Hi! I Just Wanted To Say That I Just Finished Reading Broken Promises And I LOVED IT. Logan Was So So

The final part of How About a Nuke is now posted!

I want you to know I’m genuinely so proud of you for being able to find the motivation to put out the last chapter. Depression can be a bitch and a half, and congrats on making it through one of the worst months for it. The fact you still pushed through to be able to write shows how strong and talented you are. 🫶

Also this last chapter was SO well written, you write Arthur so perfectly!!

Oh, gosh, this means the world to me. It's always nice to have words of support, but especially when it's from someone who's practically a stranger. It speaks a lot to your character that you're so kind. I know I've seen you commenting on the story before and I want you to know how genuinely motivating that is when you're in a funk like I was.

I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! I can't tell you how many times I came close to just abandoning the fic because it was making me so frustrated. Rewriting it all from Arthur's perspective was definitely super helpful and a lot of fun. I'm happy that you think I captured his character properly, it's always important to me to not make someone as beloved as he is OOC. (An epilogue is in the making btw 🫶)

haunted past

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

a/n: WARNING: loose recollection of the movie bc I don’t have the energy to rewatch it lol. I’m not planning on following games/book lore bc I don’t have the time to rewatch the eight-hour YouTube video covering it all. So, forgive me if I take some creative liberty. (Dark subjects following the themes of the movie/games below the cut, including the murder of children)

Summary: You'd thought you'd left the past behind. You never thought you'd be back at this place. It's the source of your every waking nightmare and the worst day of your life. Freddy Fazbear's is the catalyst of where your life went wrong, but when Abby's life is on the line, you have no other choice. Can you survive another night at Freddy's? (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

The door creaks open, one eye peeking through the crack. Mike taps his foot impatiently. He glances briefly down at Abby. She’s practically giddy with excitement as she waits for you to open the door. He knows it's only because you’ll let her watch whatever she wants on TV and don’t enforce bedtime. 

He hates having to resort to bugging you about this. It’s not like he can pay you for all the times you’ve watched his sister. Relying on you for free labor isn’t exactly the best lead into asking you out—not that he thinks you’d actually give him a chance. 

“Christ,” you prop the door open, just barely wide enough for your frame to fit in. You’re not especially welcoming. “What do you want now?”

Abby breaks free from his hold. She shoves through you and rushes into your house. You scoff, turning slightly to watch her. Mike rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Don’t tell me,” you stop him before he even gets a chance to start. “You’re back for unpaid labor?”

Mike’s face screwed up, even if it’s true, it still stings to hear. “Look, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t-”

“Do this if you didn’t have to,” you finish for him. With a brief sigh, you close the door and step outside with him. You’re in some of the skimpiest shorts he’s ever seen and an inappropriately flattering tank top. He’s struggling, as he usually does, not to just bolt. 

He finds you hard to talk to. Not just because of his usual aversion to the general public, but simply because of how intimidating you are. Besides your already blunt personality, he’s rarely ever had a crush this intense before. It’s hard to stomach these feelings, especially when he knows there’s nothing to be done about it. 

“I’ve heard the spiel before, Mike.” His face screws up at the bluntness of your words. You’re normally like this but you seem especially annoyed tonight. You take a seat on the rocking chair on your tiny porch and nod towards the other one. He takes it as a win that you’re not just kicking him to the curb.

You’ve made this place a home more than he’s bothered to. You’ve got a few potted plants littered around the porch, chairs, and your little glass table with an ashtray he’s never even seen you use. You don’t seem like a plant kind of girl, but they're doing better than any he’s ever attempted to take care of. 

“What is it this time, anyway? And what happened to your other babysitter?”

He rolls his eyes at the mention of Max. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with her all day. She just left Abby home alone the other night.” Your eyes narrow with anger and you let out a loud huff. 

“What a bitch,” you mutter, tucking your legs into your chest. 

Mike shrugs and picks at the hem of his sweatshirt. He hates talking to you, he doesn’t know how to. He never knows if what he’s saying is irritating you or not, you’re so hard to read. He barely knows anything about you, yet you’re the closest thing to a friend he’s ever got. 

“I’ve got a new job-”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you interrupt, and you almost sound… hurt? He doesn’t want to read too much into it, but he still offers you a whispered apology anyway. 

“I’ve been pretty busy, all this shit with my aunt and rent,” he gestures vaguely to his house across from yours and lets out a tired sigh. His head falls into his hands and he scrubs his hands down his face. He hates burdening you with his problems. It’s not on you to be his on-call babysitter and therapist. 

You place a light hand on his arm and for a moment he thinks he might be dreaming. You lean forward, forcing him to meet your eye. “Rent? Look,” your face screws up awkwardly and you force the next words out, “I’ve got money.”

“No,” he immediately interrupts, jerking away from your touch as his face sets in anger. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a beggar. He’s not telling you this to get a handout. “No, I don’t want your money.”

You scoff and cross your arms, glaring at him. “I’m not offering it freely. Consider it a loan, alright?” He opens his mouth and you cut him off with a pissed-off look. “Just shut up and wait here.” You get up, slipping back inside your home. He hears you through the open window as you greet Abby. 

“How’s school?” You ask, rummaging through something. 

“I don’t know, fine,” she answers vaguely. 

He can hear you scoff in amusement, “Yeah, I hated school too.”

“Mac and cheese later?”

The door opens and you call a, “Sure, kid,” over your shoulder. It’s another reason he likes bringing Abby over to your place. You seem to be the only person she’s willing to give more than two words to. Besides, you can actually get her to eat somehow. 

You approach him with a slip of paper in your hand. You shove it into his unwilling hands and he lets out a rough sigh when he sees it’s a check. “Don’t argue,” you snap, sitting back in your chair and refusing to make eye contact with him. “You’ll pay me back.”

He says your name and you shake your head, clearly uncomfortable. “Forget it, just tell me about the new job.”

He scratches the back of his head, debating whether or not he should thank you for the help. It’s not a lot, he knows you’ve got about as much to spare as he does, and he’ll still need to finish this job. However, it is enough to put some food on the table without worrying about every penny. 

Still, you look incredibly disturbed by your own generosity, so he pockets the check and figures he’ll think of a different way to thank you. “It’s a security gig.”

“Really?” You smirk and turn towards him. “Someone hired you after what happened at the mall?” You give him a disbelieving look and he can feel the way his face heats up in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, well it’s pretty creepy. It’s at the old abandoned pizza place. Freddy Fazbear’s.”

Any amusement on your face is drained and you give him a horror-struck look. “What’d you say?” You whisper, voice stricken by something he can’t decipher. For a moment, he doesn’t even want to answer you. 

You’re completely unrecognizable, the usual stoicism he faces is replaced with absolute terror. “Um,” his brows scrunch in confusion and he clears his throat awkwardly, “Freddy Fazbear’s.”

Abruptly, you jump up from your seat and rush away from him. He watches as you run back to the door, his confusion only rising. He calls out your name but you just shake your head. “I gotta head inside, watch the kid.” It’s a rushed excuse and one he sees right through. “You should go.”

He doesn’t get a chance to question you as you slam the door closed. He gets up, but the lock clicks, and the window slams shut. Mike stands in front of your house, absolutely shocked by what just happened. He’s too confused to be concerned, wondering how what he just told you could have elicited that reaction. 

With a low exhale he turns on his heel and walks back to his car. He throws one last glance over his shoulder at your house, but you’ve clicked off the porch light, completely blocking him out. 

He shakes his head in astonishment, getting in the car and driving off to the pizza place. What the hell was wrong with you?

You’re glad Abby is in the bathroom as you catch your breath. Your back is plastered to your door, chest heaving as you fight off the oncoming panic attack. The last thing you need right now is her pestering you about what’s wrong. 

You clench your eyes shut, but when you do all you see is a golden back and the sharp glint of a knife. Your hand drifts towards your abdomen, subconsciously lingering over the scar. Your eyes shoot open and you shake your head, trying to force the memories of the night away. 

You haven’t heard that name in years, haven’t thought of it. You’d thought you’d gotten rid of it entirely. You should have known better, it was always going to haunt you. If you were less of a coward you would have moved away years ago and let the past be buried entirely. But you just couldn’t fully let him go, could you? 

The sink runs and the door is thrown open as Abby comes back to the living room. You force yourself away from the door and offer her a tense smile. Her eyes narrow in suspicion and it’s the first time you’ve despised how clever she is. 

“What’re you drawing?” You rush the words out, voice tight and panicked. You just need to distract yourself. You need to think about anything but that damn place. 

Her suspicion gives way to her typical eagerness to shove her sketches in your face. You don’t know much about kids, but you know she’s not what people consider normal. Not that you mind. However, you’ve never been a big fan of children in general, they bring about bad memories for you. Watching Abby so regularly was happenstance when you greeted Mike as they moved in. 

You’d never been the type to have freshly baked cookies and a welcome wagon for everyone in the neighborhood. For the most part, you all pretty much steered clear of each other. But Mike was cute and you felt like flirting for a little bit. 

You hadn’t expected him to be quite so awkward, or for there to be a kid. In a desperate attempt to end the conversation and escape how stilted the whole thing was, you offered help if he ever needed it. And he needed a lot. 

Now, your weekends have turned from one-night stands and hanging out with people you barely consider friends, to watching cartoons with a kid. You don’t mind it, but you’d prefer it if her brother were there to join you both. His stunted personality has a certain charm you find yourself drawn to. 

“Here,” Abby takes a seat on the floor and you join her. You tap your fingers against your thigh, trying to soothe your heartbeat back to a normal rate. Your mind is racing in a million different directions as you take the picture from her. 

It doesn’t help, if anything, you feel even worse. Bile and terror make for a bad combination as you stare down at her crudely drawn “friend.”

“That’s Freddy,” she tells you. “Chica, and Bonnie,” she’s all smiles as she points to the different caricatures. All you can do is nod, eyes peeled on the blue bunny. 

“You’ve been with Mike to the new job, huh?” Your voice is airy as you flip the paper over and shove it away. Abby frowns, snatching it back from you and smoothing out the wrinkles your grip left behind. 

“No. These are my friends.” 

Terror makes way for concern as you slowly turn towards her. “What?” You ask quietly, not wanting to believe what you’re hearing.

“They’re my friends,” she repeats slowly, giving you a disbelieving look. She turns away from you, huffing and picking up her crayons again. You scramble to your feet, rushing to get away from her. You grab your phone book and run to the landline. You go over the F’s a million times, but you can’t find Fazbear’s number anywhere. 

The entire night is turned into one long, agonizing wait for Mike to return home. You find yourself unable to eat or sleep. You move like you’re walking through a fog. Make Abby dinner, wait for her to pass out, and put her to bed. Then you sit and stare at the blank screen of the TV, just waiting for a knock on your door. 

At 5:30, you finally hear it. You shoot off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. You know you must look insane, eyes wide and face drained of blood as you drag Mike inside. 

He stumbles from your grip, giving you an affronted look as you slam the door closed behind him. He glances over his shoulder, making sure Abby isn’t woken up by the noise. “You need to quit!” You shove the words out in one rushed jumble. 

His brows furrow and he shakes his head, not quite understanding you. “What?” He asks, scoffing and looking away from you. He glances towards the messy couch and then back at you. “Have you been awake the whole night?”

“Mike,” you grab him by the shoulders, squeezing until he winces from your touch. “I need you to fucking listen to me, you cannot go back. You can’t go back.”

He places his hands over yours, threading his fingers through yours and trying to ease your grip off of him. Neither of you pays attention to the fact that he doesn’t let go. “What are you talking about? I can’t just quit.”

“Mike,” your voice carries a desperation you rarely let yourself show. You know that it’s difficult for people to read you. You’re aloof on purpose, anything to keep people away. But right now, you need him to recognize how vulnerable you’re being. You need him to see the fear and panic on your face and just fucking listen to you. 

“You need to leave that place behind and not look back, okay?”

He takes a step back from you and you know you’ve gone too far. You should have played it cool and approached the subject like a normal person would. But there’s nothing normal about Freddy Fazbear’s and you need him to know that. 

Instead, all you’ve done is properly terrify him away from you. He releases your hands like they’re hot irons and stumbles a few steps away from you. He has a placating smile on his face as he nods his head shallowly. “Alright, sure,” he mutters, not meaning a word of what he says. “I’m gonna get Abby. Need to get her to school soon.”

He rushes down the hall and you let yourself fall into your kitchen chair. Your head drops into your hands and a hollow pit of despair opens up inside you. You did this all wrong. You always do. Every time you try and help someone it turns back around on you. No one believed you the first time, why would they now?

You hear him walk past you, Abby’s grumpy voice demanding to know why she can’t stay longer. “Now,” he snaps, opening the door and pushing her out. It closes and you finally lift your head, expecting them both to be gone. 

Instead, Mike lingers by the door, he has a concerned look on his face as he approaches you. He kneels and opens his mouth with a low huff of breath, “Look,” his hands hover over yours like he wants to hold them. You tuck them away before he can, not willing to make eye contact with him. He shakes his head, stopping himself from whatever he was going to say. 

He stands back up, glancing down at you with a frown. “Just try and get some sleep.”

That’s rich coming from him, but you don’t bother saying anything. You only nod your head, willing him to just get the hell out of your house and take his sister with him. You tried, you can’t say that you didn’t. 

The door slams closed and you flinch at the noise, a flash of blue darting across your vision. You know it’s not real, it’s just a product of your lack of sleep. You can’t help searching for a pair of blue bunny ears, though. 

Dread sinks deep in your gut as you think of losing the closest thing to a friend you’ve had in years. Preemptive grief weighs heavy on you as you get up and throw yourself onto your couch. You imagine the pain of losing Mike and let it be what lulls you into a restless sleep. 

As insane as you were behaving yesterday, Mike still has little choice but to ask you to babysit once more. He hesitates, something is clearly going on with you. He’s never witnessed anything beyond vague disinterest in your interactions. 

How you acted yesterday would be out of character for anyone, but coming from you, he’s worried that there might be something seriously wrong with you. He doesn’t need to burden you further with his sister, but he needs this job. He’s backed between a rock and a hard place. 

He decides to come over without Abby, just to try and gauge how stressed you might be. Your porch light is on as he approaches the house, but he doesn’t see your car anywhere. He’s hoping it’s parked down the street. 

He didn’t give you much notice that he was coming over, but you rarely leave the house. When he first moved in, you were gone every night and there was a new car besides yours every other week. 

Nowadays though, you seem content to be a homebody most of the time. He’s about to knock on your door when he notices something pink shoved under the ashtray on your table. He frowns, his confusion only deepens when he sees his name scrawled in your unusually messy handwriting. 

He unfolds the paper, eyes roving over the words in disbelief. 

Mike, 

In case you need my unpaid services again, call someone else. I’ve got a date tonight that I’m not gonna reschedule to deal with a kid that isn’t even mine. Maybe you’re right, you really should just give her up to her aunt. God knows you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re a bad friend, but you’re a worse brother. Stop dragging me into your mess and just sort your life out. 

The further he reads, the more angry he gets. The paper is crumpled under his tight grip and he cusses as he tosses it into your rosebush. He doesn’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with it tonight. 

As angry as he is, that you could throw something like that in his face, he still can’t help but worry about you. There’s something very wrong with you, lately. But it’s not his problem to solve, you’ve made that abundantly clear. 

You fiddle with the rings on your fingers, gnawing on your lip as your eyes dart out the window of your beat-up car. The longer you sit in this parking lot, the more guilt you feel. You know you wrote what you did for the best, but it doesn’t ease the sting of regret. 

You wrote some nasty shit to Mike, throwing his deepest insecurities back at him like it meant nothing. But you needed to make sure he didn’t come looking for you. You needed insurance that after all this he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. 

Freddy Fazbear’s dilapidated sign looms over you and you could almost cry looking up at it. You’ve run from this moment for so long. You’ve kept your back stubbornly to the past and refused to look. 

Surging memories have been buried in alcohol and sex. Remembrances of the past have been erased. You cut off your family, friends, and anyone who knew what happened to you. Yet, you couldn’t leave this town. You could never leave him behind, not when you know he’s still in there. 

The taste of bile has laid thick on your tongue since last night. You haven’t had a moment of true rest since hearing that name again, since seeing Abby’s picture. Never, have you labeled yourself as selfless or a hero. The whole reason you’re in this mess is because you’re a coward, through and through. 

Now, in an ironic twist of fate, you sit in the parking lot of your childhood and you wait to sacrifice yourself to some higher entity so Abby might have a chance of surviving. You know that what you’re hoping to accomplish tonight is a pipe dream, that you’re more likely going to die than you are to achieve anything fruitful. But you’re never going to be able to live with yourself if something happens to Mike and Abby and you don’t do anything. 

You can’t have someone else's blood on your hands again. You left Jeremy behind. You’re not going to do the same to them. You check the clock on your radio and suck in a deep breath. Adrenaline rushes through you as the sun slowly sets behind the pizza place. 

Your blood is tingling with the anticipation of being spilled. There’s a phantom twinge of pain from the scar on your stomach. You wince through it, turning off the car and throwing the door open. You’re praying that you’ve left Mike without a babysitter and he won’t show up to his shift tonight. 

You round the back of the pizzeria, frowning at the chain on the handle of the door. You brought bolt cutters for a reason, but you were hoping you might be granted a silent entrance. You cut through the chains and they clatter to the pavement, the noise echoes through the quickly darkening sky. 

You roll your eyes, pushing the rusted door open and slipping inside. So much for the element of surprise. The hinges creak behind you and you whirl around, grasping for the handle. The door slams shut with a loud slam before you can stop it. 

You shrink into yourself, glancing over your shoulder, already expecting someone to be standing at the other end of the hall. Instead, it remains empty. You don’t know if that's better or worse than what you were expecting. 

You pull your flashlight out of your back pocket, shine it down the hall, and step silently over the tipped-over filing cabinets. The place is nothing like you remember it. Gone are the bright neon lights and the sound of children’s laughter. 

Instead, it’s replaced by cobwebs, flickering lights, and a haunting silence that has chills rising along your arms. You keep one hand along the wall, ignoring the way dust seeps into the cracks of your palms. Your light darts between the ground and the cavernous dark before you. 

There’s a suspicious shadow at the end of this hall that you don’t trust. It’s too dark, and you swear you feel eyes following you. But you can’t tell which direction they’re coming from. Something loud cranks at the end of the hall, the sound of gears grinding together stops you where you are. 

You freeze, breath coming in short bursts of air as you slowly tilt the light towards the shadow. Before you can see what it is, a shrill, childish scream rips through the air. “Abby!” You shout, rushing towards the noise, ignoring the noises following quickly behind you. You burst through the door at the other end of the hall and freeze when you see Mike fighting off the cupcake. 

You rush towards him, slamming the bolt cutters through the faux frosting before it rips his fucking arm off. He stares up at you in shock, he’s already covered in blood and bandages and you can’t even begin to wonder what happened to him. 

He mutters your name in disbelief and you stumble back from him, letting the bolt cutters and animatronic drop to the ground. “Mike, what the hell are you doing here?”

He jumps to his feet, speaking to you with an accusatory tone, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a date,” you don’t miss the jealousy in his tone and you scoff. 

“You almost had your arm gnawed off by an animatronic, do you really think this is the time for that?”

He opens his mouth, to argue or concede you’re not sure, and another scream rips through you both. You turn towards the side door and your face screws up in fear. “Tell me I’m wrong, tell me that’s not Abby.”

His answer is shoving past you, shouting his sister’s name. You follow after him, barreling through another door and stumbling back as you watch the scene before you. Foxy paces across the room, dragging his hook along the old arcade games. 

Mike dives to the right, ducking behind a booth. You see his head begin to tilt towards you and you rush towards the stage, hiding behind it while you look around for Abby. You can’t see her anywhere and you don’t know if you should be relieved or throwing up. 

Something loud clanks above you and the walls of the stage tremor under your hands. You clamp your lips together, swallowing down a whimper as you slink further down the stage. The wood vibrates again and you can’t help the slight gasp you let out. 

Something clamps down on your shoulder, fuzzy and blue. You feel the metal pushing against the plush of the suit and he squeezes until you hear your shoulder cracking. There’s nothing that can stop the scream from ripping out of you as your bone shatters under his grip. Mike turns just as you're dragged onto the stage. 

You’ve only got one arm you can feel now. The other drags along the wood, longer than it should be. You can’t even feel the pain, your blood is pumping so hard you’re blind to it. You lash out at the hand holding you, groping for wires and pulling the second you feel them. 

It makes his grip loosen just enough for you to wiggle away from him. You’ve got oil coating your hand, blood drips down your arm. You can’t look, you know if you do, you’ll see your bones poking through your skin. If you look, you’ll pass out and there’s no telling what they’ll do to you then. 

His eyes narrow in on you and you scramble weakly on your one good arm. Freddy’s disappeared, and you don’t know where to. You can only look on in horror as Bonnie stalks towards you. Dying at the hands of the friend you’d left behind. It seems poetic, in a way. But you know this isn’t him. This is what that bastard has twisted him into. 

His good hand reaches out towards you and you do the only thing you can think of. “Jeremy!” He pauses, the orange light illuminating his plastic eyes flickering out only for a second. For a brief moment, you can see the frightened child within him once more. 

Then, something latches onto the back of your hair and slams your head down until the world goes dark. 

You glance around the pizzaplex, smiling as Jeremy blows out his candles. His parents hover behind him, bickering silently between each other. Jeremy looks at them, his big smile fading when he sees them fighting again. 

“Hey,” you grab his arm as the other kids dart greedily towards the cake. “Wanna play hide and seek again?” He looks at his cake, but he’s never had a sweet tooth. You know he just wants to keep playing, his parents practically had to drag him away from the stage for this. Only to be too busy fighting to wish him an actual happy birthday.

Jeremy nods eagerly, jumping off the bench and following after you. You laugh, darting underneath the balloon arch Mr. Afton had brought out for him. 

You and Jeremy come here every weekend, you’re practically best friends with his daughter Vanessa. She’s kind of weird, but you don’t hold it against her. Besides, being nice means Mr. Afton gives you both free pizza. 

The only reason Jeremy’s parents could afford to rent this place for his birthday was because Mr. Afton had offered them a big discount. You dart past the stage and hover at the edge of the ball pit. “One-two-three, not it!” You press your finger to your nose, laughing as Jeremy is just a second too late. “You’re looking first,” you command, shoving him slightly away from you. 

“Come on,” he whines, “it’s my birthday.”

“No cheating,” you tell him, practically stomping your foot. The big 8 on the paper crown he wears goes ignored as you point towards the booth behind you both. He lets out a loud sigh, stomping his way towards it and turning his back to you. He starts counting, loudly and skipping a few numbers. 

You narrow your eyes at his back but don’t hold it against him. Someone hisses behind you and you frown, turning to see Vanessa peeking out from behind a curtain on the stage. She gives you a weak smile, waving you forward. 

You look to your parents but they’re not paying attention as they talk to the other adults. You clamber on stage beside her, smiling up at Freddy and Bonnie. She grabs your wrist, not saying anything as she takes you to the back. 

“Vanessa?” You whisper, growing a little scared at the darkness of the room. It’s a stark contrast to the bright lights outside. 

“Shh,” she instructs, holding a finger to her lips and smiling. “Just wait here, okay? My dad says he’s got a surprise for you.” You watch as she leaves the room, you hear the lock click as the door closes and jump in surprise. 

“Vanessa?” You call out again, hoping this is just a stupid prank and she’s coming back. Loud, clambering footsteps ring through the hall outside the front door of the room and you gasp. You look around for a hiding spot, something sick twisting in your stomach. You know Vanessa said it’s all a surprise, but you’re scared. 

There’s nothing but empty animatronics around you. Mr. Afton told you to stay away from them, that the springlocks could hurt you. But you have nowhere else to go. You pop open the stomach of Sparky and curl yourself inside her, your eyes just barely looking through the top. 

“This way, birthday boy,” Mr. Afton’s voice croons outside. He opens the door, motioning Jeremy inside and you can almost see his smile through the golden bunny suit he wears. You’re starting to feel a little silly. Mr. Afton’s always been nice to you, why are you so afraid all of a sudden?

Jeremy walks in, a bright smile on his face as he looks around the repair room. He stops in front of a run-down Bonnie and looks back at Mr. Afton. He’s in your blind spot, covered by a shelving unit. You can’t see what he’s doing, but you see the way Jeremy’s face drops. 

“Mr. Afton-”

A golden hand shoves Jeremy’s face back. His brown eyes widen in surprise, the whites of them the only thing you can see. You can hear his muffled scream against Mr. Afton's paw.

Mr. Afton shoves Jeremy back, pressing him against Bonnie. Something silver flashes under the dim lights and you peek your head up. You watch as Mr. Afton runs a knife through Jeremy’s stomach and he shoves him into Bonnie's open chest. You clamp your hand over your mouth, dropping back down into Sparky. 

Your knee knocks into one of the metal springlocks and you have to fight everything in you not to surge forward as it digs through your intestines. You squeeze your hand over your nose and lips until you feel like you can’t breathe so you don’t scream. 

Blazing hot pain shoots through your stomach and legs, blood pools thickly down your dress and you can feel tears building along your waterline. Mr. Afton looks around the room, he rips the bunny head off and frowns. A vein bulges in his forehead as he calls out your name. 

He wipes the knife off and hides it behind his back. He places Bonnie’s head over Jeremy, “Vanessa?”

A moment later the door creaks open and a sheepish Vanessa pokes her head inside. She looks around the room, frowning when she doesn’t see either of her friends. “Where is she?” Mr. Afton demands. 

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I left her in here.” Her eyes narrow and she looks close to tears. “What was the surprise, Daddy?”

Mr. Afton lets out an irritated sigh and waves his non-blooded paw. “Forget that, we need to get back outside.” He rushes towards her, dragging the bunny head behind him, and shoves her back through the door. 

The second he’s gone, you’re openly sobbing. Hot tears pour down your cheeks as putrid bile shoves against the walls of your throat. You push Sparky’s stomach open and gasp when you see the large hole in your stomach. 

The other springlocks twitch threateningly as you tug at the one buried inside you. You take in a deep breath and rip it out, forcing yourself to leap away just as the others close. Your blood is dragged along the concrete as you crawl towards Bonnie. 

“Jeremy?” You call out, head swimming so much you can’t even feel pain anymore. Your fingers are cold as you dig fruitlessly at Bonnie’s stomach. You tug and tug, falling back as the panel swings open. 

You can’t see Jeremy’s head, you only see the springlocks digging into his small body. “Jeremy!” You scream, you scream so loud, Mr. Afton can’t even stop the parents from finding you before he does. 

You pass out from blood loss before they reach you. In that time he manages to paint you as two misbehaving children. You snuck backstage and messed with animatronics you had no business being around. He said you both must have tried to wear the old suits and there was no way of proving him wrong. 

So much damage was done to Jeremy’s body, that they wouldn’t be able to find a knife wound even if they knew to look for one. No one would believe you when you told them he killed him. They just thought you were trying to avoid getting in trouble. 

Mr. Afton only managed to keep the pizzeria open for a few more years. But you never went back. You couldn’t. You never forgave him and you never forgot your friend. 

The smell of cleaning products and the familiarity of a sterile hospital room greet you as you wake up. Your vision is slow to come back. Eyes foggy and blinded by the bright lights of the room you’re in. 

Your fingers twitch at your side and you’re relieved to find your arm still works, even after it was practically shattered by a haunted puppet. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing them to focus. A messy head of brown hair lays at your side. 

Mike is draped across the hospital bed, completely passed out. You find yourself smiling slightly at the sight. You slowly bring yourself into a sitting position and poke at him. “Mike,” you whisper, voice hoarse from lack of use. 

There’s a throbbing in your head that pulses along your optic nerve. Your face screws up as you reach towards the bandages wrapped around your temple. You’re honestly just happy to even be alive. You can deal with migraines for a few weeks. 

He jolts up, slightly disoriented as he stares at you. You offer him a weak smile and he lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re awake.”

“Apparently,” you mutter. You glance around him, a frown forming on your face. 

“She’s getting some snacks,” he tells you before you can even ask. “Abby’s fine.”

You let out a breath of relief, sinking back into the pillows. Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing, then. “You knew them,” he says. “Or, the bunny, at least.”

You nod your head weakly, any energy you had has been sapped out of you from the relief that both Mike and Abby are okay. “Yeah, I used to.”

“Are you going to tell me how you knew them?”

You take his hand in your own, surprising the both of you. “Some other time, alright? I think I want a date first before we start trading childhood trauma.”

He stutters and stumbles over his words, brows furrowing as he gives you a disbelieving look. “Did you just ask me out? While you’re still concussed?”

“Are you saying no?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it. He lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Abby comes rushing back into the room before either of you can say anything else. She smiles at you when she sees you’re awake. She jumps onto the bed, uncaring of the way her knees dig into your legs. 

“Careful, Abs,” Mike scolds. You wave him off and he rolls his eyes. 

“I made you something,” Abby tells you. She hands you a picture and you let out a sharp breath. 

It’s you and Jeremy. Granted, crayon versions of the two of you. But it’s him all the same, as the boy you knew, no longer the monster he was turned into. You feel tears building in your eyes as you tug Abby into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper, holding the drawing close to your heart. 

You’d like to pretend that you’ve gotten closure from all of this. Jeremy’s been put to rest and you can move on with your life now. Now, you can have a family again, have friends again. But that would be a lie.

You still feel him, as you always have. He’s a shadow clinging to your back, a haunted past you’ll never be able to let go of. He always comes back. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the games/movie Five Nights at Freddy's (FNAF), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

You struck again!! The newlywed fox was everything!! The fake neighbors reminded me of the Don’t Worry Darling movie and listening to the soundtrack while reading was 10/10!! You’re so incredibly talented!

I'm so glad everyone liked the newlyweds, I was worried that I had rushed the ending for it. Listening to the soundtrack is such a smart move, you could say a movie like that influenced the fic, but I was thinking of the Stepford Wives (with Nicole Kidman) the whole time.

That was my jam as a kid, I was obsessed with that movie.

Thank you so much for such a sweet message ♥️

So I stumbled onto your account and I have read your fics on Howard Cooper.

And. Let. Me. Tell. You.

I'm in fucking love with how you write!

It's like chef's kiss good!

I love aggressive the compliments I get from anon’s are. It’s never really sweet mushy stuff it’s always “I love your writing -accept the compliment (or else) 🔫😃”

Which I think is hilarious. I love compliments like these. I’m glad you found my account and glad you enjoy my writing for Cooper ♥️

Broken Machinery

Pt. 4 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: A long one, I wanted some more domestic moments between the two, sue me. Black dahlia’s represent betrayal (or it’s just a nice gift for that emo friend in your life)

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), body breaking like fine china, shoulders out of sockets (not that bad but I googled a picture of one and it’s gross), overdose (but not really), past death of a child (not reader’s), readers got hair long enough to be in a braid, death of a pot

Word Count: 6.4k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

Shoulders aren’t supposed to look like that. They’re sure as fuck not supposed to feel like that either. You can’t even lift your arm to peel off your jacket, you don’t have to though, they’re dislocated.

“Y/N!” Calloused hands on your wrist and then all of your body weight is jerked down and hanging from your shoulders, you can feel the moment they rip out of socket, you can’t help the guttural scream that rips its way out of your throat.

The pain from your everywhere is momentarily ignored as you lay in Hank’s lap, sobbing with the relief that you’re still alive. You’re not dead or a paraplegic somewhere in a hospital bed, you’re breathing. You can feel Hank trembling, you’re not sure from what, but he’s silent as he holds you.

You must be going into shock, you can’t really feel anything as he slowly gets you on your feet. You can’t feel your legs moving down the stairwell or him directing you towards the group of patrol cars. One moment you’re on the roof, then you blink, and you’re standing behind an ambulance being looked over by paramedics.

“Cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder,”

Guess it was only the one shoulder, then.

They’re looking you over to assess the damage done. You can just stare blankly down at your sneakers. You’re trying to remember what exactly happened on the roof. But it’s all a blur of adrenaline and primal panic.

He was holding you over the edge, talking to someone. Who?

“Detective! Lieutenant!” Your head shoots up, you ignore the stabbing pain that travels down your spine.

Connor, Connor will save you.

Except he didn’t, he walked away.

He walked away.

You yank your arm free from the paramedic, ignore Hank as he tries to stop you and storm over to Connor. You’d say the look on his face is proud, but you’re not gonna let your heart trick your mind into thinking this plastic son of a bitch can feel anything at all.

“Y/N, I’ve successfully apprehended the deviant.” You’ve still got one good arm. You don’t aim for his face, that won’t do any good, you punch him right in the bio component and watch him crumple to the floor. When hes down you kick your foot into the same spot as hard as fucking possible, ignoring any pain that it brings you.

“Congratu-fucking-lations.”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

It’s been two days and the detective still refuses to acknowledge Connor. He’d tried to explain his reasoning for leaving her in favor of catching the deviant.

FIND Y/N

Connor double checked the door on the hospital room, he could hear Hank and Y/N bickering from inside. “What did the doctors say?” There was a pause before she responded.

“Another day of bed rest,” she sounded reluctant to answer. Connor hadn’t been able to speak with her after the incident on the roof; he'd had to go straight to CyberLife technicians for repairs. She’d done considerable damage to his biocomponent.

Maybe I deserved it.

“Then get your ass back in bed.”

“Hank, please, I’ve suffered a lot worse than this and made it out perfectly fine.”

Hank didn’t sound amused, and there was a loud thud as something landed on sheets. “I don’t care, Y/N! You’re staying right there, it’s not just your fucking physical issues you have to worry about. I’ve never seen you act like that before, I’m worried about what that fall did to your head.” There was a moment of silence and Connor thought it was a smart time to go inside.

There seemed to be a strange, different sort of silence when he walked into the room. Connor wished his hands were free, there were no objectives or dialogue options to pick from as Hank and Y/N both turned towards him. His hands were full, he looked down to the potted black dahlia between them.

He outstretched his hands and moved towards Y/N. She just stared at him from her spot on the bed, unsure of what to do now, he looked to Hank for an order.

The Lieutenant was watching him with crossed arms and an undetermined look on his face.

Connor cleared his throat and placed the flower down on the table near the bed. He scanned her, a minor concussion, two cracked ribs, and one dislocated shoulder. Her heartbeat was increasing the longer he stared, adrenaline and cortisol reaching a level that told him she was very upset about something.

“Your arm seems to be healing at a good pace. You should listen to the Lieutenant, a couple more days rest and you’ll be feeling much better.” The room remained silent and Connor reached up to fix his already perfect tie. There was something odd about him as he felt the stares of his partners. Something inside felt off.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“I’m programmed with psychological software that could help you after recovering from a strong shock.”

SUPPORT

ANALYTICAL

STAY QUIET

Connor immediately knew what he said was the wrong choice.

“A strong shock?” Your voice was quiet enough that he almost didn’t catch what you said, but the room was so deathly still it was impossible for you not to be heard. “A strong shock?” You were quickly gaining in volume. “You left me to fucking die! And for what, for the goddamn android to smash its fucking brains out on the interrogation table before we got anything! I would have died for nothing!”

Connor opened his mouth, prepared to argue his side of the problem, but you cut him off with a quiet question he wasn’t expecting. “What was the chance?”

“Sorry?”

You walked up closer to him and tugged his tie so hard he stumbled into you, you used the shock of the movement to jerk him down lower than you. “The chance of my survival, RK800, what was it?”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

That strange feeling was back, the use of his model instead of his name made him feel wrong.

He shouldn’t be feeling at all.

When he took too long to answer you knocked his legs out from under him and tightened your grip on the tie. “40%,” he tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible but it was clear both you and the liteuant heard him.

You released him like it had burned you to keep holding on to his tie, and the Lieutenant muttered a quiet, “Fucking bastard.” Connor opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but wanting this feeling to stop and needing the tears forming in the corners of your eyes to go away.

You and the bag you had been packing were gone by the time he had gotten to his feet, Hank stayed behind a moment, gave Connor a long look before following after you. Connor straightened his tie and sleeves and stared at his shoes. He didn’t know what to do.

There was no objective, there was nobody to give him an order. He lifted his eyes to the flower sitting on the table in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he ignored the way his LED flashed red in a mirror as he reached forwards and grabbed the potted plant.

Connor looked down at his hand and noticed he was holding an umbrella, he was back in the Zen Garden. Amanda was waiting for him on the other side of the bridge.

They walked under the umbrella together. “That deviant seemed to be an intriguing case, a pity it deactivated before you could get any useful information out of it.”

Connor felt the need to defend himself, “Deviants are extremely irrational, which makes it difficult to anticipate their behavior… I should have been more effective.” The last part of his sentence came out without any thought behind it. Like it was an instinct to automatically blame himself, even though no one would know what the deviant could have been planning.

“Did you manage to learn anything?” Connor told her of the strange drawings on the walls, the ones like mazes and the journal that had a strange code inside it. He still had no explanation for rA9 and he could tell Amanda was disappointed.

“You captured the deviant at the cost of your relationship with the detective, have you made any development in that fixing that?”

Connor couldn’t help but think of your face in the hospital room, you were angry yes, but you also seemed . . . Sad.

Connor wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was guilt, but he knew he shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me for leaving her to fall. We had an altercation in her hospital room, after the fact and whatever good grace we had developed seems to have been erased.” Connor stopped once he realized Amanda was no longer following.

“We don’t have much time. Deviancy continues to spread, it’s only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

Connor straightened his shoulders back and looked down at her, “I will solve this investigation, Amanda. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Don’t let relationships get in the way of success, Connor. Improve on them if you can, but remember their lives mean nothing in the grand scheme of your mission.”

“Detective?” Connor knocked on your door again. You lived in a house about fifteen minutes away from the lieutenant’s. He’d attempted to contact Anderson to get your address, he’d hung up every time he’d realized it was Connor calling him. Eventually he just used the information from your personnel file.

Which is how he ended up peering through your windows, trying to catch a glimpse of where you were. Eventually he managed to get a small peak through one of your blinds in the living room. You were asleep on the couch, the TV playing, and there was something in your hand. Connor pressed his face fully against the glass and alarms went through his processors at what he saw.

Pills were spilled on the ground and the bottle was empty in the loose grip of your hand. Connor attempted a scan to see if you were even breathing, but after unsuccessfully trying to wake you up and get your attention he simply broke the glass.

Connor quickly dove through the window and rushed to your side on the couch. He took in your appearance, your mouth was open, barely any breath going in or out. Your lips and nails were discolored and there was a clammy feeling to your skin when Connor pressed his hand to your forehead. He needed to get you awake and alert, first and foremost.

He lightly brought his hand down on your cheek, you shifted but stayed unconscious. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I need you to wake up.”

He brought his hand down harder and your hand immediately swung out in response. Connors cheek whipped to the left at the force of your slap, it didn’t hurt of course, but it still shocked him.

“What the hell? Connor? Did you just slap me?” Connor looked down at you, extremely confused at your sudden alertness. He couldn’t stop you in time to not notice what he had done to your window. “The fuck? Did you break my goddamn window?” You used his face as an assist in pushing yourself off the couch, his hands went to your hips to stabilize you.

Connor stood as you kneeled down by the broken glass on your ground, swaying slightly. “Shit, I can’t afford to fix this,” you groaned at the sight of the rain pouring into the empty frame. “My things! They’re all getting wet.” Connor walked over and moved anything around the frame to the wall, making sure nothing besides your carpet would get wet. You were silent as you went and retrieved some plastic to cover the window up. Connor wanted to say something to you, but he was unsure what would help the situation.

“Why did you bust in here like the Kool-Aid Man?”

“I thought you had overdosed.” You seemed to finally take in the mess around the couch.

“Oh, crap.” Connor watched you as you picked up the pills and put them back in the bottle, he finished up the window and moved towards where you were sitting on the couch. Your head was in your hands like it was bringing you pain.

Your voice snapped him out of his observation. “You know, for a state of the art android, you’re a real dumbass.” Connor looked down at you, his face must have displayed something he couldn’t identify because you laughed a little.

“My nails look weird because I haven’t finished painting them,” you pointed towards the nail polish bottles on your coffee table. “I haven’t used any chapstick or taken my iron supplements, so there’s lips. And I got tired and fell asleep with the pill bottle in my hand. I was gonna take one for my headache but passed out after I opened the damn thing, which is probably why my head hurts so much.”

Connor was disappointed with himself at everything he had missed, he should have seen all that from the window and not taken such drastic measures. His damage to your domicile had only worsened relations between you. Right now, you hated him worse than Hank.

“You were barely breathing.”

You shot him a deadpan look, “Deep sleeper.” Connor fixed his tie and looked around the house for something to occupy himself with. There was trash everywhere, dirty clothes scattered the ground, and old dished piled in the sink.

“Hey, hey! I don’t need your judgy ass android eyes making me feel bad for my pig sty. Okay?”

“Allow me to help, detective.” Your eyes narrowed, you didn’t seem particularly trusting towards Connor. He couldn't blame you, he’d completely destroyed the small bridge of trust he’d managed to make with both you and the lieutenant. “Your shoulder and ribs are still damaged, I understand it’s difficult to take care of yourself right now. Allow me to help you.”

You laid back down on the couch, and Connor thought you were going to ignore him until you spoke up after a couple of moments of silence. “You’re a detective bot, not a house maid.” You paused before waving your hand through the air. “But sure, whatever, knock yourself out. Just stop fucking standing over me like that.” Connor watched you close your eyes, he continued standing there for a few seconds. You seemed to be faking sleep to try and get him away from you.

At least he finally had an objective he could follow now.

TAKE CARE OF Y/N

He started with the kitchen. Cleaning the takeout boxes off the counter and grabbing any dirty dishes scattered around your home. He stopped when picking some napkins off your coffee table, to check on you. Your breathing had settled and your back was turned towards him. You appeared to actually be asleep this time.

Connor frowned at the position your body was in. You were going to do more harm than good sleeping on your worn down couch. He placed the trash can on the ground and stepped silently towards you. He made sure to be as still and gentle as possible as he slowly rolled you into his arms. You only moved once, to settle your head in his neck.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

He ignored the way his thirium pump seemed to move faster and how the blue blood rushes towards his head. It simply wasn’t possible.

Connor went down the hall and to your bedroom on the right. He gently deposited you into your unmade bed and tucked the sheets over your body. He checked your pulse and scanned your body. Everything seems to be working perfectly.

You were just a disturbingly deep sleeper.

On his way out, something shining on the ground caught his eye. He made his way towards your dresser, at the foot of it appeared to be a picture frame. He looked over his shoulder to ensure you were still asleep before he bent down and grabbed it.

You appeared to be around nineteen years old. You were sitting on a roundabout smiling at the camera, your hair done in two French braids. Your arms were wrapped around a young boy around the age of three. He had his hand around your forearms and was making a strange face at the camera with his tongue out. Neither of you seemed aware your picture was being taken at the moment.

The scan confirmed your identity and gave him the identity of the boy.

DECEASED

Anderson, Cole

9/23/2029-10/11/2035.

Y/LN, Y/N

DPD Detective

Other known aliases:

Y/N ANDERSON

Hank had a son, who had died? You both appeared close in this picture. It’s approximately three years before Cole’s death. Could the death of Hank’s son be what caused the drift between the two of you?

Connor heard you shift on the bed and quickly put the picture back down on the floor. He didn’t believe you would appreciate him further investigating your life. Not when you got so upset with him when he simply took a look at your adoption papers.

Connor examined this new piece of information. It was like he was working two cases at once, solving the deviancy problem.

And trying to figure out your unfortunate past with the Lieutenant. Knowing now that the Lieutenant's son had died he could go ahead and assume that’s when your relationship started to go downhill. A year after Cole’s death is when Hank’s divorce became official, according to the papers he not so legally acquired.

The death of a child will often destroy families, if Hank could no longer be a viable partner to his wife, then perhaps he could also no longer be a father to you.

Judging by the Lieutenants drinking habits he didn’t have a healthy view on mental health, or know how to properly deal with grief.

The way you seem to isolate yourself when Connor brings up your past or tries to have a better understanding of your emotional well being, he can also go ahead and come to the conclusion that Hank passed on his unhealthy coping skills to you.

His assumption is proved correct when he comes across a packet of cigarettes buried between the couch cushions. They’re unopened but the plastic surrounding the carton has been picked at. You seem to be trying to stop yourself from giving in to your unhealthy impulses.

Connor frowns down at the box and decides to do you a favor, he throws them in the trash.

Connor continues cleaning up your home while you sleep, attempting to wash and dry your dishes as quietly as possible. The cleaning gives himself something to occupy his mind with, the frantic, buzzing thoughts about deviants and his frustrating partners temporarily quiet while he focuses on one singular task.

PROTECT Y/N

Connor always accomplishes his missions, even if that just means making sure you can wake up to a clean home, or if he has to protect you from self-sabotaging habits.

You wake up to the smell of smoke and a loud blaring alarm.

You’re soaked in a puddle of your own sweat and have no idea where you are or what day it is. Your head shoots up from your pillow at the sound of something crashing onto the floor in your kitchen. You take a second to realize that you’ve been moved to your bed.

Then you remember what woke you up and you’re bolting out of bed. “Jesus Christ,” your kitchen is a smoky haze as you cough on the suffocating smell of something burned. Connor is standing in front of a pan on your stove, simply watching the flames. “Connor!” You grab a lid off the counter and shove him out of the way as you slam it over the pan, suffocating the flames. You quickly grab the metal sheet off the ground and slam it into Connor’s chest. “Quick make sure the sprinklers don’t go off.” Connor runs towards the alarm in the hallway and immediately starts waving it around.

The sight of Connor, the emotionless android who is always calm and collected, frantically running around waving a metal pan in the air, jumping up and down to get closer to the smoke alarm makes you double over in laughter. There’s an ache in your rbis and arm from the force of your laughter, but you don’t care. You haven’t felt this light for years, you haven’t laughed like that in years.

So you allow yourself to bask in the moment, one peaceful moment where you’re not weighed down by anything, except the weight of your own joy.

Connor didn’t hear you laughing until he finally managed to get the alarm quieted. The joints in his shoulders were tired from his wild maneuvering, but it was worth it. This was the first time since you met that his observation of you showed endorphins and a positive change in your body, not one that comes from feelings of negativity.

It felt like something was in his chest, lifting him up and lightening his weight as he watched you.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

Perhaps you did more damage when you attacked him than he originally thought. Your face contorted in pain as you finally raised up from your position. Connor moved before his processors could give him the option to. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he assisted you in standing. He pointedly ignored your protests that you didn’t need help.

You did and you were getting help whether you wanted it or not.

There was still a slight smile on your face as Connor deposited you on the chair next to your table. He moved towards the stove and turned off the burner, dropping the ruined pot in your sink and running water over it, your house still smelled very strongly of burnt food.

He heard a grunt coming from his right, when he turned something inside his head felt strange. LIke he wasn’t okay with what was happening, perhaps humans called this irritation. A concerning thought, but one he ignored in favor of nudging you aside while you failed to open a window.

“Connor-”

The look he shot you when he turned around was enough to get you to sit back down. “Why are you so stubborn? You should not be here alone, you’ve taken too much damage to even do basic household chores.”

You looked around your house and finally noticed all the hard work he had put in. “Holy shit.” There was a look of appreciation on your face until you turned towards Connor. A pout formed on your face and you crossed your arms like a petulant child, “Maybe I wanted the mess. I liked it like that.”

Were you seriously having this argument with him right now? You being difficult for no reason was causing his programming to go haywire. There were red warnings in the corner of his eye telling him he was going to overheat, he dismissed them and stormed towards you.

His hand landed on the table more harshly than he intended, causing you to jump in your seat. “You’re behaving like a child, Y/N, you’re a grown woman act like it! You need my help, there’s nothing wrong with letting me assist you, so just let me help you.” Without consciously activating it the voice he uses during intimidation tactics had been used.

His eyes were drawn down to your thighs, you had them clenched tightly together, your thighs pooling out on the chair below you. Your lips parted slightly as you stared at him. Connor quickly scanned you, your heat level was rising, your heart rate had accelerated and there was an increased level of estrogen and testosterone production. A thermal scan showed an increase of heat in your pelvic area.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE?

It wasn’t until the message appeared in front of him and blocked his view of your face did he realize how close he was to you.

This was highly inappropriate. You were injured and still upset with him, there was no need to seduce you.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE

He was designed with the intent to complete his mission at any cost. In case there was ever an issue between him and one of his partners and other more illicit methods were needed to gain their support, he was equipped with the capabilities to do so. This wasn’t a situation where methods like that were necessary, so why was there a prompt for it?

Connor backed away from you immediately, it wasn’t right to be taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability. From the corner of his eye he saw you slump back down into your chair. “What-“ you cleared your throat. “What were you even trying to make?”

Connor looked back towards the pot, his hands reached for the coin in his pocket. He needed to do something to get his software back in order. He didn’t turn to look at you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus. He thought back to the pasta sauce on your counter. “Spaghetti, for some reason the noodles burned onto the bottom of the pot.” After he was done recalibrating he placed the coin back in his pocket and found it was okay to look at you now.

Your eyes were glued to his hand for a moment before they shot back up to his face. “Burned, to the bottom of the pot? How the hell do you burn water?”

Connor tilted his head to the side, “Water?”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes widened. “You’re kidding? Tell me you’re kidding.” Connor didn't know how to respond to you so he remained silent. “Oh my god,” you dropped your head into your hands. “You didn’t put water in the pot.”

“Was that required?” You didn’t answer him, instead you stood and walked over to the sink, Connor followed behind you, unsure what you wanted him to do. The both of you stared down into the pot as you lifted the lid, the pasta has blackened at the bottom. Even when you stabbed at it with a knife it wouldn’t come off the pot.

Your, “yeah, it needed water,” was quiet as you went outside and tossed the pot in your trash bin. Connor stood by your opened back door awkwardly, he didn’t feel good at disappointing you and failing his task.

“I apologize Y/N, I failed.”

You snorted, “Big time, how the hell do you not know to put water in the pot?”

Connor looked down at his shoes, “I was not built with cooking capabilities,” he risked a look at you.

You were standing there, just staring at him with your arms crossed before you finally shrugged, “Well then… I guess Barbie’s got you beat.”

“Dammit, Connor, I can feed myself!”

Connor leveled you with a look that allowed for no arguing. “Your dominant arm is dislocated and you refuse to wear your sling, I’m going to assist you.” He pushed the fork against your mouth again and you reluctantly opened your mouth to eat the pancakes he had ordered. This was so humiliating, you were desperate to get him to leave at this point.

After the pot had been destroyed and subsequently disposed of he had ordered some food and you sat down in your living room.

Your entire home was absolutely spotless, when you went to the bathroom you’d noticed he’d mopped the tiles. You were not asleep long enough for him to clean your living room, let alone your whole house.

While you were still against the idea, you could understand why some would prefer android cleaning services to human. You didn’t even want to sit on your couch, afraid of wrinkling the now pristine cousins.

Once you’d sat on your couch, you’d waited for him to leave.

Except, he didn’t, he sat down next to you and then just stopped moving. No blinking, no breathing, just absolute stillness. So, still being pissed at him you’d grabbed a marker off your desk and scribbled some drawings on his face. A heart, random flower, some choice words, nothing too bad. However;

They were staring at you right now as he force fed you.

He’d called a repairman while you had drawn on him, someone would be coming by to fix your window tomorrow, CyberLife would be footing the bill. After he’d made the order for the repair he’d asked what you would like to eat and made a call for the pancakes.

He still hadn’t noticed the drawings, it was a struggle not to choke on your laughter.

You forced a yawn as you pushed his hand away from your mouth, he frowned at the action. “Are you tired, detective?”

“Yeah, I am,” now please get the hell out of my house.

“You should bathe before you go to sleep.” Your head shot towards his, the action hurting your neck. You ignored it in favor of giving him your famous The Fuck Did You Just Say™️ look.

First, he lets you fall off a building and nearly die. Next, he breaks your god damn window and destroys your pot. Now he’s saying you stink. And good grace you held for Connor was gone, obliterated at the comment.

“That’s it Connor. You’ve stayed far past your welcome, I’m done.” Your resolve almost broke at the way Connor’s shoulders slumped. You straightened your shoulders, ignored the pain shooting down your arm, and rebuilt your walls.

You should thank Connor honestly, him letting you nearly die had reminded you of exactly what he was. Nothing more than a plastic soldier that only cared about his mission. You meant nothing to him. Your life was nothing. How could something that could so easily be put into a new body have any idea about death. He couldn’t.

But something that couldn’t die, also couldn’t feel. Those small touches, and the times he would check in on you, it was all manipulation. Just like the way he lied about having a favorite dog, they were all subtle little manipulations to have you as agreeable as possible. And a visceral rage filled you at the thought that he had almost succeeded.

Your heart had almost been his.

You rebuilt your walls and stared him down. “Leave. Now.”

Connor didn’t frown, he didn’t cry or scream at you to let him stay, but the look in his eyes as he stared up at you from his spot on your couch said enough. He looked genuinely hurt at what you said. Not possible.

“You can take your sad little eyes and you can shove them up your ass, Connor. Get the fuck out of my house.” You stormed out of the living room and into your bedroom. He’d cleaned it up and replaced your sheets while you’d waited for the food to arrive.

The lack of your mess made you angrier than it should have. How dare he just come into your house and start acting like he belonged there?

Like he had any right to be near you?

If he could feel pain you would beat him twice as bad as you did after the rooftop incident.

Apparently he’d had to get three parts replaced by CyberLife after what you did. Hank had been complaining about the paperwork the entire time you were in the hospital.

If your arms and ribs weren’t aching you would be pitching a major fit, and ripping the goddamn sheets right off the bed. At the moment, however, the pill Connor had forced you to take was kicking in and making you sluggish.

The only reason you had allowed Connor to stay in the first place was because you were still waking up from your nap. He seemed determined to keep you weak and tired so you couldn’t get rid of him.

You heard footsteps and then a hand was wrapped around your non-injured elbow. “I’m not leaving, detective. Someone in your condition needs assistance.” You turned around in his arms and tried to push him off of you, but he wouldn’t budge. Both of his hands moved to your biceps. The look he gave you made you stop, “Y/N, please, let me help. Please.” He seemed so sad, there was a slump to his shoulders that made him look almost shameful. The tone of his voice made you believe he actually wanted to help, that this wasn’t a part of his programming.

You blamed how easily you gave into him on the drugs.

“Absolutely not!”

Connor was holding your towel in front of him like a shield. “I won’t look, detective, I promise.”

“Hell no! Line drawn! You shall not pass.” He gave you a stern look. Like you should feel dumb for thinking he wanted to see you naked, maybe you were, but you didn’t want any pervy CyberLife techs scanning through his mainframe and seeing footage of you naked. “I’m not gonna let your bosses see me naked.”

Connor seemed to catch onto your train of thought. “I won’t be recording when you’re bathing, I promise we’ll be completely alone.” You crossed your arms, this is one battle he would not be winning. Android or not, your stubbornness was not something to be so easily reckoned with. Connor let out a long sigh, “Fine. You clean yourself, and then we can draw a bath and I’ll assist you with your hair.”

You’d made the mistake of admitting to him that you hadn’t exactly been keeping up with your hygiene while you’d been on the case. You’d been keeping your hair in two braids and have been taking quick showers in between working the case. It was one of your more major flaws. Letting yourself get swept up in the mystery at the expense of your own self-care.

You’d also made the mistake of telling him that it hurt too much to wash your hair, or even attempt to. Now he was insisting on helping you.

Connor looked at your arms and mimicked your posture. “We can stand here all night, detective, I’m not budging.”

You were standing there for two minutes before you realized he was actually being serious. Your chest was starting to ache with the effort of keeping yourself upright. You shifted around and he didn’t even blink. Your skin was starting to buzz with boredom.

After another minute you saw that he wasn’t blinking. Narrowing your eyes and moving closer to his face you waved your hand in front of his face. “Are you serious?” He’d gone into sleep mode, you could tell by the pulsing yellow LED on the side of his face. “Bitch.” And he had ‘coincidentally’ blocked the bathroom exit. Groaning you took the towel in his hands and threw it over his head.

“RK800 wake up.”

Connor’s systems slowly came back online at the sound of your voice. Everything was at 100%, except his optical units didn’t seem to be processing his environment correctly. It took a second before his sensors recognized the fabric of a towel over his head. He sighed and ripped it off his head.

The sight before him had him momentarily stopping. You were in your freshly cleaned tub, bubbles covering your body as you looked at him expectantly. “You wanna help me out or what, sleeping beauty?”

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINES?

SYSTEM OVERHEAT IMMINENT

ACTIVATING COOLING SYSTEM

You looked concerned by the time Connor had managed to calm his sensors, there were parts of him coming online that were not necessary at this moment. He tightened his tie as a poor attempt to get everything back in order. It didn’t work, he was still distracted by your lack of clothes. He could not understand why.

“I’m starting to get creeped out, Connor.” That got Connor’s attention. He never meant to make you uncomfortable.

He moved to sit beside the tub and pulled up his sleeves. “Apologies, detective, my systems were coming back online.” You nodded your head and he hoped you couldn’t see through the lie. Connor used the pitcher beside him to wet your hair and began massaging your scalp as he rubbed the shampoo in.

You moaned as his hands came down to rub your neck. It triggered another cooling process. Much of the rest of your bath was the same, he was struggling with strange impulses that were activating outside his control and programming. When you had leaned your head back on the rim of the tub he’d wanted to press his lips against your stretched neck.

He’d seen humans do it before, but the emotions connected to the act were something Connor wasn’t capable of. He was experiencing what some might call a mental crisis as he helped you wash your hair.

When he was finished, he handed you a towel and went to your room to grab you some pajamas. The picture of you and Cole was facedown on your dresser, moved from the upright position he had placed it in while he had cleaned.

He placed the tank top and shorts you requested on your sink and waited for you in your bedroom. When you walked in you seemed surprised to see him standing by your bed. Your face quickly morphed into one of resignation as you threw your towel on your bed.

Connor made a note to pick it up.

“What now?” He held out the brush in his hands.

“I’ll braid it for you, so you don’t have to worry about styling it with your injured shoulder.” You stopped fidgeting with the end of your shirt and instead gave him a bewildered look. “Is something wrong, detective?”

You cleared your throat before answering, “Nothing it’s- Nevermind.” You sat on your bed with no argument, something Connor was surprised by, considering you seemed to find it necessary to argue with him about everything.

By the second braid you were fully leaning onto his leg, Connor had to keep readjusting so he had room to finish off the braid. The medicine seemed to have fully kicked in, you didn’t make a fuss when he gently guided you under the covers and turned your light off. He knew you were still awake as he made his way to your door.

“Good night, detective.”

He didn’t get a response.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Every ounce of feminism abandoned for one chance with this man

HIS NEW SELFIE IM LITERALLY GOING TO COMBUST??????? ONE CHANCE PLEASE ITS ALL IM ASKING DINNER WILL BE COOKED BREAKFAST WILL BE SERVED THE HOUSE WILL BE CLEANED YOUR CLOTHES WILL BE IRONED PLSSSS OH MYGODDD

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚐

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Hosea's meddling has you and Arthur heading into the local town of Valentine. You're on a mission to get some clothes of your own. And Arthur's looking to help some woman named Mary. You don't know who she is, but she must be important for him to leave you all on your own in a strange town for the whole day. One thing is certain, you're not forgiving Mr. Morgan for this anytime soon.

You feel Arthur’s worried stare boring into the side of your head and let out a heavy sigh. “I am perfectly capable of driving a wagon, Mr. Morgan.” You turn towards him with a frown and his face falls flat. Like he hasn’t just been drilling holes into you for the past five minutes. 

“I know, I know.” His brows furrow and he shoots you a worried look. “Still, you don’t have much experience.”

“Oh,” you huff and glare at him, tugging the reins a little to the right on accident. “Would you calm down?”

“Tree,” he says, eyes darting forward. You shake your head and he rips the reins out of your hand, “Tree, woman!” He doesn’t exactly shout at you, but you still feel like you’re being yelled at. Finally turning forward you see what he was saying. 

“Oops,” you whisper, watching him direct the horses back onto the trail and away from the trees. “Well, it’s not my fault these ridiculous things don’t know not to walk into trees,” you argue, motioning at the horses. 

“Hey,” he chuckles, “don’t blame the horses.” 

You see Hosea lean forward from the back of the wagon. He peers between you both with a smile. “Having fun up here?” He asks you, nodding towards an overbearing Arthur. 

You roll your eyes with a faux pout, “Not really. Arthur here can’t seem to wedge that stick out of his ass.” Arthur turns to glare at you and you nudge his calf with your foot playfully, giving him a sly grin. He fights it, but you see the way the corners of his lips twitch up. 

Hosea glances between you both, something mischievous playing on his face. “What’re you up to?” You ask, suspicion brewing as you practically see a plan forming in his head. 

Hosea sends you a smile that does nothing to assuage your reservations. “Nothing, nothing. Arthur,” he chides, turning towards the man, “let her try for a while.”

Arthur sighs through his nose, you see him glance out the side of his eye at you with a perturbed expression. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about not letting you drive. You only crashed the wagon once and that wasn’t your fault. The horses got spooked by a cougar as you were going down the mountain. Still, he hasn’t let go of it. 

You know he’s not used to denying Hosea, but he takes too long to relent. Just as he’s starting to hand the reins over, the wagon bumps into something. The left side of it flies up, sending you sliding down the bench towards Arthur. His hand shoots out, bracing you so you don’t tip out of the wagon. You can’t help but flush at the feeling of his arm around you, caught off guard by the reaction. 

You push that down, deciding to address it later. The left side dips down now and the horses come to a bumpy stop. You let out a rough sigh, turning around and glancing behind the wagon. Arthur drove you all into a large rock, knocking the wheel off the wagon. 

You can’t help but bark a laugh at his expense. “Well, Mr. Morgan, looks like I’m not the only one in need of some driving lessons.”

He takes his hat off, running his hands through his hair and glaring at you. “Enough,” he grouses. He jumps down from the bench, walking off to fetch the wheel. Hosea climbs to the front of the wagon, taking a seat beside you. 

“I suppose once he gets that fixed, I should take over.”

You laugh, grinning at Arthur as he props the wagon up. “I think that would be best.”

His head snaps up and he glares at you both, “Shut up, both of ya.” You can’t help but laugh a little harder at his grumpy tone. 

Mary-Beth helps you set up your few belongings beside the tent alongside the other women’s trunks. You glance over your shoulder, watching Arthur pitch his tent and rifle through his satchel. A part of you is going to miss the solace of having Arthur beside you at night. 

It was comforting, having such a strong man to watch over you while you slept. Especially while you healed. You supposed you were healed now, though, and you didn’t have much more of an excuse to be near him. Not like you did before. 

A part of you is surprised by this sudden attachment to him. You should have seen it coming, though, this sudden onslaught of feelings. It has been so long since you’ve been around any truly decent man. 

Your husband had been good to you at first, but they always are, aren’t they? You hadn’t had some great love story. But you’d been lucky for two people of high status to get along as well as you had. You suppose that success changes every man. For some, they turn into a miser. They want to keep their money as close to their chest as they can. 

Your husband had been the opposite. He’d flaunted his wealth in every way he could. Placed larger bets than was smart. Let people borrow from him and never collected. And then he got into it with some bad men who set him down the wrong path. They made it so he was their cash cow, milking him for what he was worth and turning him against you all the same. They couldn’t risk any words of wisdom getting him to think about what he was doing. 

There was no sharp pain in your chest when you thought about your husband lying dead in the snow somewhere. You didn’t want to lay down and weep. You didn’t even miss the ring on your finger. The one that those O’Driscoll bastards had stolen. If you didn’t remember every bad night with him then you could almost pretend that you’d never been married at all. 

Since he had turned down that path, you hadn’t met a man you thought was worth knowing. Until Arthur. He could say what he wanted about himself, but you’d never had a man treat you as gently as he has. Maybe it’s creating some warped sense of admiration. It could explain the coying urge to want to repay him and be near him at every chance. 

You almost wished you weren’t healed. If only so you could make up an excuse to see him. Now, you’re not sure what you’re going to do. You think he might have only spoken with you because he felt a sense of responsibility towards you. Alive and well, he’s got nothing to say to you. 

“My, I think I see hearts in your eyes.”

Your head snaps up and Mary-Beth grins at you. “Oh,” you catch the teasing glint in her eye and frown. “Hush, you. You’re reading too many of those damn books.”

You help her haul a crate up, pretending to look busy as Miss Grimshaw passes by. “Uh uh,” she argues. “I might fill my head with too many love stories, but I’m no fool. You’ve got it bad.”

Before you can object Tilly walks up. “You talkin’ ‘bout Arthur?”

You frown, brows furrowed as you drop the act of unpacking anything. “How’d you know?”

Mary-Beth and Tilly share a knowing look, both of them giggling slightly. You can’t help but feel like it’s at your expense. “I’ve just never seen a lady so attached to him. Hard to stomach the smell sometimes,” Tilly teases. 

“Hey, he doesn’t smell that bad,” it’s a weak argument and an even worse deflection but it makes them laugh harder. You can’t help but laugh along, cheeks aching with a smile. You’re not too much older than them, having been married to your husband at a young age. You find yourself enjoying the company of women your own age more than you thought you would. 

Someone clears their throat behind you all and you turn around to find a very upset-looking Miss Grimshaw. The three of you straighten up, scrambling for something to fix. It’s not until she shakes her head and walks away that you start cracking up again. Tilly shoots you a look, turning up her nose and mocking the woman. 

You smile, throwing your shoulders back and trying to adopt her haughty walk. It makes Mary-Beth snort so loud that Arthur turns towards you all. He sends you a questioning look and you can’t help but flush, turning around and busying yourself with anything other than him. 

“Knew it,” Mary-Beth whispers behind you as she walks away. You roll your eyes and sigh but you know she’s right. Clearly, you’re feeling something for him. But it feels wrong too. Too fast and too soon for you to be feeling anything but lucky to be alive. 

A few days later, once you’re all settled and Miss Grimshaw is finally satisfied with the camp’s state, you all gather around the fire. You’re late to join the others, having to change your dress after Uncle spilled whiskey all over the other one. 

You walk towards the glowing firelight and the sounds of Javier strumming lightly on his guitar. He’s not singing yet but you’re sure a few more drinks for everyone and the whole county will hear your hollering. 

You try to find an opening among everyone but most of the seats have already been taken. Just as you go to sit beside Charles, Tilly throws herself down on the log. She doesn’t look at you, just fiddles with the hem of her dress and slurps loudly on her drink. Your eyes narrow suspiciously but you don’t call her out.

Instead, you roam the faces of those around you, seeing a spot beside Sadie. She nods her head at you but before you can go claim it, Hosea grabs her attention. He sits beside her, asking her about some nonsense you can’t hear from where you stand. And just like that, it seems everywhere you look any open spot was gone. Someone either slid over or stole it. It left you with just one place left. 

Arthur looks up from his cup as you approach. “You mind?” You ask, lingering by the log, unsure of whether or not he wants your company. 

He slides over easily, “‘Course not.” You let out a small breath of relief and sit beside him. You don’t know if it’s divine interference or a few nosy campmates, but it feels too coincidental that the only open spot is beside him. 

There are a few moments of stilted silence between you. It might all be in your head. You’ve messed yourself up, putting too much thought into how you feel about him. Now, you don’t even know how to talk to him. You just stare into the fire, and watch the shadows play across the other's faces. 

Arthur’s voice breaks you out of your concentration. “You been feelin’ okay?” 

You’re surprised by the genuine concern in his voice. He really cares and it’s such a strange idea to you- meeting a man so attentive. “I’ve been a little sore from the ride, but nothing too bad.” When you turn towards him you’re surprised to find him already looking at you. 

It’s easy, to just stare into his eyes and pretend it’s just the two of you by the fire. It casts a comforting glow across the both of you, makes the dark night look a little warmer. Eases the chill of the night and lulls you into a place where you finally let the anxiousness that plagues you melt away. 

“How ‘bout you, Arthur, you okay?”

He chuckles quietly, nodding his head and glancing down at his lap. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

The soft way he speaks to you lures you into a false sense of security. You wonder if it would really be so bad to say what you’re thinking. He’s so kind to you, you’re sure even if he doesn’t feel the same he wouldn’t be cruel. 

“Would it be odd if I said I miss bunking with you?” You laugh a little at yourself, trying to downplay just how much you truly mean that.

You seemed to have made a horrible mistake though. Being around the woman of the camp has allowed you the comfort of a loose tongue. Judging by the way his whole body stills and he won’t meet your eyes, you think you might need to tighten it once more. “Oh,” you sigh, rubbing an embarrassed hand down your face. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Arthur’s quick to stop you. He glances around, making sure no one else is listening. “Nothing wrong with that. I just think,” he pauses and lets out a huff. Your face pinches and you bite your tongue, trying to stop yourself from shouting at him to just spit it out. He sucks in a deep breath and turns to you with a pained look. “There are better men than me out there, Mrs. Rowe. I think you’d be better off goin’ after them.”

“What-” He gets to his feet before you can object. You’d like to tell him what a fool he is. How he’s a perfectly fine man and you can choose well enough for yourself. 

“Good night,” he tilts his hat down, ambling off towards his tent and leaving the warmth of the fire behind. 

You look down at your lap with a frown. “Oh,” you whisper, “You’re such a fool, Arthur Morgan.” You watch him slip into his tent and feel like a stone has replaced your heart. You feel heavy now, wanting nothing more than to sleep the sting of rejection off. You quietly slip away from the fire and head towards the women’s tent. 

You ease onto the rocky ground and pull a blanket over your shoulders. You’d never thought you’d long for the rotted floorboards of that shed in the mountains but you crave that comfort more than ever. 

Arthur adjusts his hat and steps out of his tent. He adjusts to the bright morning light and finds his gaze drifting toward the tent the other women are sleeping in. You’re not there, your bed roll fussed up like you’d just gotten up. There’s a split second where he worries you might have changed your mind about the outlaw life and left. 

He’s not happy with the stomach-dropping feeling that leaves him with. He shouldn’t care whether or not you stay. Still, he isn’t satisfied until he looks around and sees you sharing some coffee with Hosea. 

He debates walking over to you both when Pearson ambles towards him. “Arthur,” he barks out. He holds a white slip of paper in his hands and you turn away from Hosea to glance back at him. “A woman brought this by for you.”

He tries to wave at you but you whip around when you hear Pearson speak, avoiding meeting his eye. Hosea leans in and whispers something to you, but you just shake your head. His eyes narrow at the two of you, wondering when you got so cozy. 

“Who was it?” Arthur asks. 

“I don’t know,” Pearson grouses, walking off with a shrug. Arthur flips the paper over and sighs. He didn’t even need to ask. He knows this handwriting about as well as he knows his own. Mary. 

He’s not sure he even wants to read this. There’s the chance that he’ll either have to deal with her father again or he’ll just feel the guilt of what she thinks could have been. Sighing, he turns away from you and Hosea. He flips the letter open, skimming it. He’s not ready to dive so deep into the past this morning but it could be urgent. 

Most of it is pretty vague. Brief mentions of her father devolving past the fool he already was and something about her brother needing help. She asks him to meet her in Valentine and he tucks the letter in his satchel. He doubts anything good would come of going to see her. 

Half the time they just have these quiet sort of non-arguments about how he can’t change and how she never gave him the chance to. They keep going back to each other and keep pretending they're different people than they actually are. She has it in her head that he would never abandon this outlaw life for her. And he thinks that she would never be able to truly accept him as he is. 

They go round and around each other endlessly. Never quite meeting in the middle. These occasional meet-ups have just started to feel like a punishment for himself. But there’s a part of him that always feels the need to hear her out, to see her one last time. He hates that part of himself sometimes. 

He turns to head towards the horses when an eager voice stops him. “Oh, Mr. Morgan!” Strauss stands up from his stool, walking over to Arthur with a large black book in his hand. “Just the man I was looking for.” There’s something in his tone that makes Arthur bristle. He has a feeling whatever he’s about to ask for is going to be something he doesn’t like. 

“What?” Arthur’s short with him, never having been a huge fan of the man. He hates that he’s the one Strauss comes to for collections. He understands the necessity of the money for camp. But half the time the people are just desperate families trying to keep a roof over their heads. If Strauss targeted the rich, maybe he wouldn’t mind roughing the debtors up so much. 

“I just need a favor from you. I’ve got some collections that need to be taken. A few reminders to be sent,” he laughs a little. The noise is empty and grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves. 

“We’ve barely been here a week. You’re tellin’ me you’ve already got lives to ruin?”

Strauss's eyes narrow into slits before he forces on another thin smile. “Mr. Morgan, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the loss our camp funds suffered in Blackwater. We need everything we can get. Surely you understand this is for the good of the camp, yes?”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh. He looks down at the list of people in Strauss’s hand. He knows that he’s always going to choose the gang over anyone else. But it doesn’t make this feel any better. “Fine,” he snaps, snatching the paper from him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Arthur shakes his head, ignoring the smug lilt of Strauss’s accent. He shakes his head and turns away, walking towards the horses.

“-well, Uncle ruined my only other good dress. I’ll need to buy some new ones,” Arthur looks over as you speak to Hosea. You motion sadly to a large brown stain on the front of your dress and he rolls his eyes, thinking of Unlcle spilling something on you. Maybe he could pick something up for you while he’s in town. You’ve got hardly anything to your name, you could at least use a new pair of boots. 

He’s nearly to his horse when Hosea calls him over. Is he going to get anything done today, or does everyone need something for him?

He lets out an irritated sigh and walks back over. You don’t look up at him and that only further sours his mood. “What are you doing?” Hosea asks, the suspicious expression on his face only makes Arthur’s hackles raise further.

“Was gonna head to Valentine but Strauss has got me doin’ collections.” Your eyes lift at the mention of collections and he doesn’t miss the slight grimace that passes across your face before you’re looking away again. 

Something hot boils in the pit of his stomach but he shoves it down, trying to ignore it. Hosea shakes his head, waving him off. “No, I need you to escort Mrs. Rowe to Valentine. Micah will handle the collections,” he tells him firmly, not leaving much room for argument. 

“But-” 

Hosea cuts him off with a frown, “No ‘buts,’ the lady needs some new clothes, Arthur. You can’t let her go into town without a proper escort. Imagine what could happen.”

Your face drops at that. You roll your eyes with a scoff, “I most certainly do not need-”

You trail off, sentence falling short as Hosea shoots you a sharp look. You throw the rest of your coffee into the fire and get to your feet. “Right, well I clearly don’t get much of a say in this.”

“Neither of you do,” Hosea responds. He’s got a look that means he’s far too pleased with himself. Arthur glances over at you, feeling a little guilty at the perturbed expression you wear. He doesn’t blame you for not wanting to spend time with him. He knows he could have been kinder to you last night, but all he’d been thinking about was stopping another situation like Mary from happening. 

“Come on Mr. Morgan,” you call out, walking past him and heading towards the horses. 

Arthur lingers behind for a moment, shooting Hosea a glare. “I’m gettin’ tired of your games, old man,” Arthur grouses before reluctantly following after you. Hosea just laughs, taking a long, pleased, sip of his coffee. 

Arthur turns around and heads towards the hitching posts. You’re already waiting there for him, arms crossed while you examine the horse. “Somethin’ wrong?” You jump slightly, turning around to face Arthur as he walks up. 

Your lips purse and he can tell you’re debating whether or not you want to speak with him. Arthur stops walking, standing just a little ways back and giving you no other choice but to talk. Rolling your eyes, you force the words out. “Your horse is too damn tall.”

Arthur glances between you and the shire, laughing a little under his breath. “Alright, come on.” He comes up in front of you, hovering his hands over your waist until you give him a reluctant little nod. He takes you by the waist and lifts you onto the back of the horse. His hands drift down to your knees, squeezing once before he forces himself to back off. “Comfortable?”

You glare down at him, but he can see a little bit of sheepishness in the look you give him. “Fine as I’ll ever be, sitting like this.”

He swings up on the saddle and glances back at you. “We’ll see if we can’t get you a horse while we’re in town.” Your face lights up at that and it unravels a bit of the knot in his chest. 

“I think I’d like that,” you tell him, turning slightly to wrap your arms around his waist. He does his best to ignore the warmth you provide. But all he can focus on is how soft you feel against him compared to the harshness he deals with every day. He doesn’t say anything else, leading his horse out of camp and heading to town. He doesn’t know what he’s more stressed about, seeing Mary or having you see her. 

He lets out a rough sigh and shakes his head. Women, they’re not worth the damn trouble. 

The ride into Valentine isn’t too slow, but you know Arthur isn’t going as fast as he wants so that you feel more comfortable on the back of the horse. You’re still getting used to the finicky beasts, not quite having bonded with them like the others in camp. Still, you’d rather swallow your pride and get one of your own than have to keep riding side-saddle like this. 

Sitting on the back of the horse is damn near impossible to get comfortable on. And you know the animals don’t like it any more than you do. You think it’s only making them dislike you more. You adjust yourself again and hear Arthur sigh in front of you. His chest heaves under your grip and you realize just how tight you’ve been squeezing him this whole time. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, undoing your arms and stretching them out. You’re surprised the poor man can still breathe. 

“It’s fine,” he responds, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he finally sucks in a full breath. You grimace, wondering how you’re gonna handle your own horse if you can barely deal with this one. Arthur’s is the least temperamental of the bunch at camp and you still can’t bring yourself to trust it. 

Arthur passes by the train station and you straighten up, a little bit of relief forming when you realize how close you are to finally being able to walk around on your own two feet. Arthur brings the horse to a slower pace, pulling on the reins as townspeople begin to walk by more frequently. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting of the town. It’s certainly not glamorous. But it’s not as backwoods as you had been expecting. The people seem friendly enough, at least to you. They’ll nod their heads with a polite, “Ma’am,” but they don’t seem very warmed to Arthur. 

“You already been through here?” You ask, a little bit of a tease lingering on the edge of your words. 

Arthur stiffens under your grip, tilting his head back towards you before looking forward. “Whaddya mean?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, “these people seem a little wary of you, that’s all.”

Arthur lets out a heavy sigh, “Not my fault,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “He called me a pretty boy, what was I supposed to do?” You barely catch the words before he brings the horse to a stop and gets down. 

“Pretty boy?” You question, a grin curling at the edge of your lips. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. 

“Forget it,” he demands. He holds his hand out towards you and you hesitate. You could just jump down, you'll probably roll your ankle, but you could do it. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how wholly Arthur’s hand envelops yours, even if he’s made it clear he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. 

You slide your hand into his and he brings his other one up to your waist. He eases you down onto the ground but your boot slips into a bit of mud. You tilt forward, off-kilter, and catch yourself against his chest. 

Your eyes widen when you feel the bulk lurking underneath his tattered shirt. You clear your throat, backing up quickly and straightening out your skirt. Even after a few weeks, you’re still not used to touching another man who’s not your husband. Especially not so brazenly. 

Arthur laughs at your behavior but you see the nervous way he rubs the back of his neck. He ducks his head down, hat blocking his pretty eyes. You know that you have an effect on him. In the same way, a simple touch from him sends heat racing through you, you can see it happen to him. 

You’re not some lovesick fool who’s blinded by your desire. You may be naive when it comes to relationships, but you know want in a man’s eyes when you see it. If only he weren’t so damn stubborn. 

“I’ve got some business to deal with in town,” your face falls as he speaks. You’d almost forgotten about the letter Pearson had brought to him. The one that a woman had dropped off. You hope it’s his aunt or some withered old lady who just needs an outlaw’s help. As unlikely as that is, you still pray for it. 

He reaches into his saddle bag and your eyes double in size as he holds out a holstered revolver. You stare at it, eyes darting between him and the gun. “You know how to shoot don’t ya?”

You scoff in indignation. “I’ve spent my entire adult life in the mountains. Of course, I know how to shoot. But why would I need to?”

He looks amused by your attitude and it only makes you narrow your eyes at him in irritation. “Just take it, would you? You’re traveling with a gang of outlaws, it’s not smart to go around without anythin’ to protect yourself with.” He nudges the gun towards you once more and you snatch it from him. 

You bring it to your side, attaching it to your belt as you chew on his words. You hadn’t thought of that before, mainly because you haven’t left the camp since you made it out of the mountains. But you’re so used to being seen as a lady that you forget you’re now just as much of a criminal as the rest of them. If only by association. 

“Fine,” you relent. 

“Here,” he reaches into his satchel and tugs out a few bills. “Take this, for the dresses or whatever it was ya needed.”

You stare down at the money and shake your head, “Oh, no, Arthur, I couldn't.” He’s already done so much for you and the camp. You don’t feel comfortable taking from him further. But he won’t let it go, he takes your wrist and forces your palm open, placing the money in your hand. 

“You’re not gonna steal the clothes are ya?”

“No, but-”

“‘Nough fussin’, just take it would ya, woman?” You tuck the money in your waistband and glare at him. He’s being awful pushy this morning. 

He grabs the horn of the saddle, pulling himself back up and glancing down at you. “How long am I gonna be expected to look after myself?” 

“Only about an hour, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“You better,” you chide. He only chuckles, tilting his hat towards you before riding off past the shops and towards the houses behind the town. You let out a heavy sigh, fiddling with the money and looking around town. You don’t imagine you’ll find much here, but you figure the general store is probably a good place to start. 

It isn’t until you’ve bought yourself a few new outfits that you realize just how much money Arthur has given you. You could probably buy two horses with all this. You’re sure Dutch would be irate if he learned Arthur funded your shopping trip and not the camp lockbox. 

You walk out of the general store with your box of goodies tucked under your arm. You hide the rest of your money away in the top of your corset like you’ve seen Karen do before. You look around the shops, trying to spot Arthur’s giant shire hitched somewhere. When you don’t see the horse you frown, deciding to do a quick lap around to see if he’s somewhere else. 

It turns out to be fruitless, despite promising to be back within an hour, you can’t find him anywhere. You figure that his “business” just ran on longer than he thought it would and try and think of a way to pass the time. You debate going to the stables and getting your own horse but it seems rude to just spend his money so cavalierly. 

Besides, you figure you should get his opinion before you commit to one of the erratic creatures. He seems to speak their language. You figure he could help you find one that won’t send you flying if it gets spooked. 

With no other way to pass the time, you take a seat on the bench outside the general store. You pick up a discarded newspaper and figure you’ll just wait for him here. Of course, you only make it about three sentences into a report on a train robbery before you toss the paper to the side. 

You’ve never been very good at waiting. Living the life of a proper lady has left you spoiled and you’re starting to get antsy. Jumping up from the bench you walk around the back of the shop towards the houses Arthur had ridden towards. 

There’s a brief moment of intelligence where you think about the consequences of bugging him. He is an outlaw and for all the manners and grace he’s shown you, you’ve seen the bounty. You know he’s a known criminal and a murderer. Who's to say he won’t get upset at you for interrupting and just shoot you?

Still, the thought of him getting so mad he starts firing off rounds makes you laugh more than it makes you scared. You just can’t picture Arthur in that way. 

It isn’t hard to figure out which house he went to. All you have to look for is the giant black horse grazing in the grass outside. You pick up your pace when you see Diablo roaming in front of a particularly nice house. It’s probably the biggest one around and the most well-kept. You wonder who he could be meeting out here, in Valentine being “rich” doesn’t mean much. 

You notice the front door of the home opening, but you know they can’t see you past the large tree in front of you. You see Arthur first, the brim of his hat, and then his boot as he walks out the door. He turns around, talking to whoever’s inside and shaking his head vehemently. 

You take another step towards them but your foot hovers in the air as the person he’s talking to follows after him. So much for a withered old lady. You feel your stomach drop as the beautiful woman he’s talking to reaches forward and takes his hands in hers. You can’t hear them speaking, but you can see the familiarity in the way they dance around each other. 

She’s got a pleading look on her face and he’s got the expression of a man about to give into whatever she asks of him. You turn around as quick as you can, marching yourself right back to town. You never should have even gone looking for him. One hour or two, you should have just kept your happy ass where it was. At least then you wouldn’t be dealing with the racing thoughts going through your head. 

You had a suspicion that there was once a woman in his life. In fact, it would be odd for there not to be. He’s traveled for so long and he’s so different than other men you met that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have not caught the eye of a pretty woman. But you hadn’t expected her. She seemed so much like…

You. 

She reminded you of yourself before your husband had abandoned you and you started traveling with the gang. Hair done up prim and proper, clothes tailored perfectly to her body. Even the way she carried herself was straight out of the proper lady training book. She most certainly came from money. 

You just didn’t know how Arthur knew her. Or what their relationship was. It certainly wasn’t familial. You knew that much from the longing in her eyes. Oh, this was just awful. Arthur didn’t reject you because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you. He just didn’t want you. He had a woman of his own, of course he did. You feel like such a fool, getting your hopes up over something that could never happen. 

You trudge back into town, heading straight for the saloon. You’ve never had the stomach for alcohol, but you’re sure you can make an exception tonight. Just to ease the blade of hurt wedging itself in your chest. 

You toss your box of clothes on the counter of the bar and the barkeep gives you a startled look. His eyes narrow before he slides a glass over to you. “Looks like you need a whiskey.”

“Make it a double,” you slip him a few more bills than necessary and he whistles. Instead of pouring he just places the bottle in front of you. He leaves you on your lonely end of the counter and scrubs up a drunken spill. 

You use a heavy hand to pour and bring the glass to your lips, ticking your head back and downing as much as you can. The acrid, bog-like taste doesn’t comfort you. But it does make your tongue feel fuzzy and begin to soften the harsh edges of your mind. About a bottle later, you can barely remember Arthur’s name, much less why you’re drinking. 

You’re debating entering a very risky poker game when you see it. Just out of the corner of your eye, a man goes stumbling up the stairs with a whore. It’s not out of the usual, it’s been happening the whole time you’ve been here. But there’s something familiar to you about the back of his head. 

Stumbling to your feet, you rub at your eyes and blink a few times. You squint, trying to make out how you know this man when he finally turns slightly. Like a bucket of cold water being tossed over you, the whiskey seems to leave you for a moment. 

Your husband’s glazed eyes pass over you and he laughs at a drunk man falling face-first to the floor. Your heart pounds so harshly against the cage of your chest you can hear nothing else but your blood rushing. He stumbles the rest of the way up the stairs and you stand there, completely dumbfounded and confused. 

Your husband isn’t just alive. He’s here and he’s about to go fuck a whore like he didn’t leave you for dead.

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

What kind of dark sorcery did you do to create these wonderful logan fics? They are a lil toooo... chefs kiss😘🤌 in writing.

I'm so honored you think so. But I suppose it's time to come out and just tell the truth.

I sold my soul. In sixty-six years the devil's coming to collect because I figured hell was worth it as long as I knew how to write fanfiction.

ALSO I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SOON!!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️ drink water & rest

Thank you!!