It’s reminiscent of a time that not many remember. Fit with a heavy artillery of patrolmen and a clinic and a working bar, Jackson made it easy to pretend that danger was no longer a concern.
Some of the men in the community weren’t so well-adjusted to easy living, and learned to find the familiarity of violence wherever they possibly could.
Walking back from Tommy’s house one evening, you’re reminded of how pervasive the threat of humanity can be.
Joel leads you home after dinner with his family. Ellie had stayed behind at Maria and Tommy’s with promises of hot chocolate and a new book that Tommy had procured on patrol the week before. You’re wrapped around Joel’s arm, giggling at whatever nonsense story he was murmuring into the quiet air when a sharp whistle kills the hazy warmth of the night.
Standing alone in the pale-yellow light of a streetlamp, one of the men from a group of newcomers stares darkly at you and Joel as the two of you pass by. His eyes had been stalking you from the time you turned the corner, like he was waiting for the perfect time to make his move.
“Lookin’ good, baby. I’d love to get a piece of that ass.”
Joel stops dead in his tracks like he’d been scorned by the man’s words. It was obvious the stranger was looking to pick a fight, and Joel was not the type to let a remark like that go.
“The fuck did he just say-”
“Ignore ‘em, Joel. He’s just trying to rile you up.”
Your grip on Joel’s sleeve tightens to give the man a chance to reconsider. Maybe he didn’t mean to offend you and he’d apologize. Maybe he’d realize who Joel was and he’d run away. Maybe –
“Let me know when the old man croaks, sweetheart. I’ll show you how a real man takes care of a pretty thing like you.”
Joel whips around abruptly with rage in his eyes and tears his arm out of your grasp before you even realize what’s happening.
He pounces on the man and grabs him by the collar, pushing him backwards until he smacks into the wall of the building behind him.
“Shut the fuck up,” Joel snarls.
He slams his hand against the faded brick, barely missing the side of the man’s face with his palm. Too stunned by the scene playing out in front of you, you’re frozen where you stand in the middle of the street.
Realizing that he had made a mistake, the man puts his hands up in surrender, opening his mouth to speak when Joel cuts him off.
“If I hear another word out of your mouth, I’ll knock your head clean off your shoulders. You got that?”
He nods frantically, clearly aware that he’s not in the position to argue.
“Don’t ever talk about my girl like that again – or any woman here, for that matter. This ain’t the kinda place where people let that slide.”
Barely an inch separates the two men as Joel barks abuse at the creep until he’s red in the face. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this upset.
“You so much as look at her again and you’re dead. D’you hear me?”
The man shakes his head in acknowledgement, too stunned to respond.
Joel yanks him forward and away from the wall, almost throwing him to the ground from the rough force he uses. He holds the man at arm’s length, speaking loudly enough for you to hear him where you stand a couple paces away. “Good. Now tell her you’re sorry.”
The man meets your gaze over Joel’s jacket clad shoulder, stammering through his dazed apology. “M’sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”
Joel releases him with a rough shove and backs away nodding. “You’re damn right.”
He walks backwards until he’s beside you again, your hand slinking under his outer layer to rest securely over his chest.
“My hero,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek as the two of you continue your journey back home.
Watching over his shoulder as the the stranger staggers into the night, Joel mutters under his breath,
You know what, fuck it- PACIFIC RIM AU: Batfamily edition
Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown
Warnings: Teen (13+)
Categories: Action, Found Families, Angst, Fluff
Words: 4,223 words
Read on: AO3
They call them 'The Crazies'. Dick calls them family.
Across any universe- it was always them versus the world.
--
The PPDC calls them the crazies. Dick calls them family.
The jaeger he pilots slaps its hands together in anticipation, neural handshake 100% stabilized and drones deployed.
“This is the Belting Robin.” Cass says in her comm-pod. “Ready to engage.”
Command grunts an acknowledgement.
The Category-4 kaiju crawls out of a Breach and roars.
Across any universes, it was always them versus the world.
–
A Medic insults Jason. He doesn't even flinch.
"And I thought you were good." Damian snides as he wipes the floor with Tim. Jason throws the nearest object, an escrima stick, and gives Damian a concussion.
–
Damian would look at his father, see the radiation poisoning of the mark 1, that leaves him weak. He would use his cane getting to places, adamant and too stubborn to acknowledge his dwindling health, and the advanced wheelchairs Babs had made specifically for him. Bruce would lie. Say he doesn’t feel sick despite the nose bleeds. Say he isn’t getting a migraine as if he didn’t pop a mefenamic acid behind closed doors.
Sometimes it was hard to see the man who was able to push back the kaiju invasion back to the western seaboard. The man who, during the initial attacks that claimed multiple countries unaware and multiple lives in a single week – including his mother, strapped himself into a prototype death machine that wasn’t fully developed to withstand the radiation coming from jaeger cores. He says it was a matter of his duty to protect people.
Damian wonders how much that was a lie too. He knows Bruce still kept his mother’s photo on his nightstand. The photo was old. The teardrops were always new.
“Damian, come here.” Bruce asks him as they walk past the hanger.
He counts one, two, three , four, five jaegers getting maintenance repairs. He spots the melted armor on the Striking Onyx (they should’ve stuck to long range for an Otachi type), the loose bolts of the Belting Robin (the scientists really should develop better shock absorbers for lithe combatants, and more defenses in the Drivesuit), and the gaping hole that was Red Chemo’s left arm (Damian admits he finds no fault, it was better to lose an arm to a Raiju than a head).
The rest were either decommissioned or training jaegers he does not particularly care about– including his father’s Black Menace.
“Who will patrol with all of the jaegers under maintenance?” He asks Father. Under their catwalk, he could see the pilots lounging around in sweats, laughing as one of the older men lands a backflip from the jaeger’s foot and into the proximity of an agitated medic.
“These are still operational– they’ve fought with worse conditions.” Bruce replies, not acknowledging the frustrated arguments and bellowing laughter below. “But the latest findings of the Breach shows that there wouldn’t be anything the Lanterns Corps can’t fend off in the meantime. They’re stationed down south, but our helicopters can get them into a fight within the hour. But this isn’t why I asked you here.”
Bruce turns his gaze to his son and Damian stands, back rigid.
“Damian, I know you’ve gone into the Academy because you felt like I wanted you here. Just know that this is a profession that’s going to take over your life. You’re not going to experience the world the way others do–” ( Too late for that, Damian thinks) “– and I want you to know that, son. My life should not be your life too.”
“I understand the repercussions, Father. I won’t let you down.” Of course he wouldn’t. Damian excelled in everything he touches. He was the youngest graduating cadet in history , and that’s why he was here , in an actual Shatterdome, and not behind the lines doing something trivial like algebra .
Hopeful eyes peer at him. Are you proud of me?
“Don’t let the mission down, son. I’m happy to have you in the team when you’re ready.” Bruce shares with him a small smile and plants a hand on Damian’s shoulder. And in his eyes, Damian knows the truth.
Under them, there was a sound of metal crashing and someone cursing and then running.
“Well, only if the team learns to behave.” Bruce says, leaning over the railing. The commotion stops.
That evening, before Damian closes his eyes, he thinks, no Father, I didn’t go into the academy because you wanted me here– I wanted you. I wanted to be here, like you. For mother.
–
Jason catches Tims eye with the one that isn’t swollen shut and huffs out.
“Fine.” He grits out. “We can try to drift. Hope you die.”
In return, Tim shoots him a bloody smile.
After a brief shouting match with the doctor and a stern lecture from the head honcho Bruce Wayne himself, Jason learns he has a compatible mindlink.
When they’re done, Jason feels hope that Tim doesn’t listen to him and start living.
–
Duke’s first words in operating Striking Onyx was “This is so fucking cool !”
Steph laughs at his face, which usually would cause him to blush scarlet, but their link assures him it’s all about laughing with him.
This feeling will never get old , her mind brushes against his. For that he’s grateful, and he feels her acknowledging it.
And it’s nice. Knowing someone’s got your back and you’ve got theirs. He knows it’s not easy, but Stephanie besides him radiates it.
‘If you fall, I’ll catch you ’ is written in her eyes.
“Now, remember what we practiced, Duke.”
“Let’s go!”
–
Steph thinks she knows Tim inside and out. They were like a pair of socks, old and worn. Built together by neural handshakes and closed Academy doors. He was hers, and she was his. Me and mine.
But the brawler in the jaeger on screen, together with Jason of all people– that man is not Tim. He's brutal. Efficient. Blazing fury like the cannon that leaves a gaping wound on the kaiju's chest, and cold like the knife that impales itself after. No flairs, no twists, no laughter in the deck as the monster clumps down and the kaiju signature blinks out of the technician panel. Only grunting, and snarls, fighting like a monster in a corner.
Of course there wasn’t any of those, she reminds herself. This isn’t their Glitter Chrome.
A snarl rips through the radio feed as another signature pops up on the radar.
“Incoming!”
“This is Command to Red Chemo. You are operating on a 10% power cell charge. Retreat now and we’ll send out Striking Onyx. I repeat, retreat–”
She thinks she knew Tim inside and out.
“This is Red Chemo to Command.” Tim’s voice fills the air. “No, we will not. Just get them extracted. We can hold the kaiju back.”
The jaeger from the feed moves into a fighting stance, because this is Red Chemo, it’s their best tank in the division– their only tank on the Californian line– and the only one between the fallen jaeger on the field and a Category-4 kaiju. And Red Chemo is nothing but a metal bottle of bullheaded danger .
“Command to Red Chemo I repeat, retreat now. This is Command to Red Chemo– retreat now– Jason! Tim! Dammit !” Bruce rips off his headset and looks over to her. “Get Duke and I want Striking Onyx out there NOW! ”
She nods, because what else is there for her to do. In the background, the jaeger grapples a monster and struggles. Hand to hand. Full out brawling with closed fists and thrown bodies.
This was not the Tim she knows.
Their failed neural handshake should've been her first clue.
–
“Bruce, are you sure I can pilot this? Don’t you think I’m not ready?”
Dick was a happy child. His family consisted of Martha, the bearded lady, and Juan the fire breather, and Zitka the elephant and Haley, and Denise and Jose, and a whole rotating cast of aunts and uncles, acts and presentations. His childhood was full of life, and of people. And Dick– Dick felt content being the center of it all.
And then his parents fell.
It was the first attack just off the coast of the Atlantic. They were doing their routine for a bigtop full of people, and Dick was ready to swing in from the other side and into the awaiting grin of his mother’s face until the Knifehead kaiju rips open the tent like a can of sardines, taking his parents with it.
Dick could remember the paralyzing fear watching the monster chomp down on the tent like bubblegum. He remembers his own platform shaking, and then of falling–
And then of Bruce Wayne catching his fall.
And from there it was going through different orphanages, until Bruce came back for him, offers him a chance at the Academy. Offers him a chance to be alive through giving him purpose.
Bruce smiles. “You’re born in the sky chum. And I bet you can lead them out with you.”
Bruce not only gives him a reason to carry on, he gives him a family.
And standing in the Drivesuit on the shoulder of this giant of a mech, with his sister by his side, Dick believes him. Hope blossoms in his center, like his own radioactive core, and it’s one radiation he wishes that would spread.
–
Steph places a hand on Tim's arm.
"Tim, please. Red Chemo's new- not yet fully operational. Your handshake with Jay- he's good, and so are you. But it's untested with the jaeger. Please. This isn't me saying you're not good. This is me saying I need you safe." For me at least.
Before, Tim would've listened. Felt her anxiety. Knew where she was coming from.
Tim now only looks down. "I have to Steph."
–
Wake up, wake up! I won’t let you do this. I WON’T!
Despite everything, Damian hopes by the side of the bed.
–
She would watch the others train, waiting for her turn on the mats. They were supposed to practice coordination on the bars today, but her partner is late. Dick was almost never late, but she could feel the traces of fatigue in his bones even after their link. He could use the rest some more– training be damned.
“Cain.” Damian greets her in his full cadet uniform. She smiles at him brightly. “I need you to teach me more about aerial maneuvers.”
“Hi.” Cass tilts her head. “Why do you want to learn about it?”
“Your mark 7 jaeger–”
“The Belting Robin.”
“– the Belting Robin– it’s one of the first prototype jaegers. When I graduate from training exercises with Atlas, I want to operate on one just like it. It’s light and it’s well equipped for fast offense that we need to push kaiju and take over the Western Seaboard. But it’s biggest caveat is that it’s sleek design gives way to defense and thus needs a lighter fighter who could out class even a Slattern’s tentacles and so wouldn’t take a hit–”
She hooks her foot on his ankle and pulls . Damian scowls at her from the floor.
“Less theoretical and more practical now.” She grins at him, nodding to the uneven bars on the overhang. “Rule number 1. Be born to fly.”
His scowl lessens marginally and Cass was pretty sure that’s his way of smiling.
–
Jason didn’t want another co-pilot, thank you very much. After his last one– Roy– he couldn’t see clearly above the seething anger in him whenever someone even mentions replacing his partner.
But of course Bruce fucking Wayne does not care.
“So you’re the replacement.” Jason says, watching this willow of a man with stick arms and vines for muscles pass him in the corridor. They haven’t met officially, but Jason is known to be resourceful around a computer.
“You’re replacing mine too.” Tim– and that’s his name– says, blue piercing eyes looking him up and down which makes Jason feel vulnerable.
“Ah yes, only on your fourth mission and suddenly you couldn’t protect your partner enough to not have her knocked out? What a good teamplayer you are.” Jason asks, fists ready at his sides. “Yeah I read your file kid, little baby can’t do a little solo piloting without suddenly developing PTSD?”
Tim looks on, impassive, but Jason had sick glee watching him clench and unclench his fingers.
“Look, you don’t have to like me to drift with me. We get into a jaeger, we fight monsters, we go home. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”
“Oh you think that’s what it takes to be a pilot for you?”
They both know it wasn’t just it. Drifting is all about trust– trust your partner can keep up and keep you alive. That’s why it’s so important, why some siblings just won’t fit together, why some partners just can’t drift . Piloting a jaeger is something vulnerable and important. It’s a bond stronger than friendships, it’s camaraderie, of brotherhood, of love.
And God does Jason miss it and miss Roy . He feels that grief of never being able to come back and be on field with him, takes it, and replaces it with the only way he knows how: with overflowing anger.
He will never be the same , the doctors said.
At least I’m not drooling into a cup , Roy joked.
He can never be Roy , his mind screams.
“I don’t want to fight you Jason. We don’t even know if we’re drift compatible.”
“Probably not because I’m not drifting with you.”
The fact that Tim keeps steady eye contact despite the venom in Jason’s tone makes his insides hot. Jason fumes.
“You are drifting with me. We’re both our last chance to go back on field.”
“No I’m not. Besides, I think ghost drifting wouldn’t be impossible if a snotty nosed brat like you can handle it, then I can too.”
“As if you can be any better. Tell me, is Roy’s arm still unresponsive?”
He punches Tim before he can think about it and feels bones crack under his knuckles. As he draws his fist back, he sees blood flowing down the kid’s face.
“Pretty boy can dish but can’t take huh?” Jason taunts.
Tim scoffs. “Pretty boy ain’t done yet.” And headbutts Jason in the eye .
Jason rolls over in shock more than in pain. Tim jumps to his feet and knees him in the stomach. Jason retaliates by catching a second kick and twisting the ankle and making Tim fall. Tim ‘s other foot catches him by the chin and–
“ENOUGH! ”
Medics surround them, yelling, frustrated, angry.
–
"You learned that from Steph." Cass notes, as she releases Duke.
"She's quite the fast brawler. I felt her- in my head. That kick spin was what she used when she got cornered when she was young."
Cass smiles, all teeth and pink gums. "Good. You'll need to learn fast."
-
“I heard you’re taking lessons on aerial maneuvers from Cass.” Dick tells him one day as he sun bathes on the roof in one of those rare sunny day.
“I am.” Damian replies.
“Are you hoping to replace me as partners with Cass?”
“No– I– Why’d you think so?”
Dick laughs, not seeing the offense in the statement. A lot of pilots would punch you in the face for even thinking about poaching their co-pilot. Instead, he lounges back parallel to him, eyes covered by an arm slung over his face.
“It’s happened before– look at Steph and Tim.”
“Whatever happened to Drake and Brown was…unfortunate, but I don’t see a point in your asking.”
“I’m just saying. I wouldn’t mind.” Dick says.
“Why?”
“Well, for one, it means Cass makes it out alive.”
“Don’t say that–”
“It’s a possibility, Dames, and it’d be an honor to have you take my place.” Dick says, staring at him intently that Damian has to look away.
“Okay.”
“But don’t you worry lil’D, I’ll be here for a long time so don’t get your hopes up just yet.”
–
Wayne’s elites were whispered about in the hallways for their efficiency and their ruthlessness on this side of the country. They were the battalion that were first to the scene, with the highest success rates in missions and lowest casualties of jaegers. As the latest recruit, he was half excited for the chance to operate his own jaeger and half terrified with everything else.
He doesn’t understand how Cass has managed to squirrel alcohol in his room, nor how everyone just knew where to converge tonight, but at this point he doesn’t seem to care.
“Why are you all here?” Duke asks.
“Well, we’ve managed to get ourselves kicked out of almost every bar in San Francisco.” Tim says.
“I checked. Still banned.” Cass replies.
Duke puts a pin on that since that was a whole can of worms he did not want to tackle right now.
“I mean in the jaeger corps. They brought me in because they found me scavenging a carcass.” Duke says to no one in particular, legs draped somewhere over the tangle of bodies on the floor. He didn’t particularly keep track of it– despite knowing it’s on something too firm to be a pillow and too soft to be the floor. No one particularly cared enough to voice it out. In his head, he remembers the blue that tainted his fingers, searching for scraps to get by. “I had nowhere to go.”
“By carcass, you mean kaiju or…”
“Kaiju, God Dick what else would I scavenge?”
Dick just shrugs and grins.
“Mine was either fuckin’ jail time for being a street urchin or this– though I don’t think they knew I was a particular flavor of crazy until it was too late. I raise to one cleanup duty.”
“Don’t worry Jay, you make our neural handshake spicy .” Tim says, downing his gin shot. “Besides, I think everyone here’s a little bit fucked in the head to operate the way we do. I got here because I was apparently too manipulative for the military.”
“We can't all be high and mighty either, could we? Sense of duty my ass , I’m just here because dear old dad wanted me to direct my rage before I cut a bitch or start a gang war or something.” Steph nods over the cards in her hand.
“Are you okay?” Duke asks her.
“I’m just dandy, ranger.” She smiles brightly at him. Duke doesn’t know if the glint in her eye is because she’s laughing at her joke or at him. “And make that cleanup duty in the Drivesuit Jay, and you’re on. Call.”
Jason curses under his breath but nods and Tim deals out two more cards on Duke’s lap. One thing Duke learns is that there is no concept of personal space when it comes to these guys. Or for Poker.
“I didn’t want to share a bed in the orphanage after the initial strike. It was too crowded as it is, and then suddenly BAM! More orphans. Yay.” Dick says and Duke chokes on a laugh. “Apparently I had too short of a fuse and smiled too much.”
“Smiled too much?”
“I’d smile then throat punch someone. My bunkmate was an asshole.”
“Okay?”
“Even the Alaskan division is kinda weird with us, you know.” Tim continues, passing his shot glass to Jason who takes it without breaking eye contact with his hand. “I heard the Kents were adamant we kept to the South-Western Seaboard–”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re all just scared cause we got individual thought and shit and big bad Wayne can’t even keep us in line– whatever. I raise one full laundry day.”
“Fucking fine! I fold.”
Steph groans. Jason cackles. Tim looks on, bored with a glint in his eye and Duke could feel his lips twitch up.
“What is this?” Damian asks from across the room, sipping his drink and looking like he doesn’t particularly know if he likes it or not. “Why can’t you pass me the shot, Drake.”
“Kaiju milk.” Cass says, sipping her own bottle. “And you’re still underaged.”
“I’m eighteen. I didn’t know kaiju has milk.”
Duke plucks the shot glass from Jason’s hand– it was his turn already– and downs a shot. Dick wiggles from his spot on the ground and shifts the tangle of limbs.
Dick smiles. “Well apparently you’re not old enough to know what’s kaiju milk either.”
Cass looks over at Damian as he rolls his eyes and sends a wink. “It’s not really kaiju milk. You get it when you sneak up to the little Otachi types and you–”
“Okay! That’s enough discussion for today.” Steph says, jumping up and throwing half of the limbs off of her legs. Duke was pretty sure his left foot was on Steph’s thigh by how he falls sideways into Jason. “Duke, let’s ready up for patrol. Robins, relieve us after 5am, yeah? And Reds, just...behave.”
“It’s kaiju essence .” Duke stage whispers to Damian as the kid chokes on his drink and Steph throws him a half hearted glare. The rest of them– they just laugh and shoot him a grin.
He might feel a little out of place in this weird hodge podge of a battalion, but at least Duke knows he belongs.
–
“Negative Belting Robin, abort mission now. I repeat, abort mission now .” One part of the screen has Dick’s vitals flying everywhere.
On the other, Cass’ vitals are silent.
Babs types furiously on her desk. “Warhead is locked and ready to fire sir– proximity damage is inevitable– We can still retrieve the– Sir! Sir! On your orders!”
“Negative– Do not Ghost Drift, I repeat, DO NOT GHOST DRIFT DICK! ”
“Command I’m– Bruce. I’m sorry.”
An explosion rocks somewhere where Cherry Hill used to stand. Miles away, it rocks another person onto their knees.
“ Medic! Now!” Babs says but she looks on with dawning horror on her face.
–
Belting Robin passes them on their way back with a salute.
“So that was patrol, any questions?”
“Yeah, so why aren’t there kaiju during this time of night? Aren’t they like nocturnal?”
“No, they don’t really have a sleeping schedule that we know of. They just appear in the Breach and we couldn’t really get a chance to study them. As for the numbers… well we’re not too far off for another wave, all we’re doing now is just cleaning off the remaining ones from last month.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” Steph says, stretching and making Duke and their jaeger stretch as well. Duke doesn’t know if the satisfaction was his own or Steph’s amplified one, but it did felt good. “Count your blessings Ranger, at least there’s haven’t been a Breach yet. If you want, we can even cut our patrol short and get us some chili dogs from the caf.”
A snort fills their earpieces. Duke was happy and tired that he might take the offer on after patrol–
Then the earth shakes. A Category-4 kaiju climbs out of the Breach.
“ Striking Onyx , pull back. You’re too inexperienced for a Cat-4. I repeat, Striking Onyx pull back .”
“Striking Onyx copies Command.” Duke says, eyes not straying away from the monster.
–
“Jason and Tim fought in the hallways. I think they’re benched.” Damian tells Dick. “So Striking Onyx is out for patrol now.”
Dick eyes the duo, who was lounging at the foot of Red Chemo , heads bent together in hushed whispers.
“You think they’re going to be a great team?”
Dick smiles as Tim catches him looking and doesn’t even have to tell Jason before the older man whips his head back and to their audience. With only one neural uplink between the two of them, it’s frightening how in sync they already were.
He’s been with Jason for years, training, learning, growing; and with what Steph has told him about Tim, Dick has a feeling they’re at least on the path to being a pair. Where Jason overflows, Tim catches. Where Tim lacks, Jason compensates. It’s, simply, basic math.
“I know so.” Dick tells Damian as Red Chemo walks nearer to them. “Hey guys, what’cha think about having a movie night? Cass has alcohol and we’ve yet to conquer Duke’s room.”
–
His arm bruns but Jason grits through it because Tim is a punch and a skip away from losing consciousness.
To be fair he’s got the longer end of the stick here– at least he still has his arm . The kaiju roars and Red Chemo snarls back, the pilots working in sync to punch back as hard as they took it. Red Chemo is a fucking tank built to last and goddammit they will .
“Shoulder blasters!” Tim yells and Jason grips the mouth of the kaiju open enough for the warheads to hit–
“Rest in fucking pieces!” Jason yells, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “You okay there Replacement?”
“We did it.” Tim whispers and promptly faints.
Jason was sure he was able to yell out for a medic one more time before his own vitals go crazy with the shut down.
We did it.
–
Tim remembers Glitter Chrome – he used to call her Glitz. He remembers it when he looks at Steph and smiles.
“Stop smiling and be somber.” She tells him. “You know, situations like these are why they call us crazies.”
“I know.”
The steady beeping fills the room, partly comfort in having retrieved both pilots from the wreckage of Belting Robin and partly dread for their future. They haven’t woken up .
The medic can’t give hope that they will. But Tim goddamn will hold on to it.
Steph sighs and leans back, letting her head drop over the backrest of her seat. “I remember when you were the one I had to visit in this room.”
“I know.”
“And I– I couldn’t feel you then.” Like I can’t feel you now , his mind supplies. “It was bad. But I’m glad you’re alive.”
“I know.”
“Do you think they’re going to push through?”
Tim smiles a little bit wider at her. Because he knows . He’s been there before. And that gives him hope, for Dick and Cass who’s yet to wake from their comas. For their own future. For their next jaegers .
They were siblings now by kaiju blood and their own tears, and the Wayne brotherhood were made of tougher things.
And in their team, their family, when hope is not given, they will take it by force .
Summary: Stranded on patrol with the person you hate most, there’s not much to do besides fuck out your feelings
Notes: 18+ only, minors dni; enemies to lovers, hate sex, thigh riding, tribbing, semi-public sex, mean!Abby, switch!Abby, mentions of weapons/cordyceps (general tlou references), lots of swearing.
The fear settling in your gut should serve as a reminder of where you are.
Truthfully, it reminds you of where you are not. You are not sleeping peacefully in your bunk, or eating in the cafeteria with your friends, or anywhere under the protection of WLF and its adherents. You’re forced to focus on the places you’re not because you don’t actually know where you are.
You, and your patrol partner, Abby, are lost.
Your blonde counterpart walks five paces ahead, never bothering to look over her shoulder to see if you’re in tow. It’s your responsibility to keep up, she’d told you earlier in the day. I’m making it back – with or without you.
Now, you focus on her braided ponytail swishing between her shoulder blades in an effort to distract from the pain in your muscles and the burning ache in your calves.
The two of you have been walking for hours, not entirely sure of the direction or the destination. Abby seemed to be following a trail, but what was once eroded by familiarity now offers only bare traces of the path underfoot. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been where you are now.
Tall, heavy spruces block the view of the horizon, limiting the ability to gauge how far you’ve travelled or how close you are to the city.
While you’re surveying the thicket of trees around you, a root sticking up from the dirt catches you by surprise and sends you stumbling forward with a muttered oof.
Abby stops in her path, turning sharply to stare at you. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I tripped.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, I know. So does every other person lurking in the fucking woods.”
Your eyebrows pinch together, heat rising to your face as you struggle to maintain your composure. “Abby, there’s no one around for miles.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m talking about the infected – what if you just woke up a hoard because you fell over their roots?”
“It was a tree root!” you spit back, offended that Abby would consider you to be so careless. “You could’ve warned me about it, by the way. Or you could at least tell me where we’re going.”
“I told you,” she seethes. “I’m going back to the truck.”
The two of you had been a part of a larger group of WLF members sent out to survey an area east of the city. Beyond the stadium and the neighborhoods surrounding it, there was an unkempt expanse of evergreens that stretched hundreds of acres deep. A few days ago, whisps of smoke were spotted rising through the treetops a couple miles in, and Isaac had prepared a group to investigate.
Ten people rode out to the location, including yourself and Abby. Most of the group suspected a small fire in the midst of Washington’s dry season, and a few others figured it was a group of stragglers setting up camp under the cover of the dense forest. Either way, there was little cause for alarm.
The group was split into pairs and instructed to search in small areas before reporting back to the vehicles with their findings. Provided with a crudely hand-drawn map and not much else, you and Abby left in search of whatever person or thing had caused the fire.
Somewhere along the way, you’d missed a turn or walked too far along a path and the two of you got lost, venturing deeper into the woods than you were supposed to. When you suggested that you retrace your steps, nothing on the map seemed familiar, and there was nothing to indicate that another group might be nearby.
You should’ve known something like this would happen. Anytime Abby was around, it was bad news – and she thought the same of you. Your mutual hatred was something the entire WLF base had heard about, and many had witnessed the arguments and shouting matches first-hand.
When the two of you were paired together by Manny, you could see the snickers on the faces of the other group members. Abby had huffed under her breath before shoving the map in your hands and flipping Manny off as she stomped in the opposite direction.
You were in charge of the map, but Abby ultimately had the final say in the direction you took, and you both blamed each other for the position you were in now.
“Abby, we’re walking in circles. How much longer are you going to pretend like you know where we’re going?”
Sweat rolls down the side of your neck and the strap of your gun digs uncomfortably into your shoulder. It’s clear that Abby’s in the same state of exhaustion as she adjusts the heavy holster on her hip. She hadn’t even bothered to count the bullets left between you – you’d die anyway without a way out of the forest.
“M’sorry, do you have a better plan?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “It’s your fault we’re lost, anyway.”
“My fault?” You stomp towards her, uncaring of the dry branches that snap under your feet. “How s’it my fault, Abby? You were the one in charge.”
“You had the map,” she insists, shoving her finger into your chest when you stop in front of her. “You should’ve been paying more attention.”
“Yeah, well you were the one in front. You must’ve led us the wrong way.” You say, enjoying the way Abby’s jaw tenses in frustration.
“When we get back, I’ll make sure Isaac knows that his favorite little lap dog is incapable of following directions.”
Abby’s expression morphs into that of rage. She pushes you away, sending you stumbling back a step.
“Fuck you,” she pants, puffing out her chest.
You react without thinking and shove her back, much harder than either of you had anticipated.
The shock sends Abby thudding onto the ground, her hands catching her weight before her ass hits the dirt. She kicks out in retaliation and swipes your feet from under you, sending you toppling over her form and driving you both onto the ground.
Landing against her chest, you’re forced to plant your hands on her shoulders to keep yourself upright. Abby’s chest heaves against yours and she scoots her hips to buck you off, unintentionally jostling you closer as you wrap your thighs around her waist to keep from being thrown onto the ground.
She grabs your hips and squeezes roughly in an effort to keep you from squirming any closer. When you stop to look at her, you’re astonished by the view. Her pupils are blown wide and strands of hair stick to her flushed cheeks and you can’t help but imagine that this is what she looks like when she fucks. Her breath comes in short puffs against your face and she licks her lips before tucking her chin to her chest to avoid the closeness of your position.
Overwrought with adrenaline, you follow the tilt of her head and smash your lips onto hers roughly. She pushes back after the surprise wears off, kissing you with fervor until you’re both forced to part for air.
“What the fuck was that?”
“I-I don’t know, I just thought –.”
Abby cuts you off by pressing your lips together again and curling one hand around your jaw.
“Don’t” she murmurs against your mouth. “Don’t think. Just take your fucking pants off.”
With her free hand, she works to remove the holster at her hip and you’re suddenly aware of the weapon still secured across your chest. You break the kiss to undo the strap from your shoulder, setting the gun to the side before yanking your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind you. Your bra follows shortly after, and when you return your attention to Abby, she’s watching you with hunger in her eyes.
“S’pretty,” she says, cupping your breasts and running her calloused fingers over your smooth skin. The warmth of her hands paired with the humid summer air melts the uncertainty from your bones and you press yourself into her touch without restraint.
“Who knew such a pest could have such nice tits.”
There’s a playful bite to her words and it’s reflexive the way you respond with the same fire.
“Always knew I’d be the one on top,” you quip, moving over her with a sugary voice and a faux roll of your hips. “Y’wanna take charge but you never do. You’re all bark and no bite.”
She bucks her hips up to jostle you in your place, grinning slyly when you lose your balance. “You’ve thought about this before then, huh?”
“Thought about what? Putting you in your place? All the time.”
Your hands go to the hem of Abby’s shirt, shucking the material up to her chest. She takes the hint and raises her arms up, letting you tug the fabric over her head. She reaches around her back to undo her bra, pulling it off and adding it to the mess of clothes around you.
Abby sits up with you in her lap and puts one hand on the back of your neck, bringing her lips to your throat to plant kisses anywhere she can reach. While she’s busy marking your flushed skin with her lips and grazing teeth, you work open the button of your pants and shimmy the thick material down your hips.
You remove yourself from her lap just long enough to pull your pants off while Abby takes the chance to do the same. When you’re bare to each other and the silent forest around you, she pulls you back on top of her and runs her hands up your sides.
“Y’gonna let me taste your pretty pussy? Huh? Gonna come on my mouth? Or d’you want my fingers instead? Bet you’re so pretty when you s—.”
You groan out loud, putting a hand over Abby’s mouth playfully. “Stop talking and fuck me.”
She laughs heartily against your palm, a chirpy sound you don’t think you’ve heard from her before. “Yes ma’am.”
Your hands move to her shoulders as Abby slots one of her thighs between yours, creating a divine pressure between your legs. Shifting your hips experimentally, you stutter over the muscled expanse of her thigh. The stimulation proves to be too much for your frantic mind and you struggle to keep a steady pace.
“Abby-” you choke out, thoughts too static to think of a better plead.
She grunts in acknowledgement, seeming to understand what you’re asking for. Her grip becomes pinching on your hips as she slides your cunt over your toned thigh, flexing her muscles in a way that sends an unexpected tremor through your clit.
The sudden pleasure makes you cry out, furrowing your brows together and throwing your head back as Abby leads your movements.
“S’that all it takes to get you to quit running your mouth? Y’just needed to get fucked, huh?”
Abby closes the space between the two of you, leaning in to kiss you again. She nips at your bottom lip, sinking her teeth into the gentle skin there and tugging sharply. A broken moan escapes your parted lips and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.
A sheen of slick glistens against her skin where you slide your puffy clit over her thigh. It takes all of your energy to remain upright as she ruts your hips over hers with a pace that blurs the line between pleasure and punishment.
You pull away from her mouth to suck in a breath of air, taking the chance to warn Abby of the tension building in your core.
“Gonna come, mmph – please.”
“That’s it,” she grunts, eager eyes transfixed on your tits bouncing in front of her face. “Let go – make a mess, baby.”
Pleasure overrides your senses, flooding your veins with a rich intensity and filling your chest with warmth. Your cunt throbs against her thigh, slick dribbling down her skin in sappy rivulets. She lets you ride out your orgasm for a minute longer, still grinding your hips against her thigh until you become too sensitive to continue.
“Too much,” you rasp, letting your hands rest on top of Abby’s as she slows the pace of your hips.
You gently squeeze her fingers in appreciation and the intimacy of your touch is almost too much for Abby to handle. She feels her own cunt clench at the sudden realization of your position – Abby might be the one making you come, but the way you command her through subtle touch lets her know that she’s not the only one capable of taking charge.
“S’my turn to make you feel good.”
Your voice snaps Abby out of her thoughts and she watches you reposition yourself between her legs to press your slick cunt against hers. Abby lets you have control, leaning back and resting on her elbows while you hover over her on your knees.
Your hands grasp at her thighs, forcing them further apart to make enough room for you to move. After a moment of adjustment, you find the perfect angle to rub your sensitive clit against hers, causing you to hiss from the feeling of bittersweet overstimulation.
The silence from Abby is unfamiliar and you can’t help but taunt her as you rock your hips into hers.
“Always got something smart to say – where’s that energy now? Cat got your tongue?”
Her expression is foreign, somewhere between needy and content, and you want to study her features until you’ve discovered every detail you’ve missed in willful ignorance.
“Lemme hear you,” you say, coaxing her into a comfortable state. “Don’t hide from me now.”
Abby breaks from her stoic mask for just a moment, allowing herself to openly enjoy the drag of your clit against her delicate bundle of nerves. Her moans are raspy and guttural and pure heaven, and you move against her cunt faster in hopes of drawing more sounds from the blonde underneath you.
The air is thick with your shared pants and the lewd sound of your cunts grinding together. Your combined slick wets the insides of Abby’s thighs and travels up to your naval, smeared over your skin like a translucent haze.
Abby glances down at where you’re connected, humming appreciatively at the sight. “So fuckin’ pretty” she says, mind reduced to nothing by the pleasure coursing through her body. “Next time, you’re putting that pretty pussy on my face.”
The promise of something more is what pushes you over the edge for the second time, sending you forward onto Abby’s chest with a pitiful cry. Abby wraps one arm around you and bucks her hips wildly, finding her own climax as you pant against her mouth.
Her muscled legs tighten around your thighs when she comes against you, pulling you impossibly closer as she comes down from her high. The shwick of your cunts rubbing against each other falters as her movements come to an end.
The stillness of the forest engulfs the two of you in awkward silence, neither of you entirely sure of what to say now that the adrenaline has worn off. You open your mouth to speak, but before you can say anything to relieve the awkward tension in your chest, you’re interrupted by the sound of branches breaking underfoot.
Your eyes widen in shock to find another pair of WLF members standing a couple yards away, looking like they’ve stumbled upon the implausible.
Manny wears a devious grin, like he’d foreseen this exact outcome when he sent the two of you on patrol together. Nora stands beside him with her gun in hand, and you can imagine she was expecting something else waiting beyond the trees by the look of shock on her face.
“Now that’s something I thought I’d never see.”
Abby groans and hides her face in your neck, growing more flushed with each second spent under her friends’ scrutiny.
Manny howls with laughter, patting Nora on the shoulder as they turn their backs to give you the privacy to get dressed and find your composure. You mumble a string of curses under your breath as you slowly remove yourself from Abby while trying to block out your friends’ awkward presence. Manny’s voice breaks through the hands you have pressed over your ears, still rumbling with laughter as he shakes his head.
Summary: Abby comes home to find you sunbathing and fucks you in the yard
Notes: 18+ only, minors dni!! Fem reader, slight praise, pet names (pretty, babe), fingering, mentions of Abby’s strap – literally no plot in sight. This was written for every body type in mind because every body is a bikini body!!
When Abby gets home, she’s scorched.
She’s late – she knows because the sky is already tinged orange, painting the landscape in modest sepia tones. The mid-July sun burns well into the evening now, leaving the air warm and sappy and full of life.
Abby’s hair sticks to her neck and small wisps fall into her face, and she’s relieved to be home after a long day out in the sun.
Despite the heat and the cruel humidity, this is Abby’s favorite time of year. Abby loves the summer sun because she knows the sun brings heat, and heat brings bikinis.
She closes the front door behind her with a huff, noticing that the air in the house isn’t much cooler than the air outside. She kicks her shoes off and yanks her ponytail out, unraveling her tight braid while she looks around the house. Usually, you’re waiting by the door when Abby gets home. But today, you’re nowhere to be seen.
“Babe?” Abby calls out for you, peeking her head into the kitchen and wandering down the hall in search of you. She finds the back door open, the golden light from outside leading her into the secluded backyard.
There, she finds you laying on a frayed beach towel, soaking in the remnants of the day’s dwindling light. Your feet kick idly behind you while your head rests on your forearms, facing away from your girlfriend’s presence.
Abby swipes at the sweat beading across her forehead, and even though she’s exhausted by the heat, her energy is renewed by the thought of what you’ve been doing all day under the bright summer sun.
She stalks over to you silently, eyes roaming your exposed skin and the barely-there bikini that does little to cover your backside. The straps that are supposed to hold your top in place are now limp at your sides, the planes of your back entirely on display for Abby’s enjoyment.
She hums out a little sound of appreciation, making her presence known. You shift to face her, a small smile crinkling your relaxed features.
“You’re home,” you murmur, stretching your arms out in front of you and rolling your neck to relieve the idle stiffness in your muscles.
From the looks of it, you’ve been outside all day. Little items are scattered around you – books and sunscreen and anything else you could think to carry out into the yard. Your skin is warm and bronze, and Abby’s eyes are drawn to the crisscrossing lines across your back that show where a summer’s worth of golden tan has been interrupted by the material of your swimsuit.
“Did y’have a good day?” she asks, raking a hand through her crimped hair, trying to brush out the subtle waves left behind from her tight updo.
“Mmhm,” you answer affirmatively, reaching a hand out to motion her closer.
She shuffles towards you before crouching at your side, knees landing on the edge of the shabby towel that you’d spread out on the lawn.
“It was so hot today,” you say, admiring the pink of Abby’s flushed face. The apples of her cheeks are ruddy and dark, and you remind yourself to take care of her developing sunburn when the two of you head inside.
She nods in agreement, letting her fingers trail over your warm skin now that you’re within reach. Her calloused hands trace the curve of your spine, sending a burst of soothing energy through your core. The combination of Abby’s touch and the warmth of the evening air lulls you into a relaxed state, causing your eyes to flutter until they’re shut.
“Your top’s undone,” she comments, entranced by the sheen of sunscreen glistening against your skin.
“I don’t want tan lines.”
She scoffs under her breath, running her fingers over the faint stripes left behind from previous days spent outside. “It’s a little late for that.”
Her fingers slips under the waistband of your bottoms, pressing softly into the warm skin there until you snap back into focus, looking back over your shoulder at her.
“Maybe these should come off too then,” she suggests in a slow voice. “You’ll get tan lines.”
A short nod is enough of an answer for the blonde, and her fingers work to untie the strings at each hip. The garment slips free and Abby pulls the loose bottoms from around your waist.
Her hands come up to grip the globes of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh like she doesn’t know her own strength.
“So pretty,” she murmurs, swinging one knee over your form to straddle you from behind.
With quick fingers, she slips the untied top from beneath you, throwing it somewhere in the yard without much care.
Your face falls into the crook of your arm as Abby’s hands return to your backside. Her hips shift against your ass, hinting at the friction you’re desperate to receive.
“Abby,” you mutter into your arm. “Need you – need your fingers.”
Her digits press gently into the dip of your lower back, massaging the muscles there with lazy pressure. “Need my fingers here? Is that what y’wanted?”
Your response is something indecipherable, a combination of pleasure and frustration fueling your muddled thoughts.
Abby seems to understand anyway and she shuffles back to rest her weight on the backs of your legs, giving her just enough room to part your thighs.
“Thought about you all day,” she says, ghosting her fingers over your center. “Laid out in the yard, looking so sweet for me – wanted me to come home and find you like this, huh?”
Your hips buck in impatience and Abby quickly settles you back in your place. “Sit still, pretty. Wanna fuck my girl nice and slow.”
Two thick digits delve into your core, parting your slick walls with a delicious pressure.
“Worked so hard today,” she says mainly to herself, scissoring her fingers to gently stretch your cunt. “Now it’s my turn to relax.”
Breathy moans fill the air, reverberating off the wooden fence that encloses your yard. Abby’s speed picks up, her fingers pumping into your cunt faster than your languid mind can keep up with.
She slides in and out in quick motions, drawing slick down her knuckles and onto your inner thighs.
“That’s it, pretty. Show me how good it feels.”
Abby thrusts her fingers into you a couple more times before changing course and sliding them out entirely. Before you can complain, she grabs you by the waist, pulling your ass into the air and pushing back into you.
The new angle allows Abby to move deeper into your cunt, curling her fingers up and pressing into that spongey spot at the top of your walls. With her free hand, she reaches around the front of you to rub messy circles over your clit.
“Pretty pussy’s sucking my fingers in,” she says. “Sounds fuckin’ beautiful.”
With her fingers working at a steady pace, her hips begin to follow suit, shifting slightly in stride with her movements. Her dense thighs smack into the backs of your legs, reminding you of her familiarity with this position.
“Takin’ me so good,” she grunts, becoming more aggressive with her movements. “Gonna take you inside and fuck you properly after this. Stretch you around my cock until you’re crying.”
Her promise fuels the tightness that had been building in your core, and with a few more strokes of her fingers, the pressure snaps and brings you to a finish.
The hand rubbing at your clit moves to grab your waist to hold you up, keeping you from sinking onto the hard ground beneath you. Abby slows her fingers inside of you, coaxing out the end of your orgasm before she’s pulling her fingers out and slipping them into her mouth.
She moans as the taste of sunscreen and sweat and you settles on her tongue.
Before you have time to catch your breath, she’s on her feet and pulling you up to stand on shaky legs.
“C’mon, let’s go inside — we’re not finished yet.”
Abby with crybaby!reader please maybe just fluff about her being sweet to her babygirl
This made me scream omg Abby would be such a good gf-
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
I can picture her standing between your legs while you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, and her form is so powerful and imposing that the space she takes up between your thighs is enough to bring you a sense of solace.
Her warm hands slide comfortingly up and down your legs, waiting for you to catch your breath before she asks what’s wrong.
She ducks her head down so that she’s in your line of sight and gives you a gentle smile, trying to be reassuring but it just makes you feel embarrassed to be crying in the first place.
Abby’s heart practically splits in two when your pitiful sniffles start up again, lip jutting out from the effort of trying to suppress your cries.
“Oh, baby” she croons, tsking as your waterline floods once again.
“Y’gotta tell me what’s wrong so I can help, sweet girl.” Her voice is steady and low and you think you could drown in the sappy warmth that fills your chest.
Abby leans in and presses featherlight kisses to your wobbling lips, like you’ll break if she’s not gentle enough. When she pulls away, there’s a softness to her features that not many others get to see. She’s rubs your back and asks, “Y’wanna talk about it?”
And you’re shaking your head and throwing your arms around her neck so you can hide your tear stained face in her shirt instead.
“Okay,” she agrees, letting you cry to your heart’s content. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
dbf joel fucking the reader in the bathroom after she teases him over the dinner table
18+ minors dni— p in v, hint of exhibitionism, jealous Joel, afab reader wearing a dress
“Fuck, this pretty pussy’s sucking me in baby.”
Joel grinds against your ass in a slow, agonizing roll of his hips, sinking deeper into your slick cunt. His rough hands anchor your waist to the bathroom counter, keeping you in place while he fucks into you.
“Feel s’fucking good,” he grunts under his breath with a shallow thrust against the backs of your thighs.
The friction slides his cock against that spongey spot at the top of your walls with a delicious pressure, sending you folding in on yourself with trembling legs and head tipped low.
Your reflection bounces in your peripheral like a hypnotic performance of a show you know by memory. When you tilt your head up to find Joel in the mirror, your silent, breathy moans cloud the reflective glass like steam from an unbearable heat.
He pulls out almost entirely before sliding back in with a low grunt, just loud enough to bring you to your senses.
“Joel, they’re gonna hear us,” you hiss, glancing towards the bathroom door, hoping that the thick wood offers enough of a barrier to hide the evidence of what you were doing.
“Isn’t that what y’wanted? Practically fucked me at the dinner table, putting your hands all over me in front of all my friends.”
Joel reaches for the hem of your dress, fisting the fabric and bunching it up above your hips. With his other hand, he reaches around the front of you to blindly circle your puffy clit.
“Watching you like they were starving for a fuckin’ taste.”
You keen at the feeling of release building in your core, threatening to tip over the edge with every movement of Joel behind you. The sound of your cry echoes off the walls of the tiny bathroom, surely alerting your guests to what was happening just a few rooms over.
He meets your gaze in the reflection of the fogged mirror, grinning smugly when another cry slips from your lips.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart — they know you’re mine.”
Summary: Joel and your cat have never gotten along, but maybe they’re more alike than they realize
Notes: requested fic – no reader pronouns, one mention of alcohol but no other warnings, just fluff!
Her name is Tilly – a patchy stray with a salt and pepper coat and a crooked tail that swishes in awkward jumps. She had been a community pet since before you’d arrived at Jackson, and no one really knew how long she had been around.
She’d taken to you almost immediately, a surprise to everyone who had tried and failed to befriend the evasive creature. Days once spent loitering in back alleys and stealing food from the barn were now spent sunbathing in your living room window and napping contently at the end of your bed.
When Joel arrives in town a few weeks shy of summer, you immediately notice the similarities between the two drifters. One a bit more grumpy and one a bit more grey, but both bearing a warmth that many others were quick to overlook.
Months of having Joel as a patrol partner and sharing looks across the dining hall had gradually led to something more. Now, Joel stands at the edge of your porch, hands shoved into his pockets and stiff shoulders squared back while he waits for you to let him in.
The streetlights glare dimly in the panes of your front room windows, and he watches the reflection for any sign of movement – a habit of necessity that he’d never learned to break.
The door swings open after a moment and Joel finds you smiling brightly at him from the dimly lit foyer.
“You’re here,” you chirp, motioning him inside and turning on your heel, hollering a cheerful ‘come on in’ over your shoulder before Joel can think twice.
He steps inside warily, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Your jacket is hung on a hook by the door and as Joel sheds his own outer layers, a little voice in his head reflects on how complete the scene would look with his coat and flannel hanging in the empty spot next to yours.
Joel quickly notices how different your house is compared to his.
Everything is clean and the place looks comfortable – nothing like the dusty, unexplored rooms of the house he’d been given to stay in upon his arrival. You had mugs in the sink and blankets thrown haphazardly over the arm of the couch, and Joel felt a pang of homesickness at the familiar sights.
As he takes in your living room – studying pictures and books and trinkets that he makes a mental note to ask you about – he catches a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye.
A dark flash runs across the room and ducks under the sofa, there and gone before Joel can get a good look at it. He moves forward on cautious feet, dread sinking in his gut with the thought of what he might find.
You enter the room a few moments later, carrying two glasses and a bottle of whiskey you’d kept especially for this occasion. When you walk in to find Joel crouched over, seemingly scrutinizing the legs of the sofa, you’re perplexed to say the least. “Everything alright?”
He’s at a loss for words as the creature stays hidden from sight, now directing it’s attention at your approaching feet. You don’t seem concerned in the slightest, setting the glasses and bottle on the coffee table as Joel narrows his eyes and points downward at the occupied space under the couch.
“What is that?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s probably just Tilly.”
You reach down and waggle your fingers in front of the gap underneath the sofa, tutting under your breath until a dappled paw juts out from the shadows, batting at your hand.
“She’s a little timid,” you say, rising to stand next to Joel again. “She’s harmless, though.”
He hums in acknowledgement, eyebrows creasing as he watches her tail flick tauntingly from her hiding place under the couch. “S’she yours?”
You nod eagerly, almost proud to tell the story of how you’d gained the trust of the stubborn street cat all those months ago. The two of you fall into comfortable conversation, and before the night is over, the cat is forgotten from Joel’s mind.
—
The next few times that Joel comes over, he’s still not sure what to think about Tilly. She’s not too fond of him either, usually retreating to the bedroom the moment she hears the deep timbre of his voice greeting you at the door.
Eventually, however, the pair come to a standoff.
Joel feels possessed by the need to make Tilly like him.
It’s been a long time since he’s had a pet, and he doesn’t really see the appeal of the bitter tabby skulking around your house. But he’d do just about anything to make you happy, and it’s clear to see how much Tilly means to you.
When she curls up in your lap one evening after dinner, Joel reaches over with an open palm and a tight-lipped smile.
He pets at her rougher than intended, causing her head to dip under the force of his heavy hand. When Tilly meows her disapproval and stands to leave, Joel scoffs at her surly demeanor.
“Your cat’s a jerk,” he says pointedly, watching as the feline escapes to the floor and saunters lazily from the room.
“You have that in common,” you laugh.
People in town thought of Joel the same way he thought of Tilly – reclusive, stubborn, and a bit of a grump. Whenever a neighbor would make a surprised comment about Joel taking a liking to you, it was always in the same voice they used when talking about Tilly.
Neither was incapable of being loved, they just needed to find the right fit.
His frown deepens as blinks at you, clearly unamused with the comparison.
“M’not a jerk,” he grunts, finding sudden interest in the frayed cuff of his flannel.
“Aww,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand and pulling his attention back towards you.
“Not a jerk,” you confirm with a peck to his lips. “Just a big ole softie.”
—
The relationship between Joel and Tilly stayed the same as time went on. Joel came over more and more, and Tilly found new places to hide as he became a constant presence in the house. When you were home, Joel was too.
Tonight, though, he’s there without you.
You’d taken an extra shift on patrol to cover for a friend, promising Joel you’d be home before the streetlights came on. Now, after barely making it back before midnight, you’re kicking yourself for ever agreeing to leave.
Rushing up your porch steps and fumbling with your keys, you’re disappointed to see the living room windows just as dark as the night outside. Joel must’ve left, you thought to yourself, cursing your patrol partner for keeping you so late.
You throw the front door open, stepping inside and toeing off your boots with a sullen frown. In the silent foyer, you can’t help but wonder how long he waited before giving up and heading back to his own empty house.
With just enough light from the street to guide your way through the living room, you head towards your bed with a defeated sigh.
As you’re passing through, though, a deep huff from the other side of the room stops you in your tracks. You’re relieved to find Joel there, snoring softly in the dark.
He’s stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head and the other folded over his chest, fingers moving idly over Tilly’s dark fur where she’s curled up overtop him. She’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her, clearly content with Joel’s softened attention.
You walk over on silent feet to better observe the two of them, crouching down to their level once you’re within arm’s reach. They wear the same easy expression and you can’t help but wonder who caved first in this unexpected acquiesce.
“Yeah,” you say to yourself, grinning widely at the pair.
Hi hi! Can I request something super sweet and domestic with Abby please? Like doing laundry together or grocery shopping or something that’s just so mundane and filled with love
The lingering warmth from the dryer clings like static to the clothes on the bed and the blankets underneath. Outside, the wind moves softly through the trees and the sun sinks through the open windows, leaving patterns of light on the bedroom floor.
Life is good, even when it’s slow.
Abby’s folding laundry at the end of the bed, humming a tune under her breath as she sorts through your collective pile of clothes. She grabs a pair of black socks from the small mountain in front of her and holds them up for you to see.
“Yours or mine?”
“mm, yours I think.”
She nods and tosses them beside the folded clothes stacked on her side of the bed. Yours are laid out on the other side, waiting to be put away.
“And this?” She holds up a long sleeve shirt that’s definitely seen better days. The sleeves are frayed and a tiny hole splits the seam at the neck, but it reminds you of Abby. You keep it for luck.
“Definitely yours. I wanna wear it tonight though – put it in my pile.”
“Okay, got it. And what about this?”
Twenty minutes later, after debating ownership of half the pile of laundry, Abby’s ready to throw in the towel. She falls backwards onto the bed and shuts her eyes with a groan.
“Maybe we should just put all our clothes together from now on. We share everything anyway.”
“That’s true,” you laugh, still putting shirts on hangers in the doorway of the closet. “Or we could just wear less clothes – wouldn’t have to do so much laundry that way.”
She perks up at your response, squinting her eyes open at the thought. “Yeah,” she raises her eyebrows. “I like the sound of that.”
