sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Mick. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you drown, you can hold on to me the whole time.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow— but then hesitantly took a step towards Ian, the water reaching up to the bottom of his chin.

“Alright, good. Now step where you can’t reach and try to tread water like I did.”

Mickey stepped forward again, then started to circle his arms under the water— and he was doing great, for a second, before he seemed to get too in his head about the mechanics and started to grit his teeth.

“Little help here, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned and stepped forward. “Here, you can hang onto me.” He stood where Mickey could reach and grab onto his shoulders if he needed to— but Mickey seemed to regain his confidence, and was starting to steadily, if a little bit clumsily, tread water.

He kept it up for a while, until Ian could see that he was overexerting himself— waving his arms under the water with a little too much gusto, brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lower lip in concentration.

“Mick, you’ve got it. Chill out for a sec.”

Ian reached an arm out, a branch for Mickey to grab on to— because he had been joking before, yes, but he really didn’t want Mickey to fucking drown— and when Mickey grasped onto it, Ian pulled Mickey towards him in the water, kicking backwards so they were suspended in the deeper end of the pool with Mickey clinging to Ian’s neck.

Mickey looked nervous as Ian veered them towards deeper waters, his eyes darting from side to side where they were floating, his fingers digging into the back of Ian’s neck— and Ian smirked at how freaked out he seemed, standing only a few feet from where they could both confidently stand on the tiled pool bottom. But Mickey didn’t resist, or try to propel himself back into the shallower waters— he let himself cling on to Ian, fingers interlaced behind the tops of Ian’s shoulders, as he kept them afloat. Ian laughed softly in a warm, wet gust across Mickey’s cheek. “You okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mickey’s body, squeezing up close against him— and Ian couldn’t help it, the wave of fondness that came over him as he looked down at where Mickey was pressed against his chest; trusting Ian to keep them above the water, trusting Ian enough to go along with his stupid plan to teach him to swim in a public pool on a random morning just because Ian wanted to. Ian couldn’t help but feel warmth in his stomach at this simple moment, at the two of them bobbing in the pool— at teaching his husband to swim, something Mickey’d never gotten to do as a kid but something that they had the rest of their lives to do together.

“Maybe we could teach Franny to swim next summer. If we have our own place.”

As he said it, Ian hoped that Mickey could see the flood of hopes that he had for them in his eyes— that he wanted a place with a pool, and a balcony, maybe a backyard, and maybe even a fucking garden—he’d always wanted to grow tomatoes. More than anything he wanted to build something sturdy, that could stand up to whatever ground would inevitably shift beneath them in the years to come— he’d been thinking about that a lot these days, especially with all of the pandemic shit that had pulled a rug out from under this entire neighborhood.

Mickey’s gaze flickered up from where it had been boring a panicky hole in Ian’s sternum, meeting Ian’s eyes at the phrase “our own place”— and Ian instantly knew that he got it, that he could see the dreams that Ian was building for the two of them right in front of their eyes. That after months and years of obstacles and chaos and other voices infiltrating their heads, now it was just them— now it was just Ian and Mickey, clinging to each other and drifting through the calm, chlorinated waters.

And maybe it was their proximity, or the intensity Ian knew he was pouring out in his gaze, but instantly the air between them shifted as Mickey looked up— starting to hang heavy like the press of the humidity in the air. Their faces were centimeters apart— and Mickey’s lips parted slightly, his eyes now cast downward at Ian’s lips. Ian could smell the sweet, warm beer on Mickey’s breath, mingling with his own; he looked at Mickey, whose arms were still wrapped around his neck, water dripping down his face from the hair that was fanning over his forehead—and Ian just had to pull him in, had to place a hand in the damp hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and tug him closer, backing them against the tiled wall of the pool.

Ian could taste the faintest bitterness of chlorine on Mickey’s lips, from the water droplets lingering there, as he took Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. Mickey’s hands were still limply wrapped around Ian’s neck, keeping himself afloat— even though Ian had backed them against a wall in the shallow end of the pool again, and Mickey could probably touch his toes to the ground if he wanted to.

Ian raised his hand from under the water, wanting Mickey closer— he pressed a hand to the side of Mickey’s neck, slick with water, and slid a thumb over Mickey’s collarbone, pressing down with the pad of his fingers.

And Mickey gave a little involuntary noise from the back of his throat, sending a jolt down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s hands circling Mickey’s neck was definitely not a foreign concept while they were kissing— it was something they did a lot these days, especially as their hours in bed had taken a turn from the crazed, I-missed-your-body-so-fucking-much sex they were having in the beginning days of being in prison together and those early months after Mickey had gotten released— but both in prison and during this fucking quarantine, they’d gotten a bit more experimental, and a bit more reckless—especially before Ian had gotten his warehouse job and they were still on their structureless “honeymoon,” spending entire days lounging in bed.

It was those days of lazy, languid kisses, after years and years of already knowing each other, that Ian realized that he was maybe a little bit obsessed with Mickey’s neck. He’d always joked about liking Mickey’s legs, and that was true too (if he was being honest, there wasn’t a part of Mickey’s body that didn’t make his blood run hotter)— but the first time Mickey had grabbed Ian’s hand and put it up to his neck while they were tangled together, pressing down until Ian’s hand covered most of his throat, Ian knew that they’d opened Pandora’s fucking box.

By this point, Ian’s hand was pretty much always on Mickey’s neck at some point while they were fucking or even just making out— if he was being totally honest, Ian’s hand was on Mickey’s neck more often than not in lots of contexts these days, once they realized how much they both loved it. But there was something about this current moment, of Mickey wantonly desiring a point of contact there, right now, while they were very randomly and decidedly making out while floating in a public pool on a lazy weekday afternoon, that made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and rush quicker through his veins.

Ian let the pads of his fingers creep up the velvet skin of the side of Mickey’s neck, pressing a little deeper, a prelude— he could feel the vibration of Mickey’s heartbeat starting to flutter from where Mickey was still pressed against his chest, still clinging to his neck in the water.

They’d already extensively discussed limits and everything, Mickey would tap his wrist twice if shit got too intense— but even with that in mind, Ian pulled apart from Mickey for a second, trailing ghosts of kisses up the side of his neck and nipping at the underside of Mickey’s jaw. Mickey stretched his neck back and gave a little involuntary sputter of a moan, bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and leaned forward again to press their lips together with more fervor.

Ian pulled back again, his upper back resting against the concrete lip of the pool. Mickey looked disheveled and wrecked, half-dry chlorine-crusted hair sticking up from where Ian’s other hand had been cradling the back of his head, his blue eyes gleaming and catching the over-bright summer light. Mickey was still clinging his arms around Ian’s neck, holding on— they were in a fucking pool, and Mickey still couldn’t really fucking swim yet— and even though they were standing in a place where Mickey’s toes could certainly touch the ground, the whole thing felt weirdly insular and intimate, like they had to cling to each other.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, like he was daring him to keep going.

Ian leaned forward, breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth, but not pressing their lips together yet—and he reached a hand up again, against Mickey’s tender skin. Mickey’s legs were wrapped around Ian’s hips now, locked like a vice to keep himself upright in the water— and he pressed a little harder, gently pulsing at the sides of Mickey’s neck, in tandem with their lips pressing together over and over again as the warm waters surrounded them—the whole thing, the whole combination, made Ian feel indescribably floaty and weird and warm and blissed out; his skin stinging like ice and fire at every point of contact, electricity zapping his nerve endings wherever his fingertips met Mickey’s skin. Mickey fisted his hand harder at the back of Ian’s hair, nodding slightly—and they were definitely not going to fuck here, in the filth of a Southside public pool, but this insular closeness, the knowing what they both wanted to right now, was equally as thrilling and fulfilling to Ian in the moment. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him as they clung to each other in the water.

Mickey’s body was thrumming, letting out little gasps of breath between kisses and touches—and Ian pulled back and dragged his lips down the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling the sunwarmed skin. Fuck. He was never, never going to get enough of this.

Later, they’d dragged their water-heavy limbs back through the still summer streets to the Gallagher house, their skin pink and their bodies exhausted from soaking up the sun— and they’d collapsed into bed, feeling the dried chlorine coating their skin.

Ian reached a hand up, rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s cheek, their bodies pliant and fatigued— and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for letting me teach you how to swim.”

Mickey had smirked. “Yup, that was definitely the only highlight of today. Swimming.”

#a fluffy premise AND ian being obsessed with mickey’s neck??#what more could u want #*blows kiss to elias and stella* for u #also yes i did have a word document on my computer titled ‘neck fic’#what about it #ty for the prompt anon this was truly an experience to write #ily<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless imagine #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm #gallavich fanfiction #cw choking

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yukipri · 3 years ago

Text

Bad Batch end of season thoughts/ramble, bc it's been a week and I just wanna get it all off my chest...

(end of season spoilers and very disorganized rambling)

First off, I do want to say that I enjoyed watching the show. It fulfilled its primary purpose: entertainment. It was nice having something to look forward to every week, and even though it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it was fun. The animation was gorgeous, I liked all the references and tie ins. I will likely watch it again, and will watch season 2. This is by no means meant to be a hate post.

That being said, it is critical so please just skip if you're not into that!

The thing is...it takes very, Very little for me to love a clone. He doesn't need lines, or a face, or even a name, and the default is that I will love him. He can even be a little bastard, like Slick, and it's fine. I always want to know more about them, and wish they had more screen time and time in general to develop their characters. So given that we were getting 16 (20 eps total if we count TCW S7 pilot arc) centered around these guys, I was expecting to absolutely adore them by the end.

And I wanted to love the Bad Batch, I wanted to love them so damn much, and I tried. But I think one of the reasons why they never fully clicked for me was that their thing seems to be "we're unique, we never fit in, we're outsiders in our own home, among the people who are supposed to be our own family, and so we've found our home with each other."

Which! That's usually a wonderful message, and not a particularly rare or unique one either for stories! I usually dig these kinds of stories!

The problem here is the extremely unique situation of the clones. They are literally created to be identical, brain washed to be uniform. They must conform, or are killed off by their creators, and their conformity isn't a choice in the slightest, but one of fear and necessity.

Their uniformity is something that they are also entirely aware of--it's unavoidable, they're clones. Once out in the real galaxy, they all strive to find and establish unique identities for themselves, struggling against a galaxy that just wants them to be faceless products. It's a shared struggle, and all they have are each other, and their brotherhood is sacred as a result. Shunning unique identity is the opposite of who a clone is--it's what they all want.

So on one hand, it's understandable that the Batch stuck out (when all others who would have also stuck out were culled, when individuality isn't allowed). It's understandable that they would have yearned for the brotherhood shared by the other clones, and when they couldn't have it, they stuck closer to each other. It's even understandable that they would feel bitter, having experienced bullying at the hands of the other clones (but isn't it also understandable that the other clones would feel bitter that the Batch gets special treatment, when their own brothers with less-than-beneficial mutations were taken by the Kaminoans to never return?).

And so we have this batch of clones, who the Kaminoans call "mutated," but also specify that their mutations are "desirable" (implying what happens to mutations that are undesirable...). They have their own unique unit, in which they're able to improvise and act freely with seemingly little to no oversight, so long as they complete their mission. No Jedi to obey, no nat-born officers who look down on them. In fact, they look so different from standard clone troopers that most of the galaxy probably don't even know they are clones. They have their own ship (personalized), they have their own possessions (which we don't really see any other clones have), they have their own barracks (probably also very unique), and they even have access to superior weapons and armor (most of the Batch, minus Echo, seem to be wearing modified Katarn-class armor which is supposed to be for Commandos. we KNOW it holds up better than standard trooper armor).

So I'm sure they had some unpleasant experiences growing up, and I do get it. But at least at "present" end of clone wars, they honestly seem to be living infinitely better than all other clones? They still need to follow orders but they have more freedom, and perhaps most importantly, they have clear uniqueness that is denied almost all other clones. And yes, some of the clones on Kamino bully them, but we've seen NONE of the "regular" clones that we know to be particularly nasty to them, and in fact it's Crosshair who starts it by calling them "Regs."

And how does the Batch respond to this situation? By acting superior. It's Crosshair who says and it believes this firmly, and I do feel that the others are likely mostly influenced by this, but it's also true that Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech don't really deny this either. They don't like the "regs," they do act like they're "better." Poor Echo, who they repeatedly seem to forget is in the room, and who they call "machine" and such...yikes yo

So I guess the point is, I just really struggled to feel sympathetic towards them, and was already on a kinda eh about their premise. They're marketed as "the special clone squad"--and yet they're not nice to the clones I love. I thought that wasn't great, but also hoped that the series would work towards them understanding the other clones better, and I love character development so that woulda been fine--but, nothing. A glance from Hunter at Howzer. Extended camaraderie from Gregor, who I feel they mostly just tolerate for the mission, other than Echo who genuinely cares.

And on top of feeling not feeling particularly sympathetic towards what I saw as a pretty privileged group of clones, the Batch seems to place primary blame of their woes on the "regs" themselves, who again, honestly seem far worse off! There isn't blame directed at the people who demanded the conformity from the other clones in the first place, that made it so the Batch couldn't fit in. The Batch was modified due to the Kaminoans (and implied specifically Nala Se). She's the reason why they don't fit in. And the Kaminoans are also why the other clones have to be so uniform, why they must fight to be people and not products.

Bitterness and pettiness can be fine in characters. But it's frustrating to see in a group supposed to be competent and elite, especially when those feelings have consequences. Sure, it sucks when someone throws a food tray at you. You can throw food back. It's not an equal reaction to feel no remorse when you shoot that guy dead in a blaster fight, when for all other clones, having to kill another clone is one of the most horrible, tragic things that one can do (thanks, Umbara).

Fives was the only clone to actually point a blaster at Nala Se.

We know Omega has deeply personal history with Nala Se. She was Nala Se's personal medical assistant. We see her cry when she takes off her head ornament that matches Nala Se. We know that being back in the lab gives Omega complicated, and probably not entirely positive feelings. But we barely learn more about this relationship, other than these glimpses.

And I get the feeling that to Omega at least, Nala Se wasn't all terrible. If Omega grew up with mostly only Nala Se for company, she had to have gotten her sheltered outlook on life, and her willingness to help others from somewhere. Nala Se intentionally let Omega go, to be "safe."

I think Omega's adorable, and I do like her. But I wasn't able to fully love her to the extent I wanted to, because there was always the fear that she was involved in the creation and implantation of the chips. She knows about them, she would have been positioned to do so. I want to think she would never, and I was hoping the show would reassure us of that, but it never did. We don't actually know how Omega feels about Nala Se, or even the chips and their presence in other clones. Instead, all we know is that Omega doesn't like "regs."

And again, "they call me lab scrubber," and "I helped put (or am complicit in putting) mind control devices in their heads," are kinda, unequal. Again I hope it's not the case. But it definitely kept me feeling uneasy throughout the show.

It really boils down to I don't trust or forgive Nala Se, and the Batch's lack of stance against her and the other Kaminoans, and clear distaste for their other clone brothers, really puts them in a situation that makes it difficult for me to take their side entirely.

And then gosh, Hunter. During Crosshair's whole "you never came back for me," spiel, I couldn't help but think he's kinda right. He had 15 episodes. Sure, it's difficult to get Crosshair back. But they could have done something. They could have done research. We could have had scenes of them wondering where Crosshair is, discussions on how best to find him, even if that discussion ended in, "but we can't risk it right now." They could have grilled Omega for information on the chips, which they really shoulda done either way, but especially since that knowledge is important to understanding what (they thought had) happened to Crosshair. Instead, they just ran every time Crosshair showed up. The show could have done better to show that they cared, and were trying, instead of just, y'know, doing chores for Cid. One, "I kinda miss him," doesn't really count as working on getting him back, at least in my books.

The sole exception to all of this, of course, is Echo. Who really, he works with the Batch fine, he's a former ARC and can more than keep up. Skillset-wise, he fits in well enough. But this season really made me wonder why he's with them at all. Crosshair's revelation and true feelings at the end of the season were no surprise to me, as they're consistent with what we've seen of him from TCW S7. But for Echo, a former "reg" to have to work with someone like Crosshair...even if Crosshair thought Echo was "different" enough to accept him, those are his brothers that Crosshair thinks he's so superior to, and has no issue speaking disdainfully about.

The increasing tension between Echo and Hunter, Echo's interest in helping Rex, in helping other clones, in doing something...I do hope they reach a point where Echo demands they go help, or he's leaving.

They gave Crosshair a chance, despite the fact that his choices were willing. I really hope Echo can convince the Batch to help save the other clones who don't have a choice. Because even if the Batch doesn't consider them their brothers, they're certainly Echo's. They matter just as much as Crosshair, and I really hope season 2 shows it narratively.

To conclude, again I'm interested in seeing what happens next, and I want answers about Omega and Nala Se. I find it interesting that they tied the facility where they took Nala Se in with the scientist dude collecting data on Grogu in the Mandalorian and those cloning labs. All of this is interesting, but at the same time I feel like it's trying to build up to Snoke/Palpatine stuff in the sequels which...I don't care nearly as much about, but who knows, could be neat ^ ^;

I'm okay with, and have made peace with the fact that the Bad Batch probably isn't the "clones-centric" show I wanted, and that they'll continue their own story, and probably continue to not care much about other clones in upcoming seasons. That's unfortunate, but alright. I'm interested enough in their story too.

But at the same time...I can't help but think man, if they have the time and budget to do a season 2, after seeing what was (or wasn't) accomplished in season 1...I wish they'd also make a Rex/Cody/Wolffe/"regular clones" show, because in the end, if you're going to do a "clones show"....that's who I want to see most.

If you got to the end, thank you for reading, and being an ear to my ranting ^ ^; Again this is literally just getting this off my chest. If this take isn't one you agree with, please just ignore. For people who did fall in love with the Batch, I'm happy for you, and regret that it just couldn't happen for me. But, I'm hoping that S2 will change my mind, but we'll just have to see! ^ ^;

#the bad batch #bad batch #YukiPri rambles #really i'm not interested in a debate i just want to ramble

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thedumpsterqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 2: Fuck-ups and Textbooks

... I know I said I’d update weekly, but here we are. From now on I’ll post every Friday, if not more often. Than you for such a positive response to Chapter 1, it warms my heart! Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 2, Fuck-ups and Textbooks

Chapter Summary: You narrow in on the pool of suspects while desperately trying to convince yourself that dream psychology is a pseudoscience.

Words: 2225

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

A man stood above you, backlit, so you couldn’t see his face. You were laid supine, staring up at him - vulnerable, but unafraid. He spoke to you, but his voice and words were indistinct, muffled, as if you were underwater.

He knelt over you, placing one hand to the side of your head. It was silent, still, unmoving except for the dim lights shifting behind him. You felt your breath quicken as the figure shifted almost imperceptibly closer. His tie fell forward, dangling over your chest. It was a beautiful cerulean blue, silky and expensive looking. You reached up to touch it, and the man caught your wrist in a firm grip.

“No,” he said, his words clearer but his voice still indistinct. Low, deep, familiar… but you couldn’t place it.

He released your hand and moved his to your waist, lightly caressing, stroking downward until he caught your hipbone. Your pulse quickened and you gasped and arched upward into his touch, feeling his fingers dig in tighter in response.

“I thought so,” he murmured, swinging one leg over to cage your body with his. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hip wove into your hair and came to rest at the base of your skull, pulling your head up as he leaned down to catch your mouth with his…

Your phone alarm blared, waking you with a start. The dream slipped away, leaving you alone in your hotel bed, a noticeable wetness between your legs.

“God fucking damn it; I can’t have anything,” you muttered, throwing off your blanket and hopping into the shower. You hadn’t dreamed about sex in a while, hadn’t thought about sex in a while, too preoccupied with proving yourself at work. The dream left a longing in its wake, one that would unfortunately have to be addressed at a later time, because you stayed in the shower far too long and needed to meet Hotch and Morgan downstairs.

____________

You bustled into the lobby, clutching your case files and coffee. The others stood by the front entrance, facing away, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves. Hotch turned at the sound of your heels clicking towards them. You smiled, nodding your head in greeting, and-

Oh my god.

You froze in your tracks, face feeling suddenly numb. You registered Hotch frowning in confusion, but you couldn’t say anything to reassure him, not yet.

His tie.

It was the same one, the one that draped over your bare chest in the dream last night, the one attached to the man who you’d been thinking about all morning despite never seeing his face. The same one that hung loosely around Hotch’s neck last night on the balcony, the one that made you feel so voyeuristic that you couldn’t make conversation with him knowing its unknotting exposed his throat, making him appear stripped bare in comparison to the tailored suits he practically lived in.

“You alright, kiddo?” Morgan asked. “I mean, I know I’m a stop-you-in-your-tracks kinda guy, but I woulda thought you’d be used to that by now, huh?”

Morgan’s lighthearted cockiness gave you the boost you needed to shake your head and keep walking forward. “Sorry, thought I forgot my phone. I’m good. Let’s go, what’s the plan?”

Hotch seemingly accepted your answer, but kept his eyes on you as you got into the car. “Local police have rounded up friends and family of the California victim at the station. I’d like you to take the lead on interviews today. Morgan and I will be available should you have any questions, but we’re going to search our victim’s apartment first. Is that alright?”

It wasn’t actually a question, of course, but you gave verbal confirmation just the same. After the incident last week, you wanted a chance to prove yourself in an interview setting with a slightly less hostile subject.

They dropped you off at the station with instructions to compare notes with Prentiss, JJ, Reid, and Rossi after each interview. After setting up the room and conducting a tearful conversation with the victim’s mother, your first interview of the day, a conference call with the others in Arizona and Nevada revealed that the team had missed something big in the initial review of victims: they had all attended the same small, liberal arts college in San Diego.

“So, uh, who wants to tell Hotch?” asked Emily over the phone. Silence on the line, but you could tell what the others were thinking - no one wanted to be the one to deliver the news that you had overlooked such a clear commonality in the victim profiles - one that could have led you to an obvious suspect pool hours ago.

“The most fair way to decide this would be a random selection tool, here, I can pull one up on my phone,” replied Reid, accompanied by tapping sounds as he typed something in.

“No, she can do it, she’s with Hotch already,” said Rossi. “Let’s not waste time on this. Let us know what he says.” The others murmured their sympathies, but ended the call just the same, satisfied with avoiding Hotch’s quiet brand of wrath for the time being.

Sighing, you slumped in your chair in the interview room. Best to just get it over with. You dialed and held your breath, but not for long, as he picked up on the first ring.

“What did you find?” he asked, expectant.

“I just got off the phone with the others, and, it… it looks like they all attended the same college. PLNU, here in San Diego.”

A few beats of complete silence on the other end. You cringed, holding the phone away from your head like it was a bomb about to go off.

After what felt like ages, he responded. His voice was low, stern as always, but it had a clipped quality that you recognized as the closest you’d ever seen Agent Hotchner get to rage. “How did we not find this out during preliminary research?” he asked.

“Well, um, two of them didn’t actually graduate from there, so it wasn’t immediately obvious,” you offered.

More silence.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’re right though, we should have figured this out earlier. I’m sorry, I’ll -”

He interrupted you. “Thank you, I’ll tell Garcia to get a suspect pool together.” Line dead.

You sighed and laid your head in your hands. As far as tough conversations go, that was easy on the surface - hell, you’d had bosses scream at you when you worked retail for something much less consequential. But Hotch was different - he commanded respect without demanding it, and he had a way of making you feel like the only true measure of success was his praise, and by that same vein, his disappointment made you feel like an utter failure. For a man so cold and closed off, he drew the attention and admiration of everyone around him. When you started your internship, JJ had filled you in on what happened to his family - both wife and child murdered by one of their subjects. You weren’t sure how a man who had gone through that was still standing, much less working in the field that exposed them to that danger in the first place. But that was Aaron Hotchner, right? There was a reason that any member of his team would take a bullet for him without a second thought.

You’d only known him for a month, but you thought you probably would too.

____________

The rest of the interviews progressed smoothly, and you found out through conversation with your fellow team members that all three victims had taken a class with the same TA. One of them had mentioned a creepy teaching assistant to her friends at one point or another, shaping this up to hopefully be a pretty clear case of unhinged stalkerdom. Why the grandiosity in transporting and hiding the bodies no one was quite sure, but you, Morgan, and Hotch were on your way to his house along with a SWAT team to figure that out.

When you pulled up outside his address, a little yellow bungalow in La Jolla, you felt your upper lip start to sweat. Morgan and Hotch were pulling on their vests, checking their guns, and you, an intern without weapons privileges (or training, for that matter) were hiding behind the corner of the SUV.

“Remember, we don’t know if this is our guy!” Morgan yelled to the other officers. “We need him alive, don’t go shooting for no reason, got it?”

Hotch turned to you hurriedly before they moved across the street to enter the home. “You okay?” he asked, placing his hand on your upper arm.

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured you, looking into your face intently. "There’s several officers waiting with you out here, this will take less than two minutes.”

You nodded again, unsure how to tell him that you weren’t afraid for yourself, but for them. For him. He was indestructible, fearless, more than twice your age with more than 20 times the experience in the field. But you still felt an innate urge to be there, to protect him in case something went wrong.

His potential as a cult leader is really being wasted at the BAU. Hell, I’d die for him.

Therapy, you decided. You needed therapy.

Hotch nodded, oblivious to your internal conflict, dropped his hand from your arm, and headed towards the house with the others. You heard Morgan yell, a loud bang as he presumably kicked the door in, and more shouting. Your breath hitched in your throat as you counted the seconds, dreading the sound of gunshots.

Luckily, it didn’t come. They exited the house, striding towards you. Hotch’s hair had been disheveled in the commotion, falling onto his forehead. He raked it back with one hand, sighing.

“Nothing. Doesn’t look like he fled, but Garcia didn’t mention anything about him being at work during this time. Morgan’s gonna call her and see if she can find a location; let’s search the house.”

You nodded and followed him, feeling guilty for your overwhelming sense of relief that the suspect hadn’t been home. Morgan stood in the front yard, charming Garcia on the phone. You smiled. It was only a matter of time before those two stopped being idiots and admitted their love for each other; you couldn’t imagine being one of the more seasoned team members that has dealt with their antics for years.

Trailing Hotch through the front door, you noticed immediately how… bare the home was. The furniture was all standard IKEA gray (you recognized it, having furnished your apartment on a budget), the walls were absent of any decoration, and there wasn’t a single knick-knack or distinguishing piece that made it appear as if someone actually lived there. The obvious plainness stood in stark contrast to the sunny exterior and palm trees and other greenery surrounding the home.

Morgan strode in behind you, apparently having concluded his flirting session. “Cozy, huh?”

You nodded. You didn’t have much experience profiling suspects’ living quarters, but you didn’t need to be an expert to know that something was off here.

“Split up. Take the bedroom,” Hotch directed, nodding in your direction. “Tell me if you find anything.”

The bedroom was just as unremarkable as the rest of the house. You tore through drawers of neatly folded clothing, pulled out mounds of blank notebooks from the desk, dug through a trashcan filled to the brim with just tissues (you truly didn’t want to know), and just when you were sure there was absolutely nothing of import to discover about this guy, you pulled up the corner of the mattress to find what must have been dozens of books on criminal psychology stacked within the bedframe.

The suspect was very notably not a TA for a criminal psychology class.

“Uh, Agent Hotchner? Sir? I think I found something,” you called out.

Hotch appeared in the doorway. “Show me.”

You pulled up the corner of the mattress, gesturing for him to look underneath. Moving closer, he placed his hand on your lower back, and looked over your shoulder.

“Criminal psychology?” he asked, unmoving.

You nodded, glued to your position, breathing shallowly, wanting to move to examine the books but effectively pinned between Hotch and the foot of the bed. Your gaze shifted to the left slightly, and you were met with an eye level view of-

That fucking tie. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He moved away to pull the stack of books out of its hiding place, and the muscles in your lower back where his hand was resting suddenly relaxed. You berated yourself internally for being so weird around him - it was a tie, for fuck’s sake, something that your mind had picked up on yesterday and inserted purposelessly into your dream.

Dream psychology is bullshit, you reassured yourself for probably the hundredth time today.

Hotch began to leaf through the books, and you saw that certain passages had been intensely highlighted and circled, with notes scribbled in the margins. He paused to read a few of them before snapping the textbook he was holding shut and standing up.

“Let’s get these packed up and go through them back at the hotel. It’s getting late.”

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endof-theline · 4 years ago

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Day 12- Tropetember: Love Confessions/First Kiss

Day 12 of super early Tropetember with Love Confessions/First Kiss. Steve and Bucky go on a walk and discover some secrets.

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32538613

Steve grinned brightly before remembering to dial it back for a moment as Bucky looked over to him and smiled back at him, Steve fidgeted on his feet as he waited for Bucky to be ready.

The pair had decided to go out for a walk around the compound's grounds since it was surrounded by a open field with trees lining it to give them a sense of privacy, Steve couldn't care less about where they were walking but Bucky didn't want to go far from base so Steve suggested to walk the grounds.

Bucky pulled his jacket on and nodded to the door so Steve stood up from the stool he had been sitting on and rushed to follow him, he heard Sam snicker at him but ignored it as Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled at him again.

It had been ten months since getting Bucky back from Hydra and he was getting closer and closer to the confident Bucky from before the war everyday, of course not everyday was a good day but Steve always made sure he did everything he could to help even if it was just giving the man some space. The pull to Bucky Steve had had ever since he was a kid was just as strong as ever, Steve wasn’t an idiot either and he knew exactly what the ‘pull’ was but he never knew if Bucky had the same and now didn’t want to make Bucky uncomfortable when he wanted Steve’s support.

“Did ya see Tony kissing that fella last night?” Bucky asked in a hushed tone, his head was ducked like he was trying to avoid anyone seeing him talking, and Steve had to try and not laugh since Bucky was always his mother’s son and loved a bit of gossip.

“Sure, why?” Steve nodded his head and cocked his head curiously when Bucky stayed quiet for a moment “You can ask me anything, Buck, you can tell me anything you want”

“I didn’t know he’s, uh, gay is all” Bucky said in a hushed tone, his eyes darting around nervously as Steve realised that no one had sat Bucky down and explained that being gay wasn’t a dirty secret anymore, especially not surrounding the team.

“He’s Bisexual actually, means that he likes both” Steve explained and watched Bucky’s face for any signs of disapproval, he knew that Bucky didn’t have a problem with it before but he had no idea if Hydra had filled his head with hatred or not.

“You can do that?” Bucky asked with wide eyes as his feet stumbled to a halt.

“Yeah, people can love both men and women” Steve stopped and spoke in a soft voice, he recognised the look on Bucky’s face when Sam had mentioned a friend who was openly gay and Steve had almost cried when Sam told him that his friend was getting married to another man “It’s different now, Buck, people can love whoever they want now, sure there’s still people who disagree, but things are better now”

“I, I think that sounds like me” Bucky’s voice was shaky and unsure but as he looked up to Steve, he could see the fear flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before Steve smiled warmly at him “You’re not mad?”

“‘Course not, Buck” Steve pulled Bucky to him and tried not to melt into the embrace as Bucky pulled him back, Bucky’s hold on him was strong but not enough to hurt or even make Steve feel uncomfortable “I could never be mad at you, especially not for this”

Steve felt Bucky start to move away and forced himself to let go as his heart fluttered when Bucky grinned at him, looking the happiest Steve had seen him since getting him back. They started back on their walk and Steve could tell that Bucky was thinking away so he kept his mouth shut and let the man think without interruptions.

It wasn’t until they were almost back to base when Steve realised that he hadn’t said anything about himself, suddenly realising why Bucky had looked so anxious when was talking about his thoughts and feelings on the subject.

“I shoulda said, Buck, I’m gay and I’m out to the public, like everyone knows about it” Steve explained casually but stopped when Bucky paused again and whipped his head over to him, his heart going tight with nerves that Bucky would suddenly turn on him despite their conversation earlier.

“That’s why ya never came dancing?” Bucky asked but it sounded more like an answer than a question, it made Steve laugh all the same.

“Sure Buck, that’s why” Steve laughed and couldn’t help but snort when Bucky looked confused “Buck, the girls knew I wasn’t interested in them but they were also much more interested in dancing with you than even looking at me. Even if I had been interested in them, I still wouldn’t have gone”

“When you came with us, I saw you watching like you wanted to dance, if you weren’t interested in the girls who were you interested in?” Bucky kept questioning him and Steve panicked as he struggled for an answer, but Bucky beat me as he gasped softly and stared at Steve who immediately went bright red and stepped back as Bucky screeched “ME?!”

“Little louder Buck, don’t think the rest of the team heard you” Steve grumbled as he shrunk back and looked at the grass like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, Bucky stared at him like he was a puzzle and Steve could feel the weight of it on his shoulders just like when they were kids in Brooklyn.

“Stevie” Bucky cooed at him and frowned when Steve flinched at the name and stepped away from him again “Look at me, Stevie”

“Can’t you just hit me now?” Steve asked fearfully and whimpered when he saw Bucky’s hand reach out for him, stumbling back as his eyes shot up to look at Bucky who was staring back with hurt and confusion “I get you’re mad at me and I’m sorry, but you gotta know I wouldn’t do anything”

“Stevie, I ain’t mad at you” Bucky said as held his hands up and stepped closer to him, it was clear to see how Steve tensed and got ready to bolt “I promise, I ain’t mad. Just wished you woulda said something sooner, I always suspected something”

“Really?” Steve’s voice squeaked before he cleared his throat awkwardly as Bucky nodded “I tried so hard to hide it”

“Stevie, I knew you better than anyone, ‘course I could tell” Bucky smiled warmly and his eyes crinkled at the corners as Steve chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, Bucky tipped Steve’s chin up carefully as he stepped into his space and watched the shock and confusion written across the blonde’s face even as Steve’s heart pounded in his chest and his stomach felt like a million butterflies “Exactly why I never told you, knew you would look at me like this and knew you’d get us in trouble”

“Wha-” Is all Steve got out before Bucky was kissing him, Steve gasped against his lips before melting into it and letting Bucky take the lead as his hands froze at his sides.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh quietly at Steve’s awkwardness, the bright blush covering his face and the fond look on his face “First kiss out the ice or something, Stevie?”

“First kiss ever” Steve was close to panting as he looked at Bucky with wide eyes and found that his world had narrowed right now to the brunette stood in front of him “Never wanted to kiss anyone else”

“Holy shit” Bucky hissed through his teeth before cupping Steve’s face in his hands and pulling him in for a deeper, slower kiss that had Steve whimpering and grasping at his shirt, desperate to ground himself as his mind raced and froze at the same time “You waited all this time for me?”

Steve couldn’t find his words so he just nodded as he leant his forehead on Bucky’s and tried to catch his breath, hands still holding Bucky’s shirt as his heart thudded so fast that Steve panicked about his old medical issues for a moment, wondering if he needed his inhaler again. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him into a hug so Steve could sag against him and he could feel as the blonde buried his face into Bucky’s hair, usually Bucky couldn’t stand anything near his neck but he knew that Steve was safe.

“Please be real” Steve whimpered softly and Bucky wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear that or not but hugged Steve tighter as he felt his shoulder grow damp with tears “I love you, Bucky, I’ve always loved you”

“Love you too, Stevie” Bucky whispered back and gently ran his fingers through Steve’s short hair as the man let out a choked out sob, the ex-Hydra weapon knew exactly how it felt to finally express your emotions after having to bottle them up for years “Come on, let’s get you inside”

“Don’t wanna let go” Steve’s voice was weak and trembled as he spoke, but moved as Bucky pulled away and scrubbed his hands over his face before letting Bucky see his face even though it was still clear that he had been crying. Bucky gently took hold of Steve’s hand in his metal one and just raised an eyebrow at him, smiling when Steve blushed and nodded back.

“To the end of the line, right Stevie?” Bucky smirked at him and laughed as Steve knocked their shoulders together.

“Jerk” Steve teased as he smirked right back.

“You love it… Punk” Bucky laughed as they walked into the compound, ignoring the surprised looks he got from the Avengers whose eyes’ flicked between their hands and their happy faces.

“Yeah, I do” Steve nodded confidently before the pair of them laughed and Clint gave Tony ten dollars as Natasha took her ten dollars from Sam “Did you bet on us?”

“Yeah, did you tell him or did he figure it out?” Tony asked casually and Steve just sighed as he shook his head, walking off to grab a bottle of water as Bucky hung back a moment “So?”

“I figured it out, he danced around it” Bucky whispered before running after Steve when the blonde called him, neither saw the rest of the money swapped since they were too busy trading kisses as they made coffee.

Bucky had worried about getting accepted by the team, but it turns out that they were more than happy for them even if they did tease and poke fun at them every chance they got.

#tropetember #eotl writes #fanfiction #stucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes

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scarletwillowtree · 4 years ago

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The Soldier and The Artist ch 5 (soulmate AU)

Pairing: Bucky x artist!reader

Warning: Some swearing, OFC best friend being a southern windstorm with no filter (based on my actual best friend!)

Word Count: 2,046

Summary: In a world where your soulmates first words show up on your skin once you meet, it’s not entirely common to actually meet the one you’re destined to be with. Though you’ve always held out hope, you never believed you would meet them, especially after you got your words but haven’t seen the man since. Now, working closely with The Avengers for a project Tony Stark himself requested you for, you’re closer to your soulmate than you ever expected.

A/N: Here it is guys, gals, and nb pals! The final chapter in The Soldier and The Artist. The epilogue will be following hopefully tonight just so y’all don’t have to wait forever! Working full time, going to college, and being a single parent doesn’t leave mass amounts of time for hobbies, so I can’t promise any update schedule, but my Steve x goddess!reader will be starting later this week. Thank you all for coming with me on this journey, as this was my very first fic and I’m so happy with how it’s been received! No more delaying, the finale begins!

masterlist

Two days into your extended vacation time with the team and you had received yet another surprise. Much to your delight, this time it came in the form of your tiny tornado of a best friend deciding to visit you in New York. She had intended to fully surprise you by busting into your room, however FRIDAY had instead woken you up with an alert that someone rather feisty was in the lobby claiming to be your family.

Upon entering the lobby, you let out a soft laugh. Seeing your barely 5’2” best friend trying to intimidate one Happy Hogan was honestly a wonderful start to your day. After watching quietly from the elevator for another few moments, you finally stepped forward and cleared your throat. Hannah’s whole disposition changed, from looking ready to rip out Happy’s throat to sugar coated wide smiles in less than half a second.

“It’s okay Happy, unfortunately this ball of hate actually is basically my family.”

He gave a sigh before shaking his head as he walked off, and you could almost swear you heard him mutter something about not getting paid enough. You smiled wide as you and Hannah embraced, the small sense of homesickness that had begun creeping up on you the last few days quickly flowing away as you did so.

“What are you even doing here?”

Hannah’s smile turned mischievous grin as she grabbed her bag.

“Well, you remember how we had discussing opening a second location? With the very generous pay from this project and recent events, why not here? In New York I mean.”

You stare at Hannah for a moment, your jaw slack and eyes wide, before you begin floundering for your response.

“Well- I mean- I didn’t- I did say that, but I had been thinking a second place in DC! That- This is insane! Who would even run it?”

Hannah stared at you blankly as you two finally walked into the elevator that immediately began its ascent.

“You would, Y/N. Before you even start with all that typical ‘but my life is there not here’ bullshit, we both know the only things waiting for you back in DC are me and the studio. Opening a New York location would allow us to reach a larger clientele with it basically being a crossroads of the world with JFK here. Your future is here, whether you’re ready to admit it or not. I have bookings next week for us to begin looking at studios so you better grasp that fact fast!”

You smiled down at your friend, a warmth blossoming through your chest as her words really sunk in. You knew you didn’t want to leave, not with just having found Bucky, and the fact that even your closest friend could see that and was pushing you to be selfish for once made the choice easier to accept.

“You really should start breathing in the middle of your rants, someone your size could easily get oxygen deprivation at that rate.”

Hannah glared at you for a moment before the two of you burst into full on laughter.

This was about to get real fun.

***

After a quick stop in Tony’s lab for introductions and getting permission for Hannah to stay in the compound during her trip, the two of you found yourselves in a spare room in the same wing you had been staying in. The two of you were dancing around to the music you’d had FRIDAY play through the speakers, slowly unpacking Hannah’s bag, when a knock accompanied by two quiet laughs overlapping came from the doorway. You both turned, slowing to a stop mid dance, to see a pair of super soldiers standing there.

“Well you’re built like a brick shit house, ain’t ya?”

You felt your eyes widen at your friends lack of filter before you doubled over in laughter, barely registering Bucky’s own laugh mingling with yours. You definitely didn’t need to see Steve’s face to know he was already turning a violent shade of red as he attempted to string together a sentence in reply.

“Nice to meet you too? I think?”

You and Bucky finally managed to calm your laughter, taking deep breaths and still wearing a smile, you finally introduced the pair to the closest thing you had to family nowadays. After a brief conversation, the four of you all agreed to have a movie night with take out to celebrate her arrival.

As the group left the room, you felt a soft smile stretch your lips as you watched the three ahead of you. It was then that you made the decision to wait to tell Bucky you were staying until you were going to look at studios in the city. You’d have plenty of time together once you had fully moved, for now it didn’t seem like an issue that needed addressing.

***

As the night wore on, you and Bucky had begun making little faces at each other, noticing just how close your best friends were becoming. He nodded to the kitchen and you winked back with a minute nod of your head.

“I’m gonna grab some more popcorn and drinks for everyone, wanna help me Buck?”

You stood and moved toward the kitchen behind the sofas without even waiting for a response, dumping the kernels from the nearly empty popcorn bowl that had been in your lap into the trash. Bucky soon followed, moving to the fridge to grab several cans of soda, setting them on the counter next to the microwave just as you started the bag of popcorn you tossed in. You looked to Bucky to see a loving warmth coming from the depths of his steely blue eyes. As if pulled by a magnet, you stepped forward, feeling your arms wrap around his waist instinctively. His arms wound around you as you buried your face in his chest, before he began whispering to you.

“Seems like maybe we’re not the only pair that came from Stark’s idea. I never woulda thought Steve could handle a spitfire like her though.”

You giggled softly into the warmth of his chest before you both broke away, startled by the loud squeal coming from the theater area you had just left. Moving quickly, you both sprinted into the room to find Steve and Hannah staring at each other in awe, Steve’s forearm now in full view as one of the sleeves had been pushed up to reveal what was apparently the first words your friend had spoken to the soldier.

You heaved a sigh of relief, Bucky doing the same, before you leaned into his side. His arm automatically wrapped around you before he leaned down and whispered in your ear, asking if you wanted to give them some alone time together. With a quick nod, Bucky smiled and began guiding you from the room before calling out behind him.

“Have fun you crazy kids!”

You could hear Hannah and Steve laughing softly as Bucky continued to guide you down the hall and towards one of the elevators. While waiting for it to reach you, you separated from Bucky’s side and leaned against the wall next to it, smiling at the man in front of you. For the last few weeks, the tension between you had been building as you danced around sharing even your first kiss together. You were generally very patient, but even now your mind wandered away as you imagined feeling his lips pressing against yours.

“Whatcha looking at me like that for, doll?”

Bucky inched closer to you, placing his hands on your hips, firm enough that you felt secure, but gentle enough that if you moved he wouldn’t be trapping you where you stood. You leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek, just on the corner of his mouth.

“Just admiring the view, soldier.”

The playful smirk that took over Bucky’s face immediately had you understanding why he drew in all the ladies back in his day. Your heart fluttered and began pounding so loudly in your chest you were surprised he couldn’t hear it with how close he was. He leaned down, slowly inching toward your lips, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted, before the loud ding of the elevator arriving caused him to pull away. He placed a gentle and lingering kiss to your forehead before taking your hand and pulling you into the elevator with him.

“So Barnes, where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere special doll. Do you trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation, giggling lightly when he covered your eyes before you heard the click of a button being pushed and the elevator began moving upwards.

“No peeking.”

***

Once the elevator had stopped, Bucky kept his hands firmly in place as he guided you out and down several hallways. After what felt like forever, you were hit with a wave of heat and the scents of fresh earth and foliage, and you could swear you heard running water faintly.

Bucky finally moved his hands and what surrounded you nearly took your breath away. You found yourself standing just inside what appeared to be a massive greenhouse, filled to the brim with various flowers, herbs, all manner of vegetables and even a few fruit trees lined the edges of the glass structure. There was indeed a natural style fountain hidden away in a corner, a small pond as the base.

Since the night had come on during the movies, when the two of you sat down on a bench near the pond you could see the glittering stars through the glass of the roof above you. A smile had found its way to your face and didn’t want to leave.

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered softly, trying not to disturb the peace.

“Yes, it is.”

Bucky’s hand found your chin, pulling your face to his as your cheeks flamed to life as you realized he’d been watching you instead of the stars. You couldn’t bring yourself to comment on how cheesy he was being as he leaned in, once again giving you plenty of time to pull away. You leaned forward instead, determined to finally closing the gap that had lingered between the two of you since he had returned from that mission weeks ago.

The feeling of his lips on yours set your skin alight, the soft skin of his lips molding perfectly to your own contrasting with the rough yet gentle scratching of his stubble against your face as the kiss quickly deepened. Now you could understand what people meant when they saw fireworks when kissing their soulmate, only it felt like they were going off in your very veins. You both buried yourself in the high intensity passion of the kiss, pouring all of your feelings into this one moment, until neither of you could breathe any longer. You separated but placed your foreheads together to remain close as you both gulped down the much needed air.

Once his breath had gotten closer to normal, Bucky only had one word for you. A single word that was both a question and a demand, a request from the lips of some desperately in love already.

“Stay.”

Your smile grew as you pulled back, staring into those ocean deep baby blues. You could see the sincerity of what he knew he was asking you to do. His eyes were filled with a little fear, but mostly hope. Hope and love. You kissed his nose before looking into his eyes again.

“I already planned to Bucky. Hannah is here to help with choosing where our New York studio will be. I just got you, I’m not going anywhere soldier.”

The hope in his eyes flared into a joyous flame that carried through him. A laugh of pure exhilaration burst out of him as he stood with his arms still around your waist, spinning you around as he whooped in joy. His laughter was infectious as you soon began to giggle as well.

“Oh doll, I can’t wait for our forever to begin!”

He pressed his lips to yours once more and you immediately melted into his embrace.

Forever has already started, as long as this artist has her soldier.

***

epilogue >

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 17

Delicious Fried Garbage

When Ichigo barges into the shop without so much as a by-your-leave Urahara is in one of the backrooms, working on a janky looking computer. Ichigo had seen some fucked up attempts at electronics before, during his time travel escapades, but this was another level entirely. He actually looked like it had an eye sticking out of the wires snaking around it.

Ichigo stares at him. When Urahara looks up it takes him a second to get his smile properly in place and his fan in hand. That mask is getting a bit old.

“Ichigo! To what do I owe the pleasure? And you’ve brought friends?”

It’s true. Medusa and Achilles had met them outside the school when he and Shinji had gone marching about. Cu was investigating the ley lines around the town. Waver hadn’t been wrong, there was something weird going on with them, and he was the only decent mage amongst their group. The other three of them were fighters, plain and simple.

“This one,” Ichigo grabs Hirako by his tie and hanks himself forwards for Urahara to see. “Is your fault. So we’re using your basement.”

“That’s a rude way to ask,” Urahara huffed at him. Ichigo pins him with a glare.

“I’m not asking,” he said frankly. Ichigo drags Hirako past Urahara and his horror computer to the trap door he knows is in the room just beyond. Hirako hops after him, but he still manages to look nonchalant about it.

Ichigo tosses him down the ladder, abandons his body in the safety of the ground above, and hops after him, with his servants in tow. All three of them land as gracefully as Hirako did, with Ichigo now in his dark shihakusho. A few moments later Urahara drops down after them as well. He held his hat to his head to keep it from flying off.

While Medusa and Achilles found a couple of rocks to lounge on and watch from Ichigo and Hirako make their way away from them so they don’t get caught in the crossfires. Not that it would matter for Achilles. His shield was almost as good as Mash’s.

“Okay,” Ichigo runs his fingers through his hair and gathers half of it into a pony tail at the back of his head, so it’s out of his way. ‘ How do you wanna do this, Nieve?’

Medusa looks at him with a frown. ‘ Who…?’

‘Just don’t go fightin’ me okay? It won’t be so different from other fights. We’ll just be closer this time.’

Ichigo winces at the wide-eyed look Achilles and Medusa were giving him. He’d forgotten to tell them about his new ‘friends’. Whoops.

Ichigo eyes Hirako warily. He touches his forehead, the way Hirako had before. He thinks of Nieve. He thinks of the driving force behind his blows. Desperation and vicious need. He thinks of the sting in his chest and the shadows. Phantom hands pushing his body to get out of the way. Protection. Survival. The steel of a sword in his hand.

Ichigo claws across his face in a move that feels almost natural.

For one dizzying second the whole world warps and twists. Everything is sharper and clearer. He tastes the energy in the air. Snakes and chains. Armor and blood. Shadows and thread.

Ichigo didn’t know you could taste a kaleidoscope, but that’s what Hirako’s soul reminds him of.

“ Huh.”

Ichigo blinks at Hirako. There’s something pointy just up over Ichigo’s sight. Horns? Is he some kind of bull?

I should summon Asterios next, he mused. We can match.

Ichigo lifts Zangetsu up to block a blow from Hirako. Their blades sing with the sound of battle. Ichigo can feel Zangetsu’s laughter in his soul, and his own smile is hidden from view by the mask on his face. It’s smooth bone.

Ichigo pushes him back harshly. He ends up throwing Hirako further away than he’d expected. It’s not just his senses that are heightened. His strength was increased too, and when he launched himself after Hirako he realized his speed was to.

He realized it because he almost smashed face first into a boulder trying to get around Hirako and hit him from the back. Fortunately the rock broke before his new horns and he was able to skid around and swing at Hirako again.

They felt like one. Him and Zangetsu, together. Sword and weilder. It was more than a metaphorical ‘the sword is an extension of your arm’. Zangetsu really was an extension of himself. Longer reach, harder hits, faster moves and dirty tricks.

They wanted to win.

Hirako fired a kido spell at him and Ichigo sliced through it with his Getsuga Tenshou, one the gauged a crater into the earth beneath them. Ichigo shot himself after the attack and swung hard at Hirako from above. He caught Zangetsu at the crossguard of his own katana, but he wasn’t expecting it when Ichigo came in from the right with a sharp, short blade he’d kept tucked in his sleeve.

It gleamed white and blue, to Zangetsu’s black. Or Nieve’s black. He was going to have to figure that out eventually.

Hirako is forced into a retreat, with Ichigo hot on his heels. He dons his pharoah mask, and the tides turn equal. Each hit it hard enough to send shock waves through Ichigo’s arms, and with each hit and near scratch does Ichigo grow stronger and faster.

He feels perfectly balanced for the first time in a long time.

A blade in each hand, and a mask on his face. He almost laughs before the clarity of the world snaps around him. He lurches and manages to knock Hirako’s guard aside with Zangetsu before he comes in with the shorter blade again.

“Stop!” Hirako shouts suddenly.

Ichigo freezes, his eyes wide.

Something gives way. The mask cracks and evaporates in the time it takes him to blink.

It takes Ichigo’s strength with it. He collapses on the ground, his chest heaving and his legs feeling like jelly.

“What… the… fuck…?” he asks between frantically gulping air.

‘Ran outta steam, partner.’

Fuck. So he had a time table for this power? Damn it.

He looks up to see Hirako pulling his mask off and letting it dissolve into thin air. There’s somethin unreadable in his eyes.

“Ya actually stopped.”

Ichigo grunts up at him with a scowl.

“Ya weren’t outta control. If ya were, ya woulda kept goin’ till I was dead. Or you were. ”

Ichigo snorts at him. “You aren’t that…. Annoying, Hirako.”

“Some might disagree,” he crouches in front of Ichigo. “I still wanna know somethin’. How’d ya manage to do all that on yer own? You lasted a whole minute and a half. Where were ya trainin’? And with who?”

“Nowhere and with no one,” Ichigo grouses at him. He’s exhausted, but with a slow breath he starts to calm enough that he can function again. “I’ve never done that before.”

“What?! Then why’ve ya been insistin’ ya don’t need help?”

“Because I don’t! I talked it over with Zangetsu and we’re fine.”

“Ya just… talked,” Hirako says slowly. He looks at Ichigo like he’s grown a second head.

“Is there a fucking echo in here? Yeah, I talked. Why?”

“Because that’s impossible!” Hirako reached to grab Ichigo by his shoulders but froze when he flinched back instinctively. He frowned. “I’m not gonna hit ya. We’re done fightin’ for now.”

“I know,” Ichigo scowls at him. In the time it took the words to get out Achilles had crossed the ground between them and landed at his side, a flicker of green lightning around his heels.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly. It was strange to hear from the normally laid back servant. Achilles arm wraps around Ichigo’s shoulders and lifts him carefully off the ground. Once, Ichigo would have shoved him off and insisted he could stand by his own merit. But Achilles was with him for the hardest fights of his life. Camelot, Babylonia, Solomon. They stormed the hanging gardens together.

He lets Achilles support his weight and stand him on his own two feet. He’ll be fine in a bit, once he’s eaten and maybe caught a cat nap.

“We’ll be taking him home, now,” Achilles says firmly. He shoots at look at Medusa, who’s left Urahara to travel over to them. This Medusa is a Lancer, not a rider, or she might have kept speed with him.

Or not.

Achilles is in a league of his own, as Ichigo well knows. A rank servants are like that. They’re also incurably insane.

“Now hold on. I got questions for Ichigo-”

Hirako’s reach for Ichigo is cut short by a sudden lashing of chains between the pair of them. Hirako is just fast enough to keep himself from loosing a hand to them. Ichigo shoot a look at Medusa over his shoulder.

“Was that necessary?” he asks dryly. She sniffs at him.

“You’ve just used a substantial amount of energy. You should be resting, not dealing with fools who think you a liar or malcontents who hide the truth.”

Her last comment is accompanied by a glare over her shoulder towards Urahara, who is watching them with shadowed eyes. They’re sharp in that darkness, and all too aware. Ichigo can see him piecing things together.

“Rider,” he says, “Let’s go already. We have things to do.”

Achilles agrees, and Medusa lets her chains slither back into her hair before following after them. Her boots click with each step.

Ichigo had decided, a long time ago, that Achilles’ name would be spoken aloud only in private. He had too well known a weakness to be exploited. Everyone knew who he was, everyone knew about his tendon.

Medusa was a bit less well known, and she didn’t rely wholly on her eyes either. As long as they stayed vigilant of mirrors and shields, everything would be fine.

The pair escorts him up the ladder while the two supernatural beings watch.

Ichigo really needs to stop hanging out with dead people.

There’s a car sitting outside the shop when they get out. It’s a bright orange Nissan Note, and Cu is sitting in the front seat.

“...Did he get a rider classification while I wasn’t looking?” Ichigo asks wearily.

“Nope,” Medusa says with far too much cheer. Ichigo takes the front seat, while Cu and Medusa slide into the back and Achilles slides into the drivers seat.

Ichigo buckles in quickly. He does not like the gleam in Achilles eyes when he grips the wheel and turns the key.

Ichigo watched the fog curl unnaturally outside the window.

Even though he’d heard London called the city of fog before, seeing it up close and personal was another thing entirely. Mash and Mordred were upstairs, doing something with their new guest. Mordred had said there was something she wanted to discuss with Mash, as ‘fellow knights’, and whisked her away to one of the rooms Jekyll kept, along with a new companion.

He had a comfortable house, spacious and wealthy, but Jekyll himself was a fairly practical man. Most of the house was dedicated to his work. Lab equipment, mostly, but books lined almost every spare surface. Novels, non fiction, history.

Ichigo still needed to stop fighting sometimes. To recharge his batteries, even if he was only supporting Mash, he coudln’t power through this singularity the way he had before. This was a more delicate operation, with more mystery around it than Ichigo could stomach.

He liked knowing who he was fighting, thanks.

In their down town, of which they had far too much and far too little, Ichigo had taken to picking through Jekyll’s books.

He’d read Shakespeare a’plenty, and a few works by Lord Byron, but here Jekyll had books Ichigo had never even heard of. For all he knew a hundred and a half years in the future they wouldn't even exist anymore.

He did know that when he got back he was going to try to find a copy of the Mill on the Floss. And he was going to have to see if Jekyll had any copies of Thomas A Kempis, so he could make more sense of all of it.

He was puzzling over Maggie’s spiritual upheaval when a scuff on the floor had him looking up and over.

Jekyll did that on purpose, Ichigo found. He had made the mistake of sneaking up on Ichigo once, and ended up with a black eye for his troubles that was still fading. In his hands was something that smelled suspiciously like tea. It steamed faintly across the rim of the cup.

“Jekyll,” Ichigo greeted. The doctor offered him a smile and came closer. Ichigo slid a scrap of paper between his pages and set it aside so he could accept the cut when it was handed to him.

Ichigo had never considered himself an academic, and compared to Mash and Jekyll he definitely wasn’t, but he was starting to enjoy the more mundane aspects of living. Who knew he would ever miss high school?

“Hello. I thought you could use something to drink.”

Ichigo dropped his legs off the side of window box he’d claimed as his own in one of the downstairs sitting rooms.

“Sit down?” Ichigo offered.

Jekyll hesitated before he did so. He sat right at the edge, like he was ready to spring himself away at the first sight of trouble. He’s been jumpy for a while now, and Mordred’s not wrong. He’s often very pale.

“If you want me to.”

Ichigo took a long drink of the tea and made a sound of surprise. He looked at Jekyll, who offered him a half smile.

“I found green tea on a supply run,” he said, almost sheepishly. “Mash told me that you’re from the east.”

“It’s good,” Ichigo told him. “ I just wasn’t expecting it… Thank you. Really.”

Jekyll smiled at him a bit wider. “Your welcome.”

“What’s it like normally?” Ichigo asked abruptly, nodding towards the window.

Jekyll followed his gaze to the roiling mist outside. The demonic fog was dangerous to most people. Jekyll always had a dark look on his face whenever he got off the radio. More and more people were dropping off, people he’d managed to get in contact with despite everything that was happening. People he knew, and some he didn’t.

Earlier they’d gone to try to help his friend, Victor. They’d come home with a young girl who was ‘frankenstein’s monster’. Which was not what they were going to call her under any circumstances. Ichigo would fist fight anyone who suggested otherwise.

“It is still foggy, most mornings. Sometimes it burns off by afternoon. On the worst days, you can’t see the other side of the road. It got worse with the industrialization. Sometimes it’s so bad the fog is more yellow than white, and it’s almost as dangerous as it is now*.

“That’s…. Kinda horrifying.”

“Maybe. But it’s still home.”

Ichigo rested his forehead on the glass, letting the coolness sink into his skin.

“...When I was a kid I would walk along the riverbanks where my mom died. I can see ghosts, and I kept looking for her. Like she would just appear. But she never did. Sometimes it got foggy in the morning. I thought I’d see her, but it was always just mist.”

“I’m sorry,” Jekyll said sincerely. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a long time,” he said at last. Not long enough, and it’s not fine.

Jekyll touched his leg and offered him a slight squeeze before his hand retracted. He didn’t flee, like he originally looked like he would. Instead he sat back and asked Ichigo about his book while the pair of them sat together.

Mist rolled by, and eyes watched them from across the road, peering out through the cloying mists.

* *

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Ichigo asks when they finally stop, third in line behind red lights and bright menu signs. The smell of fries is unmistakable.

“You need to eat,” Achilles says like its obvious. Which it is, they can all see how tired he is, and they know him enough to know that some food with get him a better mood. “You’re a straight bitch when you’re hungry.”

“I don’t think you’d know straight if it smacked you in the ass.”

“If you’re smacking my ass, you’re definitely not straight- ow!”

Achilles rubs his arm and actually pouts at Ichigo, who looks smug. Time was he’d have broken his hand hitting his Rider that hard.

“Why are we at a MgRonalds?” Ichigo asks impatiently.

“It’s delicious,” Achilles says sagely.

“It's fried garbage.”

“It’s delicious fried garbage.”

“I’m not winning this fight, am I?” Ichigo asks, trying desperately to hide the fondness in his voice. Medusa snorts at him from the back seat.

“Not a chance, Master.”

“Call me by my name!”

He’s ignored, as he knew he would be. “How do you even know that you like this stuff? There’s no grail to shove knowledge into your thick skull.”

“No, but we learned quite a bit with you and Mash, and we’re still connected to you as well. So we know enough to navigate this time, I think.” Cu says from his place next to Medusa.

“You know that doesn’t make a lot of sense, right?” Ichigo frowns minutely. Then again, there were lots of things that don’t make a lot of sense, that he himself can’t make real sense of.

Ichigo rubs his fingers across his command seals. They were familiar, the same ones he’d had at Chaldea, but they weren’t in Chaldeas anymore. He’d thought that command spells were distributed by grails themselves, or the FATE system in his case. But apparently that wasn’t the case, or he wouldn’t have these three. Right?

Achilles elbows Ichigo when they get up to the window. A young man in a red visor that matches his eyes smiles out at them.

“Hi there,” he said brightly. “Will that be cash or credit?”

“Here,” Ichigo fishes out his card and passes it over Achilles to the man.

He glances over the man shoulder when a young girl in pigtails goes flying behind him, followed by the sound of something falling down. The mans smile grows a bit tenser.

“M-Maou! The fryer-!”

“Excuse me,” he waves at them and turns away. “Chi, what did you-?”

The commotion is cut off when the window slides shut with a click.

Ichigo looks at the other three and can’t help cracking a grin.

“Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have a day job.”

“The lives of normal people are not for any of us,” Achilles says with a nod.

“Okay, whatever you say mr. I-wanna-go-out-in-a-blaze-of-glory.”

“I don’t regret that decision, and you know it!”

He knows. Achilles has only few true regrets from his glorious life. One of them is the reason he always hesitates to fight a woman. The other is related to Hektor, who Ichigo had never had the pleasure of summoning himself. For the best, he figures.

They sit for a few minutes before the girl with the pig tails pops up at the window and hands them their bag with a few frantic apologies that Achilles waves off with a gentle smile.

“No harm done. Have a good day.”

Ichigo grips his door like a lifeline when they roar out of the parking lot. There must be magic involved for them not to get pulled over by the cops on the way back to the house. Even though the drive only takes a few minutes at Achilles speed Ichigo still manages to wolf down three burgers in just as man minutes.

He’s gonna have to practice using his hollow powers, or else he’s going to end up feeling hollow every time after. It’ll make him far too vulnerable for his own comfort, even if he is surrounded by his servants when it happens.

He trusts them implicitly, but he’s begun to rely on his own power, not just theirs. Having a sword of his own has changed him.

Medusa helps him out of the car when they finally reach the house, and lets him go once their in the living room. Ichigo falls onto the couch with a long sigh.

Achilles wasn’t wrong. Food did him some good.

The couch dips and a weight lands on his lap when the aforementioned Rider crosses his legs across Ichigo’s and hands him the rest of the burgers. Cu takes up the last space on the couch, on Ichigo’s right, and Medusa sets herself up in the chair across the room from the three of them.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “For pulling me out of there. I was really getting irritated.”

“He wasn’t being fair,” Achilles says with a frown, “Don’t these people know to just go with your flow yet?”

Ichigo snorts. “Not yet. I’ll bully them more another time. As much as I would like to just hang out with you guys, they do know things that I don’t. And soon enough, I’m going after Aizen.”

“Are we?”

We.

“Mhmm. I still have my promise to him. I don’t know how to restore memories from a timeline that doesn’t exist anymore, but I can at least prove to him that we used to be friends. I just have to figure out how to get to him. Urahara could get me to Seireitei, he might know a way to where the hollows live too. Now that he doesn’t think I’m losing my mind or whatever.”

“Your life never is dull,” Cu teases him, tugging his long orange hair. Ichigo rolls his eyes fondly at him.

“As if you’re one to talk. You’ve been fighting since you were a child.”

“You were just a boy when we met in Fuyuki,” Cu points out. “Older than me, admittedly, but still young.”

“I was practically grown up!”

“That’s not a good thing,” Medusa scowls at him from across the room. “You should mourn your lost childhood. Not celebrate it. Mad man.”

Ichigo falls silent and looks elsewhere. He can’t even really disagree with her. It’s one of the things he’s most angry at his father for. He’d let Ichigo grow up too fast, he’d never tried to explain what happened and he barely supported him, so lost was Isshin in his own grief. He was always better with the girls, but even Yuzu and Karin are more grown up than they should be for girls of their age.

He’ll deal with that later. His food is getting cold.

* * *

Once Ichigo is out the door, Shinji turns to Urahara.

“So. That went well.”

“I thought you said he was having trouble with his hollow. Not that he was about to turn everything on its ear.”

“I didn’t know,” Urahara defended, snapping his fan shut and pacing away from Shinji. “Yoruichi said that it almost took over during his fight with Kyoraku. She said she had to knock him out to get him out of the situation, before things got really bad. The mask was half formed and he was healing from a cut on his shoulder.”

“Well he didn’t need our help after all. And now he’s pissed, and I’ve got questions for ‘im,” Shinji crossed his arms over his chest. “Like how the hell he managed to just have a conversation with a fuckin’ hollow!”

“You think I don’t want to know the answers too?” Urahara frowned at him from over his shoulder. “This could be a turning point. If he went about it a different way that opens so many more possibilities. But now he’s being puppy guarded by those strange friends of his.”

“Yeah,” Shinji frowns. “Who are they? What are they? They sure as shit ain’t human.”

“I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with Ichigo being a mage, but he’s not a very forthcoming boy when it comes to mage craft. Some rule that says he has to kill you if he tells you.”

“That’s one’a the weirdest things about ‘im. Since when can someone be a mage and a shinigami?”

“I’m beginning to think that impossible things follow Ichigo around like a shadow. Do you know what he said when he was going to save Rukia? That he didn’t need to bring his friends because he would make some there. And you know what he did?”

“He turned half the officers of the 13 on their own superiors. Ya said somethin’ about that earlier.”

“Yes. He’s a very unusual boy.”

Kisuke flicked his fan back open and looks down at the pale paper. “I’ve made many mistakes with him, Shinji. He shouldn’t trust me. He shouldn’t even talk to me, at this point, but this was the first place he brought you for this little fight.”

“Weird guy,” Shinji says idly. He’s never seen Kisuke so out of sorts, all over a not-so-human boy who’s rapidly turning the world over on its heels. Shinji can’t tell if he’s afraid or excited about what going to happen in the future.

“Tomorrow, after school, I’m gonna try to bring Ichigo around to meet the others. I wanna see what Hiyori makes of ‘im.”

“You mean besides a punching bag?”

Shinji snickers at the image. “I’m not sure I’d put my money on our girl in that case.”

* * * *

Ichigo wakes up in Avalon again.

He’d in Merlin’s lap, his cheek resting on the mages fine robes. He blinks a few times and finds he’s not alone. Again, two spirits sit across from him, but the charged energy of secrets is gone, leaving shoulders loose and muscles relaxed. Be it Neive or Zangetsu, they’ve both calmed considerably.

“What’s going on?” Ichigo asks, slowly sitting up. Merlin lets him go willingly.

It’s Zangetsu who starts talking, which is interesting since the last time they were here Ichigo practically had to pull his teeth out to get him to open up.

“Why am I still here?”

“...huh?”

“You woke up last time. I thought I would have disappeared when you knew I wasn’t your real Zanpakutou. Why am I still here?”

“Because you’re still mine?” Ichigo honestly isn’t sure why they’re even having this conversation. “He’s my zanpakuto and you’re my quincy power. I’m not very good at the bow so you’re stuck being a sword. Deal with it.”

Zangetsu gapes at him like a fish while Neive howls with laughter.

“Although,” Ichigo adds. “I need a better way to distinguish the two of you. He’s already Neive, but if he’s actually Zangetsu you can’t be just Zangetsu anymore. So… Tensa. Like the Bankai.”

“Like the one you barely even use?” Neive asks dryly while he wipes a tear from his eye.

“Hey! I was totally ready to use it to save Rukia! But nothing else has really happened since then! Even Hirako was just interested in the mask.”

“Besides, isn’t it always better to keep a card in your back pocket? Now the only people who know about our Bankai, or what it was before now, is Yoruichi and Renji. And probably Urahara, by extension.”

“Then you will call me that?” Zangetsu -Tensa- asks.

Ichigo nods with finality. “Tensa and Neive. Both parts of me. Both parts of Zangetsu.”

“You know,” Tensa begins, “Now that you’re going to be training your quincy powers, your fighting style may change further.”

“I would think so,” Ichigo says flatly. “But what exactly were you thinking?”

Tensa taps his fingers along his thigh. “It might not work in the human world, but the next time we’re in Seireitei I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” Ichigo nods at him, before he finally turns to Merlin.

“Don’t you have better things to do than drag me into your garden every night?” he jokes, even though he quietly appreciates it. He much prefers Avalon to fire and death and decay.

Merlin sniffs at him. “Unappreciative cur. I should banish you.”

“That’s the most bullshit old english thing you’ve ever said!” Ichigo shouts and tackles him into a cloud of flowers. Neive laughs loudly behind them while the pair of mages, one grand and one poor, tussle in a bouquet.

* * * * *

There’s a magic book breaking into buildings and killing people. There’s a famous author who looks like a child trying to solve the problem.

They can’t beat the book, because it’s not physically able to be beaten in the state it’s in. Or something. Ichigo’s not sure he understands what he was talking about, but the end result is that he gives the book a name.

Alice.

And all of a sudden the book is not a book, but a little girl clutching a tome of fairy tales to her chest. Her hair is white and her eyes are pink, and she’s absolutely tiny.

Ichigo grabs Mash by the should hard to keep her from going in fighting.

“No!” he snaps, dragging her back a step.

Mash’s brows furrow. “Master, this is the tome that was attacking people…”

“I know but…” he can’t let her hurt a kid. Besides. “Anderson said she wasn’t trying to kill anyone. She was looking for a master so she could take a human form. And I mean, I’m right here.”

Ichigo steps towards the girl, past Mash’s safety and the protection that might be provided by Anderson. He walks slowly, with his hands up so he won’t scare her.

Even if she could probably kill him, he doesn't want to frighten the girl.

“Hey there,” he says quietly. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. It’s nice to meet you Alice. Are you feeling better, now that you’ve got your own two hands?”

He waits for her hesitant nod.

“Would you like to come with us?” he asks. “You were looking for a master, right? Well I’m afraid I’m the only one in the city.”

He offers her his hand.

Slowly, so slowly, she places her own tiny hand in Ichigo’s larger, calloused one.

Ichigo picks her up gently into his arms, the fight forgotten. She hadn’t killed any of the people she’d attacked, which helps him justify this beyond him having a soft heart. He just can’t stand the idea of hurting a little girl. Or any little kid. He wants to protect Anderson too, even if he is a bit of an arrogant brat.

“Man, I hope Jekyll has a couple more rooms free,” Ichigo muses with a grin. Mash shakes her head at him.

“Master really does collect any strays he sees,” she says halfheartedly. “I’m sure Dr. Jekyll will find a place for everyone.”

“Good thing he’s not the type to yell.” The other personality though…

Well. Ichigo could handle Hyde if it came to it.

* * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #bleach fanfiction #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #Merlin Fate/Grand Order #medusa fate grand order #cu chulainn #hirako shinji #Urahra Kisuke #Achilles #nursery rhyme (fate)

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

A Spark To Ignite the Dead Wood

Cold, angular, gray. One door in, same door out.

A sleek reflective window, in which Jericho Kane could stare into his own sad mug, complete with all the ugly scars. His vision blurred as his mind wandered to what the window might be hiding on the other side of the interrogation room. A little camera on a stand with a blinking red light to indicate it was recording? A person, or two, waiting for some cop to enter the room and grill him for answers?

A thin chain connected his handcuffed wrists to a small metal hook on the table in front of him. The chain’s links rattled and ribbed against the hook whenever he budged, which he had to do every now and then, his fidgeting owed to the hard chair that made his sore butt cheeks ache, and a backrest designed to offer neither comfort nor invitation to lean back and relax. Everything here was perfectly engineered to make a stay as unpleasant as humanly possible.

Even the air in here was cold. A tiny little grate in one high corner of the room, big enough to fit two fists inside, took care of ventilation. Though it probably relied on air conditioning, he had to wonder if it was not allowing the cold wintry air to leak into this dreadful little room.

Following the sound of a key turning in a lock, a chunky clank heralded the door to the room opening. Jericho craned his head and spied the face of the person entering. Unfortunately, he recognized him. That recognition coaxed a groan to growl right out of Jericho’s throat.

It had been years, yet Jericho knew that unkempt beard, those horn-rimmed glasses on a flat nose, the receding hairline that framed a short mane of curly hair turning silvery, and that familiar face—now marked with days of sleep deprivation and wrinkled in what had to be disdain.

Using a hand that already gripped a thick manila folder while he carried a cheap plastic cup of steaming coffee in the other, Detective Augustus Shaw averted his gaze and slammed the door shut behind himself. He approached the table, plopped down the items from his hands, causing some coffee droplets to splash onto the surface, and pulled out the chair with an annoying sound of metal grinding against synthetic floor tiles.

Jericho shot a glance at the cup of coffee but tried not to let his thirsty gaze linger there. Neither would the cheap bitter swill help at all against the unpleasantly fluffy feeling of cottonmouth that plagued him right now, nor did he want to give Shaw any conversation material to work with. The career criminal and con man wanted to keep things short and painless. On some level, he did not want to waste the detective’s time, either.

“Jericho Kane,” Shaw said after demonstratively clearing his throat. “Long time no see. How long has it been since we’ve had the fortune of having your company around here in Maine?”

He took a sip from his cup and his forehead furrowed with crinkles counting both too many years of time on the force as well as from cringing over the coffee’s terrible aftertaste getting stuck on his tongue. Shaw shook it off and set the cup back down.

“Rap sheet tells me you’ve been pretty busy all these years, and up and down the whole East Coast, no less,” Shaw added, gently tapping the folder with his left palm. He cleared his throat again, audibly attempting to fight against the bitter film clinging to the roof of his mouth. Then he asked, “Do you want to hop right in and spill the beans, or do I need to flirt it outta ya?”

Shaw smiled at him, though no sincerity reached the crow’s feet framing the corners of his eyes. The detective hated being here as much as Jericho did, even though he could have walked out of the interrogation room anytime.

“Are we burying the lead here? How’s about you just tell me what business you had in any of the places you were trespassing in all week, and we both get to leave sooner? I know both of—”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Jericho interrupted him sharply. He swallowed and stared at the place where the chain and hook on the table met, between the coffee stain and the pointless pile of papers and photographs jammed into the overflowing folder.

He could practically hear Shaw’s frown when a stifled sigh made the detective’s nostrils flare, and the seconds of silence that followed only underlined that air of disappointment.

“Okay,” Shaw said, taking another sip from his coffee and the smacking his lips indicating instant regret. “Alright. Fast-trackin’ this, then we both get to leave sooner. You work for the group that runs drugs across the northern border?”

“When’s the lawyer getting here?”

“Sources tell me you’ve worked for two crime syndicates—at least. One in NYC and the other all the way down in Miami. Any others send you onto an errand in our neck of the woods?”

“Not saying anything without a lawyer, man.”

“You went from being a two-bit drifter and con artist, constantly getting evicted from really terrible apartments, to your parole officer in Rhode Island refusing to offer any statement and looking like he had seen a ghost after you got out of the slammer.”

Jericho just kept his mouth shut. He jutted his jaw out and his lips curled inward, turning into a hard-pressed, thin, white line.

“Listen, man, I know you’re not a terrible person. Probably still got debt to pay off to some heavy hitters, right?”

Nothing.

“Some people in my position would mistake this monstrous pile of paper for proof that you’re a monstrous person, but I know better. Most people in your position got your reasons, constantly wonder if they’re bad people themselves, and deep down somewhere, buried underneath all the rotten things you experienced and any crimes you committed, you’re just—just a human being.”

Jericho deeply disagreed and looked up at the detective, locking eyes with him. He silently mouthed “lawyer” at him. Shaw ignored that and continued.

“You’re always down on your luck ‘cause people like us don’t get to win the lottery. We get dealt a bad hand in life, and we roll with whatever we’ve got.”

Shaw cradled the plastic cup, balancing it on an edge as his fingers idly circled it in his hand.

“Well, today’s your lucky day for a change, Jericho. Work with me here. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time.”

Lawyer, Jericho thought, hoping that telepathy might finally work for him, one of these days.

“See, you can disappear behind bars for a while for some petty bullshit, or you can cooperate with me, because I’m really not that interested in you,” Shaw said, taking another pained sip from the cup. “No offense.”

Lawyer?

The telepathy did not seem to be working, or Shaw was blowing it off. No way to tell. Maybe this was not the best opportunity to try it out, but it was not like Jericho had anything better to do right now.

“See, I know things got weird at some point,” Shaw said. The cup plopped down onto the table’s surface and he leaned over it, closer towards Jericho.

He was playing to make their exchange feel more intimate, the crook figured. But the detective’s tone had shifted, and a strange glint flashed across his eyes. Jericho could not help but feel intrigued.

Did Shaw know more than he was letting on?

“A cigar-smoking guy in a stretch limo invites you in after a botched 'milk run’ in a meat packing plant, says he can make all your problems go away,” Shaw said.

Jericho kept his eyes locked onto the detective’s. How in the hell did he know about that?

“He offered you new work and the money he was offering was too good to turn down, so of course you took it. Who in your position wouldn’t have? Lemme guess, he had big mean-looking fellas in white suits with big mean-looking guns, and Cigar Man’s speech was a monologue with you for an audience.”

Frighteningly on point. Shaw had arrested Jericho’s full attention. Not a single thought trailed off, not a single word formed inside his head. He still wanted a lawyer before he admitted to anything, but the eerie accuracy of Shaw’s description rendered Jericho’s attention rapt.

“But the guy in the packing plant made your mouth melt shut and you had some voodoo man in New Orleans get that fixed. And there was that crumpled bag from the golden arches that provided a happy meal and a poisoned apple every day. Or a serial killer priest who ritually crucified himself after mass and could turn into the Incredible fucking Hulk before you and some of Cigar Man’s boys put him down like a dog and several dozen rounds of point-fifty caliber ammo,” Shaw said.

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat. Though Shaw was only scratching at the surface of all the unreal things he had witnessed in his recent years working for the “club"—the detective somehow knew. Knew of what Jericho liked to call "the weird shit.”

Shaw shot a glance at the mirrored window and said in a hushed murmur, “There’s nobody over there, Kane. No camera, nothing. I know better than to let anybody else in on this. I know how weird and un-fucking-believable all of this is. Hell, I question my own sanity just saying any of this out loud, but I have seen some shit myself. And—listen—I’m here to hear you out. I just want to—I wanna know the truth.”

Jericho swallowed the big empty wad of nothing that suddenly lodged itself inside this throat, yet it refused to go down no matter how many times he repeated the useless motion. That ball of anxiety stayed stuck right there, a slimy void only adding to the rest of his discomfort. He leaned back in his chair despite how painful the metal bars bracing the backrest felt.

“Look, I know of the Carcosa Casino job you were part of, down in Atlantic City. What did they call the 'package’ you were supposed to take from those thugs? 'Lightweight ghosts?’ What in God’s name is that, anyway?”

Jericho shook his head, croaked out a clipped, “Dunno.”

“You didn’t ask questions. Can’t say I blame you,” Shaw said, shaking his head in unison. “Probably woulda done the same in your shoes.”

He broke eye contact and shoved the folder in between the two of them. Flipped it open. Papers rustled; glossy prints of pictures glided from the main pile onto the discard pile he started right next to it.

Jericho recognized the Heavenly Night bar from one of the big photos even though this image depicted it as charred black and burnt down—from that one time when he had set it on fire with a thought. From that one time when he had discovered what unnatural abilities he possessed.

Another picture portrayed Jericho in a black raincoat with a green surgical mask on his face and sunglasses concealing his eyes, toting a silenced pistol in one hand—but he easily identified the distinct shape of his own head despite the stubble left behind after shaving it.

His typical “job attire” whenever he worked for Cigar Man.

“You usually get self-deleting messages with simple, straightforward instructions and are left to figure out the rest. You’re pretty good at that, right?” Shaw asked.

More pictures. Incident reports. A timeline of all the weirdness that Jericho had lived through. Hints at the world hidden behind the world, a world of human monsters that could alter reality on a whim as soon as they figured out the cosmic cheat codes. Most people do their damnedest to rationalize the weird to the best of their ability, but at some point, it gets hard to deny it all. Shaw must have gotten there on his own.

“The four-digit numbers just kept piling up in your bank account and everything stayed untraceable. Shit, Jericho, one of the guys at Homeland Security admitted to me that they didn’t just fail to trace anything—they couldn’t. Every data trail just vanishes into thin fuckin’ air. Like the hand of God reached through every computer and wiped every record clean.”

Jericho had gotten a message from Cigar Man just last week, so his mind went there. The new job. He dispelled the thoughts, focusing on trying to get a read on the seasoned detective. What was his deal? Was he on the payroll of the other syndicate? The douchebags over in Europe?

“And I get it, man. You never ever stopped to question this, because it’s both too good to be true—and too scary to fuck with,” Shaw droned on.

His sympathy was grating on his Jericho’s nerves but clearly genuine. The crook sensed it. The detective felt that same spark he had felt himself, all those years ago.

That time when he still struggled to understand it all. When he felt ambition, wanting to know how the secret world worked. How things like magick functioned, and trying to understand what, if any, difference existed between ghosts and demons.

That spark always struck dry wood, igniting the debris that rested, dead and dormant at the back of one’s mind, bursting into flames and feeding roaring fires of burning curiosity.

Shaw finally fell silent and stopped shuffling through the papers and photos. He let his gaze wander back upwards, scanning Jericho’s face for a reaction until they locked eyes again. That glint in his eyes—it reflected the hungry fires, consuming any knowledge it could get.

“C'mon. I know you wanna talk to me. You wanna talk to somebody, anybody. I’m not your enemy, Jericho. I’m not like him. I’m not—”

Jericho’s heart began to race in that instance and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing in advance what name Shaw was about to utter. A horrid premonition during which time almost slowed to a complete halt and his eyes went wide.

“No!” Jericho suddenly shouted. “Don’t say—”

Shaw’s brow furrowed but he continued anyway, oblivious to the trigger he was pulling, “I’m not The Way King.”

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat and his blood curdled. The harsh white light from the neon tube overhead in the interrogation room flickered in response to that name being spoken.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jericho hissed, elongating the vowel in agonized defeat.

“Something wrong with me saying that? The Way King?” Shaw asked, continuing to shoot his mouth off, oblivious to the smoking gun he unwittingly kept firing every time he flapped his gums.

“Shut the fuck up! Stop saying his fucking name!”

The lights flickered again. The background noise—that constant buzz of chatter and drawers and metal doors and shoes tapping against hard floors and someone shouting and some chuckling and people on the phones and—all the life in the police station, muffled through the steel door, it all went dead. All at once.

Jericho lurched forward, causing Shaw to shift back in his seat, startled. But the surprise written across the detective’s visage mirrored the dread that must have taken hold of Jericho’s own face. Jericho showed him his empty palms in surrender.

“I will tell you whatever the fuck you wanna know. But you gotta—you have to fucking unlock me, right now. We need to get out of here,” Jericho whispered at him, enunciating every syllable with sharp endings and harsh gravity punctuating every stop.

Shaw stared at him, slack jawed. Now it was the detective’s turn to swallow a big lump of nothing that had gotten lodged in his throat. He bit his lip for a second and his hand went for his pocket. Crammed his fist right in there and dug around to look for the key.

Then the detective started shaking, wracked with spasms like he was being seized by an epileptic attack. His mouth started to foam while he gurgled.

The chain ribbed and rattled as Jericho leaned back as far as he could, trying to gain as much distance as possible, until he felt the tug of cold metal keeping him locked in place, and he heard the crunch of the chain accompany his bondage bringing him to a helpless stop.

Shaw’s eyes rolled back so far into his head that they looked only white and bloodshot. Then a hideous grin shaped across his face, clearly not his own. Drool dribbled down from the curve of his lip, forming pearls on the way down Shaw’s beard until the saliva dripped down onto his lap.

“There you are,” the Way King spoke through Shaw’s mouth, stealing his voice but spewing it out in a different cadence and tone. “Told you, boy. I will always find you, no matter where you go.”

Blood rushed in Jericho’s ears, his heart pounded like one of those huge Japanese drums; just thundering away and drowning out everything, leaving him deaf to the rest of the world and mesmerized by the spiderweb of crimson in Shaw’s white eyes, knowing that the Way King now stared at him through the powerless borrowed vessel.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

The handcuffs sprung open without anybody manipulating them. Jericho froze. Did not dare budge.

There was no point in running.

He was going to have to hear this demonic dickhead out now.

His deals always sucked.

—Submitted by Wratts

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whump-tr0pes · 5 years ago

Text

Honor Bound 2 - 43

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: past parental abuse and abandonment

Isaac lounged on his bed, drifting. He wasn’t tired enough to take a nap, but he didn’t feel like doing anything else. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes moving slowly over the swirl of the drywall. Finding patterns. Daydreaming.

He’d never been so well-rested that he wouldn’t just pass out as soon as he got horizontal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt safe enough to sleep late. To nap. The team had planning to do if they were to leave the north in two days, but they still had time. Vera and Gray were discussing strategy in the living room with the sort of heavy sadness that came with the knowledge that Gray wouldn’t be coming with them. It was a conversation that Isaac knew he should be a part of, but he couldn’t force himself to get out of bed and join them. He just wanted to rest. In a few days, their lives would be nothing but adrenaline and sleep deprivation and blood again. For this moment, he just wanted peace. For this moment, he just wanted to rest. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Hey, you have a minute?”

Isaac jumped slightly, despite the gentle tone in Gray’s voice. He groaned and rolled onto his side, putting his feet flat on the floor. “Yeah. Sorry. Do you need to talk strategy, or…?”

“No. I wanted to get outside, and I wanted to talk to you. Walk with me?”

Isaac nodded as he reached for his jacket. “Yeah. Sure thing.”

As he passed through the living room to grab his shoes, Vera smiled at him. He smiled back, his heart clenching, unsettled by the sadness behind her eyes. He swallowed and walked out the door behind Gray into the afternoon air.

“Gray?” he said, his voice breaking. “What’s, um… what’s up?”

Gray smiled sadly. “We have a lot to talk about. I wanted to talk to you before I let the others know.”

Isaac felt a prickle of sweat under his shirt. “Gray… what is it?”

Gray sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being unnecessarily cryptic. I just…” They cleared their throat. “It’s very hard for me to think about it myself.” They looked up at the sky, and Isaac saw tears glittering in their eyes. “Ah. You know I can’t go south with you.”

Isaac’s breath rushed out of him. “I… I know. Because of…” He glanced at Gray’s chest, where there was an almost-healed wound from Gavin’s bullet.

“Not just because of that. Isaac…” They exhaled sharply in something that resembled a bitter laugh. “I’m fifty-three years old. I’ve been in this fight for… oh. Almost twenty years.” They laughed gently. “I’ve been trying to outrun time all those years. Trying to outrun injuries and sickness. Death. Gavin very nearly killed me last year. If I was a few years older, he might have.”

“No way,” Isaac said brokenly, holding back tears. “Finn woulda patched you up. You would’ve been just fine.”

Gray smiled. “I’m sure they would appreciate hearing that. And it’s not that I don’t have faith in them. Honestly, quite a few of us would be dead if it wasn’t for them. But the fact is…” They ran their hand through their short hair. “I’m slowing down. I can hardly keep up with the rest of you most of the time. I’m pretty sure I have arthritis in my knees. And… I have a feeling breathing is going to be harder for the rest of my life. The doctors had to take a piece of my lung. That’ll never grow back. My place isn’t on the front lines anymore.”

“But you lead us,” Isaac said, his voice small. “You make the decisions. You know the most about strategy. You know the syndicates inside and out. Gray, you… your decisions have kept us safe for as long as I’ve known you, and before.”

Gray bit their lip and walked in silence for a while. After several minutes they said, “I’ve questioned so many decisions I’ve made.”

“We all do.” Isaac swallowed the lump rising in his throat. His chest felt tight, and his eyes burned. “Gray, p-please…”

Gray stopped and looked at Isaac square on. “Isaac… I’m sorry. It’s not just that I’m a liability to the team if I can’t keep up physically. I put myself in danger. I put you at risk. My body couldn’t keep doing this forever, Isaac.”

A shuddering sob rolled over Isaac’s shoulders. The tears spilled over. “Gray, no… fuck… G-Gray, please, I…” Isaac tried to swallow around the tearing feeling in his throat. “Gray, please don’t… leave…” He covered his mouth with his hands.

“Oh,” Gray whispered. They pulled Isaac into their arms.

Isaac unraveled in Gray’s embrace, great, heaving sobs crashing through him. He clutched at Gray, digging his fingers into their back, latching onto their shirt. Gray swayed with him slowly as Isaac wept into their shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Gray murmured. “You’re alright, Isaac.”

“But I’m gonna miss you so much,” Isaac sobbed.

“I know. I’m still gonna be around. I’ll be up north, and you can still visit between missions.”

“But it won’t be the same. You… you won’t be…”

Gray smoothed their fingers through Isaac’s hair and laughed softly. “Now Isaac, don’t say I won’t be part of the family or my feelings will be hurt.”

“No,” Isaac wailed. “No you, you will be, you always will, you’ll be in the family but you won’t be, be here… Gray, please, I’ve lost so many people, please, I can’t lose you too…”

“You’re not losing me, Isaac,” Gray soothed. “I’m not leaving you. Okay?” Gray took Isaac’s chin in their hand. They looked earnestly into Isaac’s eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Gray, no, please no, don’t do this.”

“Isaac,” Gray murmured, pitching their voice low. “Listen to me. Breathe in.”

Isaac obeyed, unquestioning. Trusting. He took in a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Gray’s face.

“Good. Let it out.”

Isaac let the breath go, trembling as it went.

“Okay. Now listen to me. I am not leaving you.”

Isaac bit his lip and nodded. “I’m s-sorry, I—”

“I know you have a lot of, ah, baggage around being abandoned, Isaac. Especially for… for people telling you that you’re less than they demanded.”

“But if I hadn’t… If I had killed Gavin, if I’d kept you safe, you wouldn’t’ve been shot. You’d still be healthy. I c-can’t stop, stop fucking blaming myself…”

“…and it feels like I’m leaving you for failing me.” Gray ducked into Isaac’s eyeline. “Right?”

Isaac sniffed and nodded.

Gray’s hands rested on Isaac’s shoulders. “Let’s get a few things straight here. First, I am not leaving you. I’m retiring from the team because of my health, and so that you all can have somewhere safe to rest when you come north. With someone who knows you, and understands. Okay?” Isaac nodded. “Okay. Second, you did not fail me. If anything, I’ve failed you. I failed to protect Sam, and I failed to prevent Gavin from taking you. The plan I helped make and was responsible for executing nearly got all of us killed. We only escaped because of you and Vera. And all this time, I…” They smoothed Isaac’s hair again. “I had no idea you were still hurting this much.”

Isaac stared at the ground. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Gray sighed. “Yes, I know. It was my responsibility to teach you that you can lean on people. I should have seen how deep your wounds go, and helped you with them.”

“That’s not your job,” Isaac mumbled.

Gray laughed. “No, but it is my calling. I used to be a counselor, remember?”

Isaac smiled slightly. “Yeah. I remember. But the rest… that wasn’t your responsibility. I made the decision to go to Gavin. And I’m the one who left Sam vulnerable. You’re the one who brought us to Tori, who had that connection that started this entire operation. You’re the one who’s been finding the rescues we’ve saved this year. And more than that. You’ve gotten us through the past seven years, when Ellis first found you. You’ve done… so much, Gray. No one could ever replace you.”

Gray’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That’s interesting. Because I was hoping you’d be the one to replace me.”

Isaac’s mouth dropped open.

Gray’s smile grew wider. “What? What makes you less qualified than anyone else?”

“Um… because I’m a fucking mess, Gray!” Isaac scrubbed his face on his t-shirt.

Gray snorted. “We all are. Including me.”

“No, you’re… you’re fine! But… Gavin still puts me on edge, I have flashbacks all the time, I can’t go a fucking week without crying over something that happened fifteen years ago—”

“All of which you are healing from. And something tells me you’ll be able to take care of Gavin, too.”

“I can’t control Gavin. I have no fucking clue how we’re going to handle him once we go south.”

Gray tilted their head. “He trusts you now.”

Isaac scoffed. “He trusts me?”

“Yes.”

Isaac backed down a little.

Gray smiled ruefully. “You threw yourself in front of a loaded gun for him yesterday. You saved his life. Before this, he respected you. Now… now, he’ll follow you.”

“No way.” Isaac shook his head. “No way. There’s no way I ask him to fight with us against his mother.”

“I think you’d be surprised what he would be willing to do for someone who cares about whether he lives or dies. Makes him feel safe. Protects him. You do all of that for him, Isaac.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d fight his family for me. Family issues run deep. There’s probably an entire iceberg of issues there that we don’t know about.”

Gray nodded. “All of which, I think, will just push him closer to your side.”

“It’s not something I’m willing to bet the family on,” Isaac said darkly.

“That’s fair.” Gray tilted their head. “Unfortunately for us, we’re stuck with him. Fortunately, he’s proven very cooperative.”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to make a snide remark about that. I think he really does want to be a part of this family.

Isaac raised his gaze to Gray’s. “Why not Vera?”

Gray laughed. “I talked to her about it. She didn’t want it.”

“Neither do I!” Isaac cried.

Gray pressed their lips together. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to share it?”

“Yes.” Isaac nodded. “Yes. Please. I don’t… I don’t want this. I don’t want the… the responsibility…”

“You take responsibility for them every day,” Gray said, laughing gently, shaking their head.

“This is… is different.”

“Hm.” Gray squeezed Isaac’s shoulder. “Even so, I think you both could lead very well together. You already work so well as a team. Always have.”

“Always will,” Isaac said with a smile.

Gray nodded. Smiled. “I’m glad to know they’ll be taken care of. This family is everything to me. I can’t think of a better two people to take care of them.”

Isaac blushed and looked at the ground. The praise made him feel shivery and warm inside, in a way almost nothing else did. “I’ll keep them safe.”

Gray clicked their tongue. “No one can promise that. But I know you’ll do your best, and your best has always, always been enough, Isaac.”

Isaac’s eyes welled with tears again. Gray turned to keep walking. Isaac walked silently beside them for a long time, before they turned back to walk to the house.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript

#honor bound 2 #whump #emotional whump #isaac's PTSD #fear of abandonment #parental abuse tw #murder bros #my oc: Isaac

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emily-strange · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances

Thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in this story :) means so much. I just wanted to note that this story won’t be “look how awful Abigail is”. I have too much love for her to do that! Everything has a reason.

Tagging @porkchop-ao3 @redeadepression and @lucacangettathisass who asked but if you’d like me to stop let me know :) <3

For the premise of this story, Jack is a little bit younger. I just can’t hurt that boy’s feelings!

Summary: You’re Sadie Adler’s 18 year old daughter who was visiting from school when the O’Driscoll’s attack. How will you cope with gang life and your increasing feelings for someone who, on the surface, isn’t up for grabs?

Pairing: John Marston x female reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of Blood

Chapter 2

Arthur was true to his word. He took you into Valentine with the other girls and even lent you a bit of money to get some new clothes, which was greatly appreciated. You’ve been wearing a dress lent to you by Mary-Beth and considering you were wearing a nightgown when Dutch and Arthur found you, you really couldn’t complain. But having the chance to get back into a pair of jeans was amazing.

So kitted out in some new clothes and borrowing Arthur’s rifle, you both went hunting. Which was a great success. In one trip, you already had enough money to pay back Arthur and you had the feeling he was impressed.

He spoke to Dutch who agreed to let you out of camp on a trial basis. You weren’t particularly happy about being dictated to about your comings and goings, but this gang did save you and your mother so you decide to just go with it. For now, at least.

That was about three weeks ago.

And now you’re riding into camp (after being away for almost two days with Charles) with quite a bit of stuff for Pearson and some money in your pocket. Most of which is for camp but at least you can take your mom to town and get her a few things. Treat her to some new clothes and essentials.

“Hi mama” you say approaching her after delivering the meat and pelts to Pearson. Unfortunately, your mother was where you left her. Sitting by the campfire, just staring into the flames. She wasn’t doing well.

Your mothers always been a strong woman, she didn’t take crap from anyone. So, when Colm’s men attacked that horrible night, she became ruthless. Almost feral. You’d never seen such rage. If only there’d been less of them, maybe you all would’ve stood a chance.

But you can’t think about that. No, you need to be strong for the both of you now. She kept you both going during the long, horrible days and nights with the O’Driscoll’s. Now it was your turn to do the same for her.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask softly sitting down next to her, rubbing her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, they look so sore.

“How’d you think she’s feelin’?” Abigail bites, appearing out of nowhere to stand opposite you with her arms crossed, “Her husband’s gone and her only child is gallivanting around fer days on end!”

You were stunned into silence.

By the time your brain caught up with your shock, your mother had hurried off crying. Followed closely by her new best friend.

What the hell? You think to yourself. Totally confused.

You took a moment to watch Abigail hug your mother by her lean-to and fury took over.

How dare she! You scream internally.

You throw yourself to your feet and storm off into the trees, making sure to put as much distance between yourself and the camp without actually leaving the area.

You make it to a secluded part by the cliffs edge and without stopping your fast pace, you pick up the biggest stone you can see and throw it off into the open cavern below.

Oh God. You think. What if there are people down there?

Having had the wind taken out of your sails by the mere thought of hurting a passer-by, you edge closer to the side of the cliff. Hoping to peak over the top without being seen.

You move slowly…..

Slowly…..

You peer a tiiiiny bit over the edge, when….

“You know there ain’t no one down there, right?”

You jump back from the edge and squeal. Actually squeal. You turn around to see John sitting under the shade of a big tree reading a large book.

“Oh my God. John!” you gasp holding your chest and laughing, “I didn’t see you.”

“Nah didn’t think ya did.” He smiles back.

You hadn’t really seen much of John the past couple of weeks, with you keeping your head down and him doing the same. He looks so much better than he did. His scars are healing well.

“Wanna…..talk, about it?” he asks somewhat awkwardly, gesturing to the spot next to him on the ground.

You sigh loudly and smirk at his attempt at comfort. You nod and walk over to the tree, sitting down with a very unladylike thud and grunt.

“Just….people.” you smile at him.

“People are tha worst” John replies quickly making you giggle.

You rub your forehead and John hums.

“You do that a lot ya know.” You glance up in time to see him gesture to your forehead.

Looking up at him you’d say he almost looks….concerned.

“I get a lot of headaches…especially when stressed…everything’s stressful” you answer with another sigh before looking him dead in the eye and laughing, “Anyway, you been watching me John Marston?”

John lets out a gruff laugh and holds his book to hide his face before groaning, “Ahh pleaaase don’t call me that.”

You giggle again.

“What!? It’s your name?” you can’t help but increase your laughter at his bizarre request.

He moves the book and slumps back against the tree behind him.

“Don’t remind me. S’the only thing I hear.” He huffs out.

That’s when it clicks.

“Abigail?” you ask quietly and he nods.

“And Arthur. And Dutch. God an’ Hosea. But he says it with more disappointment than the others.” He explains and you nod along, letting him know you’re listening.

He looks so sad. So pale and drawn out.

You then remember the very, very, brief conversation those weeks ago in his tent.

“John…can I ask about….the ‘Jack’ of it all? You know, what you mentioned before?” you say quietly and almost regret doing so when his face falls even further. If that’s at all possible.

You’d tried to get some information from Arthur about the whole situation but he didn’t shed much light on the subject. He seems to have his own issues with John. You stopped your line of questioning very quickly once he started questioning you back about why you wanted to know.

Being nosy didn’t seem like a very good reason.

“He’s. He’s not mine.” John says looking you in the eye without a hint of anger or uncertainty.

“But you, had a…relationship? With Abigail.” you ask choosing your words carefully and he scoffs.

“If you cn call it that. We hada thing yeah. But we weren’t….together. Not really. She was still workin’…..in camp n outta it. The timin’s don’t add up. I know people think I’m dumb n maybe I am but….I’m not that dumb.” He says and finishes with a humourless laugh.

You don’t really know what to say. So you just nod. Silently letting him know he can carry on if he wants.

“I love her….but it’s not that kinda love you know?” You don’t really know, having never been in love, so you just stay quiet. “Anyway. Boy ain’t mine. Can’t be. But she’s said he is n that’s that. Guess she figured Dutch woulda believed any of the others if they said it weren’t theirs. N’ if it were some customer from a saloon then well…..she did what she hadta do I guess.”

“But have you told anyone all of that? Like, Hosea?” you ask feeling instantly stupid when he laughs. He catches the drop of your eyes and promptly stops.

“Sorry, I weren’t laughin’ at you. Its just real obvious you ain’t never been ina gang.” he smiles.

How have you only just noticed how nice his smile is? Your face heats up but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Moment she told me, I went ta Arthur. He’s like ma brother. Was like ma brother. He told me it was time ta be a man…..but hows that fair!?” he said raising his voice a bit and without meaning to, you flinch.

That he did notice.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine.” you say quickly, making sure he knows he didn’t do anything wrong, “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“So’re you ya know. About, ya know, what happened.” There’s that awkward attempt to comfort again.

You nod and bring your knees up, holding them to your chest, taking a long deep breath.

“Not sure that’s true you know.” You sigh, looking out into the blue sky. Trying to remember when things weren’t so sad. John just looks at you with confusion.

“I mean. Have you seen my mother? She’s a wreck. Of course she is, who wouldn’t be? But. We can’t both fall apart. She kept everything together for such a long time….she deserves her time to grieve. I can wait.” You say hoping to convince yourself as well as John.

You sit with John in a comfortable silence for about 10 minutes when you hear his name being shouted in the distance. It’s hard to tell but it’s a good guess to say that it’s Abigail.

“God dammit” John groans and rubs his face a bit too hard, causing one of his scabs to shift and a small amount of blood to rise to the surface, “Shit.”

You put your shirt sleeve over your palm and shift closer to John. You go to touch his chin, to guide his face to look at you but like you earlier, he flinches.

For a brief moment you both just look at each other.

Without saying anything you reach forward again and this time he lets you gently pull his face forward. You ever so gently dab at his face, getting rid of the visible blood spots. All the while his eyes are closed.

When the shouting gets a bit louder you pull back but, as you do, John seems to follow after your hand. Before he quickly catches himself and opens his eyes.

“Thanks” he says before coughing and looking anywhere but at your face, “Guess I should get back before she sends out a search party.”

You smile softly, “I’m sure she means well. Just worried I guess.”

John finally looks you in the eye and nods, grimacing from his leg wound as he stands up. Book in hand. You remain seated.

“Ya know, I uh, come out here quite a bit. No one from camp seems ta walk out this far.” He says looking down at you. You find yourself completely at a loss of how to respond so you just nod and say ‘okay’. He laughs a bit to himself and turns to walk into the trees before stopping and turning back briefly to you, “Maybe see you here again then.”

John doesn’t wait for you to reply before walking into the trees, away from camp again. You figure he must be doing a loop around so no one sees what direction he comes from.

You roll your sleeve back up and make a mental note to wash it before anyone sees. You don’t need to answer questions of how you have blood on your clothes but no injury.

You move into the spot John was in so you can lean back against the tree and watch the sun get lower and lower.

Before you know it, you drift off to sleep.

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bamby0304 · 5 years ago

Text

Her Saviours- Ch.28

Series Masterlist

Summary: During an odd case, the Winchesters came across Y/N, a scared young Omega girl who had been used as a lure for a nest of vampires. After rescuing her from the monsters, John and his sons took her in knowing she was in no state to live among ordinary people. But three Alphas and one Omega is a mixture bound for disaster.

Warnings: Explicit language. ABO dynamics. Angst.

Bamby

Leaning against the Impala, you were kicking at the floor, trying not to make yourself seem too noticeable. Since the faith healer case things hadn’t been great between you and the brothers. Dean had distanced himself, whereas Sam had tried getting closer to you. It was confusing, and frustrating, and painful.

You felt like the rope in their game of tug-o-war. You felt as if you were just a tool the two brothers could use against each other. Did either of them actually care about how their bantering and fighting was affecting you?

“Ok. I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here,” Sam started as he looked away from the map on the roof of Baby and towards his brother- who was on the phone. “We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought.”

Hanging up the phone, Dean didn’t even give Sam a look before he started towards his side of the car. “Yeah. Problem is, we're not going to Pennsylvania.”

Sam frowned at him, confused. “We what?”

“I just got a call from an, uh, old friend,” Dean explained. “Her father was killed last night, think it might be our kind of thing.”

“What?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Believe me, she never woulda called, never, if she didn't need us.” Getting into the car, he turned on the engine before leaning over to look at you and Sam on the other side. “Come on, are you coming or not?”

Arms folded over your chest, you turned to meet Dean’s gaze. “An old friend?”

“Yeah… it’s Cassie.”

The force of that word hit you hard in the chest. Memories of her, and what happened when she was in your lives, stung so bad you already felt you nose tingling with a threat of coming tears.

Without a word, you gave a firm nod and got into the car, slamming the door behind you. Dean didn’t even bother scolding you… he knew better than to poke the bear.

…

As Dean drove down the road, Sam eventually decided to break the awkward silence.

“By old friend you mean...?”

“A friend that's not new,” Dean answered simply.

Sam scoffed. “Oh yeah, thanks. So her name's Cassie huh? You never mentioned her.”

“Didn't I?” Dean wasn’t giving him much, and it was pissing you off more.

Cassie had been a big part of Dean’s life for a few weeks. She was the only other girl, besides yourself, that got close to him. It wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just a fling. Dean had real feelings for the girl… and during that time you had to play your usual role as his sister.

Watching the guy you have feelings and not being able to do or say anything as he falls for someone else… they were some of the worst weeks of your life.

“They dated,” you noted shortly, earning a glare from Dean as Sam’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “It was almost a year after you left. John caught wind of a case in Ohio, so of course he and Dean went to go to their thing. I kept myself busy at the local college library, because I was too old to be in school, and being stuck in the motel rooms hurt too much.”

Both brothers flinched, not missing your reminder of how things were for you when Sam left.

“I met Cassie, the only other Omega in the library. We became friends and hung out for the day. And then Dean met her when he came to pick me up, and they hit it off, too.” You let the implication of what followed hang in the air.

The look of disbelief and disappointment that crossed Sam’s face made your heart swell a little. “You hooked up with her friend?”

“Cassie didn’t see any reason not to, considering I was playing the sister role,” you added.

That just seemed to piss Sam off more. “Seriously? You made her pretend to be your sister, and then you hooked up with her new friend?”

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Let it go, Sam. It’s in the past.”

“Really? Because we’re driving out of our way right now to go help this chick. Doesn’t seem like it’s in the past to me.” He glared at his brother. “By the way, how does she know what we do?”

“Dean told her,” you answered without missing a beat. Dean glared at you through the rearview mirror yet again.

“You told her, the secret!” You could smell the scent of Sam’s anger. “Our big family rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a coupla times and you tell her everything?”

Dean didn’t flinch. He just kept his eyes on the road, staring straight ahead.

Growing impatient, Sam snapped, “Dean!”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “Looks like.”

…

You didn’t even hide your discomfort or the fact you were borderline pissed off as you followed the brothers into the newspaper office. Straight away, you spotted Cassie. She looked as gorgeous as she had all those years ago. You’d always felt a little plain compared to her, but considering the fact she’d spent weeks with Dean while you’d been side lined, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Spotting Dean and the rest of us, Cassie froze as he smiled and nodded at her.

“Dean.” She slowly started towards him.

“Hey Cassie.”

The two of them started at each other for a moment longer than was necessary. You felt your insides twist in discomfort. Seeing the way she looked at him, and the way he looked at her...

Clearing his throat, Dean gestured to you and Sam. “This is my brother, Sam, and you remember my sister, Y/N.”

Turning her smile to you, Cassie nodded. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you responded shortly. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Tearing your eyes from her, you looked up at Sam. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

Without a word or a look at Dean, you walked off, not wanting to see his watching her with a doe eyed look anymore.

…

Cassie brought in a tray of tea and cups to where Sam, Dean and you were sitting in her living room. You’d pulled Sam down to sit next to you before either brother could choose where to sit. There was no way you could handle being close to Dean at this point.

Not that it mattered, considering he wanted to be next to Cassie anyway.

“My mothers in pretty bad shape,” Cassie started as she handed out cups of tea. “I've been staying with her. I wish she wouldn't go off by herself. She's been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about dad”

“Why?” Dean asked as he took a cup from her.

“He was scared. He was seeing things.”

“Like what?”

“He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him.”

Taking a cup from her as well, Sam asked, “A truck. Who was the driver?”

“He didn't talk about a driver. Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear. And, in the accident, Dad's car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big.”

“Now you're sure this dent wasn't there before?”

Cassie shook her head. “He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn't a scratch on that thing. It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from dad's car...leading right to the edge, where he went over.” She bowed her head, trying to get control over her emotions. “One set of tracks. His.”

Dean didn’t even try his tea before setting it on the table beside him. “The first was a friend of your fathers?”

“Best friend. Clayton Soames.They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No Tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about dad. He 'lost control of his car.'”

“Can you think of any reason why your father and his partner might be targets?”

“No.”

“And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” Sam asked between sips of his drink.

You were remaining quiet, stirring your drink. Part of you wanted to be petty and leave it. But the other part of you that still remembered you and Cassie had been friends at one point felt it would be too rude.

“When you say it aloud like that…” Cassie stopped herself with a sigh. “Listen, I'm a little sceptical about this… ghost stuff… or whatever it is you guys are into.”

Dean scoffed. “Skeptical. If I remember, I think you said I was nuts.”

“That was then,” she countered.

The two of them started at each other for a moment, making you feel uncomfortable all over again.

Shaking her head, she got back on track. “I just know that I can't explain what happened up there. So I called you.”

The front door opened then as a woman walked in before stopping as she spotted the four of you in the living room.

“Mum.” Cassie was on her feet in an instant, hurrying over to help her mum. “Where have you been I was so…”

Mrs Robinson interrupted her, watching as you, Sam and Dean rose to your feet. “I had no idea you'd invited friends over.”

“Mum, this is Dean, a… friend of mine from... college,” Cassie gestured to the three of you. “And his brother Sam, and his sister Y/N.”

You had to grit your teeth at the reminder of your role. You hated that lie. Out of everything you had to do while being in the hunter life, you hated having to pretend you were their sister.

“Well I won't interrupt you.” Mrs Robinson started to head for the stairs.

Before she could get far, Dean called out to stop her, “Mrs Robinson. We're sorry for your loss. We'd like to talk to you for a minute if you don't mind?”

Her voice shook as she responded, “I'm really not up for that right now.” Turning away, she began to leave again, and this time no one tried to stop her.

Once Mrs Robinson was gone, Sam shifted on his heels as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “We should really get going. Find a motel. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

Cassie nodded. “Okay.”

You and the brothers began to leave, but before you could walk out the front door Cassie grabbed your arm and stopped you. You turned to her, shocked and confused.

“Can we… can we talk for a moment?”

After a pause, you looked to Sam and Gave a short nod. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam dragged him away before he could make a sound. The two brothers walked out the front door, leaving you and Cassie alone for the first time, and in an instant you felt the tension in the air grow.

“I… I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to be apologising for,” she started.

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe… because of how I ended things between me and your brother?”

You scoffed. You couldn’t help yourself as you looked up at the ceiling and gave a short laugh. “No, Cassie, you don’t have to apologise for how you ended things with my brother.”

Frowning, her confusion grew. “Then why are you being so cold? So distant? We were friends once.”

Biting your lip, you contemplated your choices here. You could tell her some kind of lie and hope she believed it… or you could tell the truth.

In the end it came down to Dean. Normally you’d do whatever it took to protect him, to make him happy, to please the Alpha. But in that moment? You couldn’t help but feel as if he wasn’t worth your devotion. Why should you be loyal to him when he couldn’t be loyal to you?

“Dean isn’t my brother, Cassie.”

It took a moment for the words to register. You watched as an array of emotions crossed her face until she finally settled on confusion. “Excuse me?”

“It’s easier to tell people I’m a Winchester than to tell them I follow three Alphas around because they saved me from demons.”

“You’re… you’re not his sister?”

“No.”

“Then… what are you?”

“I’m the one he sleeps with when he can’t find anyone else.” Turning on your heels, you stormed off, not giving her a chance to respond.

As you jogged down the few steps of the porch and and headed towards the brothers waiting by Baby, you spotted Dean push off the car as he watched you approach.

“What did you say?”

“The truth.” Pushing passed him, you headed for your door.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Y/N?”

“It means, Dean, that I’m tired of playing pretend.” Getting in the car, you slammed the door once more, ignoring both brothers as you settled into the backseat. Your seat. Where you belonged. Behind the brothers and out of sight until you’re needed or wanted.

…

You’d slept on the couch again last night. Sleeping with Dean would make it seem everything he’s done is okay, and it would give him the chance to try and talk his way back onto your good side. Sleeping with Sam would give Dean permission to sleep with someone else as well. You were trying to play the middle man. You were trying to get him to see things from your perspective and finally make a choice.

Being the one he turns to when there’s no one else around the screw was chipping away at your sanity. You wanted to be more than an easy lay. You wanted more from him. You needed more. But the longer you went without answers, without decisions being made, the more you felt as if you were never going to get what you needed. You were never going to be a true Omega.

Without a mark, without an Alpha, you were stuck in limbo. The thing is, you could only bend so far.

In the morning, Dean had been a little grumpy, but that was to be expected. Without his first coffee he was hard to be around, but add the fact he slept alone the night before and he was pretty much hell. As soon as he got some caffeine into him, however, it was almost like everything was fine.

Almost.

You didn’t give the brothers a choice when it came to whether you would be joining them on the case. There was no way you were going to sit on the sidelines again, especially with Cassie around. So when Dean got a call from her about another accident, you were already in the Impala before the phone call even ended.

The three of you were walking towards Cassie and the mayor when you overheard their discussion.

“How bout closing this section of road for starters?” Cassie suggested, a bite to her tone. For an Omega she’d always been very headstrong.

“Close the main road. The only road in and out of town? Accidents do happen Cassie, and that's what they are. Accidents.

The Mayor shook his head. “Close the main road, the only road in and out of town? Accidents do happen Cassie, and that's what they are. Accidents.”

“Did the cops check for additional dinting on Jimmy's car, see if it was pushed?” Dean asked as the three of you came to a stop behind Cassie.

Looking away from her, the Mayor turned his attention to Dean. “Who's this?”

“Dean and Sam Winchester, and Y/N. Family friends,” Cassie introduced. “This is Mayor Harold Todd.”

Now that he knew your names, the Mayor answered Dean, “There's one set of tire tracks. One. Doesn't point to foul play.”

“Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you. If you're indifferent about-”

He cut Cassie off, “Indifferent!”

“Would you close the road if the victims were white?” she pushed.

You might’ve had issues with the girl, but you had to give it to her… she never let being an Omega hold her back.

Instead of blowing up at her though, the Mayor looked offended. “You suggesting I'm racist Cassie?” He shook his head at her. “I'm the last person you should talk to like that.”

“And why is that.”

“Why don't you ask your mother.” Not having anything else to say, the Mayor turned and walked away, leaving the rest of you standing in the field by the most recent wrecked car.

It took a few moments before Cassie turned to you three finally. “Sorry about that. I just… get passionate about things.”

“I remember,” Dean noted.

“Uh, yeah…” She shifted awkwardly, glancing at you.

Dean spotted the way she looked at you and frowned. “What’s going on between you two? What did you say to each other last night?”

Taking a deep breath, Cassie looked him in the eyes, not giving him a chance to hide from her disappointment and hurt. “You had no problem telling me about the work your family does, but you didn’t have the guts to tell me the Omega girl with you isn’t actually your sister, but your backup plan?”

Sam took a quick step back, grabbing your arm to pull you with him protectively.

“Excuse me? What?”

Cassie gestured to you. “Y/N told me the truth, Dean. I know she’s not your sister.”

“Really?” he turned to you then.

You squared your shoulders and held your head up high, not backing down under the angered gaze of one of your Alphas. Only he wasn’t really you Alpha, no one was, which is why his disapproval meant jack shit to you in that moment. He held no real power over you as long as he refused to mark you as his.

“It’s complicated, Cassie,” he tried to explain, turning to her again. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“But it was your choice to leave her and be with me,” she countered. When he didn’t respond she gave a short nod. “Exactly.”

You stood there watching as she walked away, turning her back on Dean, and in that moment you felt yourself respect her a little more.

…

You were in the bathroom, pretending to take a shower, but instead you had you were listening to the brothers as they got ready in the other room.

“I'll say this for her, she's fearless,” Sam noted, talking about Cassie.

Dean simply hummed in response.

“Bet she kicked your ass a coupla times.” You could hear the grin in Sam’s voice.

He wasn’t wrong. You remembered being impressed at times, seeing Cassie put Dean in his place. It was moments like that where you’d started to wonder if she was actually his match. You’d only ever seen mated Omegas have that kind of power over their Alphas before… and it was that revelation that had you spending less time with the couple and more time with John.

The thought of John had your heart ache. Having him around would have made things a million times easier. You wouldn’t have the brothers fighting over you… you would finally get the chance to be marked. It would make things right again.

“What's interesting is you guys never really look at each other at the same time,” Sam went on. “You look at her when she's not looking, she checks you out when you look away. It's just a...just an interesting observation in a… you know… observationally interesting way.”

“You think we might have more pressing issues here?” Dean growled.

“Hey, if I'm hitting a nerve.”

“I know what you’re doing, Sam.” Dean’s voice was tense as he spoke, “You’re trying to drive a wedge. Well, guess what, it’s not gonna work.”

“I don’t have to try to do anything, Dean. You’re doing a good job on your own,” Sam countered.

Still listening, you tensed as you heard footsteps start towards the bathroom door followed by a knock.

“You okay in there?” Sam called to you.

“I’m fine.”

“We’re ready to head out. Just waiting for you now.” There was no rush in his voice, no hint trying to hurry you. Sam was happy to wait as long as needed, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Thing is, you weren’t. You were, but you weren’t. Having to hear about Cassie, being reminded of those few weeks where Sam was gone, Dean was sleeping with you first new friend in months, and John was mostly busy working… it stung, and while you didn’t want to be alone you also didn’t want to be stuck with Dean.

“Go on without me.”

There was a pause before he asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go help Cassie. Solve the case. I’m gonna try and get some sleep. The couch wasn’t great last night.”

“Okay…” He was hesitant to agree, but Sam knew you well enough to know your mind was made up. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Yep. Bye. Be safe.”

He lingered by the door for a little while longer before stepping back. “Come on, let’s go.”

“She’s not coming?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Sam didn’t buy it, though. “Don’t act surprised.”

Bamby

#alpha!sam fanfiction #alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam x omega!you #alpha!sam x omega!y/n #alpha!dean fanfiction #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean x omega!you #alpha!dean x omega!y/n #her saviours

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doobler · 5 years ago

Text

Stay

Autumn breathed in deep. The cold air that filled his lungs soothed what lingering heat remained trapped in his chest. He always ran hot after a job, blood thrumming through his veins like the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Here, atop the roof of an abandoned warehouse, he could see both the city sprawling to his left and the icy ocean to his right. Salty spray made his skin feel a little raw but he enjoyed the sting.

"You've never stayed this close before."

Autumn chuckled. He knew that voice well now.

"I'm feeling daring I guess," He retorted, rolling his shoulders casually. "You gonna cuff me, detective?"

"Not today," Pierce grunted as he walked the precarious iron beams. "I'm technically off the clock on this one."

"Ah. Damn shame. I was feeling a bit charitable. Barely woulda put up a fight."

Pierce snickered, his laughter dying down when he took in the mercenary's appearance. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was ghostly white. Pierce edged closer, eyes owlish.

"Hey, uh, is that blood on your shirt?" He tried to sound calm.

"Yeah, but surprisingly, it's not someone else's" Autumn looked down at his own chest, tugging on his tank top. "Been havin' uhh a rough day as it were."

"Do you... Need a doctor or...?"

Autumn let out a sharp barking laugh, blood-tinged spittle flying off his lips.

"What, so you can cuff me mid-appointment? Polite pass."

His face screwed up rather unattractively. He bent down, hawking up a foul mouthful of bloody phlegm. Pierce cringed.

"I've got a thing," Autumn swiped the nastiness off his chin with the back of his hand. "So it's fine."

"A thing?" Pierce echoed. "I'm pretty sure that's called 'internal bleeding', ya fucking psychopath. Maybe you should see a professional."

"Nooo, no, no, I've got, y'know. A thing!"

When Pierce refused to back off, Autumn let out a frustrated noise. He chewed down on his lower lip, dropping his head as he thought long and hard. This weird little cat-and-mouse chase had been going on for a couple years now. It'd been a bit longer since he'd seen... Her as well. He was feeling strangely trusting. Plus, Pierce just had an oddness about him. He was easy to talk to, terrifyingly so. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to trust someone again.

"... Let me show you." Autumn finally spoke, peering up behind his waterfall of golden hair.

"Show me...?" Pierce raised his brows.

"My thing."

Autumn held out his hand, flexing his fingers like an invitation. To his shock, Pierce only hesitated for a few moments before taking it. Autumn's eyes rolled back, the world dropped away completely, and everything went black.

---

It was dark. Unsettlingly dark. Unnaturally dark.

Pierce looked down at his hands. He looked ghostly. Ethereal. Inhuman. Was he floating up? Or down? It was hard to tell with no floor, no ceiling, no walls, just nothingness. He flipped and turned and spun for seconds and minutes and hours and days. Finally, his feet found the ground.

Waiting for him was a small child. He had big grey eyes and a heavy smattering of freckles across his face. In his hands was a cat, it's neck snapped. He looked proud, like he was showing off a project. Pierce opened his mouth to speak and the world went upside down again.

When he regained his footing, he was beside a teenager. The boy's body language was absolutely terrifying. He was trembling, his eyes unblinking, a permanently wicked grin stretched across his face. There was blood on his hoodie. Pierce had a feeling it wasn't his own.

This time, when the floor dropped, he was ready. He flashed past images of a woman he'd never seen before. Her smile looked fake and her gaze was cold and unfeeling. Pierce watched as her flirtatious advances turned to ice. Kisses turned to screaming, hugs into stinging open-handed slaps. While there was no sound, Pierce felt a sharpness in his ears, like she was yelling directly at his face. Soon, though far longer than he liked, she faded away, too.

Now Pierce was walking, waking through the dark to the end of the path. Autumn was there. He smiled, waving him closer. A figure slipped out of his shadow, one with ankle-length hair that laid flat and hung heavily. It had three eyes, two that glowed like hot embers and one that shined like gold. The way it draped itself over Autumn wasn't sexual, it was possessive.

If you hurt him, it whispered in his ears, I'll eat you alive.

Autumn let the creature fawn over him, raking long clawed fingers through his hair, across his chest, along his arms, all the while never breaking eye contact with Pierce.

"This is my thing," Autumn's voice echoed. "Now you know."

---

Pierce came to, gasping for air. He grabbed at his chest, the weight having settled there finally lifted. He looked over to Autumn, terror stabbing its frozen fingers through his heart. He was vomiting blood, making all sorts of horrible sickly sounds. Pierce lunged forward, scooping him up in his arms.

"Fuck, you're heavy." Pierce groaned, trying to drape most of his body along his shoulders and back.

"I... Work out..." Autumn groaned. He was barely conscious.

When their heads knocked together, Pierce could hear that voice again. It was feminine and masculine, old and young, speaking in a whisper that still sounded crystal clear.

Save him.

"I dunno what the actual fuck you are, blondie," Pierce huffed, very carefully easing them both towards the roof's access ladder. "But I'm not gonna leave you here to die."

Autumn exhaled what felt like a sigh of relief before going completely unconscious. Pierce staggered but kept his pace. He'd get him somewhere safe and no one, of Earth, Heaven, or Hell, would stop him.

---

Autumn woke up in a bed. A nice one, too, nicer than what he had back home. Well, home was a relative term, he lived in the office of an abandoned factory at the very edge of town, comfort and luxury wasn't something he currently had access to.

He looked around the room, instantly wide awake. A dark wooden desk sat against the wall, covered in a variety of paperwork alongside a rather old looking computer. One whole side of the room was lined with tall metal filing cabinets. There was a small dresser at the foot of the bed, a rather generic looking painting of the countryside hanging above him, and a single slightly worn armchair. Pierce was fast asleep sitting up, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed down to his button up shirt, the top two buttons undone, and his slacks were swapped out for flannel bottoms. Autumn was mostly confused by his clothing choice but he wasn't here to judge.

Right. Here.

He saved us.

"Yeah, I put that together," Autumn groaned, slowly easing himself upright. He felt like absolute shit. "Where are we?"

His home. His office.

"And where is that?"

... Not sure.

Autumn let out a frustrated sigh. He whipped back the duvet and held his breath. Oh. He was in someone else's shirt and his own briefs. Alright. He tried not to think too hard about the benevolent detective patiently stripping him down, cleaning away all the blood, and tucking him into bed. That definitely wouldn't follow his subconscious for a good while.

He eased himself out of bed, creeping around the room to the window. They were in the heart of the city, far away from the docks and no where near Autumn's own housing situation.

Why are we trying to leave?

"What do you mean--" Autumn pressed his fingers against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. "I need to get home, dumbass. You're so clingy and willing to trust for a fucking demon--"

He could've turned us in. We were unconscious and vulnerable. But he took us home and took care of us.

"Yeah but--"

We like him. We've always liked him, ever since we saw him. This is our chance. This is the time to stay.

"But what about--"

This isn't her. This is him. This is Pierce. We can stay this time.

"And what if it goes to shit, huh?" It took everything in Autumn not to scream. "What if we get hurt again?"

He looked over to the sleeping detective. Pierce looked so peaceful, long eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, lips parted slightly as he breathed. Autumn's heart clenched. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If he hurts us...

Autumn shuddered as images of gore flashed behind his eyes.

We'll kill him.

"... Okay. Okay, fine. We'll... I'll trust him. This one time."

Autumn rolled his eyes as waves of warmth echoed through his chest. He snuck back into bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. Just as he got comfortable, Pierce woke up, snuffling and stretching in his armchair.

"Oh, blondie, you're awake," He groaned, popping his shoulders. "How do you feel?"

"I'm... Alive, thank you," Autumn chewed on his inner cheek. God, how could someone's eyes be so damn blue? "You... Didn't have to--"

"Don't even start," Pierce smiled. His body language was so relaxed. "After what you showed me... I couldn't just leave you there. I'm starting to understand you're not just some maniac, you've got a lotta baggage and that makes things a lot more complicated. But... I'm willing to learn and listen. For now."

Pierce grinned and offered the mercenary a cheeky wink.

"Until you give me an actually good reason to slap some cuffs on you."

Autumn squeaked, covering up the sound with a wet cough.

"Do you uh," Pierce rose from his seat, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. "Wanna stay for dinner?"

"... Depends on what that is."

"Beef stew? And some crusty bread?"

Autumn raised his eyebrows, tipping his head forward.

"... Possibly some whiskey."

"Alright, sold." Autumn grinned.

"Fantastic," Pierce looked rather proud as he headed for the door. Sure enough, the heady waft of beef stock and root vegetables floated through the air as soon as he opened it. "Stay right there, I'll bring you back a bowl."

With that, he was gone and, much to Autumn's surprise, he did in fact stay.

#autumn augustus #pierce russo #sunahara khoon #my oc #oc #tiny fic #kinda???? i dunno #my first like proper long oc story ✌️

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 5 years ago

Text

Hunters of Flesh and Money Part 4 Arthur Morgan x Reader

Fletcher has requested help from Arthur in dealing with a nuisance.

TW: violence

The heat is ON boys! This is becoming one of my favorite works and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have!

Part 3

Part 5

Master list

The sun was blinding and the streets of Saint Denis were bustling and busy. The sooner you could leave the city the better. If it were up to you, you would’ve skipped the noisy city all together but Cripps had a buyer and as he says, money is money. It was a needed trip, after an easy delivery you were able to make it over to the tailor to replace your torn raggedy garments that were destroyed in your run in with the wolves.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, this muggy heat didn’t agree with you- but neither did the pungent smells of civilization or the constant noise of chaos. The wagon was parked just across the street from the tailor, you rubbed your temples as you descended the stairs, your head was throbbing. Your eyes were on the ground and you didn’t even see the man until you crashed into his chest. “Oof! Sorry bout-“

“Fletcher?”

When you looked up, a familiar face was smiling down at you from under the brim of his hat. You returned his smile, “well, if it isn’t Mr. Morgan. What brings an outlaw like you into the big city?”

He scoffed, “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, “had to run a delivery for my business partner. Decided I’d stop and grab some new clothes while I was around.”

“How ya healin’ after that by the way? Ain’t seen ya since we did that job together.”

You gave him a thumbs up, “healed up just fine.” You gave him a look over and he looked better than you remembered. His clothes looked newer and he looked more cleaned up- his beard was trimmed and styled and his hair wasn’t so wild. His sleeves were rolled to accommodate to the southern heat and you couldn’t help but notice his strong forearms. You cleared your throat in an attempt to pull your mind from the gutter. “I told you my business here, how bout yours?”

He rubbed his neck, “oh, just runnin’ round for Dutch. I actually just stepped out for a drink and some air.” He paused. “New business partner, huh? What kinda business are you runnin’ outlaw?”

You smirked, “wouldn’t you like to know.” Your eyes flickered to the late afternoon sky and an idea came to mind. “Actually, would you like to know?”

“Well I just asked, didn’t I?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be a smart ass. Come with me.”

He followed behind to your wagon and whistled for his horse. As the two of you climbed up you began to explain. “An old friend a mine who travels with me had the idea.” You flicked the reins and the wagon lurched forward. Arthur’s Arabian followed close behind. “Ya! He’s got a talent for makin’ things and I got a talent for killin’ things. I bring him animals and skins and he turns ‘em into... well anything really. When it’s time to sell to a buyer I take the supplies and deliver.”

Arthur raised his brow, “sounds like you’re the work horse of the operation.”

“It ain’t a big deal. I like huntin’ and not every delivery is easy. Between bandits and rival traders Cripps probably woulda been shot by now if I let him do the deliveries.”

Arthur tried to ignore the pang of annoyance. You had never mentioned traveling with another man, now you’re running a trade route with him? He shouldn’t care, you’re just another woman he’s met on his travels. A beautiful woman, who can fend for herself as well as he can. “Jesus!” He cursed as you ran over a rock and the wagon shuttered and jumped as if it was about to fall apart.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “sorry.”

His gaze remained on you as you turned your attention back to the road. A beautiful, rough living woman- who can’t drive a wagon to save her life. The ride to your camp wasn’t long- set up in Scarlet Meadows just between Rhodes and Saint Denis.

“It ain’t much,” You said as you climbed down the side of the wagon. “But its home. Can’t keep too much, we move camps every couple days.”

Arthur was impressed- what did you mean ain’t much? For two people the campsite was huge and flourishing! “Yall are really movin’ all this every couple days?”

“Ol’ Cripps is usually the one who does all the movin’. But I didn’t bring ya here to discuss living arrangements.” You took a seat beside the fire and beckoned for Arthur to join. As you talked you skinned the rabbits you had killed that morning. “I brought ya here to discuss business. Ol’ Cripps is out of tannin’ supplies and I need to go grab some more before nightfall. Usually it’s more than easy enough for just one man on the job. But I’ve acquired a bothersome business rival.” You paused to cut a piece of meat from the rabbit carcass and cook it over the fire. “He’s costin’ me some real money. I’ve had Cripps move us every day and he still finds us. Haven’t been able to get Cripps supplies ina coupla weeks now.”

Arthur raised his brow, “One man is givin’ you this much trouble?”

Your lip curled in disgust. “He’s got an...annoying specialty.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “What kinda speciality?”

“You’ll see.” You handed him a piece of cooked meat and picked up the skins. You gave him a quick nod to follow. “Cripps!” You shouted. The man looked up from his butcher’s table.

Arthur felt relief when he saw the older man look up from his table. The man looked at least Uncle’s age and when you slapped the rabbit skins down, the exchange of smart ass comments and passive aggressive insults eased his looming jealousy. Arthur wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, he watched the way your face contorted and twisted to show every emotion and the fierce fire behind your eyes. Stubborn, hot headed, and ready to beat the every living hell out of a man- he liked that. He straightened his back when you turned back to him.

“You comin’?” You asked as you passed him, walking in the direction of the hitching posts.

“Awright I’m comin’. We not takin’ your wagon?”

“Naw, well take the horses this time. In case that bastard comes after us again I ain’t losin’ a whole carts worth of supplies- that would send me into bankruptcy!” You fed Garbanzo a carrot before mounting him and Arthur mounted his steed as well.

“Let’s ride!” You shouted, and your horse shot out like a bullet.

Arthur rose beside you easily. Your horse cast a shadow over his, but his girl was built for speed, not power. “Where we headed?”

“We’ll pick up the supplies from the general store in Rhodes. I want to try and stay off the trails as much as possible, let’s turn off here.”

Arthur clicked his tongue and the two of you cut off into the trees. The pace slowed slightly as to not run into trees.

“Keep on the lookout for a rider with an all black Arabian, he usually keeps a bandana over his face.” You called to Arthur. “And keep your gun on hand at all times, he has a nasty habit a comin’ outta no where.”

Arthur nodded and pulled his new guns from their holsters- two brand new semi auto pistols.

You eyed them and nodded, “those new? I ain’t seen you packin’ anything like that.”

He nodded and smiled smugly. “Ain’t even used ‘em yet.”

You returned his sinister smile as you pulled your golden Mausers from your side and nodded. “Well maybe today will be yer day.”

Arthur kept a watchful eye as the pair rode through Scarlet Meadows. Carefully scanning every cliff, rock, nook, or cranny that could hide the potential bandit. As you passed the red barn and Rhodes came into view, Arthur relaxed. “Looks like your friend may not show his face today.”

You shook your head. “He’s not tryin’ to kill us, he’s tryin’ to get our supplies. He ain’t gonna try to touch us til after we leave.”

Arthur nodded. Your adrenaline began pumping as you entered the town- the streets were damn near barren but that’s nothing new for this dusty little town. It still made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As you loaded the supplies on the horses, Arthur kept a watchful eye on the surroundings. You had to admit, it was nice to have company on the ride and the additional set of eyes was helpful as well.

As quickly as the two of you entered town, you were now booking it back in the direction of camp. Your hands were sweating around the grip of your pistols now. If you lost this round of supplies Cripps would be out completely and you had already lost two different suppliers for “being irresponsible with product.” You worried this little cash cow you had made for yourself was going to run dry. You kept your eyes forward and cleared your mind- you had to be ready.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the cliffs around him- his eyes narrowed as he spotted a lone rider. His eyes couldn’t distinguish much, but as the rider turned and began barreling down towards them, he was certain the horse was black as night. “Rider on the cliff, headed our way!”

“That’s him alright, let’s kill this bastard.”

Arthur pulled his rifle from his back and lined up the scope. His breathing evened and as he focused, time crawled in front of him- this was his specialty. But time around this man did not stop, he was still barreling fullspeed ahead and no matter how hard he tried Arthur couldn’t line up his shot. “What the hell?”

“It’s his specialty, I can’t get a shot on him either, the Slippery Bastard.” You said between gritted teeth. You had been hoping it was just you, but this guy, this slippery bastard couldn’t be aimed at and he was speeding closer and closer to you.

“What the hell are we supposed to do if we can’t get a shot on this guy?” Arthur yelled.

“I don’t know!” You cried.

The slippery bastard barreled down and blew passed, you unloaded your mausers and couldn’t get a single shot. “Shit!”

Arthur had an idea. “Fletcher, lead him up that hill there!”

You nodded, pushing your spurs into Garbanzo you pushed him up and the bastard followed. Bullets whizzed by and you cursed, he never resorted to guns until now. Just as you rode up the top of the hill a bullet hit Garbanzo and he buckled and whinnied in agony. “Banzo!” You cried.

Hot tears welled in your eyes, you grabbed your shotgun from your back and pushed back the tears. You would make this bastard pay for what he’s done. As he shot up the hill, you fired wildly, just one shot of slug would be enough to debilitate him at least if you could just land one single shot! He circled you once, aiming his rifle down at you. When he stopped, you pulled the trigger. The empty clicking of the shotgun made your blood turn cold, out of bullets. Everything seemed to slow as he raised his rifle to you, you didn’t have time to reload or draw your pistols, he was right in front of you and you couldn’t land a damn shot.

Arthur came out of no where, jumping from his speeding horse to tackle the man down from his own horse. The bastard’s shot was knocked high in the air and it shook you to the core.

Arthur hogtied the man easily, outmatching him in strength ten fold. “Awright,” Arthur said proudly as he lifted himself off the man. “Got yer man, what do we do with him?”

After no response, Arthur turned in your direction and his heart dropped. You were on the ground beside Garbanzo, no longer moving. He approached you slowly now, his voice soft. “Fletcher? You okay?”

You sniffled and wiped the tears from your cheeks as you stood. “Yeah,” Your voice broke. “Just tellin’ him bye. He was such a good horse.” Your voice broke again on the last syllable and Arthur moved closer now. He wrapped his arms around you, at first hesitant to how you would react. When you slumped into his arms and wrapped yours around his waist he tightened his grip and buried his face in your hair. This moment was not a long one, but in that moment the world seemed to stop around the two of you and neither of you wanted to pull apart. You were the first to loosen your grip and sighed shakily. When Arthur released you he spoke, “what do you want to do about this guy?”

You remained quiet as you grabbed the reins of his black Arabian. You said no words as you led the horse to its master. Your eyes were cold as you stared him in the face and put a bullet in the head of his horse. The man screamed and cursed as his horse crumpled, his words were muffled by the gag Arthur had placed on him. He was silenced as you placed a bullet between his eyes. Arthur stared in disbelief as you sniffled and wiped your nose a final time before looting the dead body in front of you. You cleared your throat. “Give me a ride back to camp?”

Arthur nodded and didn’t say a word. It was easy to forget this beautiful woman who couldn’t drive a wagon to save her life had almost as high a bounty as him. How many people had she killed? As many as him? More?

You broke the silence. “You mad at me?”

“For what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Killin’ that man and his horse.”

He shrugged. “I done worse.”

You laughed breathlessly. “I’m sure you have.”

By the time the two of you arrived back at camp, the sun had fallen and the night sky was twinkling with stars. Cripps greeted you sarcastically. “The mighty heroes return. Hey, where’s that big horse a yers?”

“Dead.” You threw the bag of supplies at Cripp’s feet. “But we killed that bastard that’s been givin’ us trouble.”

Cripps felt heat rush to his cheeks in embarrassment “oh.”

You sighed, “I need a drink, how bout you Mr. Morgan?”

He scratched his chin, “I dunno, my camp is a good little ride from here-“

You tossed him a bottle of whiskey and he caught it. “I got a spare bedroll, you can stay here tonight.” You opened a bottle of whiskey and drank deeply while staring into the fire. “It would be nice to have a friend to drink with tonight.”

Arthur looked down at the bottle of whiskey and then to you. For the first time, you didn’t look like an outlaw, or a beautiful woman, or a hunter, or a threat. In that moment, you looked tired. You looked like a woman mourning the death of her closest friend- Arthur could relate. He opened the bottle of whiskey as he sat down beside you. “Ya know, I had a horse not too long ago- her name was Boadicea. Gorgeous, fast, most loyal horse I ever had. She got shot in the gun fight when we was fleein’ Blackwater. I think I broke a rib or two in the fall but that didn’t stop me from yankin’ the feller who shot her down from his horse and beatin’ him to death.” He sighed. “They ain’t just animals. They’re smart, Hell I think most of em are smarter than us.” He chuckled and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m real sorry bout your horse.”

You gave him a sad smile and leaned into his hand. “S’okay. I reckon I’ll have to ride to the stable tomorrow and pick out a new one.” You scoffed. “The idea of pickin’ out a new horse while grieving is almost insultin’ but it ain’t like I got a choice.” You paused. “I saw your wanted poster when I was down there not long back, what did you do?”

He groaned. “It weren’t even me who did it!” He sighed. “Don’t matter. I don’t think I’ll ever make it back west. Dutch is talkin’ crazy, bout leavin’ the country? I want to believe him but...”

“But that don’t sound like a good plan.”

He chuckled, though he didn’t find any humor in it. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and tipped it towards the sky. “I just want to go home. This land ain’t my home and never will be. The air here is too humid, too much-“

“Civilization?”

He met your eyes and felt like he was looking at a reflection of himself. “Yeah,” he breathed.

You smiled, “I miss it too. I go back when I can, but Cripps says the eastern territories are better for robbin’ and tradin’. I guess he’s right bout that, but it feels like them damn bounty hunters are movin’ in closer and closer.” You took a long gulp of whiskey and it made your stomach hot. “I miss bein’ free.”

“Amen to that.” Arthur raised his whiskey in a cheers and you clinked your bottle against his.

You belched after taking a deep drink of whiskey. “Why don’t we just go back?”

“S’cuse me?”

“Me n you. Cripps could find a new business partner, your gang can go to to whatever country they want. Me n you can sneak back across the West Elizabeth border. We can go anywhere ya like, Hell we could even cross the border to Mexico.” The alcohol had debilitated your thought filter and you felt your cheeks turn hot.

He exhaled a deep breath. “Fletcher that’s...”

“Forget I said anything.” You stammered. “I know it was a stupid idea.” You chuckled nervously, “guess the whiskey is hittin’ me faster than I thought.”

He sighed, “it don’t sound stupid at all, it actually sounds great.” He paused. “But we got people to take care of.” He looked at you with a smile. “It’s a nice dream though, Herbert.”

You choked and spewed out your whiskey, earning a hearty laugh from Arthur. You stared at him in disbelief. “Wha- how did you-?”

Arthur tried to contain his laughter as he pulled a parcel from his satchel and handed it to you. When you opened it, it revealed your wanted poster- and not one with your alias. You tossed it into the fire and crossed your arms.

Arthur wiped the tear from his eye and sighed, “Herbert Fitzgerald, huh?”

“Shut up.” You said in annoyance.

“What the hell kinda name is that for a woman?” He snickered.

“A family name goddamn it! And a name you ain’t ever gonna call me.” You snapped.

Arthur was not intimidated by your lash out in the slightest. “Why? I think it’s a lovely name.” He joked.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I cain’t believe you found that. Where the hell was it?”

“Riggs Station I believe, buried under bout ten bounty posters.” He took a sip of whiskey. “That’s quite a price you got on yer head, girl.”

“Ya know, I bet my head alone could pay off yer bounty. Why don’t ya try’n turn me in?” You tipped your bottle to the sky and finished off the last drops. “Catch up, Mr. Morgan.”

He followed suit and tossed his now empty bottle. His eyes trailed you as you got up to grab two new bottles. “I don’t foresee it bein’ that easy.”

You gave him a mischievous smile as you leaned down to hand him a new bottle. “I didn’t say I’d let ya, I said you could try.”

Arthur’s eyes were hooked on the way your lips curved around the syllables, your face only inches from his. There was a moment of electricity in the air and suddenly his throat was dry and his mind was not working to form words.

His face was illuminated by the firelight and it made him look almost angelic. His lips looked so soft and supple, his stubble around his cheeks defining his square jawline. You caught his eyes flicker to your lips and the heat swelled behind your cheeks. Your heard was pounding in your chest and all you could think to do was hide. You cleared your throat and sat back down, a good distance between the two of you. With your head spinning from the alcohol you were finding it harder to keep control of your own emotions.

The silence between you felt horribly awkward and heavy to Arthur. Had you noticed his blatant staring? He was certain you couldn’t see how his chest clinched at your close proximity. He felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was thankful when you finally broke the silence.

“Don’t you dare tell Sadie you know my name. She’d kill us both.”

When he braved to look at you, you were smiling kindly to him. A glimmer in your eye he wasn’t quite sure he had ever seen. He just shook his head, “that woman scares the hell outta me. She’s a fighter that one is.”

You nodded. “She’s given me strength more times than I can count.” You looked up at the sky and sighed. “I oughtta be travelin’ with the herds, ya know. That’s how the best traders do it. But I caint bring myself to distance myself from Sadie.” You paused, quite drunk. “I think I quite enjoy your company as well Mr. Morgan.”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He wasn’t a confident man, but he was quite certain that there was a hint of flirtatiousness behind your eyes. The liquor didn’t hinder his boldness either. He scooted closer and smirked, “well, I think I’m takin’ to your company too.”

Your head was swimming, he was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him. The voice in the back of your head wasn’t screaming to stop now, so you didn’t. You leaned your head against his shoulder, he responded by resting his head on yours.

He held his breath as he slowly inched his fingers closer to yours. When they touched, he felt your body jump slightly and he held his breath. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, his fingers entwined with yours. He let out his breath when you squeezed his hand. His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. The whiskey was the force pushing him, forcing him to swallow his fears of rejection and reminding him how lonely he’s been over the years. Just the sensation of another hand around his had him feeling light headed. He looked down at you and you were looking up at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and inched his head down slowly.

You were caught in the moment, everything felt floaty and for the first time in god knows how long, you felt a genuine romantic connection with someone. He was moving closer now, and you moved too, you knew you wanted it. But as his eyes closed and his lips were within inches of yours, the voice was back, screaming st you to stop this foolishness. It was loud as a train whistle and you pulled back so fast you almost lost your balance. Guilt bled it’s way through you as you watched him open his eyes, only briefly did his eyes betray his emotions and they were crystal clear: confusion, hurt. He looked at you and you couldn’t meet his gaze. “I-we should uh...it’s gettin’ late.” You mumbled as you stood.

“Oh...okay.” He cleared his throat. “You’re right. You got that spare bedroll?”

“Oh! Ah, yes.” You dug around your tent and grabbed it. When you handed it to him, he grumbled a thanks but didn’t look you in the eye. “Goodnight, Arthur.” You said softly as you turned towards your tent.

“Night.” He called as he unrolled the bedroll beside the fire.

Neither of you slept well that night. You tossed and turned in shame and regret. Why did you pull away like that? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone? But you knew you had to push him away, like everyone else. He was too good for you and the thought of something bad happening to him made your chest seize in pain. You were doing both of you a favor, or at least that’s what you told yourself. But if that were true, why did you have such a strong urge to go to him, desperately longing to feel his lips against yours?

Arthur lied awake, his own demons tearing him apart from the inside. How could he be so stupid? He swore to a life of celibacy long ago, knowing he lived a life too dangerous for a family. He had hoped it would be different with you- a woman made from the same cloth as him- but he was wrong. What a fool he was, believing a woman of such high caliber would even be interested in a raggedy old wretch such as himself. He knew better than to act on his emotions, for the sting of rejection never gets better. His mind replayed the image of you jerking back over and over again, tormenting him and reminding him of just how big a fool he was.

When you awoke the next morning, your head was pounding. You stumbled from your tent and groaned as the morning sun drove its rays through your skull. “Christ,” you groaned.

Memories from the night before lazily trickled back to your mind, hazy with the fog of inebriation. You were stretching your back when the memory of Arthur’s attempted kiss came back and it shook you to the core, stiffening you where you stood. Your eyes scanned the camp, he was no where to be found. In his place was a neatly rolled bedroll and a small piece of paper.

Fletcher,

I appreciate your hospitality in allowing me to stay at your camp. Know the favor will always be in return if you need it. If anyone gives you trouble again, don’t hesitate to write and I can lend a hand- or atleast drive the wagon. I look forward to our next meeting.

Yours, Arthur

You wondered if he remembered the kiss, his note seemed to remain in the same casual yet friendly tone as all of his letters. You hoped he was too drunk to remember, the memory lost in the haze of drunken stupor. The look of pain in his eyes in your memory caused your stomach to twist. Before you could get a rein on your thoughts, you imagined how those plump lips would’ve felt on yours. Butterflies rose from your stomach and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the feeling of regret from your gut. You tried to tell yourself you did the right thing, but you never considered yourself a very good liar.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #van der linde gang #arthur x reader #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #hunters of flesh and money #arthur morgan x oc #rdo #rdonline #rdo oc #fluff #slow burn #pining

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verai-marcel · 6 years ago

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The Man Next Door (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+, Part 2B)

Part 1: Beginnings | Part 2A: High Honor

Also find it on AO3 here.

Tags: Low Honor Arthur, paid sex, blow jobs, deepthroating, speedbumping, dirty talk, rough sex

Side B: Low Honor

WC: 1684

“Miss me, darlin’?”

“Very funny,” you said, trying not to laugh, but your grin gave you away. He smiled back at you, making you melt with how hot he looked. His white T-shirt had some grease stains from whatever car he had been working on, the fabric tight on his pecs and shoulders. His jeans were dark blue and hugged his hips, and as he sat down next to you on the couch, you could see his thigh muscles bulge against the fabric.

“I appreciate you always willin’ to help with Isaac,” he said.

“Not a problem, he’s a good kid.”

He pulled out his wallet and handed you $100. “There’s a little extra too, ‘cause I was late.”

“Thanks,” you said, putting the money away in your laptop bag. “Long day?” you asked as you leaned back on the couch. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, resting his arms along the back of the couch. His hand was close enough to reach your head, and you felt him idly twirling his fingers around some of your hair.

“Yeah. But it was good.” He looked over at you, a heat in his stare that hadn’t been there before. “It’d be even better if you stayed.”

You gulped. Oh, how you wanted to. But you weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do. The consequences of this not working out were more than you were willing to risk.

“I don’t know…”

Arthur sat up and scooted closer to you, leaning in. His hand tightened in your hair a bit, his other hand reached out to caress your jawline. Your lips parted, and he stroked your lower lip gently with his calloused thumb.

You blinked and moved away from him. This couldn’t happen. You got up from the couch. “I’d better go,” you said, bending to pick your laptop, realizing too late that you were giving Arthur an eyeful of your ass as you bent over.

“I’ll double your pay if you stay tonight.”

You froze. That was money you could use. But would you do it? Could you sell yourself to him for that extra cash? You slowly stood up to your full height and looked down at him. He sat on the couch, looking casual, but the heat in his stare set your core on fire.

“Stay,” he crooned in that deep voice that you loved to hear. “I’ll make you feel good.”

You took a step closer. He sat up and took your hands in his. Tugging at you gently until you were standing between his spread legs, he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you down until your knees were on the couch, straddling his lap.

“Is that a yes?” he asked as one of his hands gripped the back of your neck and slowly pulled you towards his lips.

It was like a moth being drawn to a flame, the bright heat too much for you to resist. Your lips parted in answer, and he took you in a consuming kiss, almost forcing his tongue inside your mouth. Your tongues battled for dominance as he crushed his lips to yours, devouring you as he pulled your body tighter to his, his hand wandering to your hips to pulled you on top of the bulge in his jeans. You grinded against him, wanting more of his touch, just more of him. His hands grabbed your ass, squeezing it roughly.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered against your cheek before he went for your throat, licking a line down to you collarbone and nipping your skin. “You’ve been in my dreams for half a year.”

You leaned your head back and sighed as he started to pull up your tank top.

“Wait,” you said all of a sudden. “We can’t do it out here.”

“Hmm. You’re right. Got distracted.” Arthur wrapped his arms around you and picked you up effortlessly as he stood up and took you to his bedroom. He made sure the door was locked before taking you to the bed, falling on top of you to continue his assault on your body. He pulled off your tank top and started fondling your breasts, kissing and licking your nipples, teasing you with his thumb and fingers.

“Your tits are the best,” he murmured. “And your ass, too.” He reached under you and grabbed your ass again. Pulling away from you, he pulled your shorts and panties off quickly before falling back upon you. The rough fabric of his clothes rubbed against your sensitive skin.

“I can’t wait to take you,” he growled as he leaned back long enough to take his shirt off. His scent surrounded you, machine oil and musk, as he worked his way down your body, nipping and biting, leaving love marks on your skin. His grip on you was tight enough to bruise, and he slapped your breast lightly. You twitched and gasped. He smiled darkly at your reaction.

“Like it rough?” he asked as he started to play with your clit, pinching it a bit too hard. You arched your back and inhaled sharply in response.

“Thought so,” he said as he forced two fingers inside of you. Though you were wet, you were tight, and the sudden intrusion made you flinch. You scooted back on the bed, but he pulled your ankle to bring you closer as he started to finger fuck you, watching you thrash on the bed, trying not to scream.

“That’s it, baby, give in to me,” he crooned as he thumbed your clit, bringing you to the edge before suddenly stopping, leaving you a heaving, sweaty mess.

Taking a step back, he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you off the bed, forcing you to kneel in front him. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, stroking it a few times to get himself fully stiff. Then he reached down and put his other hand on the back of your head.

“I know you’ve wanted this. Don’t deny it.”

You couldn’t. All you could do was open your mouth and take his thick length down your throat. His hips twitched, trying not to choke you as you deepthroated him, but you still choked anyway; he was too thick for you. You pulled back and coughed before coming back to suck hard on his cock, loving the way he moaned and breathed your name every time you licked his sensitive head. When he finally grabbed you by the hair and pulled you away, you were running out of breath.

“Get up here,” he ordered, and you crawled back up onto the bed, but just as you were about to turn onto your back, Arthur suddenly slammed his body against yours, crushing you against the mattress face first. His cock pulsed against your ass, his body hard and heavy on top of yours. His skin was warm, his breath hot against your ear. He lifted his hips up and pulled your hips up with him, slipping a pillow under your stomach to prop you up. Then you felt the head of him push into your pussy from behind.

You squirmed underneath him, and he slapped your ass. “Stay still,” he growled, holding down your hips as he kept pushing into you. A cry escaped your lips, and he grabbed the other pillow and shoved a corner of it into your mouth. You did your best to adjust to his thickness, but it still burned; you weren’t ready for how big he was.

“Take it, sweetheart,” he grunted as he pushed the last inch into you. “You’re so tight, feels so good.” He didn’t give you time to adjust; he pounded brutally into you, taking his pleasure from you, wringing out your muffled cries with great joy.

“I love makin’ you scream,” he said in a low voice as he took you hard, lifting himself up to hold you down by your upper arms. “You’re such a good whore, ain’tcha?”

You moaned.

“But I know,” he whispered into your ear. “You woulda let me fuck you anyway.” He thrust hard into you. “Ain’t that right, slut?”

You nodded and made a muffled “uh huh” sound. He had paid for you tonight, even though you would have given in for free. He pulled the pillow out of your mouth.

“I know you wanted my cock, messin’ you up. Bet you want my cum too. Do ya?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice raw from your screams. “Please cum inside me!” you whispered desperately.

Your begging made him snap; his grip on your arms tightened and he angled his thrusts deeper, rammed into you harder, until he came with a deep moan, muttering ‘fuck’ several times before he pulled out of you. You felt his seed spilling out of you onto your skin and felt like a porn actress; but part of you liked it.

“You look so pretty with my cum dripping out your used hole,” he said vulgarly. “I shoulda fucked you earlier. We coulda had so much fun.”

You turned to face him. You had no idea he was such a dirty man. But when he looked at you with that hunger in his eyes, your body responded in a way that left you breathless. You never had that reaction with anyone else. And you had to admit that you enjoyed it.

He reached out to cup your cheek. “Now, I know I offered you money, but, really, I just wanted you. I want us to try this.” He pulled you into his arms. “I’ll still give you the money because I said I would. But after this. I’ll take you out on a real date. Will you do it?”

You looked into his eyes, sparkling with an affection and a heat that you knew you would never get tired of.

“I’ll do it. Let’s try.”

His smile made you forget any reservations you may have had about starting a relationship with your neighbor. Everything was going to be alright.

End Notes: So this is a bad example of sex; remember to get your condoms and your pills before trying anything! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this version!

#low honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur x reader #lemon fanfic #smutty fanfic #fanfic #writing #neighbor AU #modern AU

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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Drabble: Nocturne (baon, Sleeping Patterns)

Summary: Red isn’t so great at sharing a bed.

Tags: Kustard, Established Relationship (sort of), Angst

Note: So, this chapter is kustard as per request. Not quite what was asked for, it took a turn down angsty lane.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it Here!

~~*~~

The thing is, Red isn’t actually interested in sleeping with anyone.

Actual sleeping, not fucking, he’s pretty damn fine on fucking and he don’t mind spending the last of his day being someone else’s hard ride into town. Don’t even have to put him away, Red’s fine with sleeping in the wet spot.

Sleeping, now. Snoozing, napping, whatever you wanna call it. He’s not much for cuddling in the afterglow, is all, and he’d much rather get in his zzz’s on his own dime.

It damn well wasn’t part of the deal when he and Sans started this whole line of bullshit, on that Red was pretty fucking sure.

Somehow though, Sansy managed to weasel himself into Red’s bed, even past all the fun parts, the same way Sans wriggled his way into everything. Sad to admit it’d been even easier than getting into Red’s shorts. That’d been more of a journey, months of bullshit, batting sarcasm and insults back and forth like they were trying out for the ‘fuck you’ Olympics.

Almost a shame, really, a fine rivalry was nearly as good as getting off.

All that got flipped around on one of those diplomatic missions, where Paps and Blue played nicely-nice with the locals and Red worked at keeping their asses out of a vacuum bag. It was a bitch every time, too many schemes to look out for and not every Human wanted ‘em dead. Some of them wanted to drag out the ol’ metal tables and scalpels, and Red wasn’t much interested in helping anyone complete their evil scientist certification.

In theory, Sans worked for him on those missions and was supposed to do as he was told. In practice, he fucked off and did whatever he wanted, without so much as a see ya later, soldier.

Woulda pissed Red off more than it did, and make no mistake, he was pissed about it, but Sansy had a knack of figuring out things that Red missed, usually handled them in his own way. Little more subtle than Red preferred, but there was no chance Papyrus was gonna get hurt on one of these little excursions, not with Sans keeping a socket out.

Drove Red bug-fucking straight up a wall not to have a finger in all the cooking pots, but even he could admit he was grudgingly impressed. This soft little ‘verse wasn’t Underfell, not even close, but it had a darkness hiding beneath the candy comfort and Sansy had a way about him. He could be a stone cold fucker underneath that lazy little grin.

It was that grin that got Red in the end, that unshakeable smirk and trying to crack it somehow landed them in the sack together. Red was still trying to put the pieces together on how that happened but eh, he’d never liked puzzles as much as the boss, only the end results.

Cool as he was, Sans could be pretty damn hot, too, and it was one of the best parts of Red’s day to peel that layer of apathy away, turn that expression of bland disinterest into one of desperate pleasure. Gone were the days Sans wore his depression around like a second hoodie, his little chats with that therapist helped with that.

But Sans still swanned around as serene as a fucking nun singing in the Alps and any chance to shake it free, send his emotions rattling down like loose change, that was worth the effort.

Fucking him was a cheap way of breaking through that calm and Red cherished every single whimper, every time Sansy’s voice broke or his hands shook, he truly did.

What he hadn’t counted on was getting stuck in the aftermath. See, Sans was down for a good dicking any old time. Thing was, he tended not to leave when the dicking part was over. That was something Red hadn’t added to his equations; he’d always been kind of shitty with math, his days in the labs hadn’t given him much access to a lab coat and he was fucking grateful for it.

Somewhere in the butterfly effect differences that made their universes, Sans skipped the lesson on orgasms being the endgame and that a cigarette afterward should be a key to have a good night, see ya next time.

Sansy…he lingered. Smoked his own, curled up close and spent time tracing the scars on Red’s bones like they were new star maps he was puzzling over. He’d fall asleep and was suspiciously resistant to any pokes and prods, all the pushing insistently at his skull, and one time actually getting shoved to the floor.

On that occasion, Red was expecting him to get up pissed, snap off a few bars of sarcasm to share and that’d be the last time they’d work on polishing pelvises. Red sat there, smirking down at Sans who was blinking up at him from his sprawl on the floor. Ignored the kernel of coldness sitting in his soul, cause if he’d known this was the last time, he’d‘ve made it last a little longer, gotten in a couple more tastes.

He hadn’t planned on kicking Sans out of bed, but he’d been so close, so clinging, snoring away and not even noticing the way Red couldn’t slow his breathing, sharpened fingertips pushing through the sheet to gouge into the mattress. His foot lashed out without his permission, shoving Sans away, just away, no special destination in mind. Him hitting the floor was an unexpected bonus and now this could end the way it was always supposed to, with shouting and threats, and storming out. There would be a barrier thrown up between them every time they met after and Red would be fine with that.

(He’d be able to breathe again, he would, it would be better, so much better, Sans would be better, he’d be safer, he would be)

Only Sans never did like to follow a fucking script. He was a master of improv, only stood back up with a yawn and an ass scratch before climbing back into bed. Kept his distance this time, didn’t try to snuggle on in and Red sat there half the night, watching him sleep.

His foot had twitched once, a feeble offer to try again, but Red ignored it. Anything that don’t work the first time don’t bear repeating.

Hard to say what Sans knew, what he didn’t know. Red could break through the easy barriers and get him to plead for more, but couldn’t find where Sans stored his honesty, never could find his way around the inside of his skull.

Did he know that Red woke up that first night Sans stayed with his soul pounding heavily, that he already had an attack formed and pressed to Sans’s sleeping back? Have any idea how long it’d taken for Red to sleep through with Sans there, how many nights he’d lain awake, feeling the skitter of his sins crawling on his back in counter-rhythm to Sans breathing peacefully against him?

Somewhere behind those pale eye lights, tucked away with all the other bullshit that Sans shouldn’t know, was there a trembling awareness that some days, Red didn’t want him to leave? What he wanted were pipe dreams; a collar willingly around Sans’s throat with Red’s name on it, the assurance that Sans would do what he was told one fucking time.

Liabilities, always about liabilities and the lies they told themselves about keeping ‘em safe. Such bullshit; Red couldn’t even keep Sans safe from himself.

And he didn’t want to sleep with someone else, never had. Liked to be on his own. But tonight, he only pulled Sans a little closer, listened to the softness of his breathing, and whispered another comforting lie into his soul.

Some days, Red almost believed it.

-finis-

#kustard #keelywolfe #underfell #by any other name

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