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stxleslyds · 3 years

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Robin Jason, a friend and ally of the Titans.

PART 1.

Last Friday I was feeling extra rage-y after the news about the Titans mini with the Titans show line-up of heroes. I still think that a) Jason shouldn’t be considered a Titan or be in the team as Red Hood and b) that him going back to wearing a bat symbol on his chest is just bad but as @randomlut said there is a possibility of that book not being set in DC’s current universe and if that’s the case then okay, I will not complain about it anymore.

But this post isn’t about that Titans book it’s about Jason’s Robin’s appearances in volume two of the New Teen Titans!

Now, this won’t be an in-depth review of those issues from a story point of view, it will be a post in which I talk about Jason’s characterization and interactions with the Titans. Maybe I will even dive a little bit into why I think that the interactions that Jason and Roy have in those issues makes the relationship that they had in New52 very out of place.

Let’s begin!

· NTT (1984) #19

Jason as Robin appears here only in the last page of the issue. After the current team of the Titans appears to be falling apart Donna calls Jason and others to help in a mission, this team that she puts together resembles the “original” line-up with Robin, Speedy, (Kid) Flash, Aqualad and Hawk.

· NTT (1884) #20-21

Jason appears in the Titans tower along the OG Titans, when Donna finally tells them what the mission is all about (stopping Cheshire from interrupting a meeting) she asks if they are in on the job, Jason is not only excited about being there but about Batman actually letting him come all the way to the tower. A little bit of what Jason thinks or saw in Bruce is shown when Wally says that he “didn’t think the Batman could be thrilled by anything. He is always so grim.”

Basically, what Jason says is that the Bat isn’t that bad if you get to know him and that he cares about Jason’s education outside of vigilantism. Also, Jason seems to be grateful and very receptive of the things that Bruce taught him, he regards him as a very good mentor.

After everyone decides to help, they get on their jet. Here we have a very important interaction between Jason and Donna, she is telling him how she is feeling about the attitude of the rest of the team and about how she is a little bit lost now that she is in charge of the Titans and then she asks what Robin thinks about the whole thing, Jason is obviously thrilled once more, someone as experienced as Donna is asking him for his opinion? It blows his mind away! Batman never does that, he is always following his lead and never has a say on what they do so, to him, helping the Titans is only getting better and maybe he will ask the Bat to let him join them permanently.

Because they were talking Donna wasn’t paying much attention while flying and after they barely avoid crashing the jet, she apologizes to everyone and once more looks for reassurance with Jason, this time Jason is caught off guard but after Hawk teases him about his hesitation he tells her that “everything’s okay”.

When they arrive to Switzerland (where the meeting will be held) we have Jason’s first interaction with Roy Harper and him also slowly transforming into a burrito, that boy was cold and pissed off about it!

It’s really funny to me that Roy talking about Oliver’s pervy arrows is his very first interaction with Jason, who would have thought that a mad man would later make them besties?

They all go inside a building to get warm and for a while Jason is just chilling while the other Titans are all having an existential crisis, because here is the thing, Jason is a kid, he was presumably 14 here while all the other are in their twenties. Donna is having trouble with her new position as leader of the Titans, Wally is trying to live up to Barry, Garth is grieving his love, Roy is still very uncomfortable about being on a mission that involves Cheshire and Hank is just crazy. The others are trying to complete a mission while their real-life problems loom over them and Jason is just on an adventure with cool people.

Its not much later than Cheshire attacks the Titans, she first takes on Wally because he is her biggest threat and then detonates a bomb, now here I will give a little bit of context, Cheshire does not want to kill the Titans as of now, she just wants to incapacitate them because them being there is making her own mission more complicated, all I will say is that she doesn’t truly have villainous intentions and that she has a very weak spot for Roy.

Anyway, the bomb incapacitates Garth and Roy and Cheshire also managed to shoot Wally so only Donna, Hank and Jason are left standing to capture Cheshire, but here is the thing, Hank doesn’t want to capture her, he wants to kill her.

Jason has interacted very few times with Hank so far and it has always been Hank teasing him but now as Jason is going to fight Cheshire Hank interrupts him telling him that he will do “what has to be done”. Cheshire of course wont fall easily and I think that at this very moment she is thinking that killing Hank wouldn’t be a bad idea because he is going to mess her plans up! But not to worry as she is raising her gun Jason comes in to save his ass!

Jason is not a match for Cheshire and after that she quickly subdues him. But what’s important here is two things, first Jason doesn’t want or consider the idea of killing Jade, he just wants to capture her and bring her to justice, secondly, he doesn’t even want her to kill Hank, who has been violent towards every Titan and rude to Jason every single time that he has interacted with him. What I am trying to say is that this IS Robin Jason, he doesn’t think or act the same as Red Hood will in the future, he has his opinions on what punishments killers should get but he is not there to kill anyone himself.

There is this whole page where Donna beats Hank against a tree so he stops killing, because that’s not what the Titans do, she explains that if they do that then the public (that is already quite afraid of them) will just fear them more and they don’t need that, plus she believes that he is acting that way out of grief after losing his brother, as she is saying all of this though she is putting quite a lot of pressure on his chest and that might have ended up in her actually killing Hank if Jason hasn’t been there to stop her.

Donna is obviously not having a good time and after this she says that she “has had it” and that from now on Robin should “take command” because “its his group anyway”. Oh man…its clear to the reader that Donna is not having a good time being team leader but she also misses a certain person a lot. She is obviously not seeing Jason there, she is seeing Dick, the person that she is used to take orders from but he is not there.

Jason is aware of this, he might be a kid and might not have as many problems as the other Titans as of now but he is not a fool and he doesn’t want people to see someone else when they look at him, so he confronts Donna about what she just said/did.

Jason is just great in this scene; he just doesn’t want people that he admires to treat him as if he were someone that he isn’t. Just because Dick isn’t there doesn’t mean that he (because he is Robin) can replace him, they are not the same person and they do not have the same experience. He calls out Donna on her behaviour towards him and Donna being an adult takes responsibly for her actions and understands that ultimately, she was hurting Jason’s feelings. We have a kinda wholesome moment when they hug but because this is written by Marv Wolfman and he just can’t help himself, he proceeds to write Jason as a horny teenager. What a way to ruin the moment Marv…

Back to Cheshire, she is about to kick Wally’s face in when she decides to first tell him what he has to tell the others when they wake up, which is “Cheshire remembers”.

Wally tells the Titans Cheshire’s message but none of them truly understands what it means, Hank says that he doesn’t even understand why they are alive. Donna comes to the conclusion that Cheshire might want something from them and this is where Jason gives his thoughts, he says “Doesn’t matter what she wants. We take care of her. She’s a killer.”, its clear once more than although Jason (as Robin) wouldn’t kill anyone he does feel a certain type of way about criminals and wants them to be locked up.

After yet another verbal fight between Hank and Donna the Titans take a cable car to their next location, Jason is shown as exited about the view and the whole experience once more. When they arrive, they find Faraday (the guy that called Donna for help in #19) and he explains a bit more the situation but Jason once more is having trouble staying warm so he goes to the cable car tunnel nearby, but he doesn’t go alone, Roy goes with him because his “costume wasn’t made for this kind of weather either”, in this second interaction between these two we get to see Jason’s detective skills shine.

Jason has been watching Roy and he found his reaction to Cheshire’s message quite sus. Not only is he showing his detective skills here but he also said in a previous panel this: “The Batman keeps telling me to watch people’s eyes. And every so often I notice you become awfully agitated…like something was going on you didn’t want to be part of”. Zdarsky, hey pal, I am talking to you, look at this dude! He read Roy like an open book, this is Robin Jason, he likes being Robin and he is brilliant at it, he is methodical because he learnt from paying attention and working with Batman, so, you sir are wrong, not only did UtRH disprove your dumb narrative but so does this interaction (along all his appearances in this book).

Roy is impressed by the kid, and yeah, he calls him kid because he is a kid…Roy is visibly older than Jason as he should, do you see it Lobdell? Yeah, there is no dubious age gap between those two as you made it seem. Roy is impressed because between both of them he is the one that is most experienced, not the other way around. How did Lobdell manage to make up a whole as run where not only were Roy and Jason close in age and besties but also Jason was better at vigilantism than Roy and Roy was the one being impressed. It’s wild, wild and bad.

Back to the issue, Jason taken out of the fight quite fast once more by Cheshire and she proceeds to talk to Roy, that’s where we find out that they were lovers and that she feels weak when she is around him because he makes her feel feelings but that’s not all, she tells Roy that he is “the man that fathered my child” …Oh and now she does want to kill him. That’s where #20 ends, so let’s see what happens with Jason in #21.

In the beginning of #21 Jason is conscious once more and when he hears Cheshire’s threat, he attacks her so she can’t shoot Roy, he also says this “Sorry ‘cat’ that’s a definite no-no. Don’t you know mommy’s and daddies should never fight” I, I don’t know why he had to say it like that…the 80s were weird. While Jason is being himself Roy is thinking “Don’t be cocky kid, Jade hasn’t got a sense of humour…” but because he wants to talk to Jade, he tells Jason to go, that he will handle Cheshire and he leaves.

Roy and Jade talk, Donna and Hawk are fighting bad guys and each other and at some point, Jason joins Garth and helps him take down a couple of guys, he also tries to make conversation with him but Garth is still not talking to anybody.

Cheshire tells Roy that he will never hear about their child again and that he needs to let her do her thing and stay out of it because he doesn’t understand what’s going on, Roy doesn’t do what she asks and she “poisons” him. Donna saves a guy that Hank was trying to kill. After Cheshire leaves Roy comes to the conclusion that she wasn’t there to kill the people from the meeting or that she poisoned him, but because they were there and everything went to shit now the people that were getting together are blaming the Titans for the interruption. The whole thing is a mess and the news channel are not nice about the Titans as a whole, but I am not interested in exploring that here. All you need to know is that the people that made Cheshire do what she did to the Titans were the Brother Blood people.

It’s on the jet that we see Jason again, he and the others are going back to the tower. Because the news are painting the Titans as bad when they are arriving to the tower Jason sees a lot of people protesting about them and he feels bad. This was his first job with the Titans and he is a kid, imagine how sad it would make you if you wanted to help and after getting the job done people were mad at you. But even though he is sad about that he takes time to ask Roy if he is okay after he sees him almost running away from the tower, he doesn’t get a response but he isn’t mad about it.

Jason’s stay with the Titans comes to and end and he says that he loved hanging out with them and is grateful for having been invited, he is so sweet!

· NTT (1884) #24

Here, for some reason, we see Jason saying goodbye to the Titans again and unlike at the end of #21 Roy is there to see him leave.

I am not going to lie though; I liked this goodbye better it feels like it’s more complete than the other one. Here he says that Batman wants him back in Gotham but that if the Titans ever need him again all they need to do is call. He also mentions Nightwing which is funny because he will be called by Donna again in #26 to help the Titans get Dick back from Brother Bloods Church.

I am going to cut this part here because issues 26 to 31 have a lot of Jason content that I want to explore and I can’t put any more pictures here, also this post is already long as it is now!

I just love Jason’s little moments in these issues, him confronting Donna and reading Roy like and open book in #20 are my absolute favourite, I just think this is a nice way to kinda show how wrong some current characterizations of Robin Jason are and what better way to do that than reading and looking into some good stories.

Oh! Before I forget, in #21 Roy leaves the Titans’ tower to go see Jade and he actually gets to meet his daughter Lian for the first time, so yeah, that was a wholesome moment!

#jason todd #robin jason todd #batman and robin #titans #new teen titans #donna troy #roy harper #cheshire #garth of shayeris #wally west #red hood #urban legends red hood

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iceeckos12 · 3 years

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time travel snippet

little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.

i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.

Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.

Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.

(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)

He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.

He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts.

The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.

But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.

He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.

As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.

His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.

Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.

(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)

He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.

Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.

Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.

Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—

But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.

Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.

After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.

Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.

In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.

“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—

He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

-0-

Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.

He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.

So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.

Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—

Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.

(With his luck? Yeah, right.)

The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.

If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.

So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.

He could really do with a cup of tea.

Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—

He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.

“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.

He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”

The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”

But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—

There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.

There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.

But all Martin can see are the eyes.

There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—

Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.

“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.

“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.

The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”

“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”

“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”

“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.

Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.

Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.

Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.

-0-

Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.

The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)

But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.

She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.

It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—

—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.

Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.

Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.

He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.

The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at.

More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.

“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”

“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.

Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”

Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”

“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”

Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.

“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.

“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.

She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.

Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.

(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)

-0-

They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.

#tma #iceeckos12 writes #my writing #just a little time travel au #probably wont continue this but i thought it was kinda fun

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jd-loves-fiction · 3 years

Text

➤”I’d like one order of Mando adventure angst with a side of fluff and a dash of spicy bickering. Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers flavor (whatever’s on the house) and a nice hot bowl of ‘there was only one bed’

Give my compliments to the chef”

➤ genre: Fluff, Adventure, Comedy(?), Enemies to Partners, Angst

➤ wc: 4.9k (holy shit might be my longest request🥴)

➤ 🌙 Requested: @batarella ❤

"Listen, buddy, I got here first." You attempt to reason with the wall of beskar currently pointing his blaster directly at you.

Maybe not the smartest thing to say when first meeting someone of his reputation, but he can only be doing this for one reason.

He's after the bounty squirming nervously at your feet. And you're in the way.

Why else would he be out here, in the middle of a rocky desert on some faraway planet?

"Step away from him." The voice you hear startles you with its modulated dept. It's more surprising that he even spoke at all, given what you'd heard of the Mandalorian. Although his stature and the silent tension he brings with him is no doubt intimidating, you will not give up so easily after following this bounty so far out from the nearest town. “No.”

His visor tilts to the side, like a frustrated twitch, at your answer. “Maybe.” You rectify, which makes him raise his head in interest. “Do you have a fob?”

“No, I don’t.”

Not that it matters anymore considering yours is broken, but at least now you know he can't follow you if you make a break for it with the bounty.

“How did you find us?”

“I have my ways.” You nearly roll your eyes at his cryptic response, not like you expected anything else from a Mandalorian.

“Do you know why they sent you?” Knowing your employers, you had a clue on what the reason was. They got impatient.

They’d been pretty determined to get a maximum time needed out of you. You’re almost sure you overstepped it.

But to send a Mandalorian? Seems like a bit much.

“They were afraid you’d run off. That you gave the bounty away to the Resistance.” Of course, those bastards can barely trust themselves, let alone a foreigner.

“Well I didn't, and I won't. So you can lower your blaster and we can do this together.” You offer amicably, not yet loosening your grip on your weapon upon his lack of movement.

“You’re out of time. Your deal is off.”

“That’s just-!” You're cut off by a shot buzzing past you.

"Last warning."

Your jaw drops. How can someone be so damn cold?

You raise your finger assertively, about to give him a piece of your mind, when you notice something move by his hip.

And it's green. With gigantic ears. And huge dark eyes that blink at you curiously.

Your head tilts, mirroring the creature. The Mandalorian follows your eyes to find you looking at the child he’s supposed to be caring for.

“Huh. And who is that cutie?” The blaster already pointed at you raises from where it had begun to slouch, alert and cautious. Noticing this, you readjust your grip on your own weapon.

You and the creature continue to study each other, until the Mandalorian pushes the brown bag to where it rests behind his body protectively.

“Are they yours? I mean, doesn't look like the ears would fit.” You speak just to make conversation, stepping closer with miniscule steps. His gloved hand tightens around his blaster, hoping to remind you that he can still shoot you point-blank.

But he hasn't.

"Can you really do much in front of a kid?" You challenge smugly, still advancing slowly.

"He's seen me do worse."

"That right?" Another step. "You planning to shoot me today or would tomorrow work better?"

"Are you always this difficult? Just put the gun down-"

You jump towards him, hooking your foot around the back of his knee which makes him fall to the rocky ground immediately, dropping his blaster. Unfortunately, taking down a Mandalorian is no easy task, so he takes you down with him.

He throws his satchel to the side in the nick of time, it lands on a sand pile. His other arm grabs hold of you to pull you down with him.

You point your blaster at him as he lays beneath you, except it is no longer in your hand. Shit. He punches you in the face hard enough that something will turn black soon enough.

As you fall to the ground he gets on top of you, or tries, as you place your feet against his firm chest to keep some distance. You kick him in the helmet, silently thanking the stars your shoes are steel toed.

Your hand only scrapes against dry, red, sand covered rock as you search for a blaster, either would serve. Despite your momentary advantage in light of the Mandalorian’s confusion after being kicked, his hands quickly come down to cover your throat. You feel the creases in the leather as they’re pressed against your skin, and the beskar over the back of his hands against your chin.

But you still attempt to reach a weapon, a rock would do at this point.

Your arms flail wildly with no real direction, only the need to stay conscious, as if movement would help it. You do, however, notice that he’s purposely avoiding your traquia.

He still does not want to kill you. How sweet. Probably just wants to take you back to the bastards who hired you. They’d surely kill you, and much faster too.

Just as the spots in your vision start becoming overpowering, his grip loosens. You inhale greedily, desperately, gasping and coughing at the released pressure.

You can see his visor move to and fro, searching for something. Once you look to the side, you the child safe in its pile of sand, so it can't be that.

"Dank farrik! He's gone." The bounty. Right. Shit.

"Now," you pause, heaving as your lungs struggle to fill up again, "what?"

He places his hands on his hips, thinking for a moment, before turning his visor to where you lay clutching your sore - but not yet bruised - neck. "I'm going after him."

"I'm sorry-?!" You cut yourself off with a cough as you sit up, feeling grains of sand make their way inside your boots and other places. "You're going after him? This is my bounty! I had him, and I would've been fine if you hadn't shown up."

He keeps his stance, probably glaring disapprovingly beneath his helmet. You huff at his unyielding silence, getting up in his personal space and jabbing a finger into his chest plate.

"I'm about to give you a piece of my mind, so you better listen very carefully. I had it! It was my catch. And from what I can tell, it still is. So you better back off, Mando." Venom drips from your lips as you glare at the tin can on his head as if you could put a hole straight through it.

He relaxes, raising his hands again peacefully, palms up, "Alright, I get it. But do you think they'd take him from you now? Let alone later when you actually catch him? They seem pretty vindictive."

"Well, what do you suggest? You're not going on your own."

"And why not?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans towards you.

"You don't have a tracking fob." You retort, leaning towards him as well with your hands on your hips.

The Mandalorian pats himself down where he believes to have stored the small device, only to find all those pockets empty. "You little thief!"

"And you're a liar! Plus, you think I'd just let you take my credits? Come on, with your reputation, you should know better than that." You shrug and suddenly Din is acutely aware that the beeping now comes from your hip instead of his.

"Alright, fine, let's do it this way. We'll look for him together and once we catch him, I'll hand him in and we'll split the reward." He explains slowly, carefully, afraid to set you off.

"Seems good to me." You speak resolutely, thrusting your hand forward firmly, expecting a handshake.

His helmet tilts down slightly as he looks down at your hand, before he reaches out with his own. Just as the leather meets your skin - in a now less life-threatening way - a coo sounds from somewhere at your feet, making you both look down to see the little green creature looking between the two of you curiously.

You look back at it, mirroring it once more, before it smiles wide revealing its tiny little teeth and, oh, your heart might just actually melt.

It's large eyes move down from your face, towards your hands.

You suddenly realize neither you nor the Mandalorian had let go of each other's hand and that a large grin has formed on your face due to the adorable baby. It is promptly wiped off as you pull your hand back just as he does. He looks away while you shrug at the child's inquisitive stare, unaware that the bounty hunter had been watching you and marveling at the bond you'd both formed already.

And so you set out together to look for your target, back towards town, where you had begun your chase.

He can't have gone far or in any other direction, not with the unbearable heat and certainly not while handcuffed. He'd die for sure, you just have to hope he's smart enough to know that.

You walk through town with the fob in your hand, just out of sight. No need for unnecessary attention. The town is tightly crowded, much to your chagrin, so you move slow and are barely able to see over the moving bodies. There’s just too much going on, too many people moving back and forth, shoving past you rudely. If it’d been anyone else - not an experienced bounty hunter - you would have probably been knocked down by the last two men that had scurried past you in a rush.

Without warning, you feel a hand grip your bicep. You immediately ready yourself for a fight, before you realize it belongs to your associate. Once he has your attention, Mando nods towards the edge to the street, against red stone buildings, urging you to follow him. You do, nudging anyone out of the way as you walked against the crowd’s stream.

You’re about to shout over the noise to ask just what the hell he pulled you aside for, considering you’re running out of time, before you follow his visor. Right to a wanted poster of a very familiar scoundrel. From the Resistance? Wanted alive for 8,000 credits?

“That’s one big fish, huh?" You continue to shout in order to be heard over the crowd, which you immediately regret, looking around, paranoid. "Must be important." You comment to yourself.

You look up to see the Mandalorian's back disappear behind the corner. You quickly follow, catching up to his long strides, "What are you thinking?"

He ignores your inquiry, continuing to practically stomp his way through town. "Hey. Hey!" You call out to no avail. Well, you asked for it.

You reach out, grabbing the man by the back of his cape, tightening it around his neck and making it so he had to lean back to follow your hand in order to keep breathing. Your heart beats faster at the rush of power you feel for a moment. "You better tell me what you're thinking, or this is not gonna work."

He taps your hand repeatedly until you let go, rising to his full height and you're back to feeling slightly intimidated as he stares you down, silently.

"I'm thinking that with a price that high you might actually take the bounty yourself."

"Why-?"

The tracking fob. The small object suddenly burned a whole in your pocket.

"Oh come on! You were trying to kill me!"

Your voice raises, arms flailing about. You know you're making a scene, considering this street is so much emptier and therefore quieter than the main one, but for the moment, you don't care. Right now, all you want is to put Mando in his place. Something you know is foolish given that he nearly killed you before and could actually do it this time.

"Yes, but it's still stealing." He spoke with that know-it-all, I'm-better-than-you, tone that just gets on your nerves. Bastard.

You raise a finger in the man's direction, fully intending to continue this conversation and clear your name in his eyes - the reason why is unknown even to you - when a shrill giggle cuts through the air. You look to Mando's hip, where the creature (who's name you have yet to learn) sits, pointing ahead to the entrance to the cantina.

Right at the man of the hour.

What? How?!

The man looks back at you and Mando for a moment, eyes widening as he recognizes you and the fact that this might be it.

Before he takes off running.

You start running before Mando does, easily catching up to the stout man, who's no longer in cuffs. As you get too close to his liking, he takes out a blaster (that you know isn't his) and tries to shoot you in the head. Only to miss and hit your forearm instead.

Hurts like a bitch, but it's better than death.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a steel rope of some kind shoot out and wrap around the fugitive's leg, sending him stumbling face first onto the ground.

Mando walks over to him, barely winded, standing over the panting man and blocking the sun with his body. You can only imagine the man's terrified expression.

You quickly take care of your wound as Mando ties the man up enough that he can't move, wincing as you look at the damage made on your skin. The burning nearly stops the bleeding and it hurts so bad you can barely process it, so you don't think about it, you simply level your breathing while wrapping a cloth around the wound and hope for the best considering it's not too big.

You clutch it to your chest as Mando approaches, pointing at your arm, intending to ask you if you're alright, but you move it to your side before he can. "Are you-"

"We should give him to the Resistance." You speak resolutely, holding back from wincing as your injury rubbed against your pants. It hurt even from beneath a (barely) protective cloth.

“I said ‘we’, so don't you start giving me shit, alright?” You tell him sternly after he crosses his arms, probably getting ready to call you a thief again. “You can't give him to the Resistance because they’ll arrest you, correct?” He nods.

“Well you know bounty hunting isn't exactly legal.”

“You don't have to tell me that, Mando.” You remind him firmly. “So, if we give him to them, we can ask for them to clear your name! And we’ll get double the reward. Two birds with one stone!”

“Do you really think they’d just do that?”

“If someone’s paying 8,000 credits for one guy and specifying they want him alive, then I’d bet they’d do anything to get him, even something as seemingly insignificant as clearing your name.” You explain, gesturing avidly as you do.

A long moment of silence passes before a modulated sigh crackles through Mando’s helmet. “Fine. I’ll go get the Crest.”

“Wait, woah woah woah. Why are you going? How do I know you wont leave me out here?”

“How do I know you wouldn't?” You take a moment to consider his words. He did lie to you, but you did steal from him in a way.

You look down in contemplation, eyes meeting the creature’s. Right, Mando has the kid, who probably isn't fit to be out in this heat for as long as it has.

“He got a name?” You point to the child, who smiles and giggles gleefully.

“Grogu.” You nod, sighing and rubbing your temples. Stars, it’s so hot it feels as if your brain is melting and you can feel a headache coming on.

“You can go. But I want you to swear on your,” You pause for a second, searching for the right word, “honorable code. Swear you’ll come back.”

“You-” The Mandalorian starts, before giving up on protesting at your determined stand, crossed arms and raised chin. “OK, alright. I swear that I’ll come back for you and the bounty. That we need.” He whispers the last part.

“Get to it then. I’m sweating bullets in this heat!”

You sit, back against a nearby rock, searching for as much shade as possible. You don't want to move the bounty back into town for a multitude of reasons, so now you’re stuck just outside of town. Sweat making your clothes stick and it gathers while the headache gets worse and more blood soaks your makeshift bandage, but at least it's silent. That's what you thought about 20 minutes ago, now, you’ve changed your mind.

“The hell did you do to get 8,000 credits on your head?” You ask suddenly, seemingly startling the man who seems to have accepted his fate already.

He sighs, probably just as bored as you, “I have some information they want. That's why they want me alive.” You purse your lips in interest, humming in understanding, before silence falls over you two once more.

Stars, it's hot.

You could cry from relief once you hear the sound of a loud engine getting closer and closer. The 'Crest', as Mando had called it.

You grab the bounty by the shirt, hauling him to his feet rather roughly and shoving him towards the flying hunk of metal that had just landed.

The ship. Mando doesn't come out to greet you.

As the ramp closes and the air is blanketed in a sheet of silence, your mind starts to wander without your permission. You know he has to be handsome under there, what with his broad shoulders and slim waist, deliciously thick thighs and a wonderfully smooth and deep voice that seems to caress your very soul as you hear it. You caught a glimpse of his skin when you pulled at his collar, delightfully tan just begging for you to sink your teeth into it.

Must be the heat. Surely that is the sole reason why you're fantasizing so vividly about a man whose real name you don't know, whose face you've never seen and oh, a man who tried to kill you. But didn't.

Sick of your own thoughts and the loud snores of the bounty, you rise to your feet, climbing the ladder that leads to the cockpit. You wince as you put part of your weight on your injured arm, deciding to climb the rest of the ladder one handed instead.

“Are you decent?” You shout through the thick metal door, hoping Mando can hear you inside the cockpit. When the heavy doors hiss and open, you’re sure he must be.

You sit down in the passenger seat silently, looking up at the stars above for a long moment. The mesmerizing, endlessly dark sky is all that you see at first, from being partially blinded by the fluorescent lights inside the Crest, before the stars come to you, bright speckles that dust the planetary systems all around you. Breathtaking.

You look back in front of yourself to find Grogu already staring at you, head tilted with a smile that shows the slightest hint of tiny teeth. You smile, leaning forward with a raised brow. He leans closer to you, eyes lingering in the side of your face, the one already darkening from Mando’s blow, before dipping down to the arm you hold close to your chest. You let go of it immediately as he does, wanting to shield him from seeing the blood you know can be seen through the cloth.

The child steps closer, as far as he can while up on the dashboard. Mando has to be avoiding you, before he would've seen that movement otherwise.

It reaches out his small hand, squeezing his eyes as tightly as possible while the green limb twitches. You furrow your brows in confusion, what?

The ache on your skin lessens gradually, as if the wound was being lifted from your skin. You can feel it on your arm, it tickles as your skin connects itself around the wound while the burn disappears as if you’d just placed ice over it.

At some point, your eyes close, lulled nearly to sleep by the lifting of the pain, the feeling left behind makes your skin tingle with energy just beneath, your head feels light for a second, as if the blood moved from there down to heal the wounds.

When you open your eyes, you’re met with Mando’s visor trained on your face, silent in a way you can tell he’s speechless. “Eyes on the road, Mando.” You tell him cheekily, voice cracking unexpectedly.

He turns back forward, pausing his steering to pull Grogu forward and away from the edge, before his hands return to the commands. “So, is it far still?”

“No, just a few more hours. The closest Resistance base is just on the next planet.” His fingers flick switches and pull levers, before he seemingly puts the vehicle on autopilot and turns to you. “You can take the cot, you must be tired.”

You blink at him, “And what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He answers gruffly, not sparing you a glance.

“No, it’s gonna be a few hours, and you’ve been awake for about as much as me so if anyone is taking the cot, it’s you.” You argue back firmly.

He sighs, loosening the cape around his neck as a way to calm himself down, you and your selflessness.

“Alright. No promises that I’ll sleep though.” He acts like it’s a huge burden, as if it pains him deeply.

He takes Grogu in his arms and towards his sleeping nook. The small child smiles at you from over his guardian’s shoulder, and you smile back.

Once he’s safely put away and the bounty checked on, Mando leads you to a space just off the main hull space, where a bed - with the thinnest mattress you’ve ever seen - is pulled from the wall. Oh boy, you can already feel your back aching, but it’s better than sitting in the cockpit on those hard chairs.

So you lay down your weapons while he takes off the bulkiest of his armour. You lay down, curled on your side and away from him, knowing he’ll have to cuddle close to fit. You feel his warmth against your back, but you don't feel his touch quite yet, only the ghost of it. Your gut tightens with pity as you know he can’t take his helmet off. That has to be very uncomfortable.

The lights are dim enough that there is no shadow from your bodies on the wall. You can tell by the space he’s put between you, that he’s about to fall off.

“Are you scared of me, Mando? Can I call you Mando?”

“Sure and no.”

“Which one?” You ask mischievously, smirking to yourself while knowing full well what he meant.

He sighs in exasperation, so you let him be. For only a moment before you're back to being snarky. "Surely you've been this close to another human before, perhaps in a more compromising context."

"Yes and it's usually quieter." You think he might not realize what he just said.

You snort, "Must mean you're doing something wrong."

"That's not-! Just, get some sleep." He says tiredly, giving up on the banter you're pushing. You do as he asks, closing your eyes as you feel the heat of his body move closer to you.

You wake up to a rough whisper of your name and a shaking of your shoulder. Eyes open slowly, squinting against the light shining right at them, before something blocks it and eases your discomfort. The large hand on your shoulder doesn't yet move from its place, gently perched and waiting for you to wake up fully.

You look up to see Mando's helmet over you, seemingly way too close (not that you're complaining), as you can clearly hear him breathe through his modulator. "We're here and we need to talk before you go in."

You follow him to the hull without question, stopping just before the door that leads to it. You rub the sleep from your eyes before blinking up at the bounty hunter, trying to nonchalantly fix your messy hair.

And though he'd never tell you, he thought you looked adorable in that moment. Rosy cheeks, a faraway gaze, lips pursed to hold back a yawn as you brushed down your hair. He was certainly thankful for his helmet in that moment, considering the heat he felt crawling up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

"Plan?"

You clear your throat before speaking, "Right. So, it's easy." You raise a hand to his face when Mando sighs deeply. "Simple, really. I go in, tell them I have the bounty and ask for a little something as compensation along with the credits. See? Easy and simple!"

"Do you think they'll take it?" It doesn't sound as skeptical as you would've expected from him. It's sort of hopeful. Even Mando has to admit to himself that getting chased around and having to avoid and run from x-wings at every turn, got pretty exhausting.

"Let's try it before we start getting doubts." You tell him, determined. "Besides, nothing to lose if you stay hidden, right?"

The planet you landed on is small and green - perfect cover for a Resistance base. You walk along the dirt path leading to it and away from the Crest, coming up to a clearing where you can see the humongous metal doors of the base which seemed to have been dug into a small mountain.

"Stop! State your business." A voice says through a speaker once you get close enough.

"I've come to deliver a bounty!" You keep it simple, no use even attempting to be charming with these folks.

Not long after, the doors part to let someone through, who you presume is a general or something of the sort given their intimidating presence and the flock of guards with their weapons trained on you that follow them.

"We have your credits. Thank you for bringing him to us." You keep your face neutral even as it urges to tremble beneath the pressure of their gaze. You feel the man in question squirm against the arm that grips his bicep. Must really not be a fan.

"That is not all I want." The supposed general, no need to try and figure that out considering you don't want them to remember you more than necessary, raises a delicate brow. "I would like for you to clear someone's name."

"That is not what we agreed on."

"Yes, well, I didn't agree to it myself, so." You shrug, impressed that the general's face remains stone cold, especially considering how much they probably would like to dispose of you given you're dragging out this exchange for longer than what's really necessary.

"You are in no place to make demands." One soldier tells you, pulling out his blaster and pointing it at you, getting more of a reaction from the bounty than from yourself as he flinches.

"Oh, I am in the perfect place to be making demands." You tell him venomously, grip tightening on the man's arm.

"We have you surrounded."

"Just the way I like it." You respond with a wink just to hear the person's stuttering over the modulator on their helmet.

"Very well." The general calls out in order to gain their minions' attention, "Just tell me what name they might be under in our system."

"The Mandalorian. Mando for friends."

Epilogue

"Fuck! Shit, fuck! What was I thinking?!" You yell out in frustration, standing before what remains of your ship, the rest most likely taken by Jawas, who must be long gone by now. "Of course someone would take it apart, why not?! Oh, stars." You wail miserably, crouching into a ball in search of some comfort.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Don't panic." Mando tells you gently after pulling you to your feet and grabbing your shoulders tightly to ground you. "There's two ways we can do this: we go after those Jawas, get your pieces and fix the ship or," Mando hesitates for a moment, fingers drumming along your skin as he turns the words over and over in his tongue until he feels as if he'll get them right once he says them. "you can come with me until you get enough credits for a new one. 4,000 might not be enough yet, but it's a pretty solid start."

His rare optimism brings a small smile out of you and makes your anger settle down almost completely. You'll no doubt have an even deeper hatred for the little shits, but you don't feel as if you'll punch the next living thing you see.

"I guess catching a ride with you can't be so bad, huh, Mando?"

#din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djaren #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc #mando x reader #mando and grogu #mando #din

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fangirl-ramblings · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Arthur x gn!reader

Characters: Reader, Simon Pearson, Mary Linton, Arthur Morgan

Word count: 3306

Summary: You and Arthur have recently made your relationship official by moving into his tent...but is he really into you...or is he still holding onto his past?

Notes: SFW, Angst leading to fluff

After requesting several wonderful stories from one of my favourite writers and people, I was super honoured to have the chance to be able to write something for the super talented and lovely @littlestarofthewest - Merry Christmas from your secret santa 😘😘

Also a huge thank you to @horsegirl1h (who helped me plot this out) @verai-marcel (for wrangling in all my stupid grammatical mistakes) & @mileycyprus-hill who took a quick look over this and gave me a much better character note on how to improve Arthur's feelings in this story and give me a far better title I could ever think of myself. Thank you all 😘

~* Tumblr Masterlist | Stories on AO3 *~

The First Shall Be Forgotten

You slowly opened your eyes, only to find the cot next to you still empty. It was fairly late when you'd finally taken yourself off to bed last night, but you had found yourself unable to keep your eyes open as you'd sat around the scout fire. Your hope of Arthur riding back into camp and joining you in lying down for the night had turned into a wishful dream of waking up with his strong arms wrapped around you, but it turns out it was just that - merely a pleasant dream.

It was only a few months since you'd started dating, with most of that time spent being inseparable, but lately you noticed that Arthur was staying away from camp longer and longer. Yes - the events of Blackwater had changed the gang's luck and the likes of Dutch and Strauss kept giving Arthur more and more tasks to do, but you'd felt like that most of these jobs could be done well before nightfall. Surely Arthur wasn't avoiding you because he was bored of you already….could he?

You sat upright, shaking your head free of any more of those nasty thoughts, quickly making the decision that you should get dressed and help out around camp before Miss Grimshaw marched over to berate you for wasting so much time idling about.

There was a chill floating in the air this morning in camp and so you found yourself shivering as you looked around for your light jacket. Opening your shared trunk, you proceeded to pile a mixture of both yours and Arthur's clothes on to the cot in your quest to find your missing coat. Though you soon found yourself distracted as you lifted one of Arthur's shirts up, tutting to yourself as you saw just how worn and dirt stained they all were. You swore that that man would wear these offending items until they fell apart on him...and some were close to doing so, judging by how often they'd been patched up.

"Ah, there you are," Pearson's cheerful voice booming from behind you, making you jump out of your skin, "I need a helping hand gathering supplies in town and was wondering if you could come along with me for the ride"

"Me? Surely there's someone more capable about?" Although Valentine was only a short ride away, the idea of being Mr. Pearson's captive audience for that short length of time was not high on your list of priorities for the day.

"Well, I don't know if you noticed but we are stretched a little thin on the ground right now," his hands gesturing to the almost empty camp area in front of you, "Mr. Smith & Mr. Escuella are yet to return from Blackwater with young Sean and, as you well know, Mr. Morgan is still yet to return from wherever he has took himself off to. As for the girls..." you tried to stifle a chuckle as he trailed off to glance nervously over at where Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen were currently sitting at their wagon, making sure they couldn't hear this conversation, "...I'd rather not ask them. Uncle told me of the trouble they got up to on their last visit into Valentine."

You couldn't help but burst out laughing at Pearson's fear of trying to keep three excited young women from creating chaos. "Sorry, sorry," you apologised, wiping your eyes as he looked at you with confusion, "Well...since you have no other options, I'll join you. I've been wanting to pick Arthur up a new shirt anyways." Spotting your jacket at the bottom of the truck, you quickly threw it on, leaving all the other clothes heaped on the bed, "Shall we go now then?"

"Goddamit, why does there have to be a train in the station?" you grumbled as Pearson pulled the horses to a stop at the crossing, which was blocked by one of the carriages belonging to the offending train. After being waylaid by the shop boy slowly loading the wagon with all the goods Pearson had chosen for camp - not that any of these ingredients would do much to improve his cooking, you cruelly thought to yourself - your head was starting to ache from listening to Pearson's constant tall tales. All you had wanted to do was get back to camp and sleep off your headache, but that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon, thanks to this stupid train.

"I know what you mean, I was hoping to get back and make a start on preparing supper," Pearson sighed before suddenly cheering up, "But, hey, at least it gives me more time to tell you about my time at sea. There was this other time..."

Internally, you found yourself groaning, trying to zone out the older man as he recounted yet another story, that this time seemed to involve him somehow, inexplicably fighting a walrus - single-handedly - to save his crew.

You glanced around, finding yourself admiring all the different horses hitched up around the station...until a familiar sight caught your eye.

"Hey isn't that Brutus?" you interrupted Pearson mid-sentence, gesturing towards the big, black Shire horse that Hosea had gifted Arthur a few weeks ago. Arthur had rarely named his horses after losing his beloved Boudicca in Blackwater and was more than content to just refer to this one as "Boy", but after overhearing Hosea called this giant a brute, you'd jokingly suggested the name Brutus, a name that had tickled Arthur and agreed it was the perfect name for this beast.

Put out a little by the fact you had rudely interrupted him just as the story was getting good, Pearson grudgingly glanced over to the direction in which you were pointing.

"Er, it does look like it. So anyway after I killed the Walrus with nothing but my bare hands…"

'So this is where you've gotten to Morgan,' you thought to yourself, once again not listening to Pearson's story. 'Here's hoping you're on your way home too.'

Smiling to yourself that your lover would hopefully be by your side once more, you absent-mindedly found yourself scanning the crowd of people that was starting to thin out as they slowly stepped onto the carriages...until you saw him standing with his back to you.

A smile started to creep over your face as you recognised Arthur's dirty blond hair, broad frame and filthy blue shirt. Just the fact you could see how dirty it was from this distance made you glad that you'd made the decision to buy him a new one now, as that one needed throwing out, never mind a good wash. Anybody would think that man spent most of his time rolling around in the mud than riding a horse around.

With his hands on his gun belt, he shifted his weight to one side and the smile on your face was replaced with a look of confusion as a young lady was revealed to be standing next to him, deep in an intimate conversation.

Unconsciously scowling at her, you were unable to shake the feeling that you've seen her somewhere before, but for the life of you, you couldn't quite place where.

You squinted your eyes to try and focus your vision on her delicate features before a feeling of rage bubbled up from your stomach as she kissed Arthur's cheek, in a way that suggested more than just friendship.

"And I'll tell you - I used that walrus meat to feed a crew of 50...and not one of them complained the way you and the rest of camp do about my cooking" Pearson waffled on down your ear, distracting you from your thoughts about this mysterious woman and how you wanted to jump down and throttle her. Instead you suddenly had the urge to wrap your hands around the cook's neck.

Turning to face him, you barked, "Maybe being at sea for weeks at end with no food makes people more appreciative of the slop you always manage to serve up - no matter the ingredients."

You instantly felt regret as the words left your mouth and you saw the hurt in the older man's eyes.

"Christ, I'm sorry Mr. Pearson. I didn’t mean to take it out on you..." You paused, thinking about telling him about what you just saw, but you doubted this old sea dog would give a damn about your love life and so explained "I just have a real bad headache and it's put me in a bad mood."

He nodded softly and turned away so you wouldn't see him wipe the sting of the tears from his eyes.

Feeling guilty from the hurt you just caused, you looked away to the source of your own pain, only to find Arthur had disappeared from the platform and the train was now pulling out the station. Had he gotten on board with his mystery woman? Gone off to start a new life with her and left you and the outlaw life behind him? These thoughts rattled around your head as Pearson told the horses to giddy up and the pair of you headed back to camp in an awkward silence.

Jumping down from the wagon, you helped Pearson unload the wagon - still with an uneasy tension in the air, before you tried to broker the peace between you both by offering to help prepare the next meal as a peace offering.

"No, it's quite okay," Pearson patted you shoulder to show there was no hard feelings, "You go sleep off that sore head of yours"

You nodded appreciatively, finding yourself thanking him and apologising once more as you picked up the wrapped parcel containing Arthur's new shirt, and headed back to your tent.

As you walked over, you rolled your eyes in annoyance at yourself as you caught sight of the mess you'd left behind this morning. Picking the mountain of clothes up, you threw them in straight at the trunk at the end of the cot, surprising yourself as you heard a loud clatter of something hitting the side of the chest and then dropping onto the floor.

Peering over, you saw that a few shirts and a pair of trousers had missed their target and were now scattered over the floor... alongside a wooden photoframe, laying face down on the ground, that definitely wasn't there before.

Picking it up, you recognised the image of a younger, but still very handsome version of Arthur standing on the left.

'You've always been a good-looking bastard haven't you?' half smiling as you took in his handsome features, 'No wonder you have a long list of admirers to spend all your time instead of me.'

Well before you and Arthur had started dating, you had seen this photograph before. You recalled picking it up from his bedside table back then too, in order to get a closer look of how attractive Arthur's always been.

But sometime between then and making your relationship official, Arthur must have removed it and hidden it out of sight from you. Just as you were about to ask yourself why, you spotted who else was in the picture.

'No…no it can't be,' you thought to yourself as you stared at the beautiful, dark haired woman standing next to him in the image. But, as much as you didn’t want it to be, it certainly was. Looking straight back at you was a younger version of the same woman from the train station…the same woman who had ripped Arthur's heart out and tore it into a million pieces all those years ago when she called off their engagement - Mary.

Time seemed to slow down as your mind went into overdrive. Did he simply remove the picture as a thoughtful gesture so you wouldn't wake up to a younger Arthur and his ex-fiancee looking at you…or did he hide it because he still loved her and her alone? Were you just a stopgap - something to fill the emptiness in his heart until she came back to him? Is that the real reason Arthur had hidden the picture and not gotten rid of it completely? So once he had managed to win her back, he could toss you aside and place it once more on his bedside to stare lovingly at while he held her in his arms?

You hadn’t realise you were crying or just how hard you were gripping the frame until you heard the sudden sound of glass cracking and a mix of your blood and tears began to streak all over her stupid, perfect face. Standing frozen to the spot, you stared and stared at her image, slowly disappearing under the physical manifestations of your hurt and betrayal, until you heard Arthur bellow out your name as he rode back into camp.

"Hey you. Boy, did I sure miss you while I was gone," he cheerfully greeted you as he strode towards you, "I tell you, there's some strange sights out there that I've been dyin' to tell you all 'bout."

"Tell me?" you snarled, acting the wounded animal you currently felt like, "Don't you have other people you'd rather spend your time with?"

"What? What's got into you?"

Your heart panged as you saw the hurt cross his face as he saw how upset you were.

"Listen, if this 'bout me spendin' so much time from camp recently, then I am sorry - but I did miss you somethin' fierce y'know" he assured you, placing his arms around your waist.

"Just like you've missed Mary for all these years?" Just saying her name out loud felt like you had tasted venom on your lips and needed to quickly spit it out.

"Mary? Where's all this comin' from?" He flustered, averting his eyes downwards as not to meet your steely gaze. Upon seeing you holding the photograph, he exclaimed, "Christ alive, you're bleedin'. Here lemme fix you up."

"I'm fine," you snapped at him, pulling your hand away from his gentle touch. Any other time, this small act of affection - the big mean outlaw gently cradling your hand in his - would have made you melt on the spot, but today your inner rage wasn't having any of it. Instead you blurted out, "I saw you. At the train station…with her."

Realising he had been caught out and couldn't bluff his way out of this sorry mess, he sat down on the cot and tried to explain.

"Okay, yeah, I was at the train station with her, but it really ain't what you think…"

"I saw her kiss you."

"You mean when she kissed my cheek? That was her sayin' goodbye. Her and her brother are headin' back East to find their father."

You sat next to him, the photograph still in your hands.

"Still doesn't explain why you were with her in the first place."

"No it doesn't, does it." He sighed, running his hand down his face. "I was on my way back to camp, ridin' through Valentine when I thought I'd check and see if there was any post. Lo' and behold there was just the one - a letter from Mary askin' if I could help with a small problem of hers."

"So you must have been in contact with her if she knew you were in town."

He shook his head. "No. No, she'd recognised the girls after their last trip into town and wrote to me on the off-chance I was also in the area."

"Why?"

"Her kid brother, Jamie, he'd gone and got himself mixed up in this weird cult up in Cumberland Forest. Christ, you shoulda seen them all listenin' on as this lunatic spouted some nonsense about turtles or somethin'," laughing, he patted his leg until he saw your stony expression still waiting for the answer to your question.

"Get to the point please, Arthur."

"You're right, sorry," he said as he nodded, "Jamie was the only one in her family who stood up for me and I owed it to *him*, not Mary, him - to help get him away from those crazy fools."

You fidgeted slightly next to him. You wanted to believe him, but he seemed to be avoiding the main topic of conversation.

"So say I believe you about your reasonings for helping her…why did you keep a picture of her?"

Silence filled the air for a second before he simply answered. "I shoved it in there so you wouldn't have to keep lookin' at it when we lay together...and I guess I forgot all 'bout it."

You looked away as more tears fell down your cheeks. Gently placing his hand under your chin, Arthur turned your face to face his, looking deep into your eyes he told you,

"You’re overthinking – I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”

"Prove it." You pleaded.

"Okay then...this should show you she's nothin' to me now." He took the broken frame from your grasp and carefully removed the picture from the frame, lingering for a moment before crumpling it up in his hand and walking towards the campfire.

Though his stride was purposeful, you couldn't help but feel he faltered once more as he looked at the flames, but those fears disappeared as he turned to look back at you with a warmth in his eyes and a smile stretching wide across his face. Looking straight at you, his hand opened and the picture fell into the flames, where it lay for a few moments as it slowly rendered into nothing but a pile of ashes.

Making his way back over to you, he picked you up and spun you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

Bonus scene: Arthur's POV

He slowly removed the picture from the frame, partly being careful not to cut himself on broken shards of glass and partly because he wanted to make sure he was making the right decision. He was convinced that after Mary called it all off between them, he'd never smile, let alone love again. But then you'd walked into his life and brought light back into the darkness he'd found himself in.

But maybe there was a reason he'd held on to this photograph for all this time - a reminder of the good times that existed between them. Heartbreak has a funny way of erasing those memories, but seeing the woman you once considered the love of your life in person has an equally funny way of making those feelings rush back.

But no, the heartache he'd felt for all these years outweighed the fleeting moments of happiness he'd felt with Mary. And that kiss on the cheek to say goodbye that she'd given him at the train station? It certainly didn't give him butterflies like it used too. Looking at her image one last time, he crumpled it up and walked over to the campfire.

Though he had confidently strode over to flames, he once more had doubts he was right to finally let Mary go. Turning to face you, everything suddenly became very clear in Arthur's mind. Everything he ever wanted: someone who loved the group of people he considered family, as well as loving him for the man he was - despite his faults, someone who was willing to stick with him through thick and thin, make him laugh when he was down, and never fail to make him smile, that special someone he wanted to grow old with with...he already had that with you.

Without thinking, he opened his hand and let the battered photograph waft downwards, enveloped by the flames and turning to nothingness as he made his way back over to you, picking you up and spinning you around his arms.

"I'm all yours...are you mine?"

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #merry christmas #(i hope this copied over correctly 🙈🤣)#rdr secret santa 2020 #secret santa gift

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golden-kettle · 3 years

Text

No Place For Love (Mista x GN!Reader)

Guido Mista x GN!Reader - CHAPTER ONE

TW// Strong language, slight violence

You’ve dedicated the beginning of your young adult years to Passione and La Squadra. You weren’t about to choose the enemy over the opportunity to finally get the pay you and your teammates deserved. Right?

Word count: 1,888

It’s been a hot minute since I posted something, so here’s the new project I’m working on! An enemies to lovers story with Mista :) I’m going to try and update as much as I can as I’ve been thinking about something like this for a while. hope you enjoy the first chapter 💕💕 Trusting anyone outside of your gang is a death wish. There's no room for love in the mafia of Passione. You knew this better than anyone else. Sure, you aren't the same as you were years ago. Naïve and inexperienced. However, would you be willing to throw it all away, the blood you've shed and the strength you've gained, for a singular person? That was the very question Risotto asked you when you returned from an incomplete mission, slightly injured.

"I shouldn't have to say what we all know, but this goal is what we live for," he said.

The goal he was referring to was that of taking over the drug routes of Passione, defeating the mysterious boss in the process. It was something you found was impossible, until Risotto told you and the other members of La Squadra that the boss had a daughter. And that daughter, Trish Una, was under the protection of Bruno Bucciarati and his squad members.

You were told to go and find their current location in Italy as if it was the last thing you'd do. You'd then place a tracking device on one of the members and leave as quickly as possible. Simple, especially for the traits and powers of your stand. So why were you sitting here in front of Risotto with the tracking device in the palm of your hand?

"You need to go back there."

You looked up at him with guilt in your eyes, a silent plea to let you at least spend the night at the base then try again tomorrow morning. Risotto understood right away, observant as he is. With a sigh, he spoke in a low whisper.

"You know that if I let you stay here any longer, the others will say I play favorites. Get going."

You stood up and brushed off your clothes, walking to the door to exit Risottos office. Putting your hand on the knob, you froze without turning your head.

"Risotto, I have one request."

He didn't say anything in response, keeping quiet. Although you knew he was listening.

"If I can't carry out this mission in 48 hours, call me a fool."

With that you left the room, swiftly exiting the base and paying no mind when Formaggio attempted to spark conversation. Deep in your gut, you knew Risotto had no clue as to why you took the time to say such things, but you did. Because before you failed at completing this mission, you ran into someone you've only seen in a photo on an information sheet. Guido Mista, age 18. Stand name: Sex Pistols.

The first time you saw him you intended on putting the tracking device on him. You would knock him out once he was alone, put the small device between the grooves on the bottom of his shoe. Then leave as if you were never there. Obviously, fate had other plans.

He was standing in line at a café, a small list in his hands. Presumably, what the rest of his squad wanted, you thought. When he finished ordering the list of pastries and drinks, he glanced over his shoulder to you. His eyes widened for a second until the cashier told him his total.

"Ah, yeah, let me get that."

You watched as Mista shuffled through his pocket, pulling out money to pay.

"I'll be paying for their meal too," he said as he gestured to you.

"Oh, that won't be needed sir," you said with a smile

.He returned your smile with one of his own, "what do you want?"

Is he trying to flirt with me? You thought before telling the cashier your drink order. Mista then paid for his and your order, walking over to a table to sit while he waited. You did the same until he waved you over. What's the harm in sitting with him while you waited? Perhaps you could get something out of him.

"So what's your name?" he asked, practically beaming when you sat down across from him.

You answered truthfully, there was no way for him to have any information on you. A staple of being on the hitman team is being anonymous, so there was no background on you. If you were to die, the only way you would live on was through the memories of your teammates.

"Ah, well my name's Mista, I haven't seen you around before, although you look Italian. You from the south or somethin'?"

"No, I'm from around here. I probably just got lost in the crowd. Or you aren't that observant."

Thinking that you might as well play along, you didn't feel guilty in teasing him a little bit. In fact, he seemed to enjoy your banter.

"Oh, I am insanely observant. Like for example, you have a stain on your shirt right there," he reached over and pointed.

When you looked down, he raised his finger and flicked your nose. You couldn't even be mad at his kindergarten teasing. You crossed your arms as he leaned back and laughed.

"Haha. Very funny," you said with a smile, "but are you willing to tell me a bit about yourself, Mista? I will say it's not every day I get someone to pay for my order."

"Sure can do, what are you dying to know?"

"Why did you decide to pay for my drink?" You knew you should ease into the questions so you could get something notable out of him.

"Isn't it obvious? I think you're cute."

You laughed softly at the statement, "you're right, I guess that's self-explanatory isn't it?"

Mista hummed, "my turn to ask you a question. What do you think of me?" he grinned, putting his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

You took a moment to think. No way in hell you were about to boost his ego more than it seemed to already be, but you weren't about to be flat at rude instead.

"I think you're generous, yet insane to be wearing a hat and knitted shirt in the Italian spring sun," you spoke out of a light laugh.

"That's fair."

You smiled, leaning against the table and rubbing the back of your neck. You turned your head to avoid his gaze, acting shy, as you spoke your next question.

"You have plans after this? I know you probably ordered for a group of people.. but maybe we can make a detour at my place?" you glance back at him with an innocent smile on your face.

"Well... I do have plans after this, but I'm sure they can wait. I want to get to know you after all."

How gullible can he be? Isn't he a gunman in the most notable mafia present in Italy right now? No matter the case, you just found an easy opening. This mission would be completed earlier than you thought.

After some small talk and retrieving your order, you lead Mista down the street and into an alleyway.

"My apartment is just on the left side once we get through here," you smiled, "but you won't be seeing it."

Mista glanced back to you, confused by the last few words of your statement. With that, you used your stand to push him to the ground, knocking the bag of pastries and cardboard holder with the drinks out of his hands. You watched as he reached for what you assumed was a gun in his boot, but straddled over him and pinned his hands above his head.

"Fucking hell, how are you so strong? What do you even want from me?"

"I want you to shut up and sleep," you spoke with a total shift in tone and attitude.

He grinned to your surprise, then in a flash he wrapped his leg around yours and flipped you over. Now he was pinning you down. He grabbed his gun and let go of your hands, pressing the gun against your forehead.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded."

I told you my name, Mista. Don't have me repeat myself."

He pressed the gun harder against your head, but your face remained neutral and unbothered.

"You're part of a gang, aren't you? What are you after from Passione? Or are you after us specifically?"

"Don't you think there's no point in asking me questions if I'm not going to answer them?"

Mista moved his gun in a flash, firing a bullet into the ground beside you. He then pressed its barrel against your forehead once more.

"I'm not messing around."

”You were a few minutes ago. Honestly, it seemed like you were so sure you were gonna get a kiss from me. Maybe more. Just how down bad are you, Mista?"

"Stop saying my name as if you know me."

"But I do know you, dear. That new capo, Bucciarati. He broke you out of jail and you joined his squad. The name of your stand is Sex Pistols, truly fitting for a man like yourself."

With that, he slapped you across the face. You froze for a second before speaking again.

"..Did you just slap me?" You spoke in a tone of utter shock.

"Want me to do it again, “dear”?"

"What are you, a sadist?"

"What are you, a masochist?" He replied, clearly mocking you.

This wasn't going to get you anywhere.

"I'm sick of this," you said, manifesting your stand behind him.

Your stand then put its arms around Mista's waist and pulled him off of you. You stood up and ran back to the crowded streets of the town, taking the shock he had of you being a stand user for granted. Once Mista gained his senses, he started to chase after you. However, it was a lost cause. You were already lost within the people.

It wasn't until you were running for a half-hour that you realized you didn't complete your mission. Risotto was bound to be pissed at you. Hell, you were pissed at yourself. You had no clue what came over you.

"What was I thinking?" you said to yourself.

You could've had your stand knock him out while he had you pinned down. In fact, that was the plan when you walked him into that alley.

He's attractive. That's why you didn't hurt him. You sighed. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, that was the only reason that made sense.

"God damn him."

As you walked back to your base you thought about what you'd say to Risotto. Maybe you could convince him to let you spend the rest of the day rethinking a new plan and get some sleep before acting on it tomorrow morning. Instead, you ended up saying nothing and let him scold you.

Now you were here, outside the base and walking back to the busy city Naples. Thoughts going at a hundred miles an hour, you knew Mista probably returned back to wherever the rest of his gang was. No way you could take them all at once.

You told Risotto to call you a fool if you failed to carry out the mission because that's exactly what you'd be. You thought about his question. Would you be willing to throw away everything you've built for only one person?

Only a fool in love would do that.

#guido mista #guido mista x reader #mista #jjba mista #mista x reader #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba part five #Golden Wind #Vento Aureo #reader insert #enemies to lovers #no place for love #kettle.writes

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artist-tae · 4 years

Text

fate

Summary: You and your tattoo ex Jeon Jungkook have been broken up for the past 2 years. But what happens he enters your life again when you just have gotten over him?

Pairing: jungkook x reader, reader x jimin

Genre: angsty af, tattoo artist Jungkook, eventual smut (?), break up!au

words: 3.3k

Chapter 2/6 (1) (3) (4) (5)

Present time

“Wake up ____!”

Your face was hit by the softness of a pillow. You groaned and threw your arm over your head as protection. Coldness when hit you when your duvet was ripped away from your body. If you weren’t so tired you probably would have screamed.

“Why are you so sleepy?”

You didn’t respond and buried your head into your pillow.

“Are you dead?”

You finally opened your eyes just halfway to look at the intruder in your room.

“10 more minutes Jimin.”

A scoff was heard from the man. Suddenly a hand wrapped around your ankle and you were yanked out of your soft bed onto the ground.

“Jimin, I swear to god!”

You rubbed your eyes awake and to avoid staring at the man who rudely woke you up.

“Come on ____, you promised you would come today.”

You finally fully opened your eyes to stare up at Jimin. He held out his hand to help you up and you accepted it.

“Okay Jimin, but please leave my room so I can get changed!”

Thankfully that made him leave. Your roommate had been going on about a new fair that had just opened in your area. You had never planned on visiting it as the last time you went to the fair you threw up the churros you had that night. Also you were with the person you only recently had gotten over.

But you felt bad for Jimin as you had been busy with school and deadlines that you two hardly got to spend time with one another. You first met Jimin in your first year of college. He lived next door to your dorm. Initially, you two were enemies. Your food would always go missing and you took forever in the shower. It wasn’t until you both ended up stumbling home drunk together that your friendship bloomed. Ever since then he has been your closest friend. Eventually, you and he decided that the student dorm weren’t for you two anymore and decided to rent an apartment.

You got ready and made your way into the kitchen. The biggest pro about living was Jimin – he was an amazing cook. The smell of blueberry pancakes reached your nose and your pace picked up a bit. He stood in the kitchen with his apron on flipping a pan of pancake batter.

“Did the smell of pancakes bring you back to life?”

You gave him your most sarcastic smile while grabbing your coffee cup. Jimin thankfully had the coffee machine on and filled with your favourite coffee.

“Why do you want to go to this fair so badly?”

You questioned him while pouring your coffee. He rolled his eyes and threw the completed pancakes onto your plate.

“You are honestly no fun ____. It’s just school and sleeping with you?”

His annoying attitude made you sigh. You just wanted to eat pancakes. You knew you liked keeping yourself busy with school. It helped keep your mind off things that were worrying you. Although you enjoyed having fun, you preferred having it in small doses.

“Sorry Jimin. I promise we’ll have fun and maybe we could go out to a club or something with our friends later?”

Jimin's demeanour immediately shifted and his eyes softened when he looked at you. A smile spread across his entire face. He pushed the plate of pancakes towards you.

“Sounds like a plan ____.”

An hour later, you and Jimin had left your house and were walking towards the fairground. The smell of cotton candy and the yelling of children indicated you were getting closer. Jimin started to jump in excitement. He grabbed your wrist to keep up with his pace.

“Come on ____!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dorkiness. Jimin had really taught you to indulge in the little things in life. Even if it was just a fairground.

When you both finally reached the fair, Jimin immediately went over to the prize-winning stalls. He looked almost like a child as he rushed you towards them, the fairy lights hitting his skin so beautifully.

People always wondered why you and Jimin were never an item. You honestly didn’t know why either. When you first met him you were still getting over your breakup and wasn’t looking for love. Jimin also wasn’t interested as he wanted to focus on school. You both also regularly hooked up with people and the other person couldn’t care less. You sometimes just felt like he was a big brother to you. He just wants to make sure you’re safe and happy. You never had that spark of love that you felt and he gave no indication that he was interested romantically for you.

“I’m going to win that bear!” He said with too much confidence in his tone.

His finger was pointed to a large fluffy white bear clutching a cartoon heart. It was silly but cute. Jimin marched over to the stall. He was surrounded by little children which made him look a giant towering over them. You could feel the second-hand embarrassment overwhelm you so much that you had to look away and laugh.

When it was Jimin’s turn he slammed his money on the table. The aim of the game was to shot down the metal cups stacked up with a fake gun. A massive scam you thought but Jimin was determined to win. He overdramatically picked up the gun and loaded it. All the children were watching with excitement. He brought the gun up to rest near his eye. Surprisingly, you could feel the tension the children and Jimin had. He wrapped his finger around the trigger. He took the smallest sigh to relax himself.

“This one is for you ____”.

He said as he pulled the trigger. A large bang from the gun came out as the plastic bullet was fired. Along with it was the clashing of the metal cups all falling over. You didn’t even notice that your mouth had dropped. The children roared and cheered Jimin with joy. Jimin blushed and shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing. You couldn’t help but cheer for him

“Great-

-Shot!” You yelled at him. Jungkook smirked and grinned at you. He pointed to the bear and asked for it. He carried it towards you and made it wave at you. You rolled your eyes at him. He could be such a goofball sometimes. You took the bear off him and he interlocked your hand with his. You both walked around the fair. The fairy lights made Jungkook look almost angelic even though he was more ink than actual skin. He was honestly beautiful.

“What are starting at?”

He questioned looking down at you. You were caught red-handed gushing over him. But you didn’t care, you wanted him to know that he was pretty.

“My boyfriend is so handsome.”

You replied in a giggly voice. He immediately lost his cool appearance and you saw him blush. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Ohh is my Jungkookie blushing?”

You rested your head on his shoulder. He looked at the ground in hopes that you wouldn’t see him smiling like an idiot. You loved seeing him embarrassed with compliments.

“Stop it ____.”

He threatened as he could still see you enjoying watching him suffer. But his threat fell upon deaf ears.

“I can’t help it! My baby is so cute and precious! I love him so much!”

You proceeded to wrapped your small arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly. He let out the cutest giggle you’ve ever heard. You were smiling, pleased with yourself that you were making Jungkook relaxed for once.

“Okay that’s it!”

He yelled at you. He used his superior strength and spun around and before you knew it you were lift off the ground.

“Jungkook, stop it now!!”

You squealed like a child. He laughed hard and spun you around. You could feel the strange looks you were getting from passing people. Jungkook couldn’t care less. He wanted to show everyone that you two were a couple.

“This is so corny!”

He soon placed you back down onto the ground. You could feel the dizziness of him spinning you around. You looked up at him with a look of annoyance. He just smirked back down at you enjoying seeing you pissed. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your forehead.

You both continued walking until Jungkook stopped in front of the ferris wheel. He raised his eyebrow looking at you.

“Shall we?”

He said in a posh accent. He held his hand out to you and you gladly accepted. Jungkook paid and you both sat down on the seat. As you both sat waiting for the ride to start you let out a small shiver. Jungkook immediately turned to protective mode.

“Are you cold?”

He said concerned. You shook your head. He rolled his eyes and removed his long wool coat and threw it over your shoulders. You were thankful he didn’t get onto you about not bringing a coat when he told you to. You thanked him and secured the coat over you. He gave your hands a rub when he felt how cold they were. The ride began with a jolt and soon you and Jungkook were both in the air.

It was one of the most peaceful moments in your life. As you got higher the children’s screams were less loud and there was a light breeze. You were basking in this when Jungkook spoke up.

“Where do you see us?”

He asked. You weren’t expecting such a loaded question.

“What?”

“In the future. What do you see us doing?”

You stared at him in thought. You honestly haven’t thought about the future. You were just focused on school and your relationships. All you knew is that college was the main plan. Other than that nothing crossed your mind.

“I don’t know.”

You replied honestly. Jungkook laid his hand on your thigh. He starred at you with a hint of seriousness.

“I was thinking. If you wanted to of course. My roommate is moving out of the apartment. So I thought maybe I could move out as well and get a nicer apartment. And maybe we could move in together. Like when you go to college.”

You looked at him for what felt like five minutes. He was asking you to move in together after you finished high school.

“I know it’s a stupid idea. I just thought that we were getting serious now.”

You quickly pecked him on the lips to shut him up.

“I would love to Jungkook.”

A smile immediately spread on his face. His eyes danced all over your face as if to check if you were being serious. In happiness, he cupped your face and kissed you slowly.

“I love you so much baby girl.”

He whispered and returned back to kissing your lips.

“Say it back baby.”

“I love you Jungkook.”

You both sat kissing each other's faces until the ride stopped. You and him both hooped off and suddenly the smell of food entered your nostrils. Jungkook looked down at you beaming.

“Churros?”

Jimin strutted over to you, keen to show off his winning prize. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. He held it out to you as an offering.

“There is barely any room in my bedroom for that.”

You explained laughing. He pouted and held it under his arm. The rest of the day with Jimin was lovely. You and he both ate cotton candy and people watched. You went on a lot of fun rides which made you scream and laugh. Jimin forced you to go on the scary ghost ride with him which nearly made you die of fear. You had your face buried in his shoulder the entire ride while he bellowed with laughter.

Before you both realised the sun was about to set. Jimin’s skin was literally glowing from the sun’s kisses. You couldn’t help to admire his looks. He was very handsome. Even when his hair was messed up from all the rides you and he had been on.

“Do I have food on my face?”

He asked unknowingly. You snapped out of your daydream and shook your head. You could have sworn that you saw Jimin smirk when he continued walking. You decided to switch the conversation to avoid any more embarrassment.

“So are you going to invite that girl you’ve been talking to?”

You questioned him, giving your eyebrows a sly wiggle. Jimin acted confused.

“Huh? Who are you talking about?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed at his ambiguity.

“You know who I’m talking about Jimin, the girl that’s been coming over to our flat in the late hours.”

You dragged your words, teasing him. You bet he thought he was being sneaky bringing the girl in his maths class home. You honestly didn’t really mind. However, there had been a few incidents where due to the noises coming from his room, you found it more difficult to get to sleep.

Jimin turned into a cute innocent boy. He placed his hand over his heart and gasped.

“Me?! No way. Also we were studying…”

You crossed your arms and gave him a look of “yeah right Jimin”. He immediately confessed.

“Yes, I’m inviting her but its not serious. But _____, you’re not so innocent either! What about that boy I found in our kitchen making coffee for you and him??”

It was your turn to be defensive. You shook your head and gave him a shove with your entire body. He hardly nudged. You knew he was talking about your former lab partner, who you finally allowed to your pants after he wouldn’t stop bothering you.

“That’s not the same! That was one night, and you were supposed to be out that night!”

He hummed a reply. You both silently agreed that you both were incapable of having an actual relationship. Jimin pulled his watch out.

“Shit _____, we need to get back to the apartment, we’ll have to leave soon.”

“Relax Jimin, we have plenty of time to get ready.”

“Anytime today _____?”

You rolled your eyes at his comment and continued slipping on your high heels. The clock above reading 10:42. Both of you were late meeting up with your friends. Jimin had just texted them to start with you two. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror giving your hair a fix then went down to the kitchen where Jimin was.

Jimin turned to you hearing you enter. His mouth was open to say something sarcastic to you but stopped when he saw you. His eyes were scanning all over your figure. He was used to seeing you in hoodies and sweatpants, not in a dress as tight as this.

“What?”

You quizzed him, confused to why your friend was just staring at you. He finally closed his mouth and straightened himself up.

“You look pretty.”

That was all he said. You felt your cheeks turn rosy at his comment. You gave his outfit a scan as well. Black jeans with a ripped that highlighted his long legs and a simple but smart shirt with the top three buttons undone.

“Not so bad yourself Jimin.”

Your hands reached for the two shots Jimin poured and you handed on to him. You both raised your glasses to the ceiling.

“A toast to a great fucking night!”

Jimin said and smashed his glass with yours. Heads facing up, the strong vodka fell down into each other’s throats with a burn. It was also probably the last discernible memory you had that night.

Fast forward to 1am, your ears have stopped hurting from the loud bass coming from the sound system in this club. You were into your fourth shot and god knows how much other drinks you’ve had. The neon lights had you feeling some kind of way and all you wanted to do was dance. You and your female friend were dancing to some throwback 90’s song. A mixture of you two laughing and singing along made you feel euphoric. When the song drew to a close, your friend leaned in and said she was going to get a drink. You booed her, wanting to stay and dance some more. She warned you not to leave where you were standing and she’ll be right back. Unfortunately, she had no idea how actually drunk you were. As soon as she turned away and the next song began, you found yourself in the middle of a group of sweaty strangers.

You continued dancing by yourself. Soon you felt rough hands on your hips. You turned your head to be faced with a random boy. He was handsome you thought or maybe you were just drunk. You leaned back into his chest. As you reached up to touch his neck, his body was suddenly gone near you. Glancing behind you, Jimin was jostling the man away. You didn’t even get to process what was happening when Jimin stomped towards you. He gripped your waist tightly and buried his head into your neck.

“Dance with me _____.”

His breath was laced with alcohol. He guided your body as you swayed your hips into him. You could hear his soft groan vibrate on your neck. You wrapped your arm around his neck, tracing your fingers on his skin. Leaning back into him, you pushed your ass into his crotch. His lips copied your neck with a sigh, taking in your scent.

“Just like that baby.”

Suddenly he spun you around to face him. With his hands cupped around your jaw, he pulled your lips into his. Like chocolate, you and he melted into each other. Your hands gripped his t-shirt in an attempt to pull him in closer. He bit your bottom lip and returned his pump lips back to your mouth. Jimin deepened the kissed, overlapping his tongue on your lips. You granted him entrance and he slithered in his tongue. He made you feel so good. It was overwhelming.

You pulled apart from the kiss. Jimin leaned his forehead onto yours. His lips were stained with your lipstick. He smirked at you with his lustful eyes. As you stared back at him, a sudden fear of unknown dread-filled your body. You took note of the way he was cupping your face. How you possibly just ruined your friendship with him.

As an automatic reaction, you were taking steps back without even noticing. Jimin stared at you like an alien.

“_____?”

He yelled at you, taking a step towards. An impulse of distress caused you to turn around and you rushed upstairs. Your head was spinning with thoughts that your drunken brain couldn’t handle. You felt guilt-ridden and sick. The mix of the two feelings had your stomach-churning. Scanning your area, your eyes landed on the bathroom. Dashing over to it, you swung the door open. As you were ready to hurl yourself over the toilet seat, you came to the realisation that you were not alone in the bathroom.

Your blurry vision could make out two bodies pushed up against the wall. One was on the sink and their legs were wrapped around the other. The music was muted in the room so the sound of lips kissing echoed through the small bathroom. It was abruptly stopped as the two faces were now twisted towards you. Realising you were being a cockblocker, you threw your head down to the ground.

“Sorry, keep kissing.”

You slurred. You grabbed the door handle and pulled the push door. After your drunk-ass finally figured out the door was pushed, a voice spoke up that rebounded in the room.

“_________?”

“Jungkook?”

Next Chapter

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criminalminds4days · 3 years

Text

Family Matters | Chapter 8: First Time

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 2.8k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 8: First Time

It is time to reveal the first meeting between the shy doctor and his new, very clumsy girlfriend.

Why is this the time, you may ask?

Well, because, what better way to intrigue the reader than by leaving the couple in newfound happiness without delivering the details of the said night. As well as provide a title that could reference the event and/or have it mean something completely different.

Not to worry, the awaited next morning shall be given in the next chapter.

Without any more delay, please enjoy the individual perspective of the first time they saw each other.

She took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened for the first time, leading her to what was bound to be her new workplace. She smiled politely at all the people she encountered in her short walk and as soon as she reached the glass doors she froze.

How had she made it this far? What if she wasn't good enough? What if the whole room hated her and she was just a horrible profiler and got fired on day two?

No, she was good enough otherwise she wouldn't be here. That was easier said than believed. She gathered the courage she needed and pushed the door, only to be greeted with it being stuck. She continued putting force, hoping it would decide to open before someone noticed her struggling, but it was too late for that.

"It's a pull, not a push." A deep voice said, behind her. She turned to see a dark-skinned tall man with no hair and very full eyebrows. He was wearing a black T-shirt that made his obvious muscles stand out. He wore black pants and dress shoes and a gun was holstered to his side. He was cute! Not that she had the time for dating, she didn't want a repeat of last year.

Instead of commenting on his appearance or flirting, she decided to pull the door, and would you know? It was suddenly unstuck. "I knew it wasn't stuck, I was just making sure it was strong enough."

The man chuckled, followed by a "sure," that wasn't even trying to sound convincing.

She made her way inside the bullpen, looking for her new boss, Aaron Hotchner's office. As she approached said room, a group of desks with only one person sitting caught her eye. She debated whether to approach but she could feel the man from earlier staring at her and decided not to. As soon as she met with agent Hotch, as he asked her to refer to him as, they were called for a case and she was in the meeting room for the first time, sitting as far away from everyone as possible.

"Everyone, before we start I want to introduce you to our new Agent," Hotch said, as he referred to the woman. She stood and waved. "This is our team, Derek Morgan," he said pointing at the man from earlier, he winked at her knowingly and she simply smiled, already wishing to leave. "This is Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi-"

"DAVID ROSSI?!" Her voice echoed through the room and she instantly felt embarrassment settle in. "I am so sorry, I'm such a fan. You must get that a lot, sorry."

She looked at the members she had been introduced to, Jennifer Jareau was wearing a striped dress shirt and dress pants, her blonde hair was left down and her blue eyes looked amused. Emily Prentiss wore her black hair in a low ponytail, a pink shirt, and black pants, she also seemed to be having a good time at her expense.

The man whose books she had in paperback, hardcover and audible, simply chuckled as if his only feeling was amusement. His hair was short and he had a lock beard look going on, a black suit with a matching red tie a clearly expensive watch on his wrist, he basically smelled like money.

"As I was saying," continued Hotch, adjusting the blue tie of his seemingly very expensive suit, a white dress shirt underneath. "This is Penelope Garcia, our Tech analyst, and Dr. Spencer Reid." She looked at the last two members and for the first time, she saw people like her. Although all the members introduced prior seemed like good people, they also seemed so professional, like they knew what they were doing and when to get their hands dirty. The remaining two, seemed younger, like how they presented themselves to the world was the same whether they were on the job as it was in their spare time.

Penelope had a beautiful rainbow dress, her blonde hair with a lot of volume and pins stuck all over, although she didn't like cats, she adored the woman's cat-themed glasses, and deep down she was a sucker for glitter. Spencer, the other doctor in the room, was wearing a white shirt underneath the comfiest looking red sweater she had ever seen. It was weird seeing someone wearing a sweater in the middle of the summer, but hey, who was she to judge? His hair was lazily pushed back and his curls were so pretty! How do you get curls that pretty?! Not to mention he was good looking, a defined jawline, and those brown eyes could melt her any time he wanted.

There she was, thinking things she shouldn't of yet another coworker. "It is a pleasure to meet you all." She took her seat again and Penelope began presenting the case.

As they were brainstorming, she had finally felt confident enough to suggest something, only to find herself interrupted by Spencer Reid. "Nu-uh bruh, I know you didn't just interrupt me mid-sentence." She spoke, clearly not having it. "I did not work my butt off to make it to the FBI just so that a man who wears sweaters in the middle of July cuts me off on my first day!" All eyes turned to her, perplexed. "I don't know how they do it here in the East Coast but back in the west we let a person finish their sentence." Laughs emerged in the room, and Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, slightly annoyed and very confused.

"I beg your pardon?" The man questioned.

"As you should. My pardon is granted." She turned back and finished her thoughts.

At that moment, unknowingly, she had just put into motion the seed for what would become her and Spencer Reid's relationship. And all the events that followed, her almost-death at the hands of a cult leader, her cool head when proving Morgan's innocence, and the countless times she made sure every single member of her team remained safe while providing them with immense ammunition to laugh when feeling down left an impression. Neither knew it but they were on each other's mind more than they realized. But that's not what you want to hear right now, is it?

After getting on the jet, the seat next to who she believed to be Emily Prentiss was the only one available. She took the seat and the woman gave her a kind smile.

"It wasn't that bad." She assured her.

"I may have just made a really bad first impression."

"You didn't, if anything we like you more than before." She followed this by a wink as the team reviewed the case and they took off.

"So, detective Owen is leading this investigation, you guys remember him, correct?" JJ spoke first.

"From the stalker case," Hotch noted.

"Yes." The blonde agreed, "Spence, you remember that case, right?"

"Yes Jennifer, I do." She took a chance by glancing up to find him very flustered at the mention.

"Do you ever talk to, what's her name again... Lila, right? Do you keep in contact with her?" She questioned, an amused smile forming on her face.

"I honestly think we should focus on this particular case." He answered, avoiding the question.

She turned to Emily who shrugged, just as confused as she was. Rossi seemed as lost as the two women, but Morgan and JJ seemed to be having a good time.

After landing and meeting with the local PD, they had begun their investigation, trying to understand this unsub. It had been about twenty-four hours since she had food and her growling stomach wasn't helping anyone.

"How about we go to get some food newbie?" Emily suggested, "I could use some right now."

"Sure."

As they made their way to the first food cart they saw, Emily cursed under her breath. "Fuck, I forgot my purse."

"It's okay, my treat. After all, thanks to you I'm getting food."

"I will pay you back."

"No need." With this said, the two ordered a hot dog and a soda. She should have known better than to do so, as soon after her first bite, the meal decided to find a second home in her shirt. "Oh, come on!"

"That's not good." Emily agreed, "let me run to the hotel, it's two blocks from here, and I'll get you a new shirt."

"You don't need to do that."

"I will be fast, don't worry."

Too late she realized that Emily's purse, which she assumed had her hotel key, was in the office. Nonetheless, the woman returned with a sweater to help her cover the stain. The irony wasn't lost on her, she judged Spencer's sweater-wearing and now she had to do the same.

This was definitely going to be a great day.

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Spencer Reid was never one to be noisy, nor the first one to notice people. This often came out as rude and most people believed he thought he was better than them, which was not the case. The truth is that overcoming his addiction had left him drained, the parting of Elle Greenaway, the only woman he could safely admit he loved, and the departure of yet another father figure, Jason Gideon, had made him developed a closed-off personality that prevented him from ever creating attachments to new individuals. Emily Prentiss and David Rossi being the only exceptions.

This is important to know because as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked into the bullpen, he tried his hardest to avoid looking up. Granted, it was more for appearance sake than anything, because there was no way he hadn't noticed her. How could he not? She wore a white shirt that was loose enough to give her a sense of floating through the room. He had seen her struggle to open the door, and the interaction she had with Derek Morgan and knew if he made a move the Doctor would have no chance. Not that he wanted one, he didn't even know her name.

He saw her walk towards Aaron Hotchner's office and any possibility that might have crossed his mind had been completely shattered. She would be his teammate, and fraternization was not allowed within the same unit. Again, that was just stating the facts, because he wouldn't even consider entering a romantic relationship. It was true that he had kissed more girls in the last two years than he had done in the last twenty-six years of his life, but that didn't mean he was a player, or that he would try to get in the new agents' pants.

After discussing these same things with himself he was called into the bullpen and knew they would be introduced to the new girl. He fixed his sweater and rubbed his hands clearing the sweat that had accumulated.

"You okay, Spence?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem a little nervous."

"I haven't had enough coffee, is all."

"Well, how could you? Your drinks are basically liquid sugar."

"It's not that bad JJ." They both reached the room in which they held their round table and sat next to each other.

Slowly, the room filled with the rest of the team and lastly by their Unit Chief and the new member. She was introduced to all of them and he couldn't help but notice how her hands seemed so shaky and her cheeks were flushed. He took his view from her and attempted to concentrate on the case. When he finally found himself in the zone was when his biggest mistake occurred.

"If you look at the scar marks though it seems-" Before he could continue, the girl he had just interrupted had cut him off.

She made sure to set him straight and he looked up just in time to hear her mention his summer-sweater wearing and feel completely embarrassed.

"I beg your pardon?" He said a little annoyed. Sure, it wasn't correct to interrupt her, but bringing his sweater tendencies was not polite. She took his words as an actual apology whether he intended it that way or not (which he didn't) and continued.

The memory would forever be engraved in his brain, he knew that were the little things that made having an eidetic memory, not such a great perk. So, as they sat in the jet he avoided all eye contact.

How could never look her in the eye without remembering their first real interaction, and he was sure she would not want to actually have a conversation with a guy that had come off as dismissive on her first day.

He would have overthought the whole situation if it hadn't been for JJ reminding him of his first 'fling' as the team often referred to it. Lila had been an actress they had protected from a stalker, and Reid couldn't help but fall for her charms. They hadn't talked in a while, mostly because he knew dating someone you barely knew was hard enough, but doing it when the two of you lived on the other side of the country was even worse.

He made sure to try and forget the mentioned girl and the incident with the new agent as he fixed his bed space. Sleeping in hotel rooms made him very uncomfortable, knowing all the germs that could possibly inhabit every single inch, but he loved his job, so with a few accommodations, he got through it.

"More sweaters pretty boy?" Morgan said, taking one out of his go-bag. "How did it go, ah yes: I did not work my butt off to make it to the FBI just so that a man who wears sweaters in the middle of July cuts me off on my first day!"

"Please stop, it's bad enough I will forever have that memory seared in my brain. She probably thinks I'm a douchebag."

"She probably does." His roommate teased. "But don't worry, she'll come around, now, let's go. We have work to do."

Morgan threw the sweater onto his bed and the two made their way to the local police station. They spent about five hours trying to come up with a preliminary profile, hoping this would give them the insight they needed to determine the importance of victimology, and possible help with a geographical profile by letting them know if there had been missing person's reports or bodies of people that fit that general victimology. After that time Emily and the new girl decided to go get food. He was hungry too but decided against going with them because he didn't think he would be well received.

After about half an hour, the pair returned and the girl was wearing a sweater that very clearly resembled the one Morgan had left on his bed earlier that day. He didn't think much of it until they returned to their hotel room and said clothing item was nowhere to be found.

"How on earth does a sweater just disappear? We had a do not disturb sign up, there is no way housekeeping would come in." Morgan said as they both looked for it.

At this point, Spencer knew why he wouldn't find his sweater, but decided to remain silent. How could he ask her politely to return it? And more importantly, why was she wearing it? How did she get a hold of it?

He never really got an answer to these questions, as they were not really friends, and he didn't feel comfortable asking about it. She had worn it a couple of times, including during their kidnapping, it seemed rather odd to bring it up then. "Hey, I know we might die, but I just have to know: How did you get my sweater?" was probably not going to cut it. So he let her keep it, and eventually, while the memory was still engraved in his brain, it became less relevant. That was, until the next morning of their shared night, when he saw said sweater very visibly hanging on her closet door and decided to try it on and see if it still fit.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n #Criminal Minds #CM #fanfic

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adrenameg · 4 years

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Ok ok...hear me out😂 So I always joke when playing that when a killer is carrying a survivor, why don’t the other survivors just kick them in the back of the knee or try to wrestle their legs out from under them. I would live to see that😂 Could you do a scenario or headcanons of how some of the killers (the big ones or survivor sized) would react to a survivor trying to take out their legs (either succeeding or failing) to free their friend from the killers grasp? I need this😂

this idea is so good 😂 i do actually think the exact same thing!! i’m sure it wouldn’t have an effect on some of the killers but i can see the legion and danny who are of similar sizing getting dragged down 😂

i decided to name all the killers and write a short para on what their reaction would be and whether they drop the survivor etc, hope that’s ok!!! you can also specify a certain killer if you like and i’ll write a short 😊 again hope this is okay!!

I have put it under a keep reading as its quite long, enjoy!

Killer reactions to survivors trying to take them out

The Trapper | Evan Macmillan: he actually finds it cute that they all try and take him out because it never works, no matter how many of them try. evan doesn’t even realise they’re tryna take him out by his legs until they start shouting rude things at him. makes him chuckle.

The Wraith | Philip Ojomo: philip has skinny legs so when survivors try and push him over he really struggles to keep his balance. there is an occasional time that a survivor gets free. he gets really angry and stands in a corner sulking.

The Hillbilly | Max Thompson Jr: idek with this one, i can just imagine him being completely confused when 3 survivors rush at his legs and try and knock him over. doesn’t budge, but it does startle him, which gives the survivor over his shoulder a few seconds to try and get free. his confusion is his downfall and he knows it.

The Nurse | Sally Smithson: she is actually more worried about the survivors hurting themselves trying to get their friend free than her hooking someone and pleasing the entity. she will drop their teammate just so none of them get injured really badly. she’s too good for this realm.

The Shape | Michael Myers: sorry, but if anyone is being carried by michael then they are never getting out. grip like iron and also legs of steel. if survivors launch themselves at his thighs they just hurt their own bodies rather than him. michael just ignores all attempts as he knows it’ll have no effect.

The Hag | Lisa Sherwood: due to her height and frail structure, she’s defo gonna be taken out if anyone tries to tackle her. the person she’s carrying will be easily free. she gets really upset, and i can imagine she’d slug everyone so no one could take her out when she picks anyone else up. although, if she walks past someone whilst they’re on the ground, they grab her ankle and pull her to the floor.

The Doctor | Herman Carter: throw themselves at his legs and they’ll just get shocked. all of his body is basically full of electricity so there’s no point them even trying to take him out. he has no problem with anyone trying though, gives him some sort of sick enjoyment.

The Huntress | Anna: anna is an odd one, she either gets very protective over the survivors trying to take her down, as she doesn’t want to see them hurt. or… she’s incredibly mean and gets super angry that they’re all trying to hurt her. doesn’t see why they’d try and take her down as they know it’s her job to hook people. she never stops anyone though, she got those strong legs.

The Cannibal | Bubba Sawyer: he never lets a survivor get out of his grasp. if others try and take him out they’ll fail. he gets miserable if someone tries though, he just wants them to stop bullying him. makes him see red and he goes into a rage, everyone is brutally killed by the end of the trial.

The Nightmare | Freddy Krueger: smol boy freddy gets tackled all the damn time. to every single one of the survivors he just has no… scare factor. a lot of the time he does manage to stay upright and hook the survivor he’s holding. after, he tries his best to be scary so they don’t try it again but it never works.

The Pig | Amanda Young: surprisingly, she generally manages to keep hold of the person in her hands. even though she’s quite small, she is strong and is definitely not weak. it doesn’t really bother her that the survivors try and take her down, she expects it to happen. after all, why wouldn’t they try and save their friends from that dreadful hook?

The Clown | Jeffrey Hawk: ok i feel like i don’t even need to mention whether this guy manages to keep a hold of the survivors (he defo does without fail). if anyone tries to take him out, he senses it, and spins round so they run into his belly and bounce off. he makes himself laugh, and it’s actually his horrible cough that poses more of a danger of dropping someone than the survivors.

The Spirit | Rin Yamaoka: try and get their friend free and she will drop whoever she is holding immediately and come after the other survivors. they are all most likely downed within a matter of minutes. don’t mess with the spirit.

The Legion | F.J.S.J: safe to say they all get tackled to the ground, and it depends on who it is on whether that person being held will go free. if it’s frank, he will try his hardest to stay standing and sometimes he does, but if he doesn’t he will grip the person so damn hard he could crack their bones - they’re not getting away from him. julie tries to do the same as frank but usually gives up trying. susie is just too kind and if they try and knock her over she’ll go down on purpose so that the person can get away. joey is a bit of a mixed bag, it depends on his mood. he will either do the same as frank or be like susie.

The Plague | Adiris: she doesn’t really need to worry about the other survivors and them trying to get their friend free. as long as they’re sick, and throwing up then their attempts will be failed. they’re too weak to try and push her over. however if they’re not sick, they may just be able to do it because her legs are decaying. she has height on her side though.

The Ghostface | Danny Johnson: the survivors try and take him down, and it only depends on how well executed the act is. danny is very observant so a lot of the time he knows when they’re planning to try and tackle him and he can avoid it. therefore he doesn’t tend to drop the person he’s carrying. bit of a sick bastard and sometimes plays along with the survivors, obviously with an ulterior motive in mind.

The Demogorgon: why would they even try and hurt demodog???? even if they do try, he won’t drop the survivor, you have to be kind to him to do that.

The Oni | Kazan Yamaoka: dear lord. they just don’t even try with him. they’d never be able to get their friend free from his grasp. he’s way too strong and is basically made of iron. they know that there is no point in even attempting, because he wouldn’t even feel them touching his legs, and if he did notice, then they’d be fucked.

The Deathslinger | Caleb Quinn: one push against his legs and his gun is back in his hand, chain through whoever tried to try and take him down. the survivor he’s carrying is not getting free, he’s a cowboy, he knows what to do to combat any attack on him.

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embeanwrites · 4 years

Text

Finding Home (Gavin Reed x Reader)

Chapter One

I couldn’t believe I was back in Detroit. I honestly never planned on coming back after everything that had happened between me and my dad. I left Michigan to go get my PhD in Sociology from (dream school). However, my dissertation was over android and human sociological relationships and the moment I was approved, Wayne State University in Detroit recruited me and offered me an amazing deal for a brand-new professor. It made sense since Detroit was at the heart of the android revolution, which would make research even easier.

I moved into a basic apartment in June and now it’s early July. I had been avoided seeing old friends and family, telling them I had to unpack and work on my new class, SOC 345: Android and Human Relationships. Which wasn’t a complete lie, but I have been watch an unhealthy amount of cute cat videos and eating a lot of peanut butter toast alone too.

I told my dad I would meet him today, Monday, at the station so we could get lunch with his police partner, Connor. My dad had always hated androids, I still had a hard time believing he had basically taken Connor under his wing and from what Tina tells me, he treats him like a son.

I took a deep breath and walked into the DPD. I couldn’t help but feel anxious. I hadn’t seen my dad in over 10 years. When him and my mother divorced, he tried to stay in touch, but after my half-brother, Cole, died he pretty much disappeared from my life.

“Hey, dad!” I said, a little too enthusiastically as I walked towards his desk. Immediately the android in the desk across from him stood up and gave me a goofy smile.

“You must be Lieutenant Anderson’s daughter! My name’s Connor.” He reached out his hand for a handshake which I accepted with a smile.

“Hi Connor, I’m (y/n). It’s nice to finally meet you!” I looked over to my dad, who had awkwardly shuffled towards us.

“Hey, (y/n). How’s Detroit been treating you?” I reached over and gave him a short hug.

“It’s been good. Doing research is a lot easier here than back in (old state). Plus, WSU gave me a pretty nice office.” I rubbed my shoulder; my dad was about to ask another question when another voice interrupted.

“Dr. (L/n). I’ve read some of your research and wanted to introduce myself. People here call me Nines, but I am an RK900 from cyberlife. If you ever have time, I would be interested in discussing some of your theories with you.” Nines kept his hands behind his back. He looked a lot like Connor, but taller and more serious.

“It’s nice to meet you Nines. I always have time to talk about my theories. Not many of my peers do similar research so any chance I get to talk about it I’ll take it.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in a leather jacket with a hood, blue jeans, and what looked like a permanent scowl on his face.

“Hey Tin Can! We have a case to solve!” Nines whipped around to look at him and I moved from behind him so I could glare at this rude stranger.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are? You don’t get to talk to people or androids like that.” I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t help myself. I hate bullies, especially people who bully androids. I marched over to the man with my arms crossed my chest. He’s about 6 inches taller than me with a scar running diagonally across his nose. He snorts and looks down at me.

“And who are you pipsqueak?” He chuckled, for once I was glad, I looked younger than my age. Nothing beats giving your full title to assholes.

“I’m Dr. (Y/n) (L/n), a professor at Wayne State University studying sociological relationships between humans and androids, and it seems you fall under the category of ‘asshole to everyone’.” Keeping my glare on him, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. He mumbled a ‘whatever’ under his breath and walked away. I smiled to myself and turned back towards Nines, Connor, and my father.

“I apologize for my partner, Detective Reed. He sometimes forgets not everyone shares the same opinions as him.”

“No worries, Nines. But you shouldn’t have to deal with that, I mean-“

“(Y/n), Reed has a lot of problems, but is mainly just an asshole.” My dad interrupted me, “but we should really get to lunch.” I nodded.

“Well it was nice to meet you, Nines. Please feel free to stop by my office anytime. I’m pretty much there every day until classes start.” Nines gave me a short nod and walked towards where Detective Reed had gone as I followed my dad and Connor out of the precinct.

“Lieutenant Anderson said you like sandwiches, so I found a local restaurant that is highly rated.” Connor said as we all buckled up in my dad’s car. Connor had given me the passenger seat and he sat in the back.

“I do like sandwiches.” I turned back to look at him, as my dad started driving. “So, Connor, how do you like working for the police department?”

“I was made to assist law enforcement, although I do prefer working for the DPD over Cyberlife.”

“That’s fair. What about you, dad? How do you like working with Connor?” My dad snickered at my question.

“Well, he’s the only partner I’ve been able to stand. Although I wish he would stop putting evidence in his mouth, it’s disgusting- “

“He has a forensics kit that can analyze samples in real time.” “I have a forensics kit that can analyze samples in real time.” Me and Connor said at the same time, causing my dad to groan and me to giggle.

“Damnit now there’s two of you.” My dad said with a short laugh.

“(Y/n), how do you know that?” Connor asked, I noticed in the rearview mirror he tilted his head.

“Shortly after the android revolution I interviewed one of my old contacts who use to work at Cyberlife. Plus, you’re the one saving my dad’s butt out in the field I wanted to know what you were capable of.” My dad quickly glanced over at me. I could tell he was surprised that I knew that, or maybe he was surprised I kept tabs on him.

“That makes sense.” Connor said shortly, his LED changed to yellow for a short second and then looked back at me through the rearview mirror. “Lieutenant Anderson forbade me from looking you up and learning more about you before meeting you. I didn’t know he allowed you to do research on me.”

“Connor, two things, I’ve told you a million times you can call me Hank, especially when we’re outside the precinct. Second, (Y/n) looking you up for her research is different than you scanning a ton of databases and learning everything about her.” My dad said as he pulled into a parking spot.

“That’s fair, Hank.” Connor said as we all got out of the car. The restaurant wasn’t very busy, and we got a table right away. Me and Connor sat on one side of the table and my dad sat on the other side. He kept nervously looking at me and the menu.

“So, how do you like your new apartment, (Y/n)?” My dad asked me while staring intently at the menu.

“It’s a little small, but it’s just me so it works. It’s only a ten-minute walk from the university which is really nice. You guys should come see it sometime. I’m pretty much fully unpacked.”

“Do you have a dog?” Connor asked quickly, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I’m more of a cat person, but I have missed Sumo.”

“Sumo’s going to go crazy when he sees you. He refuses to let anyone take one of the blankets you left still. He’s always hiding it around the house. He’s so much bigger now.”

“I didn’t know that that blanket belonged to (Y/n).”

“Yeah, Sumo and (Y/n) were really close.” My dad said softly. I felt an ache in my heart. For a moment I thought of telling my dad I wished I hadn’t left, but that wasn’t fully true. Luckily the waitress saved us from sitting in awkward silence. She cheerfully took me and my dad’s order and walked away. “I’m surprised Nines walked up and introduced himself and asked to talk sometime.”

“He seems nice.” I said softly, somehow, I felt I’ve stepped over a boundary. Maybe I should’ve met them at the restaurant instead of going into the precinct. “I’m sorry for yelling at that man, it wasn’t my place to talk like that in a police department.” I stared down at my lap until I heard my dad burst out laughing.

“You have to be kidding! I love seeing people put Gavin in his place. He’s an asshole,” my dad said. “Pointed a gun one time at Connor even.” I gasped.

“What? Why? Connor are you okay?” I grabbed his arm and he jumped a little in surprise.

“Of course, it was when I was first assigned to the DPD. I did knock him out later, which was…satisfying.” Connor said, I let go of his arm and felt myself blush. “(Y/n), may I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you care so much about androids? Even before the first reports of deviancy you were publishing papers fighting for android rights.” I had expected Connor to ask me that at some point, but I thought it would take longer than this.

“I don’t know I’ve just always felt that we were equal. Why does it matter that our blood is different colors? Androids have helped push society so much further than expected. I just…it never felt right to me. The way people treated androids.” I couldn’t help, but shiver thinking about some of the horrific stories I’ve read. I looked over at Connor who was staring at me intently. His LED was spinning yellow. “Can I ask you a personal question, Connor?”

“Of course.”

“Many androids have taken off their LEDs, why have you kept yours?” His hand raised up to his LED, which was still yellow.

“There’s no reason I should be ashamed that I am an android instead of human, so why would I hide the fact?” My dad snorted and I quickly turned my head towards him, tilting my head slightly.

“I’m not laughing at what he said. It took a month of me trying to convince Connor to stop wearing his Cyberlife uniform.” I couldn’t help but smile, looking back at Connor. A light blue blush spread across his cheeks.

“It was comfortable.” He said, his LED finally turning back to blue.

“That’s fair. In middle school I wore the same sweatshirt every day.” I said, as the waitress sat down our sandwiches. I took a bite, not realizing how hungry I was. “Mhmmm, Connor you picked a great restaurant, this is delicious!” He beamed a smile. I looked back at my dad, who was looking at both of us with so much happiness. “Dad, do you think you and Connor could stop by my office sometime this week? I really hate where they’ve put my desk and couch and I could use some help moving them.”

“That’s fine with me, Connor?”

“I would love to help, maybe after you can come over and visit with us and Sumo?” I looked at my dad who immediately looked worried, I could tell he wanted to take fixing our relationship at my pace.

“That sounds really nice. Does Friday work for you guys?”

“Yeah, that should be fine. Fowler’s been telling Connor he needs to take time off anyway.”

“Which I don’t understand. I’m an android. I can work every day and be fine. Our cases have a high success rate.” I let out a laugh.

“Connor, he isn’t asking you to take time off to punish you, he wants you to be able to enjoy the world outside work! Have you picked up any hobbies?” I asked him.

“I like to take care of Sumo.” He answered quickly.

“Okay, well how about one day me and you go to a local dog shelter and walk some of the rescues?” I offered.

“Really?” He was practically jumping up and down.

“Yes of course! It’s great volunteer work and those dogs need some love.”

“Hank, would you come with us?”

“That should be you and (Y/n)’s thing. We can do something altogether some other time.” I couldn’t help but notice his hesitant tone.

“I think that would be really nice, Dad.” He didn’t look up from his sandwich, but I could see the small smile on his face.

Chapter 2

#gavin reed x reader #gavin reed #rk800 #rk900 #dbh nines #detroit become human #fan fic #sumo #connor #hank anderson #connor is like a son to hank

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minsimagines · 4 years

Text

green malice | chapter 4

Summary: Y/N is an avenger, and she can’t stand Steve Rogers. A powerful mage, able to conjure green deadly mists to use as she wishes. The public is horrified by her, so her private life is hidden by the name they gave her: The Green Malice.

Follow her as she tries to fulfill her destiny; to find both her place in the world and maybe love on the way there.

Characters: Y/N Y/LN / Green Malice. Steve Rogers. Sam Wilson. The Avengers. Warnings: Swear words, some sexual tension maybe?? Words: 2k A/N: gifs and images are not mine, credit to owners!! I’m back with another fic. Woho.

Parts: MASTERLIST | last - next

«Listen, I don’t need your pity, okay?” You shook your head, head turned to look out the window of the moving car.

“Can’t you just be grateful?”

“For what, exactly? My kidnapper all of a sudden getting cold feet?”

“I didn’t kidnap you!”

“Call it what you want,” you murmur, rolling your eyes. You were getting sick of this. Was he really trying to justify keeping you in a facility? It struck you that the reason you never left the compound had been because absolutely anything you needed was there. If you had thought about wanting something, it would be there for you to grab. If you wanted apples; there were apples. If you needed gum, you would always find it. New shoes? There was a whole floor dedicated to equipment.

“I know nothing I say is going to change your mind, but I did try to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, because what Captain America thinks is right is ultimately the right thing,” you slowly nodded your head.

“I don’t care what you say – I’m going to do my best to give you the life you want.”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

“What you need,” he said, giving you a pointed look before continuing. “Is a place you can stay and move about as you want.”

“And how exactly is that going to work? You drop me off in the forest somewhere and I gas animals for food?”

“There’s a house,” he said quietly, followed by a sigh.

“Oh, a house in the forest. Yippie.”

“Tony set it up for you.”

“Tony!?” You shriek, turning your body to look at him. “I knew it! This is even more bullshit, isn’t it!?”

“What? No-”

“You’re just moving me to another secret location!”

You blood was boiling, and you could feel your skin steam. Shaking you head, you refused to be a part of their sick games. This was just a ploy from all of them, trying to get you under control. You’d almost prefer to be stuck back in a cell. You’d gotten used to it – the cold wasn’t your enemy anymore. These people were your enemy.

“No, Y/N that is not-”

“Stop the car.”

“Y/N-”

“Stop the car!” You hollered, a blast of green gas spewing from your body, gunning straight for him. He swerved the car in shock, a loud growl escaping his lips as the tires screeched against the road. You held on, as he slammed his foot on the break, opening the door to get out of the car. You did the same.

And you ran. You ran as fast as you could. There were barely any streetlights this far out of town, but you didn’t care. You’d find someone and take their car if you had to.

“Y/N!” You heard Steve call after you, and you the thunder of his footsteps following you. Fear and adrenaline exploded through your body and you pushed your legs to go fast, even if you could hear him close in.

“Hold it!” Came a voice from above you. Gasping, you skidded to a stop, Steve running straight into you. You fell forward, but he grabbed your waist, pulling you up. You pushed out of his hold as Iron Man landed in front of you in the middle of the deserted street.

“See, I told you this would happen,” Tony said, his mask pulling back to reveal his face.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve growled and you almost smiled. Yeah, shut up Tony.

“Why don’t you just hear us out Y/N, don’t dismiss us before you know what we’re doing. We’re trying to help you, you’re hurting our feelings here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did my back hurt your knife?” You hissed, sarcastically. Tony sighed, before stepping forwards, his expression turning grim.

“We think you’ve been treated badly enough, alright. Just let us help you. We don’t want you going back in a hole.”

“Why don’t you just admit it? You’re all scared of me, and you want to keep me under control. That’s all you want! Damage control! You don’t give a shit.”

“We do give a shit.”

“I’ve known from the beginning. You’re all terrified of what I can do,” you whispered, your bottom lip trembling. You felt defeated. You had somewhat believed they maybe weren’t that afraid – they were in the same building as you for a long time. But of course, they were. Everyone was.

“Y/N…” Steve’s voice came quietly from behind you.

“Maybe you’re all right… Maybe I wasn’t meant to be soft. Maybe that’s why it all felt so wrong,” you mutter, looking down. You body was tingling. Your life had never been about living – it was all surviving. And to survive, you had to put yourself first. Rage flowed through your body, followed by a furious calmness.

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me,” you said quietly, your voice low, eyes glued to the asphalt. Tony shared a worried look with Steve.

“Maybe that’s why I can’t have a life,” you whispered, more to yourself than them. “When they made that little girl into a weapon, they killed her, and I’m what’s left,” you breathed, your glare slowly lifting to meet Tony’s carful one. His mask covered his face and his action spoke volumes. He was scared you were going to use your powers on him, and it was like a switch. Something inside of you snapped.

“Steve, back up,” Tony said urgently, hovering above ground, as the whole world around you turned a deep green. “Hold your breath, she can’t hurt you if you-”

His yell was cut off by a wall of smoke pushing him far up into the sky. You glared at him, your hands glowing green as you held up in front of you.

“Y/N, don’t do this.”

“Walk away Steve,” you growled, turning to look at him. You didn’t want to hurt him.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said, looking at you with a worried expression. The anger subsided slightly, and your cold eyes softened as his brows pushed up into a sad frown. “I… am not leaving you.”

“Steve…” You mumbled. What was this softness? Where had it come from? It was as if seeing his face was enough to have your hard façade crumbling.

“Tony is going to leave, okay?” Steve said slowly, holding his hands out, taking a careful step towards you. Your eyes watched him carefully, though you weren’t scared.

“And then you let me take you to the house,” he continued, his voice calm and even. You turned your head slightly, looking at him from the side.

“And if you don’t like it, you leave,” he whispered. You felt torn, you didn’t know what to trust any longer. You wanted to trust yourself; protect yourself, but there was a tiny voice in the back of your head saying you couldn’t do it alone. And for every word Steve spoke, that voice grew louder.

You stood still for a long while, your mind racing with all possible outcomes, and they all ended the same: you run away.

He kept moving towards you, slowly, and your body was on edge – tingling with adrenaline as it was ready to bolt at any second. Steve held his hand out to you and although uncertain, you let him touch your arm, your powers still misting from your body. You could see his expression change as he felt the venomous steam on his fingers, though he tried to hide it. He didn’t let go.

Your eyes flickered down to his fingers, and they seemed fine. That contact would have melted a human’s skin right off, yet he…

Looking up at him with wide eyes, gazes clashing, you realized he could withstand it. Narrowing your eyes, you let the most venomous smoke you could conjure seep out of your palm, enclosing you both in a cloud of green. Your eyes watched him intently, waiting for him to fall over, unable to take the pain of inhaling the gas. Waiting for his eyes to roll to the back of his head as he passed out. Waiting for his outer layer of skin to wither and leave him a bleeding mess on the concrete.

But he didn’t. He clenched his jaw and kept his determined eyes on yours. Why wasn’t anything happening to him?

Your wide eyes flickered all over him, your chest heaving for breath. You were stressed, your eyes blinking in confusion. Reaching out, you grabbed a hold of his sweater and lifted it up, revealing his firm torso, yet that was the last thing on your mind. You held your hand out, smoke spewing out all over his bare skin. You could see him clench his muscles. So, he did feel it, it just didn’t… didn’t do anything.

Shaking your head, you looked up at him again, tears welling in your eyes.

“You can’t hurt me,” he whispered, through gritted teeth.

“You’re hurting right now,” you pressed.

“I can take it.”

“No,” you murmured, stepping back. You held your hands out as you stepped back and a wall similar to the one you had thrown at Tony flew towards Steve. He braced himself, covring his face with his arm. The force pushed him a few feet backwards, but nothing compared to what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be flying through the air.

“I’ll live with the regret forever, Y/N, but let me try to make it up to you,” he begged as you pulled your smoke back.

“Do you still not get it!?” You shrieked, anger and confusion bubbling inside your chest. “I don’t want you to do nice things for me because you owe me! That’s what you all do, that’s what you’ve been doing sine day one! Why can’t anyone just be nice because you want to be nice? Did it occur to anyone that I might just have needed a fucking hug after being locked in a cage for 10 years?”

“I… I’m sorry, I’m… I’ve tried, Y/N, I wanted to. But you didn’t even look at me. At any of us.”

Swallowing thickly, you knew he was right. You had been a bitch, even if you didn’t think he was all that great. You could’ve been civil. Though, to your defense, you were never rude to any of them, you just avoided them.

Looking up at him, you didn’t know what to say. He was the only one who had been able to withstand your powers. Ever. All you knew was that you had to follow him. You couldn’t run away from the one person who you couldn’t accidentally kill if you threw a tantrum.

Grabbing his hand, you dragged him back to the car. You weren’t going to stand around and mope, you were going to get the fuck out of there, and you were going to the supposed free place.

For the first time in your life, since you had been changed by HYDRA, you were afraid of someone else. Sure, you knew Wanda could hold you back, and you new Tony couldn’t breathe in the gas through his suit, but you could have easily gassed them if they were restrained or without a mask.

Steve… you couldn’t even affect him if you could sneak up on him.

You climbed into the car, and slammed the door shut. Staring out of the window, you waited. Steve seemed somewhat uncomfortable in the change of mood, and you didn’t blame him, though you would have appreciated if he could have moved a bit faster.

“Take me to the damned house,” you muttered quietly as he got in and started the car, slowly driving off in the direction we had earlier. You could feel his eyes on you every few seconds, yet you had too much to think about. You had thought you were going to be stuck in a facility for the rest of your life, abiding by rules set by people who didn’t consider you a human.

Yet, here he was. Captain America. Saving the fucking day once again.

Taglist: @itsallyscorner @pieofawkwardness @captain-winny @sarahschance

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x y/n #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel scenarios #marvel x reader #avengers #avengers scenario #avengers imagines #avengers imagine #avengers x reader

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mydearsaddiary · 4 years

Text

Neil Season 3- Chapter 1: 1933

Little curiosity notes: Every chapter will have one. One in the beginning, one at the end. The last name I chose for the Speakeasy Tonight MC is Granger. I wish I could be inclusive with all the last names you guys must’ve chosen but I’ll keep that one for the story (Generic English, I always had the vibes she had English ancestry since it’s never mentioned what her nationality is but we know it’s some sort of European but not Italian, Irish or French and her family had predominantly English names (I think her parents are Edward and Frances, but we have Charles, Edith and Hazel). However, I found a little way to be inclusive of the first name. I named the main character here Mary Catherine Granger, but almost every time everyone will call her by the nickname MC (Also works for Main Character) or Ice Box Flapper, unless it’d look weird (like her parents wouldn’t call her by her nickname). I hope when MC appears you guys can at least imagine what you decided to name her in the game! Hope this helps!

Author notes: It took me a while to write this but I finally did so here’s the first episode! I really hope you guys enjoy my imagination, I miss Speakeasy Tonight as much as you guys do! Please reblog, share, like it and don’t hold back on sending me opinions or criticism in here or in my private messages! It’s a long chapter and it starts with a future look, the next chapters will focus completely on 1926, with only a few occasional scenes in the future but not like this! Thank you, enjoy!

-Candy, My Dear Diary.

——

Fanfic: Speakeasy Tonight (originally by Lovestruck Voltage Games)

Neil Season 3

Chapter 1: 1933

1933

My ways had taken me to live in one of the famous bungalows in Chicago, it’s not what I would’ve imagined for myself, but it was more than I could ask for during these times. The now bankrupt city was once the source of vitality of my not so misspent youth.

The Chicago bootlegging scene was a world I discovered and would come to love when I was just nineteen. The youthfulness and freeness and excitement of the Prohibition life and running a speakeasy had turned into something completely different. I was twenty-six, I was still relatively young but I wasn’t nineteen anymore. The thrill of the illegal drinking had died once it was back to being legal. Gangsters were still alive, but the risk wasn’t worth it anymore, now vileness was the only reason to remain in a life of crime

Needless to say the location of the Ice Box had closed its doors, but the Ice Box itself remained alive in the family we had created. Cliff Conway had opened the Conway Diner. He was the owner along with still using his talents as a bartender there (and working in the kitchen sometimes making the best strawberry pie in the country). The place focused more on food, but drinking, dancing and music was still all part of it.

Uncle Charlie was a stubborn old man who wasn’t going to sit at home if his life depended on it. After being shot he was never the same, he had considerable health problems that weren’t huge if he watched himself. After being in the hospital countless times for not doing so (and after Neil yelled at him some) he finally got that into his head. Charlie’s appliances stayed open and things were going fine somehow, so during the day he stayed there and worked. It didn’t require him to do much and it still brought revenue. Later he’d come to the diner and spend time with everybody, Cliff would let him help sometimes. On top of everything, Uncle Charlie still had his Neighborhood Association. Crime was still part of life in Chicago and he still put in time to make sure people were safe.

Cleo, Julius and Sophia still provided entertainment there. Andrew was no longer needed as a bouncer or to keep people out, so even though it seemed like the last thing we’d imagine him doing, Cleo and Cliff both convinced him to take some culinary classes and work as a cook (and occasionally send away a rude client or somebody who drank too much).

Elliot was away much of the time in Hollywood. Since the Wall Market crashed a few years back, movies were everybody’s distraction. He got deal after deal, but he couldn’t stay away from us for too long, we’d always see him back here, playing poker and still always winning against some patrons (and Vince, who still always lost).

Donovan was in love. Everyone knew that the reason the flatfoot still hanged around us even though the Conway Diner didn’t need protection from the coppers was because he was still completely in love with Cliff’s whiskey. So at night after his work he’d always be there. He missed Elliot most of the time but still found ways to entertain himself.

Even Gerald O’Fallon was still in some ways involved with us. He opened up a ritzy restaurant he named The Broiler after his joint back in the Prohibition days. He still worked a deal with Cliff so Vince would supply his restaurant like before and they were still competitors. Funny to think it’s still the same. He sometimes comes by to dine with us and get into an argument with Vince as usual, which brings us to our Italian friend.

Vince was sometimes still involved with the crime life, Mad Dog Moretti’s reputation followed him until the end of prohibition and after. He helped out bringing supplies, food and doing the same he did with Liquor at the Ice Box. However Vince was still a hot head with a gun who had no other gangsters to fight. Sometimes he still let it get the best of him, he would get in trouble with some criminals, exchange shots and ended up the diner at night when it was empty with some different wound. Because of that Neil was still needed to patch him up.

Doc Dresner. Besides fixing Vince up and taking care of my uncle, well, he still sat at the bar and drank his bourbon at the diner. However, a few things had changed for the doc who sat down at the Ice Box and gave everyone the cold treatment. He still had his sarcasm in his voice and the cynicism in his personality, alright. Everyone still got treated the same, but since 1926 somethings had softened this man.

First he carried a little more of a tired look in his eyes from having to deal with children and a wife (although I like to pretend the latter one isn’t much to deal with). The responsibilities that came with being a father showed through. Me and the kids, we kept him less dark and bleak. Although his personality would always be there, he smiled, that warm smile, more often when we were around. Then sometimes when he was mad at one of us he’d put up the façade he built for everyone else, but that didn’t last long.

I think Neil was also happy now that our oldest, Alton, was old enough he had just started teaching him how to play chess. Charlotte and Lucius (or as everyone called him little Luke) had some years ahead of them. But besides his family life there was something else that improved his mood.

About two years ago, Neil had sent an application to the State Medical Board to reapply for his license, he went to hearings and it was a long process. I didn’t take much part in it but I understood that Charlie and the doctors that took care of him throughout his withdrawal processes downstate testified as witnesses that he had overcome his morphine problem and the court approved.

Neil joined the legal side of things along with the rest of us and was able to practice legally again. Being at a hospital took too much time away from everything so everybody helped out to reform the infirmary he had before into a nice doctor’s office not too far from the appliance store. He helped out the neighborhood like he did before, took care of some emergency situations and sometimes went to people’s houses if they were too incapacitated.

I believe that only leaves me. The Ice Box Flapper. Well, flapper no longer. Not me and not any other girl either. I still liked the red hair as an added charm of mine and my curls didn’t go nowhere but they were more organized like romantic waves and you’d find my hair a little longer these days. I didn’t spent a lot of time at Menken’s anymore but I still loved fashion. Although nothing was as extravagant as what I used to wear, even the calf-long dresses or skirts still had a belt with a glimmering accessory attached to it, or the delicate tilted hats had a bow. I always found my ways.

The question is, what exactly was I doing? The day I normally spent at the house with the kids, Neil would come home and we’d spend some time together and then he’d give me a ride to work and stay there. Where? Well, the Conway diner still needed a chippie with a way of the words as a host, and what better than this former flapper with a way for numbers too? I helped Cliff out with the clientele and worked on the accounting side of the business. Some days Cliff would lend me to Uncle Charlie when he needed help. I’d bring the kids over and Alton and Charlotte would help (or try to).

Even if things did change, it seemed one way or the other we all found our place. There was really a life after prohibition.

I was coming back from the market. It was a little solemn watching people have to count and put back things they could no longer afford, but there was no way to avoid buying food. It was Friday morning, last day of work for this week. Neil and I decided we’d save the weekends for us and the kids. I gave the taxi driver his dime and climbed out of the cab to meet the front of the bungalow we’d bought after we found out I was pregnant with my second child.

It met the sidewalk with a nice little white fence, and once you were past it a clean little garden decorated the front along with one small tree facing the street. Everything contrasted the neighbor’s porch who had given up on the positive and hid behind tall, uncared for, grass. The white stairs led to a small but still nice-sized porch. I had made a point of making it a place to spend summer mornings at. I had placed a wooden bench and on the other side of the blue door there was a table and five metal chairs surrounded it, I always liked to people watch, Neil liked to read more than anyone, so when it was hot outside we’d lose ourselves in our activities and small talk.

I walked inside to meet the living room, mostly in shades of blue. The wall paper also had shades of white and Victorian patterns on it. The sofa and the loveseat surrounded a coffee table and where by the fireplace, which on top resided the house’s radio. Further back by the window there was a dining area with wooden tables and chairs. Only a half wall and an open doorway separated the room from the kitchen. I liked it that way, it eased the conversation. The kitchen was well-lit and mainly white.

A corridor was by the front door. It led to a nice bathroom right in the middle, in which I took longer-than-necessary baths and right after it on the same side two doors led to two bedrooms. One was ours and the other the kids’.

Our bedroom looked like a mixture of Neil’s old room in his apartment and mine in Uncle Charlie’s house. My vanity table and mirror were still where I got ready in the morning, one-third of the closet was Neil’s and the rest was mine, but it was still all fair and square since he occupied most of the drawers. The bed I brought in from Uncle Charlie’s house, but the blankets were a cool shade of green instead of the more feminine colors I had before.

The children’s room we kept light. They had to share so sometimes things got messy, but their beds were separated enough that they didn’t feel suffocated. Luke slept with us half of the nights too, so that helped. They were all a close pack, even if they were very different from one another.

Alton Hasting Dresner had just turned six. Named after Neil’s best friend, he was the spitting image of his father with icy blue eyes and golden slightly curled locks. On top of it, he was (for sure) a daddy’s boy. He imitated Neil in everything. His favorite toy was the doctor’s set, he spent hours asking Neil about chess and moving paws across the board. Sometimes he’d get Neil’s philosophy books and talk about arguments and keep saying the word “rhetoric” and talk about Plato and Aristotle even though he had no idea what he was talking about. Once I caught him drinking orange juice out of one of the whiskey glasses we kept for Neil’s bourbon. He sat right where Neil sits and looked just as pensive as he would. Alton says when he grows up he wants to be a combat medic in the army (Neil is very against it) and then after he wants to be a doctor. If we had told him about the morphine problem Neil had I bet he would want to be a morphine fiend.

Charlotte Granger Dresner was named after my uncle and Charlie came to be her nickname too. That for sure made her his favorite. We both loved Uncle Charlie, so choosing her name was a piece of cake. She sported light brown curls like Shirley Temple and bright hazel eyes. She was a little blabbermouth and her manners reminded me of Edith, it also made her my parent’s favorite. She enjoyed playing Momma and being the perfect pretend wife taking care of the house and dolls just as much as Edith liked doing as a kid.

She was also too preoccupied to make sure she looked good, too much at five if you ask me. I let her play and so did Neil, but she did end up being the biggest target of his sarcastic comments. She’d come into the living room with enough powder on her face to fluff up a sugar cookie into a cake, Neil proceeded to giggle, she’d look at him and say “What are you laughing at?” to which he’d reply with something along the lines of “Didn’t know the circus came to town”, which would promptly get her in a lather and she’d stomp away into her bedroom.

However, she was the one Neil was most protective of, after all she was his little girl. Neil almost passed out when she came out declaring she had a new boyfriend called Rick whom she met at the playground that afternoon. Neil gave a piece of his mind to Little Rickie and his parents the next day and let’s just say they haven’t been there since.

Lucius Edward Dresner was our youngest. Everyone, called him Luke or Little Luke. He was named after Neil’s sister Lucille. She had been bending Neil’s ear as soon as she found out I was pregnant and Neil probably felt he should since she named the now 7-year-old Cornelia after him. He was just one year and seven months old. Luke had hazel eyes like mine and blonde hair like Neil’s. In appearance, Luke was the one who resembled me the most. Even though he could barely walk his personality shined through. He was a shy and quiet kid, didn’t make much of a fuss as a newborn and he only cried out of pain, being scared or if he was really tired.

I have to say I never imagined myself as a mother. Alton was an accident, I had a lot of doubts. Having Neil by my side made things easier, he was responsible and he took care of me, always reassuring me everything was going to be okay. When he was born I had a lot of growing up and adjusting to the situation to do, but I got there. Eventually I found out I loved my little family with Neil. I loved everything about it even if it was hard. Our little chaos in our house added the sense of adventure I enjoyed, so we planned Charlotte. We decided we were done then, until the year before when we tried for Luke. Then we promised ourselves we were done for good.

-Helen?- I asked going into the house. Helen was an older nanny we’d pay to watch the kids at night. That morning I asked if she could watch them as I ran some errands and she came to help out. She was a bigger woman and taking care of kids was a joy for her, so I knew she’d take care of them well.

She came out of the room into the kitchen happier than ever- Mrs. Dresner, you’re quick, you got everything you needed?

-I told you MC is fine, or even Mary, Helen- I mentioned it again, but the woman wasn’t fond of nicknames or being on a first-name basis. She was very traditional. She called me “Mrs. Neil Dresner” for months. I finally convinced her to shorten it, but something told me I wouldn’t be able to do much more than that- But thanks for asking, everything is just fine.

-That’s good Mrs. Dresner, Little Luke is taking his nap- she ignored my first comment with a friendly smile on her face- The kids are playing in their room so if you don’t mind I put him in the crib you have in your room.

I let her know I didn’t mind one bit and she said she’d come back later at night and watch them. I thanked her and she was on her way. I still wasn’t much of a cook but being a mother required me to be at least a little better than what I was before. I fixed up lunch for the three of them. I usually ate later with Neil when he got home.

I could hear Alton’s loud laughs and Charlie’s mad little screams and it was sure a good time to break them up- Hey, you guys, lunch is ready!- I poked my head out the corridor to call for them- Now!- I said when they took long, Alton came running and Charlotte came out still mad by whatever her brother did, but soon enough they were both sitting at the table

-Where did you go Momma, you didn’t go to Robbie’s did you?-Alton looked up while he ate. A fella named Robert had this toy store and it was betrayal for Alton if we went in there without him

-Wouldn’t want you to take any more money from me by going there- I joked around with him

-Yeah, Alton- Charlie said staring him down- She doesn’t want to spend all of her money on your silly toys!

-Hey missy, you spend all of my money too using all of my makeup- I pointed at her, but that didn’t stop the both of them from going at each other like Vince and Donovan

-Alright, stop it you too. Eat now- I put the rest of the groceries away- If you don’t behave there’s no ice cream after- I said and they both started making good progress with their lunch. I stepped out taking my apron off once I heard Little Luke’s noises from the bedroom. I came back, lectured Alton about eating too fast and sat at the table helping the youngest one eat his baby food while the others finished up

They were well into their ice cream when Luke pointed and kept saying “Ishe crean”, and those big pleading eyes of his convinced me to give him a little bit of it.

Neil chose that moment to walk into the door, taking his shoes out and sighing like he had the most stressful day at work and was happy to be home. Alton abandoned his ice cream to go running to the door yelling “daddy!” all excited. Neil smiled to him and lowered himself to pick him up and walk him back to the dining table

-Have you been behaving while I was gone? - He asked putting him to sit down to eat ice cream again

-Of course I have!- He lowered his voice to seem manly and then went back to eating

Charlie didn’t stop eating and with her spoon in her mouth she opened her arms to Neil who hugged her and kissed her forehead- Hi daddy!- She greeted him, while Luke who had made a mess out his ice cream on his hands and mouth kept pointing at him saying “Dada”.

Neil asked how she was doing to which she replied “Great, because she had tea with her kids and her teddy bear and it was the classiest tea ever”, and Neil pretended it was the most interesting thing in the world

-Dada!- Luke said it louder this time since in the other three times he didn’t get the attention he wanted

-Seems like someone’s needy- I said looking at him on my lap while he anxiously waited for his Poppa to come.

-What has your mother been doing to you?- He lowered himself in front of us and before I could give him a snappy comeback he started cleaning his mouth and fingers with a paper towel. His attention to it and his calm hands over him showed his doctor steadiness. It put me in a trance when he acted so carefully, and I smiled to myself thinking of how something so small as cleaning his little flingers made me think of how much I was in love with Neil Dresner. Being there with him, watching the family we created together, gave me this warm fuzzy feeling in my belly. Happiness. I had settled down and this was my life and I didn’t mind one bit.

After, Neil picked Luke up giving him the attention he wanted. I got up collecting the ice cream bowls and washing them while Neil sat down where I was and caught up with the kids who fought for his attention talking about their day. He glanced at me in the kitchen, giving me a small smile, the one letting me know he was coming to greet me in a second. I watched their exchange from the sink for a little bit. Then, Neil gave Luke for Alton to hold and walked in my direction

I giggled lowly when he held my face giving me a long kiss, a kiss I was longing for since he walked out the door that morning

He looked at me, face still close to mine, hands still resting on my face-I love you-He whispered, like it was a precious secret between the both of us

-I love you, Neil- I answered in the same tone, leaning towards him for another kiss- How was your day?

-Oh, you know, desperate people thinking they’re going to get pneumonia and tuberculosis and scared they won’t have the money to pay for it because their husbands got laid off.

-What do you tell them?-I hugged him around his waist, looking up

Neil responded with one arm hugging me around my waist-That if they’re worried about their money they shouldn’t be coming to the doctor’s perfectly healthy

-Not very sweet with the words are you?

-When have you ever known me to be sweet with words?-He looked down giving me that sarcastic glance

-Hmm… You can give me a toothache sometimes- I smiled kissing him once more

-Not if you’re giving me a headache-He snapped back and let me go- I haven’t achieved my perfect bourbon levels to handle the rest of the day yet- He said walking over to his bourbon cabinet pouring him a drink- Want one? - I replied not right this second and he poured it in his cup two more times before putting the drink away

-Hey daddy-Charlotte looked at him from the couch while playing with her dolls- Can you and mommy tell me that story again?

-Your mother is better at talking than I am- He pointed at me, still with the bourbon glass in his hand

I walked over sitting by her- Which story this time?

-How you and daddy met- She said while Neil sat by her other side, interlacing my fingers in his, holding my hand firmly

-No, Charlie!- Alton complained- We hear that one all the time. Poppa worked with Uncle Charlie- “Great uncle Charlie” was too long for everyone- And then Momma came to Chicago and to live with Uncle Charlie and that’s how they met!

-Oh and how mommy was working at Uncle Charlie’s store so hard she fainted and daddy had to take care of her- she sighed- So romantic!

Me and Neil just giggled between ourselves at their silliness.

-Stop it, Charlie!- Alton declared- We already heard that one SO MANY TIMES- He put a huge emphasis on that phrase- I want to hear a different story

-Alright Alton-I said- What story do you want to hear?

-How did you and Poppa get married?- He looked up from the ground where he was sitting

-Oh yea!- Charlie seemed just as excited- Did he kneel in front of you? Did he say that you were the love of his life? Did you wear a beaaautiful gown? Did you guys go to a really romantic honeymoon in Paris?

-If you keep asking we can’t answer- Neil said, making she just look at us excitedly waiting to hear what we had to say. Neil then looked at me since he declared I was the best storyteller

-We decided to get married over a chess game. I told Neil that if I won we had to get married

-And then what happened?- Alton asked, this time sitting on the couch himself

-Well, I won!

1926

More than a few times I’ve heard from Poppa that my actions were comparable to a gal who’s on a fast track to hell. I must think he convinced himself that was the path I was on, which is why he sent me to Chicago to live with uncle Charlie, whom he thought was even a stricter blue nose than he is. By my father’s standard I was going to hell, alright. Until half a year ago I would have cared. Besides my escapades to have fun in the middle of nowhere in Ohio, I would’ve still cared some. I didn’t want to be a complete disappointment.

Funny thing is my attention changed. I no longer sought the approval of Poppa, but of the father figure that had come into my life since I’ve been here: Uncle Charlie. He didn’t judge me for being who I was and he welcomed me into his little Ice Box family which I soon figured out was where I belonged.

Uncle Charlie was back home for good and he was very pleased when Neil asked for my hand in marriage to him. It was a little too traditional for me but he insisted in talking to Charlie and getting his blessing. Uncle Charlie was indeed pleased. For the sake of keeping up with the traditional standards for the older people we said Neil was the one who popped the question.

Then, Uncle Charlie gave us a two-week vacation from the Ice Box. After Vera Peters was no longer a threat, things had been a little more pacific at the speakeasy. The occasion was that since we had made it official we couldn’t delay any longer meeting each other’s families. We had to go to Columbus and to Boston.

I didn’t know if I was ready to see my folks yet, but Neil seemed more prepared than I did. He had gotten invited for Lucille’s baby shower for his niece Cornelia and with a little push from me he had decided to become close to her again. Neil was ready to go back to Boston. He then finished up his letter to his sister. I didn’t read it but I know it mentioned some apology to never answering her letters, catching up with what’s going in his life, letting her know that he was soon to be married to little old me and that I would be coming along with him to attend her baby shower.

I also sent a letter to Momma mentioning our visit but it was shorter and to the point.

The next day, Neil picked me up from Uncle Charlie’s house. Charlie gave me a letter for Poppa and to let him know he was expecting him in Chicago. I made sure to tell him I’d let them know.

We made our way to La Salle Station and soon enough we were in a fast-moving train, I was going back the same way I’d come and the anticipation of showing a new self that my parents expected made my heart pulse a little faster. Neil must have noticed my agitation because he held my hand tight

-Everything will be okay, MC- He smiled at me- I’ll be there the whole time.

——

Little Curiosity notes: MC and Neil will be visiting first Columbus then Boston in the next two chapters. Both their families will show up. There’ll be a little drama in Columbus but Boston will be very eventful, lots of drama! After that the two will go back to Chicago where the main setting will be the Ice Box and follow the original story of Gangster and Prohibition drama + The growth in Neil and MC’s relationship until the wedding.

Author’s note: My chapters do run a little long! Let me know if you guys want it shorter, but normally they’ll be about this length! This chapter focused more on the future but from now on we’ll be focusing our story on 1926 on and what happened directly after Neil Season 2. I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! Thank you!

-Candy, My Dear Diary

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silence-burns · 5 years

Text

Please Hate Me //14

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on "Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki." by @thefandomimagine

"I beg your pardon?" Loki blinked.

The man standing in front of you with a huge grin on his face looked like the leader of whatever this group was. He had a wide, unpleasant face and something in his eyes that said he was not joking.

"You, my precious darlings, are going to make me and my men very rich," he repeated with grim satisfaction.

How lovely.

"Well," you felt obligated to notify him, "I admit I might have taken a few ballet classes in the past, but I seriously doubt it’s going to profit you much."

His grin faltered.

"I'm going to sell you," he explained slowly, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. "And that scum too."

'That scum' felt insulted. He gasped, dramatically. He'd use hands for a greater effect, but they'd already been tied behind his back.

"I doubt that's the right way to treat your most valuable stock," he scolded the man.

"It's bold of you to assume you're more valuable than me," you sneered.

"Oh, dear. I must've forgotten how those ballet classes influenced your price."

The men stared dumbfounded between the two of you. This type of behavior was certainly not what they had expected and were used to, but the fault was on their side for not reading the manual before making a purchase. It would have allowed them to avoid the grave mistake of kidnapping both Loki and you at the same time.

"Are you guys serious?" the leader asked, his smile gone, hopefully forever. If anyone asked your opinion, he gave off very creepy vibes when he smiled. It was a relief to see a less intimidating expression on his face. It was not enough to make him pretty, but at least covered his yellowed teeth.

"Duh. But the real question is," you narrowed your eyes. "Are you?"

He wanted to say something to that. He really did, from the looks of it. He must have been smarter than you originally gave him credit for, though, because after a moment of consideration, he came to a very bright conclusion that nothing he could say would make much of a difference.

He turned to his men and pointed at two of them. "You keep an eye on those idiots."

And then he left, without any goodbye. What was even worse, he took the rest of his (probably underpaid) employees and left the warehouse, no doubt to take care of the rest of his shipping.

It was such a shame only two of his men were left. It was almost as if you were deemed unworthy of more supervision. You wondered how this could have happen. It was such a mystery.

"You truly are wicked," Loki mused, something like amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Aww, thank you!"

"That was not a compliment. It was more of a reminder that the situation we are currently struggling with is a direct consequence of your poor decision-making."

"That hurt my feelings."

"You don't look hurt."

"I don't have many feelings, so I guess it didn't have much of an effect on me…"

One of the men left to keep an eye on you finally lost his patience.

He didn't have many distinctive traits, and certainly not ones that could deem him as a comic villain, sadly. If anything, he was ordinary enough to be a perfect example of how much truth hides in the old saying of not judging a book by its cover. A real Joe Schmo.

"Can you two just stop?" he snapped. His friend sighed. "You are so annoying; I want to kill you myself!"

"I doubt it would get you the title of 'Employee of the month', friend."

He pointed a finger at you, with all the anger he could muster in his ordinary body.

"We are not friends, you don't even have any idea who we are!"

Loki scoffed. How he managed to give off a nobility aura while still in shackles, was beyond your comprehension. "Of course we don't know. None of you had enough manners to introduce yourselves."

"My friend says you're rude," you explained in a dramatic whisper upon the man's stunned, although deep red, face.

Loki turned to you with a charming smile that did little to hide the murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

"We are not friends," he stated with every ounce of confidence he possessed. He possessed a lot of it.

"Of course we are, we even have friendship bracelets."

"Those are not friendship bracelets."

The most ordinary man you'd ever met scoffed. "Who wears friendship bracelets anymore?"

"I do," you informed him calmly. "And I am very proud of it. They make me feel even closer to my absolute best buddy in the world. Worlds, I mean."

"Come any closer and I'll show you my friendship," Loki growled through the teeth. The shackles on his arms clinked, but didn't let him go.

The ordinary man, Joe Schmo, seemed tired. He eyed his gun, but apparently decided whatever he'd do with it was not worth his boss's wrath.

He definitely looked underpaid. He couldn't even afford any mask or a suit that would make him look like a formidable enemy for once in his life. Without it, you couldn't help but imagine him as an overworked accountant that decided to take a part-time job as a human trafficker, or at least working for one. Even the way he paced nervously through the warehouse showed how little experience he possessed when it came to dealing with problematic individuals.

You loved to be a problematic individual.

His friend, on the other hand, the man who decided to lean on one of the warehouse walls and assess you quietly, seemed like a much more intriguing lad. Without seeing his CV it was difficult to measure his experience in the branch, but if you had to give one of them a pay raise, he seemed more qualified to get it. At the very least, he knew the basic rule of not talking to the cargo.

But all in due time. It would be rude to divide your attention between such wonderful people.

You turned back to Joe. His ordinary hair was already plastered to his head.

Loki eyed you suspiciously. It was just a quick side glance, not meant to bring too much attention to the gesture.

The emotions he felt and let be heard in his voice were real. It was also true that he'd prefer to be stuck there alone. He had a very strong feeling that his situation would then improve drastically, although he wasn't sure how exactly.

For once, it would certainly be easier to think about a way out in peace. He didn't intend to stay there for a second longer than was absolutely necessary, and without your… assistance, it surely would be a shorter inconvenience.

But it was also true that even though you proved to be a talker in the past days, you never seemed so… focused and confident on achieving something?

Loki blinked. It almost looked as if you actually had a plan and were in the middle of realizing it.

It also looked like you riled Loki and the man up on purpose and were using all the chaos to cover for something.

Unbelievable.

The end must be near.

Meanwhile, the ordinary man took a deep breath that did little to calm him down.

"One more word and I'm going to find a gag and silence you," he warned you.

"Oh, but there's an easier way to do that. You can always just buy my silence for 10 bucks."

"You know what? Fine."

Loki watched with amusement as the man fished through his pockets for any spare change.

"I've got like… 3."

You clicked your tongue with disappointment. "I'm sorry, but today is not a Discount Tuesday."

He cursed and threw the hard coins into your face. "Screw you!" He turned to Loki. "And you!"

And then he walked to the other man and told him he needed a breather. Just a few minutes to put himself together. He wasn't told it would be so difficult.

And then he left.

The revelation hit Loki without as much as a warning.

That was not only a plan.

It was a brilliant one.

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#Please Hate Me #Loki x reader #Loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #Loki laufeyson x reader #Loki/you #Loki/reader #Loki imagine #Loki #loki laufeyson #Marvel #Mcu

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jothowrote · 4 years

Text

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

#the magnus archives #The Mechanisms #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonny d'ville #tim stoker #fanfiction #crossover

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years

Link

Y’all wanted more so I made it a two-shot.

Shoutout to @markwatneythespacepirate for the ideas

It had been two weeks since Helen released his drink. Two weeks of sipping an actual honest-to-God latte for the first time in his life.

He could picture what those closest to him would say if they could see him now. In the back of the line, patiently waiting for his morning latte with dark chocolate sauce and a hint of fruit.

Marcus would berate him for putting coffee into his body at all. His closest ally was hard-pressed to put anything not ‘raw’ into his body. Which meant meals, and drinks, with Marcus all consisted of vegetables.

How he got the energy to fight was beyond John, but, then again, Marcus tended to stick to sniping.

Aurelio would probably check the back of his neck to make sure he hadn’t been body-snatched. Right up until he saw Helen and clicked into place what John was doing. John was certain that the jokes and the teasing would never end.

And Winston… Winston would just shake his head in disappointment and make some comments about John being too smart to let a woman lead him around.

But John was more than happy to be led around, providing that Helen was doing the leading.

“John!” Helen calls and waves him over. There are still a handful of people in front of him but she trades places with one of her baristas.

He glances around and then moves to the pick-up counter where Helen is. She hands him an iced coffee and John blinks, looking back up at her.

“It’s the iced version of the Wick.” She tells him, “And before you say anything, I made it with cold brew and just a splash of milk, instead of espresso. And I added extra chocolate. It still should be disgustingly bitter.”

John smirks and pokes a straw through the top.

He has had cold coffee before; when his coffee has lost all heat while he kills or when all that was left in the coffee pot after a long day was acrid and cold. But he had never tried iced coffee.

It seemed like a drink for the younger crowd. The kids who wore their headphones when walking down busy streets and poured over textbooks for hours on end. It seemed like a drink for the sweet and the innocent.

He could picture Helen with an iced coffee in her hand, wrapped up in a cashmere sweater with a bright smile painted on her face.

Iced coffee was not for killers.

But now there was one in his hand. With a straw.

A fucking straw.

He couldn’t remember ever using a straw.

Well, once. In a restaurant. He had wrapped an end around each of his fingers and used it to strangle someone. But he is fairly certain that doesn’t count.

He brings the coffee up and puts the straw between his lips.

It’s colder than he is expecting, even with all the ice. It still tastes bitter, as he likes it, but it is… different.

“It’s different.” He says aloud.

“Bad different?” She asks.

John shakes his head and takes another sip. “No. Just… not what I was expecting. It’s good.”

Helen rewards him with a soft smile, “Is it missing anything? I know that iced coffee can be more flavorful because it’s less acidic. Is the ratio with the chocolate still okay?”

“It’s perfect, Helen.” He assures her, taking another sip. “I’ve never had iced coffee before.”

“Ever?”

He shakes his head, “Not that I can remember.”

“Maybe I’ll convert you. There’s more caffeine in that then the hot one.”

“Really?”

She nods, “I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s a very strong concentrate. The cold brew takes more than a day to fully mature.” Helen indicates his bag, “You staying today?”

“Yeah, I have some work to do.”

Not a lie. He just did not plan on telling her that he was using her free Wifi to look up information on the man he was about to kill later that evening.

“I’ll bring you over your usual, too. Thanks for being my guinea pig.”

“Any time.”

And he means that. She could give him one of those crazy drinks that she offered with five pumps of caramel and extra cream and he would drink it with a smile on his face.

John picks the corner table that he prefers. It leaves him with an excellent view of the door and a better view of the counter, where Helen is back to serving. He plugs in his laptop and begins to work.

He combs through the Continental database looking for information on the building he is going to need to break into. He is surprisingly good at stealth considering his penitent for firearms.

His weapons are ready, in the trunk of his car, and he plans to drive into the city after closing at Deja Brew. He’ll arrive earlier than he needs but he can always use the time to check out some bookstores in the city before he tries to sneak into a Cartel base.

John continues reviewing the schematics until Helen walks over, carrying what he presumes is his usual drink.

He closes out of the browser and quickly opens his kindle application.

“Sorry for the wait.” She says setting it down on his table.

“No worries. I wish you’d let me pay.”

“Not on days where you guinea pig. Besides, you tip more than you pay for coffee every day. Don’t think that I don’t notice.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “You don’t charge much and I appreciate good coffee.”

“I try to keep it affordable and keep my customers happy.” She replies, “What are you working on?”

“I’m re-reading Beowulf. I just received an old handwritten manuscript that needs to be rebound but the thing is a mess. Pages out of order, half-fallen apart.”

“You bind books?” She asks with interest, setting a hand on the seat across from him.

John nods. Both a cover for his life as well as a truth. “Yes. English isn’t my first language, to begin with, and Old English throws me completely. I’m trying to review the text here,” he points at his computer, “so that when I get home later, I can make sure everything is in order before I begin to bind.”

“What was your first language?”

And she is so sincere in her curiosity that it throws him for a loop. Usually, when people ask him questions, they are gauging. They are looking for weaknesses. For something to use against him.

But not Helen. She is neither afraid of him nor against him.

She is genuinely curious, that kind smile never leaving her face.

“Russian, primarily. I was raised in Belarus with a Roma tribe. It was a strange mixture of Russian, German, Polish, and Ukrainian.”

“That’s amazing! Can you still speak it?”

John nods.

“Will you say something for me? I don’t know anyone who speaks Russian.”

He stares at her eyes. How can eyes be kind, he wonders. But there they are, soft and gentle and kind and he just wants to be lost in them forever.

“Ty samoye prekrasnoye zrelishche, kotoroye ya kogda-libo videl.”

You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld.

“Wow. What does that mean?”

John looks down and back up at her, “It means ‘thank you for the wonderful coffee.”

“You are most welcome. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“I will,” he promises and she turns to go. Back behind the counter, where she is a true wonder.

He resumes his work but cannot help but look up and watch her every so often. She is so graceful with every movement and, in another life, he knew something about grace.

John tried not to think about his time in Belarus or with the Ruska Roma in New York. Belarus had been hell and the journey to New York had not been much better.

Hours of training, wrestling with the other boys in the troop. And they were much bigger than he was. It had taken him years to hit the growth spurt that allowed him to hit just over six feet and, by that time, he had already run away.

And when he hadn’t been wrestling, the Director had pushed him, far more than the others, to dance. To practice on tiptoes until his muscles ached and his feet bled.

But that was a long time ago.

And Helen is far more graceful than he had ever been and far more kind than anyone he had ever known.

Business slows down in the late morning only to speed up twenty minutes later as the lunch rush hits. He considers heading out when the line reaches out the door if only to clear a space for Helen’s patrons but he cannot bring himself to leave just yet.

Even the customers who are in a rush or who are pushy to get their food seem to settle with a smile from her.

It’s a good thing, he decides.

He’s not sure what he would do if he ever saw a customer be rude to her.

Eventually, it slows again, and John finishes his work. He still has hours before he needs to reach the city so he brings back up the manuscript for Beowulf and continues to try and translate the Middle English into something he can understand.

The older copies are without annotations and numbering of lines, like the copy he reads on his computer.

By two, it is only him left in the coffee shop. Helen sends her morning baristas home early, although John is certain she will pay them for the entire shift.

She tidies up behind the counter, ready in case any patrons should enter for a late coffee.

It is quiet until two-twenty.

John notes the time when a man in a black hoodie, with sunglasses, walks in.

The new customer is awkward and uncomfortable and John gets a bad feeling in his stomach.

He keeps his head turned towards his computer but he keeps his gaze on the counter.

Helen smiles, unsuspectingly, and John wishes, if only for a moment, that Helen was less kind. More assuming. That she was the kind of person to make a snap judgment that this man was not good .

“What can I get for you today?” The man pulls his arm out of his jacket pocket and John resists the urge to swear.

The gun is black and small and compact. A Sig P365. It holds 12+1 which is excessive for a small business robber.

Helen’s face goes white as the robber demands she opens the register.

Four strides, he estimates. Four strides to get to the robber, but then what?

He… he can’t kill someone in front of Helen. He can’t.

He won’t. If he can avoid it.

And this guy is an idiot.

John rises to his feet and crosses the room quickly.

He can’t kill someone in front of Helen, he tells himself again. She shouldn’t have to see that. But this man is pointing a gun at her. At Helen . He is pointing a gun at Helen and John feels true, white and hot and angry rage.

John taps him on the shoulder and the man turns. This man is clearly inexperienced and John hits his wrist with the outside of his hand. The grip on the gun loosens and he grabs the barrel and spins the gun so it is in his hand before bringing it up in a single, flawless movement, and slabbing the but of the gun into the man’s head.

He crumbles to the floor and Helen leans forward against the counter, a small gasp escaping from her lips.

“Oh my god.” She whispers.

“Are you alright?” John asks, kneeling to the ground to make sure the man has no more weapons on him.

Helen nods, swallowing and looking at John with something like amazement. “How did you do that?”

John rises to his feet. “He’s not armed with anything else. Do you have rope anywhere?”

“I, um, I have zip ties in my toolbox. In my office.”

“Can you get it?” John asks and Helen nods, backing away and turning to go to the back.

John turns the man over and pulls his hands behind his back. He is not gentle and he hopes the man’s nose breaks as he drops his face to the floor.

Helen returns a moment later and comes around the counter, handing the zip ties to John. He sets down the gun and binds the man’s hands tightly behind him before doing the same at his ankles.

John stands again and looks Helen over. She is shaking. Before he can ask her, again, if she is okay, she crashes into him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

And this is a hug.

He’s seen it. He knows what it looks like but… just like iced coffee, he is certain he has never had anything quite like this.

John does not know quite what to do but he brings his arms up around her. One on her lower back, the other on her head.

Her hair is softer than he imagined and it makes him want to lose his hands within it. To pick her up and never let her go.

“It’s okay,” John tells her. “He can’t hurt you.”

She releases a shaky breath, “Thank you.” She loosens her grip and steps back, “How did you know what to do?”

He does not reply, at first, looking down at the man on the ground. “You’re going to want to call the police.”

“R-right.” She says, reaching into her pocket and dialing 9-1-1.

John picks the man up using the bindings at his wrist and drags him over to one of the tables that is screwed into the floor. Using the remaining zip tie, he fastens him to the table post as Helen rattles off the address.

He hears sirens in the distance and hopes that it’s one of the officers he’s already met. He walks back over to the counter once the man is tied up and stands with Helen. She leans into him again and John wraps an arm around her.

Something so foreign has never felt so right.

The door to the shop opens and it is Jimmy and Randy. Both have their guns drawn but they put them away when they see the robber.

“Afternoon John.” Says Jimmy.

“Jimmy.” John greets, “Randy.”

“John.”

Helen looks from John to the officers, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I see you had the issue under control.” Jimmy kneels down, lifting the hood to get a look at the man’s face.

“Single robber with a single gun.”

“Playground fun for you.” Randy jokes and John fights the urge to wince.

He clears his throat and motions with his head to the woman at his side. “This is Helen Kingston. She owns the place.”

“Ma’am.” Jimmy greets. “I’ll need to take both your statements.” He looks to John, “What identity do you want this under?”

And John shoots him a look because Helen is right there and she is looking at him with confusion and uncertainty and that is not how he wants her to look at him.

But John knows that time is over now. He knows the drill with things like this.

She is a star he could never reach to begin with. It was foolish to forget that, even for an instant.

“Anderson,” John says softly. “Do you have the papers with you so I can do it here?”

“Always keep some on me after that incident down at the reservoir.”

And John wishes that Jimmy would just. stop. talking.

“Um, would you guys like some coffee?” Helen asks and her voice is still a little shaky.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“That’s alright.” Says Randy.

She looks up at John expectantly and he immediately knows she needs this. She needs to get behind the counter and make coffee because that is what she is good at. That is what she excels at. That is her happy place, her calm place.

“My usual?” John asks and Helen gratefully nods, hurrying behind the counter as John begins to write out his statement.

He eyes her all the while. The moment she begins to brew the coffee he sees her shoulders relax.

He gives his statement quickly while Randy writes down Helen’s account as she drips chocolate sauce around the edge of John’s cup.

She comes back around as it is done and hands it to John, who reaches for his wallet.

“Put that away.” She tells him before he can pull it loose. “You just stopped an armed robber in my shop. I think that constitutes free coffee.”

“Thank you,” John says, accepting the coffee and… he cannot help himself, he pushes a loose lock of hair out of her face.

Her beautiful face.

And she is so confused that it makes him sad. He liked it when she thought him just a simple bookbinder.

Now… she didn’t know what to think.

Jimmy thanks them for their time and thanks John for “making my life easier” and they cut the robber away from the table and drag him out to the cruiser.

John turns to Helen, “are you sure you're okay?"

She gives him a small smile, "Thanks to you." She nods once, "Anderson, huh? Are you a spy?"

John lets out a small laugh and looks down, "Would you be mad if I told you I'm not at liberty to say?"

"Of course you're not." She shakes her head and sighs, "Do you think I could get away with closing early?"

John checks his watch, "It's just twenty minutes. And if anyone says anything, you can just tell them the truth. You were stuck up and gunpoint and now you're going home."

"To drink a bottle of wine."

John smiles, "I think that sounds perfect."

And she smiles. Things have changed but she is still smiling at him, still looking at him with those kind and gentle eyes.

Yes, things have changed.

But maybe that doesn't have to be all bad.

Because sometimes bitter meshes perfectly with sweet.

He reaches out, tentatively, and puts a hand on her neck, weaving his fingers up into her hair.

Helen doesn't pull away.

John bends down and brushes his lips against hers.

They're softer than he imagined but just as sweet.

Her lips part gloriously and she stands on her toes, reaching an arm up and around his neck as she kisses him back. Her tongue brushes his lips and sweeps into his mouth, tangling with his.

Sugar and cream and a sweetness which he has never associated with coffee. Suddenly, he gets it. Like an epiphany.

He will never be anything but a dark and bitter coffee addict but, he decides, that perhaps it is time to make room for some sweetness in his life.

She breaks the kiss, breathlessly, and gazes up at him.

John feels something pounding against his ribs and realizes… oh. That is his heart.

"I should go." He says softly.

Helen nods, her hand unwinding from his neck. Her fingers caress his jaw as she brings it back. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Every day, he thinks, for the rest of his life.

#john wick #helen wick #incorrect john wick #meet-cute #the john wick coffee shop au that no one asked for #EXCEPT THAT YOU DID #ask for it #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #helen wick deserved better #barista!helen #coffee addict! john #protective!john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #jwfanfic #jwcu

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snazzysickly · 5 years

Text

Show Don’t Tell (Arthur Morgan x Reader) Part 1?

Summary: Keeping your secret is hard enough on your own, but joining a gang nearly blows your cover, especially when you fall for one of the members.

Warnings: Bit of blood, swearing, alcohol, crossdressing?

word count: 4,184

A/n: I made this a while ago, hoping to make it into a series, but I never got the motivation to make the other parts. There’s still a possibility it can become a series but we’ll see how things go. Thanks for reading!

A bounty hunter tackles you to the ground, and you start to wrestle with him. You try to reach for your knife, but you’re unable to find it. The bounty hunter cuts your shirt, exposing your chest. You fight harder trying to get him off, when you hear a gunshot and the bounty hunter falls dead atop of you. You push him off and stand up, looking at the Irish fellow that held your gun.

“Thank you.” You say exhausted, picking up your hat and knife.

“Why, you’re a woman!” The redhead says, looking at your chest.

You’re eyes go wide, and you put your knife against his throat. You glare at his shocked expression.

“If you dare tell anyone, I will hunt you down to the ends of the Earth and kill you myself.” You hiss in his face.

“Trust me ma’am, I won’t tell a soul.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Names Sean.”

You don’t know why you did it, and why you even decided to help him in the first place, but you let go of your grip on him, putting your knife away.

You button up your coat despite the hot weather, trying to conceal your feminine features. Sean hands your gun back to you and you holster it.

Holding out your hand, Sean grabs it and you pull him up. He’s dusting himself off, when you hear the sound of horses. You turn in that direction and find more bounty hunters approaching with their guns out. You turn the other direction, only to find the same thing. You sigh and hold your hands up, easily outnumbered and surrounded.

Now here you are, upside down with the blood rushing to your head. Your arms and legs tied up, the Irish redhead in the same predicament. You remember his name to be something like Sean. He annoys the bounty hunters as they threaten the both of you, when you sudden hear the distinct sound of gunshots.

Sean laughs and taunts the bounty hunters as they run for cover. You’re calling yourself a fool for trusting him with your secret. He’s way too talkative. Sean seems to think that we’re saved, but you still think that these people could just cause more trouble.

You see three men rounding the hill, taking out the bounty hunters in the camp. Sean calls to them while you remain silent, observing them.

The last of the bounty hunters run away and the three men walk up to you and Sean. He barks at the men to cut him down, and one of them, who Sean calls “Arthur”, does. Another one of the men, with dark skin and a couple of scars on his face, cuts you down.

You fall to the hard ground with a thud, the four men surround you. The sound of a revolver click brings your attention to this Arthur fellow.

“Who are you?” The Hispanic looking man asks. You decide not to answer, remaining silent.

“If you don’t answer, you’ll end up like the bounty hunters.” Arthur says, bringing the revolver closer to your head.

“I wouldn’t do that Arthur. He saved my life, you see. Singlehandedly took down the whole lot of the bounty hunters.” Sean vouches for you. “Could be beneficial to the gang.”

“Just let Dutch decide, Arthur.” The man that cut you down says.

After a long while of thought, Arthur pulls his gun away from your face. He turns to the others, “Javier, you take Sean back to camp.” The Hispanic man nods, taking Sean to his horse. “Charles, you take, him.” Arthur points to you. The man with the scars, Charles, picks you up and calls for his horse, stowing you on it.

“Are you coming Arthur?” Charles asks.

“I’m going to look around, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Charles nods and kicks his horse’s sides, putting it into a trot. You watch as Sean rides with Javier, happily chatting away, while you lay on Charles’ horse, tied up and silent.

Charles takes a different path as Javier and Sean to avoid suspicion. He was looking out for any lawmen or bounty hunters that could recognize either of you. About half an hour in, Charles speaks up.

“What were you doing with Sean back there?” He asks in his low voice. He cranes his head to look at you for a second.

“I was trying to help him, but I got caught up in his mess.” You tell him honestly, “Must have thought I was in your gang.”

Charles hums, focused on the path ahead of him. He didn’t seem like the talkative type, unlike Sean.

“How’d you get that scar on your face?” You ask him.

“Hunting incident,” He then adds a second later, “cougar.”

As it turns out, Charles was relaxed, you didn’t mind talking to him. When he asked for your story, you told him the one you made up if you ever got into situations like this. Your story went as such, your parents died when you were young so you resorted to a life of crime. He believed your fake story.

Not long afterwards, Charles tells you that you’re here. The sun is setting, and your ribs were hurting from being on the back of his horse so long.

Charles hitches his horse and throws you over his shoulder. He carries you to someone’s tent and puts you on the ground. You look around the tent and find a man with black curly hair, a black hat atop his head, with a mustache upon his upper lip. This could only be Dutch Van der Linde. Charles very briefly talked about him.

“We found him tied up with Sean. Said that he saved his life” Charles explains while cutting the ropes off your legs.

“What’s your name, boy?” Dutch asks you.

“Louis Hall.” You answer with your fake name you gave yourself when you first started dressing as a man, when in fact, your name is Y/n L/n.

“Well Louis,” Dutch starts, “we don’t take just anybody into this gang of misfits, why should you be the exception?”

You’re about to answer with something sarcastic and rude, but you hold your tongue to weigh your options. For one, you could tell that this Dutch guy was on a high horse and needed to be knocked down a peg or two. But on the other side, you knew that you couldn’t keep running from the people that were looking for you. When they do find you, you’d rather not be alone.

“It seemed to me, Mr. Van der Linde, that after watching what Sean is incapable of doing, I decided my services would really benefit you.”

Dutch stares at you, his eyebrows furrowing until he unexpectedly laughs. He pats you on the back, making you stumble forward a bit. He motions to Charles to cut the rest of your ropes. You rub your sore wrists and take the bottle of whiskey from Dutch’s hands.

“We’ll figure everything out tomorrow, for now, enjoy the party!” He gestures to the camp around him, and then takes his exit.

For the first time now, you finally get a good look at the camp that you were taken to.

There where quite a few tents set up, Dutch obviously had the biggest one. Looking around the campfires, you found a large assortment of different people. You expected a whole lot of sweaty men, but you were surprised to find a number of women here too. It made you think that maybe you take down your disguise, but you decide against it.

You sit around the campfire, atop of one of the logs, listening to the song that Javier is playing and singing. Soon enough everyone around the fire starts singing as well. You don’t know what song they’re singing but you smile a bit awkwardly and enjoy the fire.

Sipping your whiskey, you realize it’s been awhile since you last had some company, and it has taken a toll on you. Trying not to raise attention, you get up from your seat and try to find someone familiar.

Although you quickly find Sean, you don’t feel like dealing with his seeming endless energy. You look for Charles, but find him around the campfire with Javier, who is playing a guitar. Instead, you pick up a few more bottles of whiskey and find a rock overlooking a small cliff. Close enough to the camp that you won’t seem like an enemy, but far enough to get some much needed solace after everything that happened.

On your second whiskey, you hear bottles clanking from behind you, meaning someone was getting a bottle out from the crate. You pay no mind to them until they spoke.

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to still be here.” The unmistakable voice of Arthur fills your ears, the man that pointed a gun to your head.

You hum and take another sip from your whiskey, but say nothing else, expecting him to leave. Unfortunately, he didn’t. In fact, he got closer, he sat on the rock with you, taking a swig of his drink. You turn to him, annoyance written across your face.

“What do you want?” You demand.

He has the audacity to smile at you, and you’ve just about had it with him, so you turn to stomp away but he answers you, stopping you in your place.

“First time I heard you speak, lot more feminine than I had imagined.”

His words made you stiffen, you were much too annoyed to conceal your voice like normally. Without answering him, you walk further into camp, away from Arthur.

“Mister Hall?”

You turn to see an older woman with heavy makeup, tied up hair, and a red blouse talking to you. She looked assertive with her hands on her hips. “I prepared you a tent to sleep in. This way.” She weaves through camp, avoiding all the drunken. You follow her blindly, and soon she stops at a small tent with a bedroll next to a larger one with a sleeping child and who you presume is the kid’s mother.

“Here you are.” She motions to the small tent and you crawl inside. You pat the bedroll then look to her.

“Thank you ma’am.” You say politely, not expecting to have a tent so early on. It wasn’t much, and you’ve rather have the tent that was on your horse, but your horse wasn’t here, as it fled while you were saving Sean, although you weren’t going to complain.

“Susan Grimshaw.” She tells you, and you nod.

“Thank you Ms. Grimshaw.” You say again. She firmly nods and walks away.

Wanting privacy, you close the flap to the tent and finally unbutton your coat, exposing your ripped and bloody shirt from the bounty hunter Sean killed. You take off the useless shirt and your satchel, that luckily didn’t get taken by the bounty hunters, and toss them both into a corner of your tent. You really would have like a change of clothes, but your clothes were on your horse. Luckily, your undergarments didn’t get ripped or bloody, so you put your coat back on, and button it again. You get under the uncomfortable bedroll and try your best to fall asleep.

You wake up to a voice from outside your tent, you blink yourself awake and focus on the voice. Your eyes squint, trying to figure out who is talking, until it hits you.

“Louis, mind if I come in?” Sean asks. It takes a second to realize that he’s talking to you.

You lift open the tent flap a bit, signaling to him that it’s okay to come inside. He crawls inside, barely enough room for the both of you.

“How you doing lass- I mean-” He stumbles over his words and you stop him.

“I’m okay Sean, thank you for asking.”

He nods and stares at you long enough to get awkward, your eyebrows raise, looking at him, wondering what he wants.

“Is that all? Or?” You question, confused.

“Oh! I got you a new shirt because I remembered what happened to your other one,” He says, looking at the torn shirt lying not to far from you.

You grab the shirt from his outstretched hand and look at it, bringing the shirt to your nose. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell bad at all.

“Thank you Sean, I’ll come out after I change.” You slightly smile at him and he nods, exiting your small tent.

The shirt was a dark seaweed green color, with white buttons. Fitting for an Irishmen. You chuckle as you slip it on. Slightly baggy, just how you like it. You tuck the rest of the shirt into your pants. Reaching for your hat, you rest it on your head, and exit your tent, the bright light blinding your eyes.

You were honestly surprised with the hospitality that everyone has given you. Even though you haven’t been here for more than 24 hours, everyone you walked by said good morning or some form of greeting. You only knew a couple of names yet you were welcomed. You’ve never been in a gang that had welcomed you so quickly.

You sit at a table, talking to a young boy named Lenny while eating a loaf of bread from your satchel, Ms. Grimshaw walks up to you. She tells you that Dutch wants to see you at his tent, so you get up and head in the direction of his tent. The camp in the daytime is much different than at night. Today, just about everyone looks ready to work, or are already working.

The little boy you saw sleeping in the tent next to yours last night, races in front of you, off to play somewhere, you figure. Who knew why there was a child amongst a gang of outlaws, but you weren’t one to ask.

At Dutch’s tent you see Dutch with an old man with a clean-shaven face. The man introduces himself as Hosea when you walk into the tent.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask the man with a cigar between his fingers.

Dutch takes a drag from his cigar then answers, “Yes, Hosea here recently received a tip about a banking stagecoach coming into Valentine today. I want you to rob it. The coach will be guarded so I would go armed.”

“Try to be quiet about it, don’t want the law finding out. Use guns as a last resort.” Hosea says. You can’t help but notice the difference between the two. Hosea rather you be more discrete about this, while Dutch just wants it over and done with.

“I would love to rob this stagecoach, but as you can see, my gun holsters are completely empty.” You curse the bounty hunters for taking your all your weapons, you’d rather them take your money instead. They even took your grandfather’s knife that you stole when running away.

Just then, Arthur walks passed Dutch’s tent. Dutch notices and calls the man over. You groan inwardly, you were hoping to avoid Arthur as much as possible.

“Bring Mister Hall to Valentine and get him a new gun and a horse. You have a stagecoach to catch. Louis will fill you in.” Dutch explains. Arthur looks at you, hesitating, then nods.

You want to groan, but hold back. Why’d did it have to be the person that you’ve haven’t gotten along with? You could’ve easily gotten the job done on your own. Though you should’ve expected it, they weren’t going to let you go alone on your very first mission in the gang.

Arthur leads you to his horse. It was a beautiful light brown American paint with white spots. He gets onto the saddle, and you pull yourself onto the horse’s rump.

He takes the path to a town called Valentine while you tell him what Dutch told you about the stagecoach. He doesn’t say much unless it’s to give a sarcastic remark.

It doesn’t take long until you’re in front of the gun store in Valentine. Arthur hitches his horse, and you slide off the horse. “I have some money, I can buy what I need.” You tell him.

“Sure.” He says shortly, you roll your eyes.

Despite this, Arthur still follows you into the store. You quickly find that he’s looking around the store as well. You pick up a new cattleman revolver and a carbine repeater, both simple guns, but also cheap. You take a long look at the double-barreled shotguns, but you wouldn’t be able to get your guns ammunition if you were to buy it.

You place your guns on the counter, buying a couple boxes of ammunition for each gun. After you pay, you sling the repeater over your shoulder and holster your revolver. Walking out of the store, you find Arthur leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Once he notices you, he puts out the cigarette and pushes himself off the wall.

“Ready to get a new horse?” Arthur asks you, already walking towards the stables. You jog up next to him and match his pace.

“About that…” You start, looking at your feet. “I spend the rest of my money on the guns.”

“Are you really that poor?” He snarks.

“Hey its not my fault the damn bounty hunters took most of my money.” You shoot back at him.

Arthur lets out a sigh, “I’ll buy it for you, just don’t get the most expensive horse.”

You nod. Great, now he’s going to think you owe him something.

Inside the stables, you look at all the different horses. None of the horses click with you until you come across a beautiful dapple-grey Hungarian half bred. It wasn’t the most expensive horse, but it wasn’t the cheapest either. You still ask Arthur, he begrudgingly buys the stallion for you, along with a saddle.

As much as you dislike Arthur, you still were very thankful for him. After how your relationship started, you would’ve thought him to be the last person to buy you something.

You lead your new horse over to Arthur’s, enjoying the lively town. While walking pass the saloon, you see two men pushing another man outside, they threaten the man, he tries to defuse the situation, but the two men start punching him. You hear Arthur scoff from next to you.

“Damn O'Driscolls.” Venom laced his tone.

“O'Driscolls?” You ask, looking at Arthur.

“Yeah, slimy bastards.” He spits harshly. You can sense the tension, but you and Arthur keep walking, but now you notice Arthur is using his hat to cover his face.

O'Driscolls. Oddly that name sounded familiar. You racked your brain, trying to remember where you’ve heard it before. While pulling your leg over your saddle, it hits you like a fright train.

Before you started dressing as a man, you had joined a gang that had a plan to steal some information from another rival gang called the O'Driscoll Boys. Still new to that gang and the outlaw life, so you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. The plan went sour quickly, but you didn’t realize that your gang had retreated. You narrowly escaped with your life, barely making your escape. Needless to say, you left that gang shortly after.

“You alright there?” You hear Arthur’s voice from in front of you. You didn’t realize you’ve fallen behind until your horse stopped. Arthur watches you kick your horse back into a trot, matching his pace.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about somethin’.” You reply, hoping he doesn’t ask about it.

“Well, you better be done thinking about it, we’re almost to the spot.”

A little further down the path, Arthur reins his horse to a stop, and you follow his movements. While loading your guns, making sure they have ammo, Arthur asks how you should rob them.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be more intimidating if we both follow a bank coach, so you distract them, while I knock out the guards and rob them blind. If things go bad, we have guns.” You explain, putting your bandana over your mouth.

Before he can reply, you kick your spurs into your horse’s side, taking off into the woods to hide until Arthur distracts the coach.

Speaking of which, the stagecoach rounds the corner, Arthur acts like he’s turning onto the path the coach is taking. He starts small talk with the driver and you slowly come out off the woods, trying to be quiet. Arthur then says something about their front wheel being loose. The driver stops the coach asking the passenger next to him to check it out. There where only four guards riding next to the coach, but you realize that there are probably more inside the coach.

While the coach is stopped, you knock out the two guards in the back with the blunt end of your revolver. You try to keep the guards out of sight from Arthur and the man checking the wheel.

Silently, you pick the lock on the back of the coach containing the money. You’re almost done picking the lock until you hear, “The wheel isn’t loose.” Then a gunshot.

The coach suddenly lurches forward, the driver taking off, realizing what was happening. You call for you horse, He gallops towards you, and you jump on, racing after the coach. Arthur shoots the two guards up front, when the four men inside the coach peak out the windows. They shoot at you and Arthur. You shoot one and kick your horse to go faster to get closer to the driver. You jump onto the coach, the driver tries to shoot you, but you kick him off, pulling the stagecoach to a stop.

By now Arthur has shot two men inside the coach, leaving only one left. He gets out, shooting at Arthur. You see your opportunity and put one clean bullet into the man’s head. He falls to the ground, and you move towards the chest in the back. This time, you shoot the lock, it brakes easily and you loot the chest. Two hundred dollars, not bad. You hand Arthur his share, along with the gangs share, trusting he will give it to Dutch.

“Not what we planned, but it worked out.” Arthur says, counting his money.

You start cutting the horses reins off the coach and hitting their rump, making them take off. “Yeah, didn’t think it was going to work at all.” You whistle for your horse.

“Way to have faith in your plans.” Arthur says, getting on his own horse. You just shrug.

“Ride back to camp with me? I don’t know the way very well.” You mutter the last part, but you can tell he heard you from his expression.

“I was tied to the back of a horse the last time!”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but leads the way back to camp. You follow behind him, you notice that he avoided major roads as to stay away from anybody that could find out the crime you committed not far away.

“Nice shooting back there.” You attempted small talk.

“You too.” He responds shortly. You sigh, I guess he’s back to hating you. Doesn’t matter, I guess. You were still pretty mad at him for pointing a gun at your head when you tried to help someone in his gang.

The rest of the ride back is mostly quiet, apart from whenever Arthur gives directions. You now regret asking him to take you back to camp, the awkward silence is worst than getting lost. Although the ride was awkward, you distracted yourself by looking at the lovely scenery.

Thankfully, the ride wasn’t too long, and you made it back to Horseshoe Overlook, as Arthur called it. He called to Javier who was guarding the camp’s entrance. You hitch your horse at the hitching post and slid off the saddle. You can see Dutch making his way over to you and Arthur.

“There you are! Any longer and I would’ve sent someone to find you.” Dutch holds his arms out in a way you would to hug someone, but you doubt he wanted a hug.

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the gangs share of the money, he hands it over to Dutch.

Dutch looks at the money in his hand counting it, then to the both of you. “I’m guessing it when well?”

“You could say that.” Arthur says gruffly, he then walks away from you and Dutch, going to his tent.

“What happened?” Dutch says, turning to you, his cheery tone now gone.

“I think he just hates me.” You say bluntly.

“Arthur’s just a hard one to crack, my boy. Just have some faith.” Dutch encourages, he pats you on the back, walking to his tent.

You look at Arthur, sitting on his bed, he’s writing something in a brown book he’s holding. You really hate to admit it, but you and him work well together.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #x reader #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption spoilers #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #sean macguire #jack marston #javier escuella #charles smith #my writing #sicklysnazzywriting

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