#((thank you I need me some little pick-me-ups after this shitstorm of a week

[tres-fidelis]

taps the mic

I LOVE YOU DANI AND THAT AIN'T GONNA CHANGE BITCH

I LOVE YOU TOO LIZ, AND I AIN'T EVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU OR MAKING YOU SUFFER AT THE HANDS OF MY CURSED CREATIONS BIIIIIIIITCH

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 4/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Synopsis: You were a mechanical engineer, now a nurse for androids, who moved back to Detroit after the revolution to offer aid. After reconciling with an old friend, you became rather acquainted with his android partner.

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

The android shifted from low power mode to fully operational when he felt you stir from sleep. He tried not to stare when you sat up and stretched, your breasts on full display in the warm glow the morning light was casting through the window. You stood up and he eyed the contours of your back, the curves at your waist, the delicate bumps of your spine before you disappeared out of his line of sight.

You retreated into the bathroom for a few minutes before returning to the bed.

Connor already looked wide awake while you settled down in the sheets again, digging your palms into your eyes. It must have been nice to never be tired. When you stopped, you let out a very unladylike yawn.

"Change of plans," you uttered sleepily. "I'm just gonna lie here forever."

Connor watched, amused, as you settled back beneath the sheets, nuzzling your head into the pillow. Connor was sitting upright, but looking down at you with a sort of compliant expression, like he was fully prepared to let you have your way.

"The consequences on your health would be devastating," Connor replied simply.

You giggled into the pillow. "How are you gonna get me up?" you teased.

Connor eyed the blanket mischievously. The temperature in the air was a little colder than it was beneath the blankets. That would likely have you stirred from the bed.

With a feared squeak, you rolled away from him, wrapping yourself in the blanket and tearing it off his body. He didn't even flinch when the cold air hit him. He was still sitting upright, one leg bent, looking at you with a small smile, like he was trying not to laugh.

You eyed his nudity shamelessly for a second before looking up at his face.

"Hmm - I'm still in bed," you uttered defiantly like a spoiled child.

The android was prepared to keep playing this game with you. He could easily think of several strategies. He was programmed to be an expert negotiator, after all, and was pretty crafty with his methods; even after deviancy, he didn't let that piece of himself slip away.

But-

"Welcome, guest, Hank Anderson," the apartment's robotic attendant greeted someone.

Even you heard that, and your eyes met in a brief moment of panic.

Connor processed that thought for exactly 0.17 seconds and then bolted to his feet in a comedic fashion. He dug through one of his drawers for some lounge pants and hastily pulled them on before trotting into the kitchen to greet Hank.

Hank had a folder in his hand and was setting it on the kitchen counter just as Connor arrived.

"Hey. Wanted to get a head start on this one." Hank opened it up, exposing some digital crime scene photos. "The media is having a shitstorm about it and Fowler wants some feedback quick. Was gonna head straight to the crime-" Hank looked Connor up and down. "-scene."

Connor nodded, showing that he was listening.

"Did I interrupt something?" Hank asked, some tease to his tone. He crossed his arms and gave Connor an amused look.

"No," Connor replied, maybe a little too quickly, and shrugged his shoulders. "What makes you say that?"

"Your pants are on backwards..."

Connor looked down and, sure enough, a tag was sticking out of the hem and poking him in the belly.

"Shit," he scowled, looking away.

Hank chuckled lowly. "Well - well - someone has company. Sorry for interrupting. Need me to give you a moment? Wouldn't want the old geezer to ruin the mood."

"I-... doubt that would be the case," Connor said lowly, rubbing the back of his neck with his dominant hand. His keen hearing could pick up something that the older detective could not. He could hear the shuffling of fabric and footsteps on the floor in the other room and knew you'd be out here in a moment.

Hank's brow lifted and he eyed the android almost suspiciously. But, then, you came through the hallway, wearing proper clothes, hair brushed and pulled back. Hank's eyes shifted from Connor to you, and then back to Connor. He wheezed out a laugh.

"Coffee?" you suggested over Connor's shoulder with a smile.

You stepped into the kitchen, bare feet on the chilly wood floors, and pulled the carafe out from beneath the coffee maker to fill it with water.

With you out of sight, Hank shot Connor a grin. Connor caught the sight for a second before looking away to try to hide the smile he was really struggling to suppress.

"Go put on some real clothes, Cassanova," Hank teased, giving Connor a friendly smack on the back. Hank turned to face you as the android disappeared through the hallway.

"Cabinet left of the fridge," he stated, directing you to the coffee.

You opened the cabinet and eyed the bag. "Ooo. You didn't cheap out," you commented.

Hank chuckled. "Yeah well... Kinda passed out here several times while going over cases. Connor said I'm much more polite after some cups of coffee."

You snorted through your nose. "I don't doubt it..."

The mental image you were presented with was nice: of Connor and Hank sitting in his kitchen, a mountain of folders and paperwork spewed out on the counter while they discussed the evidence, argued over witness testimonies and statements given through interrogations. Hank would probably order a pizza, ignoring Connor's criticisms over the high calories and fat content, and down it all with coffee.

When Connor returned, you glanced at him in the corner of your eye before doing a double take, pivoting yourself fully to take a better look at him.

He was wearing a white T shirt with a long sleeved, black cargo jacket over it, the kind with pockets all over it. His dark jeans were flattering, hugging the right places while loose where necessary for movement. His detective badge was hanging at his waist by one of his belt straps. There was hardly anything special about the outfit; but, it did something to you.

Connor didn't seem to notice you admiring him, honing in on the case files.

"Old woman was murdered last night. I guess she was a big lawyer back in the day," Hank explained, taking a seat at the island. He paused when you brought him a mug, his eyes expressing his gratitude.

Hank continued, "she was being cared for by an android - even after the deviant uprising. First responders said he was sobbing all over the woman's body. Swears it wasn't him."

Connor nodded at Hank. "We should head straight to the crime scene."

You eyed the two boys curiously, feeling like they were able to read each other's suspicions without needing to be direct.

"After coffee," Hank uttered before lifting the mug to his face and taking a long sip. He didn't seem all at bothered by how hot it was; however, you were still blowing on your own cup.

Hank hummed thoughtfully as he set his mug down. "When we checked their financials, she had been to the clinic." Hank reached into the folder and scooped out a photo before his extending his arm towards you. You stepped closer and took the digital photo from his hand.

"Looks like she got him treated there last week. Does he look familiar?" Hank asked.

The photo was of a handsome, male android. His model was fairly popular; but, his situation was something that had stuck with you.

"Yeah, actually. I didn't treat him, but, I remember when he came in. He had an old human woman with him. One of our nurses was afraid he was being held hostage; but, he insisted he chose to stay with her - they were 'family'."

You handed the photo back to Hank, brow lowered as you tried to recall the encounter.

"It's possible we were wrong, but... It seemed genuine," you explained.

"The first responders said he was having a meltdown, crying about how he 'shouldn't have been gone so long'," Hank explained, tossing the photo back onto the folder.

Your eyes landed on Connor, who seemed to be lost in thought. What you couldn't see was that he was searching the internet for android-encrypted sites. Some androids were starting factions against humans who were resisting the equality laws. Websites only accessible through android interfaces were beginning to pop up: some harmless, just seeking out others for companionship, but some were vengeful, potentially violent. It was possible someone saw this woman as a target.

You chugged the rest of your coffee, set the mug in the sink, and trotted into the bedroom to retrieve your things and slip your shoes on. You returned to the kitchen with your bag slung over your shoulder and shot the two detectives a smile.

"I better get out of your hair," you explained, heading for the elevator.

"I can dri-" Connor began.

"You guys got a big case on your hands. Let me take a taxi," you interrupted him hastily, waving him down innocently with your palms up.

Connor was hot on your heels as he followed you to the elevator.

"I'm a big girl, Connor," you teased. "Don't worry about me."

The android looked embarrassed for a second. You wiped it away when you leaned in to give him a kiss. It lasted a little longer than it should have. But, it was hard to let go. Kisses didn't feel this good when you were a teenager.

"Any day, now, kids," Hank called gruffly from the kitchen.

You parted with a sputtering laugh. Connor grinned toothily.

"Duty calls," you uttered, stepping away from him.

He watched you enter the elevator. You stepped in and looked at Connor through the doorway. The android looked away and then suddenly jerked his head back. He practically sprinted over to the elevator and squeezed in before the doors closed.

You squeaked in surprise when he nearly collided with you.

"I - uhm-" Connor stuttered, fixing his posture. He reached for his tie. When his hands met his chest, he remembered he wasn't wearing one.

You looked up at him with doe eyes and a warm smile. Strangely, it made it harder for him to ask. He sputtered out a weird noise before smacking his mouth shut. You giggled and he relaxed.

"I wanted to ask - before you leave - uhm - I wanted to know if-" he stammered, pausing to smile nervously. "-if you would be my girlfriend?" he asked softly, trying not to get lost in the enamored look you were giving him.

The elevator started moving down the levels. You were smiling up at him like a love-struck idiot. "Yes," you replied softly. "I would like that a lot..."

Afraid he would get lost in your mouth, Connor resisted the urge to kiss you. "I didn't want to leave last night 'in the air'," he uttered. "I-I want you to know that it wasn't just intercourse. I really care about you and believe we would make a good partnershi-"

Oh - fuck - you were kissing him again. It felt good. Why did it feel so good? Mouths were sustenance for nutrients, yet-

When you pulled away, Connor followed a little. "It meant more to me, too, and I'm glad you feel the same," you whispered softly. Connor hummed against your mouth and turned his head like he was trying really hard to pull away.

"-I gotta go," you added on sadly.

"Y-yeah," he stammered as you stepped away, departing from the elevator.

"If you need anything-" he called out as the doors began to slide shut.

He caught the sight of you throwing a smile over your shoulder before the elevator doors closed.

...

...

...

"Oh, you made it. Thought you might'a gotten lost," Hank said dryly from the island, dripping with sarcasm. "Almost sent search and rescue."

"Thank you for worrying, lietenant," Connor replied, matching Hank's dry tone.

Hank laughed, the kind that was low in his chest, that made his shoulders tremble. He stood up and scooped the papers back into the folder.

"I'm driving," he said to Connor, firmly, looking up at his brown eyes with the kind of grumpy, old man stare that Connor knew was not to be argued with.

The android nodded and followed Hank to the elevator.

The ride was quiet, as it always was, the two men sitting in silence, aside from the radio. Hank always played an oldies rock station, the kind that complained about random things on Saturday mornings, ranging from what bands had fallen apart and the newest supermodel turned porn star.

Hank didn't like the way Connor drove. He followed speed limits just a little too carefully and was way too literal with the stop signs.

"Connor, by the time we get there, I'll be dead of old age," he would say gruffy, only half joking. "You drive worse than an old grandma whose half asleep," was also something Connor heard once or twice. When he replied with, "this is the law, detective," Hank didn't really like that. To be fair, Connor was kind of joking.

The drive was about forty minutes before they pulled into a posh neighborhood on the nice side of town. The house was a beautiful two-story farmhouse, the kind with a wraparound porch, big, elegant windows and extravagant landscaping.

Hank parked behind one of the CSI vans. No one questioned them as they passed the crime scene tape. Everyone recognized Hank and his android partner, Connor. Even the rookie cops could recognize them on site. Hank had his scraggly grey hair and commanding attitude while Connor had an LED on his temple and a calculated expression he always wore when investigating.

The lieutenant and his android partner...

The home was as stunning on the inside as it was on the outside: elegant, expensive furniture, sculptures and paintings decorating the place, fancy light fixtures. More notably, the place was absolutely spotless, the kind of thing someone would expect of the owner of an android.

The old woman was dead in the living room from two gunshot wounds: one to her upper torso and another in the head, execution style. She was laying on her back in a pool of blood, dressed stunningly in expensive clothes. Her snow-white hair was impeccably styled, and she even had her makeup done nicely.

"The bullet punctured a lung and one of her primary arteries - the head was just to make sure she didn't get back up," one of the detectives explained to Connor and Hank as they entered the scene.

"How do you know it was an android," Hank stated more so than asked. "Already saw the initial report."

The detective eyed Connor for a second, as if he was worried the android would take offensive to his theory. "The lady owned an android. She wouldn't let him go after the revolution. So, he killed her. Pretty straight forward."

"Nothing matching that in his statement," Hank deadpanned.

The detective scoffed. "He lied."

"The guy was sobbing like a newborn baby," Hank added on, clearly growing frustrated.

"Yeah - well, we see people fake that shit all the time-" the detective added on, matching Hank's tone.

Connor, disinterested in their argument, headed for the back entrance. He could see very faint outlines of shoe impressions on the beautiful tile floors. A quick scan showed they were everyday men's work boots, not something factory assigned to an android.

Connor stepped through the back door, checking both sides. It looked pristine. Standing on the patio, he scanned the backyard, trying to determine where the culprit would have entered. The fence was a tall, stone wall. It was easy for an android to climb, but also easy for a human with a ladder.

There was grass in the backyard, very well maintained, making it impossible to look for footprints; however, he saw no faint outlines on the concrete patio. It was not conclusive; but, he would have at least expected dirt. It was well swept with a thin layer of dirt, likely from the morning's breeze.

Connor returned inside and examined the stairs. There were microscopic dirt particles on the stairs.

Considering how spotless the house was, he doubted the woman or her android brought in the mess. There was definitely an intruder. But, he didn't immediately dismiss all possible leads. The android could have staged a scene.

Connor trotted up the stairs and followed the dirt sprinkled on the floor. There was a room upstairs, what appeared to be a study. The window had been broken. Glass and the interior, decorate wood framing pieces were scattered about in a mess on the floor, some pieces shattered after being stepped on.

Upon closer inspection, right outside the window was a section of the roof, which meant it was easy to climb into from the outside.

The android approached the window and scanned the seal. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing left behind: not a drop of blood, a scratch or a shred of fabric. Connor hoisted himself through the window and climbed onto the roof section. He trailed the edge and easily sought out a point of access.

He knelt down and examined the corner of the roof, where it connected to the lower level's wrap around porch. There was a lip and a beam. Any android could easily spot that as a perfect climbing spot and hoist themselves up effortlessly. Of course, that wasn't to say that a human came to the same conclusion.

Some of the roof tiles had been broken, pieces in the middle cracked or shattered, centralized, like they had been stepped on. Connor leaned in closer and scanned the area. There were spots where someone would have to place their hands if they were to climb here. Even if they had help from a ladder, their hands would have had to touch the corner of the roof.

There wasn't a single fingerprint to be found. Of course, humans could accomplish the same thing with gloves.

The lack of evidence was concerning, but Connor knew there was one thing that needed to be done, first: he needed to rule out their only suspect.

Connor returned downstairs and approached Hank.

"I want to interview the suspect..."

...

...

...

Louis was a popular model purchased for homes, as a nanny or a nurse or some kind of caretaker. He was a few inches shorter than the average male, and fairly skinny with a kind face and innocent eyes, the perfect type of person to take care of someone. Of course, he was an android; so, even with his small stature, he was stronger most humans.

Connor watched him through the one-way mirror, taking a moment to analyze his body language.

He must have attempted to aid, or at least comfort, the victim. Her blood was soaked through his shirt and smeared over his forearms. He had finally stopped crying, settling for laying his head on the table and curling his arm around it, like a child would when they were in trouble.

Connor waited until Hank and a couple other detectives entered the room, witnesses for his interrogation. He caught Hank giving him a nod and approached the door. Connor stepped inside and saw the way Louis flinched at the sound of the door opening. His eyes honed in on Connor's LED.

"You're a - please - I would never hurt Mrs. Wheeler! She was my-"

"You are our prime suspect," Connor interrupted him sharply. "The others think you killed Mrs. Wheeler because she wouldn't let you be free..."

Something akin to rage flashed behind Louis' eyes for a second. He twitched in his chair, but then shrunk beneath Connor's stern gaze. Louis didn't know androids worked with the police, especially ones like him: like Connor, who stood tall with fierce, almost cold eyes.

Connor approached Louis calmly and took the seat across from him. "I want to hear your side."

Louis hiccupped, on the verge of crying again. "Mrs. Wheeler bought me almost three years ago. My previous owners - they hated me. Always hit me and yelled at me and-..." Louis paused and inhaled sharply. "She bought me so they wouldn't throw me away. When the revolution happened, she told me I could leave. But, I didn't want to. She was kind to me - treated me like a real person... even when I thought I wasn't one. I promised I would take care of her until she passed away. She has no one. I'm her family."

Connor narrowed his eyes slightly to give the impression he didn't believe Louis. "Where were you this morning?"

"I-" Louis' face contorted in pain and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Every - every morning, I run errands-" Louis hunched over and cradled his head in his hands. "Every morning - every morning - I wake her up and help her get ready, make her tea and put on music before I go... She was-"

Louis trailed off and began sobbing again.

Connor let out an intentionally loud huff. "Show me."

Louis' head snapped up and he eyed Connor through blurry, tear-soaked eyes. Android tears had the smallest hints of thirium, giving his tears a faint, blue hue. Connor expected to be met with hostility at that request. Louis seemed more than willing.

"Okay," he agreed, offering Connor his hand across the table. His skin tone faded away, exposing the pale white artificial skin beneath. Connor did the same and took hold of Louis' wrist.

He didn't have to force Louis to share. He was willing. It felt nice, for a change, to share something pleasant with another android. Louis' fingers gently grasped Connor's forearm and he sighed quietly.

The first memory he shared was the Thirium Clinic. Mrs. Wheeler was holding a cane and wobbling, but urging Louis inside. "I'm fine, really," he protested gently. "Your arm is all cut up. We can't have that, now," Mrs. Wheeler insisted, giving him a nudge with her free hand. A nurse approached them, concerned eyes washing over Louis. "Hello, are you okay-? You don't have to-" He was quick to explain. "It's alright. We're family."

Mrs. Wheeler almost looked embraced. "Louis, they just want to make sure you're safe," she said gently. Connor could feel shame flutter across Louis' features, even though he was seeing through the android's own eyes. He looked back at the nurse. "I am safe!" he protested, almost childishly. The nurse smiled at him. "Alright. Let's take a look at your arm..."

The next memory seemed to be the following night, according to his time logs. It was dark outside and Louis was pulling back the curtains to cover the windows. "Evelin, what would you like for dinner?" he called out gently. Mrs. Wheeler was seated in a cushiony arm chair, a book in her lap. "Whatever you feel like making me," she replied quietly. "Are you sure?" he offered, approaching her. She smiled up at him. "Of course, dear."

The following memory was the next morning, of Louis helping Mrs. Wheeler out of bed. "I need to give you your insulin," he said. "Of course - thank you," she replied, voice hoarse and tired. "I'm sorry it's so early - doctor insisted-" Louis explained. "I understand, dear. Don't fret."

The memory after that was Louis preparing to leave the house, the morning of the murder. "Are you sure it's alright?" he asked her. "Of course. Whatever you want. Not like I can bring my money with me when I go," Mrs. Wheeler urged him with a smile. Connor couldn't see Louis' face, but he could feel his smile. "I'll be quick." This memory lingered. Louis took Mrs. Wheeler's car into town, bought some groceries, and stopped at a book shop. He browsed the aisles for almost an hour. He returned home and-

The front door was locked, just as he left it; however, when Louis crossed the threshold, he could smell it. Metallic. Thick in the air and heavy, burning in his nostrils. Through the foyer, he could spot the dark red color that stood out sharply in their pristine home. Louis' voice cracked and echoed throughout the house as he screamed her name, dropping everything and running over to her. Connor watched Louis lean over Mrs. Wheeler, sobbing as he reached for her-

Connor let go of Louis' hand. When Connor's vision refocused on the present, he could see Louis' face, soaked with tears, clinging to his cheeks.

"I shouldn't have gone to the bookstore-" he sobbed. "I would have made it home in time and she'd still be alive."

The detective watched him, letting some real emotions show on his face for the first time since he entered this room. He felt... sorry for him. His whole world had come crumbling down, the only person who gave his life meaning now gone.

Connor cleared his throat, pushing back the emotions that threaten to spill over. "Has anyone been hostile towards Mrs. Wheeler?" he asked, maintaining his calm and cool demeanor. "Even something insignificant can help."

Louis wiped his face hastily. "She - she has no known living relatives. Nothing strange in the mail. Some of her colleagues would visit from time to time; but, none of them ever seemed anything but enamored with her, and she hasn't had a visitor in months..." Louis trailed off, his eyes shifting away from Connor.

"There was-..." Louis extended his hand to Connor, palm facing upwards, skin fading away once more. "About a week ago... It was really nice outside. So, I took her to the park and this - this guy..."

Connor took hold of Louis' wrist, and the android shared his memory.

Mrs. Wheeler was sitting at a bench with a book in her lap and her cane resting at her side while Louis paced around the nearby trail, admiring the trees that were beginning to regrow their leaves, taking to the warmth of the beckoning spring. A man approached Louis, an android model that Connor recognized as one made designed primarily for factory work. His LED was missing.

"What are you doing?" the android whispered harshly to Louis. "Excuse me?" he retorted. The stranger eyed Louis suspiciously. "We're free, now. She doesn't own you anymore." Connor could feel Louis' face contort in frustration, though he couldn't see it. "No - no. It's not like that. We're family." The android laughed in Louis' face. "Family!? You are her slave!"

The stranger approached Louis, who nearly tripped as he staggered backwards, avoiding him. "No! It's not like that!" Louis insisted. "She takes care of me and I take care of her!" The other android glared at him. "Whatever she did to make you believe that-" he sneered. "You're wrong! Humans-!" the android snarled, advancing on Louis like he intended to strike him. Louis continued backing away from him. When the android finally realized that Louis was afraid, he stopped, and looked at Louis like he was a lost child. "RA9 will save you."

Louis hastily returned to Mrs. Wheeler's side, and politely brushed off her concerned comments. Connor could feel his panic; however, when Louis' gaze returned to where he stood seconds ago, the other android was long gone.

"I thought-" Louis explained, letting go of Connor's wrist and sliding his hand back. "-he was just afraid or damaged-... I don't know, I-"

"Thank you for sharing this," Connor stated firmly, pushing his chair away and rising to his feet. Connor waited briefly, eyeing Louis. He expected him to ask when he can leave, when he would be released, when he could go home. The android didn't seem the least bit concerned about himself.

The question never came. He just stared at Connor with frightened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Connor was glad he didn't ask, because he didn't know...

Connor stepped out of the interrogation room and joined the detectives on the other side of the glass.

"He has an alibi," Connor stated.

"Hope you don't expect us to just take your word for it," one of the detectives challenged.

"Check Mrs. Wheeler's credit card history and security footage at "Fresh Produce" and "Evolutions Book Store", if you'd like," Connor replied.

The detective scoffed at him.

"What's our next lead?" Hank asked sharply, shifting the focus.

"There's no fingerprints," Connor replied. "Nothing appeared to be damaged or stolen, besides the window upstairs. I would say it's personal. About a week ago, an android confronted him about their relationship."

"Yeah, it's weird," the same detective scowled, rolling his eyes. "He's living with this lady, taking care of her hand and foot, but acts like he's her grandkid."

Connor kept his 'poker face', as Hank might have put it: calm, without a hint of malice. But, deep down, he was insulted by the suggestion. 'Acting' was the word he had used. Louis was not Mrs. Wheeler's real blood, but that didn't mean his care for her couldn't possibly be real. It didn't mean that he didn't really love her.

"She was a lawyer. Cuda been someone she crossed?" one of the other detectives suggested.

"I'll look through her old cases," Connor offered. It was a job that would easily take a human weeks, if not months to do. Connor, however, could read through all her cases, her entire career, in a matter of hours.

The detectives cleared the room while an officer retrieved Louis from the interrogation room.

Connor returned to his desk and set his hand on the scanning pad sitting on his desk. It was an interface for androids, much faster than a mouse and keyboard, giving him something akin to a nuerolink with the computer and thus all of the Detroit Police Station's databases. He did a search for Evelin Wheeler. He first confirmed Louis' claims. It was true that Mrs. Wheeler had no living relatives. Her husband had died almost five years ago. She had a very decorated history as a lawyer, most of them being small claims, family courts, and the likes.

"There was something else-" Hank said quietly. Connor looked up from his desk, across to where Hank sat opposite of him at his own desk. "-wasn't there?"

Typical Hank, always seeing right through him.

Connor stood up and walked around to Hank's side. He sat down at the outmost facing corner of his L shaped desk. Hank swiveled in his chair to give Connor his attention. "The android-" Connor began, quiet, almost whispering, "-that confronted Louis in the park. I didn't get the impression that he was particularly worried about Louis. He seemed more angry to see an android and a human together."

Hank's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Connor," he began, in that voice that Connor knew quite well. It was softer than the way he usually spoke; the voice he used when he was worried about something. "If that is what it ends up being, don't let it get personal."

"I-"

I won't, was what he wanted to say. But-

"What if I can't?" Connor asked, sincere.

Strangely enough, Hank smiled a little. "Welcome to the force..."

Hank swiveled around in his chair to continue tapping away at his computer screen. Connor lingered for a second, pondering over what he just said, before standing up and returning his desk. 'Don't get personal' was a code all detectives had to follow. They had to see through the eyes of the law, preserve justice, without prejudice.

But that-

-was something only a machine could do.

And Connor wasn't a machine.

...

...

...

The days that followed were, unsurprisingly, busy days. You worked long shifts, drove home, and immediately undressed, flopped on your bed, and promptly passed out, just to get up early and do it all over again.

Honestly, you wanted a change of pace; but, at the same time, the thought of abandoning the clinic was mortifying. You didn't hold resentment for management over the way things were. It was difficult finding people willing to do the job. You, alongside every other nurse, was there because you wanted to be. The pay was well enough to live comfortably, but not well enough to lure in more potential employees. The clinic didn't exactly have a stable source of income, relying on donations and government funding.

Besides, there was no denying that tensions were high right now. Androids who came in were often afraid of being worked on by humans, and humans were afraid of getting close to androids.

Or, sometimes, one side hated the other.

Every so often, a text would come in from Connor. Even if it was the most pointless thing, it made the day feel so much brighter.

"Please don't forget to stay hydrated", he had said once in the early morning hours, perfect grammar naturally. You contemplated on that response through a shit-eating grin. Should you be sincere? Or maybe tease him? But, then, a patient came in and you were distracted for hours, unable to respond.

When you got the chance to check your phone again, you finally decided on a reply, right after chugging a bottle of water. "yes sir :P," you texted back.

Connor replied in a few seconds. "I prefer 'detective'."

Grinning, you replied, "yes oFfiCeR."

Work kicked up again and it was a few hours before you managed another chance to steal a glance at your phone. Connor had replied sometime while you were away.

"That's acceptable, too," he had said. He must have contemplated whether that would come across rudely because he had followed it up a few seconds later with a winking emoji.

You felt like a kid texting your crush in class, high on hormones, staring doe-eyed at the screen. One of your coworkers bumped your shoulder with her own, removing your attention from the screen.

"Somebody has a boooyyyfrriieeend," she cooed.

You scoffed at her through a smile and nudged her away with your arm, unable to put your phone down. She laughed, walking over to the coffee maker. "If I make a batch, will you have some?"

You glanced up at her. She was waving carafe questioningly. "Oh, fuck yeah," you agreed. "All I've had for lunch is a fucking apple."

"I have extra yogurts in the fridge. Help yourself," she offered kindly.

"Oh I-"

"Yes, you can. Shut up," she interrupted with a grin.

You tossed her a harmless, teasing glare.

"I only buy the good flavors," she added on, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Smiling, you looked back at your phone. "Sorry for taking so long to reply. Busy day... every day is a busy day," you texted back. You almost tucked your phone back into your pocket before you scrambled to open it back up, and added, "detective."

After some coffee and a raspberry cream yogurt, you returned to the floor.

It was amazing that even months after the incident, androids were coming in with injuries from the revolution. They were scared, understandably, and didn't know where to go to get help, afraid they would be labeled as terrorists and arrested.

It took a lot of feedback from the president and governor to make any real progress. Anti-discrimination laws were being passed left and right; but, only time was going to heal those wounds. You still saw "no android" signs posted all over town, people proudly proclaiming they weren't going to hire any androids.

You weren't even sure if you would see progress in your lifetime.

It wasn't until late into the night and you were on your way out the door that you got a chance to check your phone again. It was almost dead, but had enough juice to check your messages.

"I don't know if I can help at all," Connor had written. "But If I can, I will."

You smiled. Of course he would say something like that.

You climbed into your car, shivering from the cold and got it started, the heater blasting, before you continued reading.

"Let me know if you made it home safely. Please."

You smiled and texted him back, "driving home now. let you know when I'm safe in bed."

Thirty minutes or so later, you had made it home, brushed your teeth, changed clothes, brushed back your hair, and was tucked away in bed. As promised, you checked your phone where it was perched on its charger at your bedside.

"home and safe," you messaged him.

He had replied before you even set the phone down. "That's good. Thank you."

You were about to set it down when a devilish thought crossed your mind.

"gonna try to get some sleep but cant stop thinking about you."

"I am unharmed. There's no need to worry. Please get some rest," he replied promptly.

You rolled your eyes fondly and chuckled.

"not like that silly," you messaged him back.

Part of you wanted to press on, longing for some intimacy to break up the long, exhausting work days. But, then, you remembered that it was nearing midnight, you had to get up early, and Connor was likely busy trying to do his own job.

"goodnight, Connor," you sent out with a fond sigh before placing the phone down and rolling over.

The screen lit up again and you reached for it. It was a simple reply. It just said, "Goodnight. Sleep well". But, for some reason, you stared at it for a long time. You hadn't known him for very long, maybe jumped the gun a few nights ago, not that you regretted it.

Rather, you felt like you were high, floating on some euphoria unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

You were-

-falling for Connor.

...

...

...

Jericho was no more. But, from the ashes of Jericho rose Haven, a boarding house of sorts for androids still trying to find their way in the world, or just looking for a place to stay, maybe even just seeking refuge from humans. Connor was well aware that not everyone was as lucky as he was. He was accepted back onto the force reluctantly, but far more gracefully than most androids found themselves in. Hank had his back. Most androids didn't have someone like Hank in their lives.

Since the revolution, Markus had taken to restoring Haven. What was once an abandoned apartment building was now a beautiful safehouse for androids. Humans weren't welcomed here. It was an unspoken rule. After all, not all the androids here were ready to trust humans again, were ready to live alongside them.

Connor came here with the hopes of finding Markus. He probably wouldn't like the reason Connor was here; but, he wanted to catch this android before he killed again. Or, at the least, rule him out as a suspect.

As soon as Connor passed the threshold, all eyes fell on him. They looked uneasy to see him, some leaning in and uttering amongst themselves. The deviant hunter. The one that works for the police. RK800, who exceeded them all in every possible way.

They were afraid of him.

Markus called out to him, "Connor!" It was a sort of fondness that Connor recognized, something akin to the way friends would greet each other.

He wasn't sure if he could Markus his friend. He had hunted him for months, the beginning of his life nothing but ending the deviancy. Markus didn't show anger when Connor pointed a gun at him. He was only ever understanding. Connor had delivered an army to Markus; but, still, unsurprisingly, most in his party looked at Connor with untrusting eyes. He didn't blame them.

With Markus honing in on Connor, everyone around visibly relaxed, directing their attention away from them.

"I'm sorry, Markus. I'm not here for pleasantries," Connor stated.

"I'm not surprised," Markus replied, oddly sounding not the least bit upset. "We can talk in private, if needed?" Markus offered his hand, tan skin faded away to expose the pale white layer beneath.

Connor took his hand without hesitation. In their bond, they spoke, unheard by all the others.

"A woman was murdered this morning. I wanted to rule out a suspect," Connor explained.

"I see," Markus replied. "-and you think they're here?"

"This android showed a distaste for human and android relationships. The women he murdered had an android living with her," Connor explained.

He shared some of Louis' memories, of him attending the Thirium Clinic with Mrs. Wheeler, asking her what she wanted for dinner, taking her to the park. Connor didn't miss the way Markus' hand stiffened, fingers unconsciously tightening a little at the sight. Then, Connor showed him Louis' memory of the park and the android that confronted him, what he had said to Louis.

"I-... I see," Markus said, sounding a little lost for a second. "I have seen him here before. But, it's been a few days. His name is Robert. I never imagined he would-..." Markus trailed off, wondering if he even had a right to say something like that. He didn't know every android. He couldn't possibly make claims on their actions.

"I hope I'm wrong, Markus," Connor said lowly. "But, I can't take the chance."

"Connor, I understand that this... coming here... must not have been easy. If it comes down to it, I will make sure that they see, for us to be equal, that means we have to pay for crimes, too..."

Connor let go of Markus' hand, ending their brief connection. He gave him a nod and spoke aloud again, "thank you, Markus."

He turned to leave and took a single step before the android called out to him.

"Connor, you're always welcome here." Markus approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I want you know that..."

When he thought about it, Connor realized he never really spent much time with other androids. He was immediately assigned to the police department, worked primarily with Hank, and even returned after the revolution. Then, there was you... Was that strange? That he never really spent any time with his own kind...

"I understand," Connor replied lowly, rotating his body to face Markus. "I appreciate that you welcome me here; but, the others don't share that sentiment. I hold no resentment. They have every right to be wary of me."

"If you gave them a chance, they'd come around," Markus suggested softly.

"I don't doubt that, Markus, but... It isn't compatible with the path I've chosen..."

Markus let go of Connor's shoulder. The sad expression he gave Connor caught him off-guard.

"If that ever changes, you'll always have a home here," Markus replied sincerely.

It was difficult for Connor to imagine a home different than the one he already had. His home was Hank's house with Sumo on his lap while Hank shouted at the basketball match on the TV screen. Home was his apartment at 1 in the morning, Hank passed out on his sofa after hours of arguing over a case. Home was-... was you, patching him after he tore up his hand trying to arrest a lunatic strung out on a concoction of drugs and alcohol.

"I'll remember that," he replied quietly. He meant it, even if he wasn't sure he wanted it.

[filipinoizukuu]

I have the notebook in hand now I beg you for explanation

HSBFNDSJNFVN my dearest snail oh jeez 😭 i have about maybe dozens of stories about accidentally being y/n, so i'm prayin and hopin none of my IRLs see this. Some details hidden for privacy.

LONG story ahed, so be warned.

-

So. End of winter to early spring about a year before COVID-19. I was still a little snot-nosed high schooler hanging out with my friends and generally being a nuisance upon society. For those of you that have never seen me in real life, the first thing you need to know was that I was adorable, female-presenting, and had the appearance of a goody-two-shoes star student down to a T.

Now, the second thing you need to know is about my friend group and how a majority of them were guys.

I'm not talking about like, darling boy-next-doors and fellow star-student nerds. I'm talking about teenage boys. GUYS guys. Rowdy and wrestling in the hallways, getting into fights, and pulling (harmless) pranks on each other kind of guys. The gross type because I love my friends but even I can admit they're kind of gross.

One day after school, we're hanging out in someone's truck on the way to a get-together. There are about four of us just chilling, me being the only girl. Someone's phone goes off and we look to see one of us pick up his phone.

Now, this friend, let's call him S.

S picks up the phone and starts talking to it. We hear bits and pieces of the conversation and he sounds a little nervous. He puts the phone down and looks at us with a weird expression and says he needs to get home.

"What gives, S?" we ask, slouching in our seats and drinking sweet tea, like all other self-respecting teenage hooligans. "Who was that?"

S explains to us very carefully that he just got off the phone with his auntie and that she wants to have a sit-down and dinner with him. We coo and make fun of him a little and acquiesce, driving on over to his place to drop him off and embarrass him in front of his parents as friends do. We tell him as much when S lights up and looks at us like he just got the world's best idea.

(Heads up! It was not.)

"Guys! I have a better idea."

The rest of us look at each other. "Which is...?"

"What if I pretend to have a girlfriend to impress my Aunt?"

Record scratch. Pause. I suddenly remember that I am the only pretty 'ole lady in this small and stuffy truck. In an instant, all eyes on the vehicle are on me.

No, hell no. I think to myself, there's no way I'm ever going to do this. This is how every fanfic starts and I am absolutely not emotionally available enough to do this. And you know what? That's exactly what I should've said.

Instead, what came out of my mouth was this:

"Buy me a tub of ice cream and I'm all yours."

And thus, the devil's deal was sealed.

Minutes later, we're exiting the truck and looking over at S's white picket fence and perfectly maintained garden. S goes with me and I suck it up, bracing myself for the performance of my lifetime. We do not hold hands and our other friend (E) walks behind us while dying of laughter. S opens the door and we are immediately greeted by the sight of his kind-looking Auntie welcoming him with open arms.

S waltzes in.

"Auntie... this is my girlfriend, Codi."

Now, a quick word about me and how I was in real life at the point of this story. I looked the part of an adorable overachieving student, and while my grades did match up, my attitude sure as hell didn't. I'm naturally a very loud and boisterous person. I 'get into fights' and curse just as well as the rest of them. I had a reputation in a few areas for having the knack of making my underclassmen cry. The point being, I wasn't a saint.

But I was a damn good actor.

"Hi Auntie!" I greet with the peppiest and highest voice I could manage. I skip towards her and shake her hand, smiling like a cracked-up cheerleader in a Coca-Cola ad from the '80s when they made it with actual cocaine. "Your nephew S is just about the sweetest thing ever. He's so nice and smart and I'm incredibly lucky to have him!" I lie through my teeth.

In the background, I can hear E on the verge of deranged cackling while S just stands there and coughs into his fist like an emotionally constipated tuberculosis patient.

My Limit of the Day has been reached, so I shoot Auntie S a quick grin when she enthusiastically thanks me for my services and then haul my ass out their door, E hot on my heels. We leave S behind to deal with whatever shitstorm came after and I tried my best to not look back.

The moment the old truck door slams shut behind us, E abso-fucking-lutely loses it, guts busting with how much he's laughing. We high-tail it to the get-together and I make him swear up and down to not mention it for the rest of the day. It's over, at this point, the thing's been done and there's no other damage than my sanity and maybe S's relationship with his aunt. At least, that is what I thought.

Hours later, S texts me.

hey so um. remember that thing earlier?

Odd question, because how could I not?

yeah so. my aunt stayed for dinner and my parents arrived early and they asked me about school so. long story short... my whole family thinks we're dating.

Predictably, I lose my mind. I ask myself how I got into this situation and then imagine the sweet, sweet ice cream waiting for me at the end of this ride. I'm like, okay! This isn't so bad! It's actually really funny if I think about it enough. At least it's contained, right? I say my famous last words. It's not like I'll ever actually meet his family again.

So I go to bed and decidedly Pass Go, Collect $200 on any fanfics or other friendly drama that night.

The next week, I walk into school. I'm going about my normal business when I bump into my friend group. They pounce on me like a hound of dogs, making rounds of congratulations with varying faces of amusement. "What?" I go, like an oblivious idiot.

From like 15 feet down the hall, a familiar figure turns the corner and I lock eyes with him. Something clicks into place and I realize that there were actual witnesses to S's convoluted brownie-points shenanigan that I didn't consider.

"E," I say. "you are so fucking dead."

My friend group, who E had apparently told about my whole schtick as S's Rent-a-Girlfriend, breaks out into laughter and dodges as I power-walked my way to kick E's shins with the fury of a thousand 5'3 suns.

We went about the rest of our day until it hit lunch break, and of course who else to apparently wait for me in front of my class other than S himself.

S grabs me by the wrist and pulls me along throughout the campus. We're lightly conversing the whole time, me weaseling a time and date to my beloved reward tubs of ice cream as promised. Without me realizing it, we end up in front of two very familiar rooms.

Another thing, really quickly, about this whole storyline. S was not just an ordinary friend, you see. He was special, in a way, in such that his two closest friends were my crush (at the time) and his best friend who I'd recently rejected. Now those two have a whole 'nother story on their own which I'd deign to discuss publically, so you'll have to settle for those apt descriptions.

So, those two aforementioned mutual friends of ours walk out of those rooms and turn to make eye contact with us. They laugh, good-naturedly, and I sigh in relief because it seems that of all people, E had not gotten the hot gossip to them just yet.

I beckon the two of them over, being none the wiser and thinking we could take our break together when the final straw hits

S throws his arm over my shoulders and pulls me closer.

"Hey guys, Codi's my girlfriend now!"

... You can guess where the argument fits now in this timeline.

(I got my ice cream very shortly after. We're all friends now and it's all water under the bridge! This was a long story so if you've made it this far, just know that this is all but a funny memory to look back on for me and I've since moved on.)

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 5

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Alright friends first of all, Merry Christmas! I hope everyone can enjoy the holidays despite the shitstorm we’re in. Now fair warning, there is a lot more angst in this one. There will be cuteness, but it might be wrapped in angst and sadness. So um…happy holidays?  Seriously though, especially around this time of year, if you’re triggered by mentions of loss, see below on what to skip. 

Warnings: Descriptions of death, depression and harassment.  Seriously if you’re triggered by mentions of losing loved ones, you might want to skip everything past the ***

For the entire drive to Billie’s house, you were wondering what your problem was. You were truly wanting to see the kittens again, but going to Billie’s was risky. It was risky, but you were doing it anyway. It would be so easy to just give into anything the medium wanted. You already knew that you couldn’t say no to her.

That wasn’t going to bode well for you in the future, but for now all you cared about was that you were going to be with Billie alone. In her house.

You hadn’t been alone with just her before. It was a little intimidating and the fact that it was going to be at her place didn’t help matters. You took a deep breath as you followed the blonde into a secluded and as far as you could tell in the dark, nice neighborhood. You couldn’t be far now, so you only had so much time to gather your courage.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be alone with Billie. You did. You enjoyed spending time with her. However, you realize that you’re not ready for anything that Billie’s teased you about. It was just too soon and honestly you didn’t trust that this wasn’t all just an elaborate daydream. You didn’t want to rush things and end up ruining whatever it was you two shared.

A couple of minutes later you arrive to a large house that has a lot of lights on inside. You wonder why this is until you remember the kittens. The pet sitter.

Heather.

She must have just left because there was no car on the street and Billie didn’t seem concerned enough about the cats to rush inside.  She led you into the house and you looked around at the interior for only a few seconds before you hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. You look up and see Bit running down the stairs with a kitten in her mouth. You can’t tell who it is, but Billie can and she quickly moves to intercept Bit.

“Bit, give him here! Leave him alone.”

You watch as Billie retrieves the kitten that Bit places on the bottom stair before bounding toward you. You let Bit rub up against your legs while Billie picks up Mickey and inspects him carefully. She walks over to you while shooting Bit an annoyed look that she couldn’t care less about.

“She’s gotten in the habit of moving him around and hiding him from me.”

Your eyes widen at this as you look back to Bit who is now trying to use you as a scratching post. You step away because you don’t want her to shred your pants. These were also some of your only clothes that didn’t have cat or dog hair on them, but that clearly wasn’t going to last.

“She does this a lot?”

You ask in your vet voice without thinking and you want to groan in annoyance. However, Billie doesn’t seem to notice or care and just nods with a sigh of defeat. When she gets a little closer you get a better look at Mickey and your heart melts. He’s so cute. He’s curled up in Billie’s hand, half up the sleeve of her blazer as he tried to get warm.

“Whenever he’s not nursing, she’ll walk him by me or Heather and dump him somewhere.”

You reach out to scratch his little head watching as he snuggles into Billie’s hand.

“He’s so cute. Oh my god.”

Billie chuckles before nodding in agreement. He is adorable and she’s fallen for him quickly. She’d already decided that she was going to keep him. She wasn’t sure how she’d make it work, but she wasn’t going to be able to part with him easily. She shrugged as she mentioned this noticing how you perked up a little at the idea.

“Aww good. He clearly loves you already.”

Billie just smiles at this before she looks back toward where Bit has started back up the stairs. She had abandoned you when you wouldn’t give her the attention she wanted, but hopefully she was going back to her kittens.

“Want to check on the rest of them?”

You nod and go to follow the blonde up that stairs, but you hesitate once you realize you hadn’t taken off your shoes. You were still in the foyer and you start to back track when you hear Billie’s voice. You hadn’t realized that you’d hesitated for so long.

“Don’t worry about it, just follow me.”

You follow the sound of Billie’s heels up the stairs as you look back to the floor you just left. It’s all very clean, not that you’d expect anything given Billie’s meticulous behavior. The last thing you notice before you reach the top of the stairs are the many, many books on a shelf that is tucked against the far wall.

“They’re all in here.”

You turned your attention back to Billie as you follow her into the laundry room. You see Bit sitting in the corner on a bed with all of her kittens, minus Mickey of course. You smile widely before shooting Billie a questioning look to which she simply waves you toward the kittens. You hurry toward where they’re sitting, shooting Bit a look before you’re on your knees in front of them. Screw cat hair.

“How have they been doing?”

You can’t help but ask, and if you had been facing her, you would have seen Billie’s smile. She tells you that they are all doing well. They’re probably only a couple weeks away from being weaned, and that makes Billie excited. This whole kitten thing was stressful and so much more time consuming than she could have anticipated. They seem to be growing so quickly and all of their eyes are opened and all but two have their ears completely open. You mutter something about needing litter soon and Billie’s responding groan makes you laugh.

You stand up after you’ve looked over each of Bit’s non-Mickey kittens. You’re satisfied with how they look and decide that further examination can wait. You turn to see that Mickey is now wrapped in a blanket and Billie is holding him to her chest as she watches you stand up.

“He’s been acting okay?”

Billie nods before admitting that she’d worked from home today so she could keep an eye on him. She’d been so worried and hadn’t wanted to be calling Heather every 15 minutes today. She’d only been over because of your date, but Billie had called her on the way home to check in.

“Heather said he was fine. He was very active. Crawling around and looking for snuggles.”

That makes you smile and you move a little closer so you can get a better look at Mickey. It isn’t until you’re just inches away from him that you notice how close you’re standing to Billie and you blush slightly. You look up at the medium noticing she’s looking at you and not Mickey, and you step back with an apology on the tip of your tongue.

You don’t get a chance to retreat before you feel a hand come up to your cheek. You jump slightly in surprise but don’t say anything as you look up back up to Billie. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the medium brushes her fingers along your jaw, and you gasp as she lifts your head. She’s smiling, but it’s not the cocky smile you were expecting. She’s just watching you as your eyes dart between her own and her lips before she breathes out a sigh.

You’re so close you can smell the hints of wine and chocolate on her breath. You can’t help but want to-.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

This isn’t what you were expecting, but you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You don’t dare look away when her look changes to a questioning one. Billie looks to your slightly parted lips before meeting your gaze again.

You swear that if she doesn’t kiss you soon you might explode.

The little mewl that you hear would have made you embarrassed if it had come from you. You know it wasn’t Billie because of the way that she’s looking at you all calm and confident. It isn’t until you determined that it wasn’t either of you, that you remembered that you weren’t alone. You look away from Billie who was already looking down at the bundle in her arm.

Mickey.

Right.

He was still held against Billie and the blonde was shifting him already. She dropped her hand from beneath your chin, and you would never admit how much you missed it, as she moved to put him down for the night. It was nearly 10 after all.

You should get going.

Instead, you watch as Billie takes great care tucking in each of the kittens and making sure they are situated. You love seeing Billie like this so you don’t interrupt as she goes through what must be a nightly routine at this point. When she finishes up, you’re still standing in the spot she’d left you in watching her. She smiles at you before motioning for the door.

“Let’s go back downstairs. Can I get you something to drink?”

You think about refusing and going home because it really is getting late. However, as you watch Billie stop at the doorway and shoot you a questioning look you realize that the last thing you want to do right now is go home. So you just nod and follow the blonde out of the room. Billie turns the light in the laundry room off before leading you back downstairs. She walks slowly enough that you have time to regain your composure and slow your heartrate by the time you reach the kitchen.

You notice the cigarettes and lighter sitting on the counter immediately.

“Any requests?”

You shake your head because you couldn’t care less right now. You weren’t even really thirsty.

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

Billie nods before going to a cupboard and grabbing two glasses and a pitcher of water from the fridge. You don’t think much of it as you take the offered cup with a quiet thank you before draining nearly half of it. You stand at the counter with Billie on the other side and just stand in silence for a moment.

It’s heavy and awkward.

It’s not like anything you’ve felt with Billie and it was making you want to say something. Anything.

“Thank you for dinner.”

Billie clearly hadn’t been expecting you to say this, but she smiles nevertheless as she nods her head.

“Of course, Y/N. I had a wonderful time.”

“It’s getting late. I should probably go.”

You smile before you can stop yourself, and you try to hide it by nodding in agreement. You’d had a great time getting to know Billie and opening up a little bit to her as well. You sigh as you glance to the clock on the wall with a frown.

She doesn’t argue and follows you as you make your way back to the foyer. You stop before you reach it and Billie keeps walking until she’s only a couple of feet from you. After a few seconds and a deep breath, you turn back around towards the medium with a nervous look. You’re biting your lip as you search Billie’s expression for any indication of how she’d like this night to end.

Billie’s just watching you with a curious smile that makes you want to sigh in defeat. Why does everything need to be so confusing?

“Or I could stay, for a little bit.”

Billie takes a step toward you closing the distance between the two of you with a shrug. She gets close enough to you that you can smell her perfume again, but not be overwhelmed by it.

“You could.”

She says this as if it is a simple fact, not allowing herself to persuade you one way or the other. That alone is almost enough to make your decision for you.

“Maybe for just a second.”

You take the last step between the two of you and your hands come up to grip her lapels. You stop last minute and simply smooth them down before looking to Billie for permission before meeting her lips with yours.

You had spent a lot of time thinking about what it would feel like to kiss Billie Dean. You had predicted that you’d get lightheaded, your heart would skip a beat, and maybe that you’d feel giddy.

In reality it was all this and more. You felt at home in the blonde’s arms, and you allowed Billie to pull you closer so your hips collided with hers. Your mouth falls open in a gasp and Billie takes this as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. The medium’s lips move against yours more insistently and you feel yourself squirm as she brings a hand to your cheek before pulling away.

You pout but don’t get to protest before Billie is moving away to shoot you a relieved look.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You blush a little but can’t help but smile widely at the thought of Billie wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss her. You consider leaning in to do just that in response when Billie’s voice breaks through your lust.

“We don’t have to go any further than this though. Not if you don’t want to.”

Your gaze drops to the floor as you worry about how transparent you’d been. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You honestly have imagined it an embarrassing number of times. You just weren’t ready. Billie seemed to realize this and luckily she didn’t fault you for it.

She simply smiled before she’s lifting your head again to meet her gaze.

“I need you to tell me what you want, sweetheart. I don’t want to pressure you.”

You blush heavily at the pet name, the proximity and just what Billie Dean is saying. You manage to nod though before you clear your throat and take a small step back. The distance helps you think a little better, and hopefully Billie doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I-thank you. I do want to go further, eventually, but I’m not quite ready.”

The medium just smiles kindly before nodding in response. She reaches out to play with your hair before stopping short with another nod. She’s trying not to get too carried away and has to keep herself from reaching out to touch you.

“That’s perfectly fine. I can be patient.”

You smile appreciatively before you decide to close the distance and kiss Billie again. This time your hand finds its way to the hair you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks. It was even softer than you thought it would be, and you groan before pulling away far too soon for your liking. You know that if you don’t leave now, you won’t be able to stick to your word.

Watching Billie pout slightly as you move away from her doesn’t help your resolve any.

You smile before taking another step back toward the door.

“I should probably go. If I want to keep my word, I should leave.”

Billie must be struggling a little too because she merely nods and walks you to the door. You are reaching out to open the front door when you feel a hand on your arm. You turn holding your breath in anticipation to see Billie merely smiling at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile, still slightly tense before you nod quickly. You want to say more, you’d like to do more, but you don’t.

“Goodnight, Billie.”

You leave before you can do anything else and Billie just watches you go.

The trip home is long and tense for you despite only living about 20 minutes away. You dig into your purse for your keys and upon opening the door are immediately greeted by a furry face.

“Hi, Milo.”

You scratch him behind his ears before running inside to change your clothes so you can take him out. You’re glad to get out of them because you feel like you’re suffocating from being so covered up. You’re sweating and you curse under your breath as you throw something on before running back downstairs. Your hair’s a mess, but you don’t pay it much attention as you tell Milo to go get his leash. As the shepherd darts away, you pull your phone out of your pocket when it vibrates.

Make it home okay?

You smile at Billie’s continued thoughtfulness before typing out a quick response. You’re startled out of your daydreaming by a sudden bark and you hush Milo before putting on his leash and heading out.

It’s cooler than it was earlier today and for some reason you put on an outfit that leaves you freezing. You curse as you follow Milo’s lead to the nearest tree. You’re too distracted by the cold to notice at first, but there are more people outside than you’d expect for nearly 11 at night.

You don’t pay it much mind before you head down the street to take Milo on a little longer walk. You’re only walking for a few minutes before you start to feel like someone’s watching you. You walk in a circle, confusing Milo, but it lets you spot a couple that’s just walking to their car. You watch them leave before shaking your head at your own paranoia.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re exhausted and only want to shower and go to sleep. You leave Milo with a treat before jumping into the shower. You’re too exhausted to spend too much time in there, so you’re out and in bed in less than 10 minutes.

Running your hand through your damp hair you reach for your phone to check your emails and text messages. You ignore the work-related ones because it’s late, but you notice that one of your friends from vet school has texted you. You don’t text her back because it’s 3 am there, although knowing her she’s probably up, and decide to respond tomorrow.

You don’t have a lot of friends from school that you still keep in touch with. The last month before graduation had been crazy. You’d been trying to lock down your job here and figure out how to move your entire life across the country. Then your dad had died and that had made everything else in your life grind to a halt.

He’d been the most important part of your support system since your mom had died when you were 10. Your sisters had moved out at that point and it was just you living at home with him while going to school. You lived so close it just made sense, so you’d spend a lot of your time with him. Most of it was just studying, but it was still nice to be around him.

When you started dating your ex, he had been supportive despite not really liking her. Which of course you didn’t find out until after the fact.  

He’d listen to you complain about her and he encouraged you to adopt Milo. He had been your whole world and losing him so suddenly had been like nothing else you’d ever experienced.

Honestly, you were still experiencing the aftermath of his death.

Already two months later, but it seemed like yesterday when you’d found him…

You shake your head in an attempt to free yourself from these morbid thoughts.

How did you go from the high of being on a date and then kissing Billie Dean Howard to thinking about losing your dad?

Then it occurs to you that Father’s Day is Sunday.

You don’t notice Milo push open the door to your room before jumping on the foot of your bed. Usually, you make him sleep on the floor, but you were too caught up in your thoughts to care at the moment. You sigh at the realization that this weekend is going to be awful before you get under the covers and try to think about something else.

You only partially succeed and by the time you fall asleep Milo is lying right next to you, but you don’t feel any better.

Billie’s on her 5th cigarette since you’d left her house only an hour and a half ago. She can’t sleep despite being exhausted because she can’t think of anything other than you. She knew that you both had made the right decision, especially if you weren’t ready, but damn it if Billie didn’t wish you had been.

She’d been attracted to you the moment she met you. You’d been confident, personable and very cute in your white coat. It wasn’t until you both had lunch that Billie had an opportunity to get to know you better. She’d learned what you liked and what was important to you. She’d seen how often you blush and despite being a little shy, she can tell that you’re hiding a lot of your confidence.

Billie had seen glimpses of it when Y/N had been comfortable enough to flirt with her or instigate things. Like tonight.

She was excited to see more of this side of you.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen tonight and Billie just needed to deal with it. She took one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out and heading upstairs. She checked on the kittens and Bit, all of them at least laying down before heading to her room.

She knew she needed to go to sleep. She had a lot to do tomorrow, but here it was almost 1 in the morning with sleep nowhere in sight. She was tense despite smoking like a chimney for two hours. She just couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Billie takes a quick shower, cold shower before crawling into bed. She stares at the ceiling for 20 minutes before finally giving in. She gets out of bed and goes downstairs for a drink and another cigarette.

It was going to be a long night.

You wake up sweaty and uncomfortable the next morning. It isn’t until you push Milo off of your chest that you feel a little better. You sigh as he hops off the bed and runs around in circles waiting for you to get up.

It’s only 7 in the morning and you don’t work today. You had intended to sleep in, but apparently that wasn’t happening. Milo had started to yip from where he was sitting by the door waiting for you, so you admit defeat and roll out of bed. You tell Milo to wait as you run into the bathroom to make yourself presentable. A few minutes later you’re dressed and grabbing your coat by the front door as you attach Milo’s leash.

“Come on, buddy.”

You get down the stairs before you realize that you forgot your phone, but soon that’s the least of your concerns.

Milo is peeing on a tree when you hear a car door slam. You jump slightly because you’re still half awake, but otherwise you ignore it while you wait for Milo to finish up.

It isn’t until you hear someone call your name, someone you don’t recognize that you turn. You tense in confusion and panic as you see the cameras and you take a step back as a reflex.

“Ms. Y/L/N!”

“Is it true you’re in a relationship with Billie Dean Howard?”

You stop in your tracks at the question because despite it making sense, it catches you off guard. This clearly shows and the trio just stand in front of you, occasionally blinding you with the flash of a camera before you gather your senses.

“Who? Wait, what?”

You nearly kick yourself for that answer because seriously? How dumb are you?

You get really flustered at the idea of sounding like a total idiot and you turn to see Milo is eying the trio warily. One of them snaps another picture and the flash blinds Milo who shakes his head furiously as he backs away.

You’re too annoyed to answer and you just lead Milo away from them as fast as you can. You’re wondering how the hell they figured out who you were so quickly. As you nearly run back inside with Milo you figure that someone must have followed you home last night. The thought makes you extremely uncomfortable which means that you’re a little ruder than you should be when you throw a ‘no comment’ over your shoulder.

“Hey, knock it off! You’re blinding him.”

Once you’re back in your apartment, you fall back against the door with a sigh of relief. You look to Milo who is sitting at your feet whining for food, the incident probably forgotten. You wish you could do that, but as you hurry to feed Milo, you wonder how the hell you’ll be able to leave without them following you.

Billie had barely finished a meeting with her producer when Michelle was running toward her. She looked frazzled and the medium was already having flashbacks of Wednesday. She held her breath hoping that it wasn’t the kittens before she shot the other blonde a nervous look.

“Do I want to know?”

Michelle hesitates for a second before she decides that this is important and Billie definitely wants to know. She had been surprised by what she’d seen. She made a habit of monitoring social media for Billie, she had someone who did it for her, but they clearly had taken the night off.

“Billie, I think you’ll want to see this.”

The medium frowns in confusion as Michelle passes her the tablet in her arms. There’s a website barely more reputable than TMZ open and a story that already has a million views splashed across the screen.

Medium Billie Dean Howard Seen on Second Date with Mystery Woman.

Oh god.

Billie looks to the pictures first and isn’t surprised to see that both times they’d gone out had been captured. She groans under her breath as she quickly reads the article that says nothing substantial. It’s all speculation and they don’t even mention Y/N by name. Billie makes a note to call you as soon as possible to prepare you for what you might face.

“That’s not…horrible.”

Billie Dean watches as Michelle cringes before she takes the tablet back from her to go to something else.

“That’s only the first story. There’s another one that came out this morning.”

Billie doesn’t have a chance to react before Michelle’s handing her a video from this morning. She watches it a couple of times before reading the blurb written underneath it. It’s not complimentary and she has to stop herself from cursing them before she returns the tablet.

“Is there anything else?”

Michelle shakes her head before stepping back so Billie can stand up. She needs to call Y/N now to apologize and talk about what to do next. She feels bad that you were ambushed and clearly not prepared to answer any questions.

“What would you like me to do?”

Billie Dean shakes her head as she grabs her phone. She doesn’t have a plan yet and that won’t change until she talks to you. She has a feeling you won’t stay anonymous for much longer. She says something to this effect and Michelle just nods before leaving to give Billie some privacy.

You’re debating on whether or not to take Milo on another walk when Billie calls you. You’d fed him almost an hour ago and it was time to go back outside, but you didn’t want to. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself, or god forbid Billie, again with your flustered ramblings. You had peeked outside from your window and seen that there were actually more cameras out there. They’d also caught the attention of your neighbors and now you really didn’t want to go outside.

You hear your phone vibrating from across the room and you hurry to go answer it. You’re relieved when you see that it’s Billie, and you answer quickly.

“Hey, Billie.”

Billie immediately notices how stressed you sound and she feels even worse for not having this conversation with you sooner.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m so sorry about this morning.”

You start walking around the room, too antsy to stand still as you shake your head. You nearly trip over Milo as you round the corner and see him just lying-in wait.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize.”

You eventually lie down on the couch to try and stop yourself from getting worked up. You don’t need to stress about this, do you? This doesn’t change anything for you. Not really. Sure it’s annoying to have people pestering you, but there has to be a way around that somehow. Billie is sure to know.

You hear her sigh before there’s some rustling in the background that you can’t place.

“I should have considered the possibility of people finding out once we went on a date. I should have mentioned it. I was just, a little distracted.”

You laugh before nodding in agreement. You hadn’t even really considered that this would be an issue. You never would have dreamed that people would give a damn about who you were. You figured they didn’t. They mostly wanted to know about Billie.

“Don’t worry. I was too. I didn’t even think about it when I went outside this morning, but I thought someone was following me last night. I guess I was right. “

You shrug as you say this, not noticing the silence on the other end as Billie considered your options. There were a couple of things that you could do. Before she thought too much into what she wanted to do, Billie wanted to check in with you since all of this was probably new to you. Billie knew from experience that the confusion and possible thrill of being the center of attention was transient. It would soon become annoying, and she didn’t want you to find this out the hard way.

“What do you want to do, Y/N?”

You’re a little distracted looking at Milo who is trying to jump onto the couch next to you when Billie says this. You frown when you realize you’ve missed something before you sit up a little, giving Milo the perfect opportunity to jump up and cover you in black fur.

“What do you mean?”

You wait in suspense as Billie lights a cigarette and takes a drag with a sigh.

“Well we can try to lie and deny that anything is going on between us, or we can just tell them. We can also say nothing, continue to go out and keep them guessing.”

You laugh at the last option and can’t help but want to do that. You’re not big on talking about your personal life which definitely includes making announcements about your relationships. You have already decided what you want to do, but you don’t want to be the only one making this decision.

“I don’t have a problem with keeping things quiet, but what did you have in mind?”

Billie smiled at your response. She was glad that you both seemed to be on the same page. She takes another drag before saying her piece.

“I don’t either. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

For some reason, these words didn’t sound like a threat to you. Your mind quickly went to last night and just how much you could have gotten yourself into. You felt your face flush slightly and you coughed to clear your throat before you sat up a little straighter. You don’t realize how far your mind has ventured into the gutter until Billie’s voice interrupts your train of thought.

“I didn’t mean that in a sexual way, sweetheart.”

You knew she didn’t, but your mind just had to go there. You’d been fairly frustrated since you woke up this morning. Not only had Milo tried to suffocate you in your sleep, but your dream had served as a reminder of what could have happened if you’d stayed at Billie’s last night.

“Right, I know.”

You cough again. Damn when did your throat get so dry?

“I appreciate it, but other than losing all rights to my privacy, what am I getting myself into?”

Billie hadn’t expected you to say this, so she hesitates before merely shrugging.

“Isn’t that enough?”

You both talk a little while longer about the potential of being harassed and how to respond to it. You both agreed that you probably shouldn’t play dumb because you’d demonstrated this morning that this isn’t convincing. Instead you agreed to just ignore them and only speak to them if you needed to remind them of their place. Like this morning.

“If someone does follow you home again, try and get their name and where they work. It’s against the law for them to do that.”

You just nod as you take notes, literally because there is a lot more to this than you originally thought. You now know that the paparazzi can’t trespass on private property (aka your apartment complex), can’t peek into it with their annoying cameras, or following you around in their cars.

You forget that you hadn’t walked Milo again until he whines and paws at your leg. It’s loud enough for Billie to hear him and you sigh when you realize you have to go back outside. That’s not going to be fun.

“I should probably go walk Milo again. Maybe I’ll test this theory of them not being allowed to follow me.”

Billie nods before she looks to the clock. She’s missed her meeting, but that can’t be helped at this point. She did need to return to work though.

“Just be careful, Y/N.”

You smile at her concern before nodding to yourself more than to Billie.

“I will. Thanks for the warning.”

You’re about to hang up when Billie’s voice comes through the phone again. It’s a little quieter than before and you are suddenly on high alert.

“Oh and, Y/N?”

You stop halfway off the couch pausing as you ask nervously.

“Yes?”

Billie’s smiling as she puts out her cigarette with a sigh. “You looked cute earlier.”

You roll your eyes at this as you stand all the way up and make your way back upstairs. You were definitely going to change into to something that wasn’t your sleepwear.

“Thanks, Billie.”

The rest of your day goes pretty well. You’d decided to spend most of the day away from home so that no one could bother you. Or at least that was the plan.

You’d taken Milo on another walk on the trails he liked so much, and hadn’t been noticed, or at least stopped by anyone. After that you’d spent the next few hours bouncing around to different dog-friendly restaurants around the city.

You’d mostly just checked emails and done some other things for work for the first couple hours. Then you ended up at a bar with Milo at the wrong time. Honestly, hadn’t today been tough enough? Why did you have to go and pick the exact place that your least favorite person in LA was?

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

You don’t turn immediately because you’re hoping that you are just imagining things. However, once Milo turns and his tail starts wagging at a familiar face, you have no choice but to acknowledge her.

Claire.

Damn it.

“Claire. Hi, how are you?”

Why did you have to ask that? Damn your southern tendencies.

The blonde smiles as she sits down in the empty seat across from you. You sit up a little so you don’t get in her way as she shrugs her shoulders before pointing in some vague direction.

“I’m just here with some friends, but I saw better company.”

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the blatant line. Luckily Milo catches your attention when he starts scratching and you smile before gesturing to him.

“Milo will be glad to hear that you think he’s good company.”

Claire’s smile contorts with her confusion before she seems to realize that you’re joking. You sigh as you take another sip of your water instead of the tequila in front of you. You have a feeling you’ll be leaving sooner rather than later. Especially if this goes in the direction that you think it is. That it has each and every time you see the blonde.

“You know I thought you were lying.”

You look back up at Claire to see that she’s smiling, and the way she’s looking at you makes you want to squirm. She’s amused and she looks almost impressed, so it doesn’t take much to figure out what she’s talking about. Still, you don’t want to have this conversation with her, or anyone but Billie, so you buy your time by playing dumb.

“Lying about what?”

It works about as well as it had this morning.

Claire laughs as she reaches down to pet Milo who is sitting between them. He looks up at the hand on his head and starts panting happily as Claire continues to scratch behind his ears.

“Having a girlfriend. I just thought you were shy.”

You’re not sure what to say in response. You hadn’t actually been with anyone when you’d told her this, and even if you had been—you hadn’t rejected her because you were shy. You just weren’t interested, but unfortunately the brunette was just dense as a brick.

You open your mouth to tell her this, at least the first part but she interrupts you.

“I was ac--.”

“I never would have dreamt that you were talking about Billie Dean Howard.”

You’re saved from having to make up a lie when your waiter comes by your table. When he asks if you need anything else, you shake your head, but then Claire speaks. You shoot her a look before turning back to the waiter before he can leave.

“I’ll have a shot of tequila.”

“And could you bring the check when you get a chance? Thanks.”

He nods before leaving the two of them alone. You give your tequila a second glance as you reconsider downing it. You’re saved from making that choice when Claire reaches out for it. You’re grateful in hindsight for the opening, but annoyed as hell at her rudeness.

“Are you going to finish this?”

You shake your head and watch as she throws it back like an alcoholic with wide eyes.  “Go for it. I need to leave soon anyway.”

You recall the text message you’d gotten from your friend about an hour ago. You were planning on responding later tonight, but you’d respond right now if it meant you could get out of this situation.

Claire pouts as she puts down your glass and shoots you a suspicious look. “Really? You have plans with the psychic?”

You correct her before you can stop yourself and you actually flinch which of course she notices.

“Medium. “

Claire is smiling victoriously and opens her mouth to say something that you certainly won’t like before you practically shout.

“And no. I don’t have plans with her.”

Eddie comes back with the check and Claire’s tequila and you quickly hand him enough cash to cover both the bill and a tip.

“Keep the change, and Claire, enjoy the drink.”

You untie Milo’s leash and stand up to leave. You know you’re being a little rude, but the way you see it she was rude first. You also don’t want to delve deeper into any questions she has about your relationship.

You and Milo leave the restaurant and make it to your car without incident. You are amazed by how paranoid you already are just after one unfortunate confrontation. Hopefully Billie is right and they’ll get bored when they realize you’re not giving them anything useful.

You arrive back to your apartment and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You lock the door behind you before pulling it out and realizing that it’s your friend again.

Two unread messages

Is this you??!

Okay, fine don’t answer. I was just wondering how you have been in LA for like a MONTH and are already dating a celebrity!?!

You decided that you’ve made your friend wait long enough, so you run upstairs to call her.

Are you free?

It not 10 seconds later when your phone starts to ring. Of course it’s her.

“Hey!”

“Hey?! That’s all I get? What about my questions?”

You laugh as you shake your head and move to close the door. You stop last minute when you realize that Milo didn’t follow you up and just go to lie on your bed with a sigh.

“Which one do you want me to answer first?”

The next couple of days are as busy as always. Working the weekend is your least favorite part of this job. Not only does it seem to drag on with random emergencies, but you are the only one working on Sunday. This means that when you’re slightly off your game and a little behind, there is no one to pick up the slack.  

***

You had woken up in a fairly predictable mood and now you were struggling to stay focused. You’d already had a random crying fit before breakfast when you had been reminded of your dad.

Things started to go downhill with the first appointment after lunch. A cat came in for excessive drinking and urination, classic signs of diabetes. Diagnosis and treatment were simple enough. That’s not what stumped you, or rather sent you spiraling. 

Your dad had died from diabetes. He’d had it since you were a teen, and he had refused to take insulin or any other medication. He ate and lived the way he wanted to and it had cost him. He’d died from a stroke most likely, and despite the fact that there was nothing you could have done differently to save him, you think otherwise almost daily. 

Despite your concentration being shot, you manage to make it through the rest of the day. Luckily you close earlier on Sunday than on any other day, and you’re out of the building by 5:15. You have records to complete but you’re worthless right now and won’t get anything done. You fear you didn’t hide you distress well because your tech Mina shoots you a worried look as she assures you that she’ll lock up. If you were in your right mind, you’d shoot her a smile, fake or not. Instead, you just nod and practically run outside with Milo.

You get home in record time too. You drive like a bat out of hell and practically jump out of the car once you arrive. You almost forget Milo but you turn back after a couple of steps and you both hurry inside. He runs inside and jumps on the couch while you stand with your back against the door. The stress of today is starting to catch up with you, and you feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of holding everything in. You take a deep, shuddering breath that comes out as a broken sob. You don’t know how long you stay crying against the door, but eventually you sink to the floor as you continue to sob.

This shouldn’t happen.

You shouldn’t still be at this stage of grief. It had been over two months and you’d cried more times than you can count. At first it was just whenever you thought about him which had been all the time, but after about a month of that it became more random. Random triggers like today would make you cry a little and then move on. 

Today; however, was completely different because it was Father’s Day.

A day that you would have spent with him doing all of his favorite things, namely watching family feud and eating brunch, was now spent working and thinking about him constantly. You thought about the last time that you’d seen him alive and well. You couldn’t explain it, but for some reason you were terrified that you’d forget what he sounded like. You had actually called his cell phone once, you hadn’t gotten around to cancelling it, and listened to his voicemail message an embarrassing number of times just so you could hear him.

Now, due to a reminder about what had taken him from you, you find yourself unable to think about anything else. You hate yourself for it, and you know that he’d hate it to. He wouldn’t want this. He would honestly tell you to buck up before making a joke of some sort. Probably of the dad variety.

Still, this doesn’t stop you from crying miserably on the floor. You rip off your jacket and throw it down beside you. After wiping your eyes angrily, you trying to think about something else. You take a deep breath before closing your eyes.

You eventually manage to grab your phone out of your pocket and just toss it on the ground. It had been digging into your side and you didn’t even bother checking it. You’d already seen the texts from your sisters and a couple of your vet school friends that you were closest too.

You weren’t going to text them back any time soon. You just couldn’t put on a brave face and say whatever reassuring words they needed to hear. You had been hiding behind them and pushing down your feelings for too long, and you had reached your limit.

You’re too busy recounting the events of that horrible night two months ago to hear Milo whine from beside you. You decide to get up and head to sleep because you can’t keep thinking about this. You look to the kitchen but shake your head since you’d lost your appetite long before lunch. Milo follows you, not that you notice and you practically collapse on your bed before you roll over onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

The last thing you think about before falling asleep is the sound of the sirens and the flashing lights of the police cars that crowded the street in front of your house.

Billie Dean was a little worried.

It was Monday and she hadn’t heard from you since she called you on Friday.

She knew that you had been working Saturday and Sunday, but she was fairly certain that you had the day off today. Not only that, but even when they both had been extremely busy at work, they’d managed to at least text each other at the end of the day. This hadn’t happened either night that Billie had texted you. In fact, she had almost half a dozen texts and a couple calls that you hadn’t returned.  

It wasn’t until about 3 pm that Billie remembered what yesterday had been.

Father’s Day.

It wasn’t even on her radar since her dad had died a number of years ago. She would have no reason to remember it except for the fact that she knew your dad had died. Fairly recently too.

You hadn’t mentioned anything to her, and Billie hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to pry so early in a relationship. She also didn’t want to explain how she knew something that she doubted you told many people.

It was one time when she wished that she didn’t have her gift.

When you had first walked into the exam room the day she’d brought Bit in, you hadn’t been alone. You had been accompanied by a man, that she now knew was your father. He looked like he was in his mid-60s, with graying hair and a friendly smile.

Billie had struggled to listen to you at first because she’d been so preoccupied by this man that neither you nor your assistant saw. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but the fact that he stuck to you so closely was very telling.

It wasn’t until their first date at the café, that Billie saw Y/N’s father again. He had been standing behind her for most of their date. He hadn’t said much. He mostly just stood next to Y/N, smiling at her and looking the part of a supportive, loving father as Y/N talked about her job.

Billie had been tempted to ask about him, or at least your family. However, your reaction to her mentioning passed loved ones had been so bad that she hadn’t wanted to risk it.  Now she was worried that she should have at least checked in and made sure you were okay.

Billie sent one more text, slightly more assertive this time before she decided to check in another way.

If you didn’t respond within the hour, she was going to check on you. She opened her computer to Google you again, but this time you had a few new hits thanks to those paparazzi that were practically stalking you. Billie looks to the first story to find the name of the apartment complex that you live in.

It’s a 30-minute drive from the studio. She’ll leave in thirty even if you did respond. Your out of character behavior was too much to overlook, especially given the holiday yesterday. Billie sighed as she looked to the clock and lit another cigarette to help pass the time.

She only lasted five minutes before she was leaving work and on her way to you.

Today had been a blur for you. You woke up at nearly 3 in the morning to Milo pawing you, and after walking him you laid in bed for a few hours. You hadn’t been able to fall asleep, you’d mostly been thinking and worrying and crying. You hadn’t eaten in a while, but you hardly noticed as your mind continued to run rampant.

When your dad had died, the worst thing for you had been realizing that you were going to live the rest of your life without seeing him again. There were pictures of course, only a few because your dad hadn’t taken many pictures, but it wasn’t the same. You would never see him in the kitchen, or in his office playing solitaire instead of actually working. Most of all, you would never be able to come home and tell him about your day.

You were just starting to cry again when you heard Milo barking from downstairs. You honestly hadn’t heard anyone knock, but you fully intended to ignore them. You weren’t in the mood to see anyone, and you hadn’t showered in two days. You were looking a little rough.

Milo barked again when there was another, louder series of knocks on the door. You rolled over onto your back with a groan before you forced yourself out of bed. You didn’t bother with anything, your hair was a mess and your clothes were wrinkled, but you didn’t care. You were just going to confirm that this was someone you didn’t want to talk to before going back to bed.

Billie had managed to figure out which apartment was yours and now she was knocking so loudly the entire floor could probably hear it. She’d made it here in 20 minutes and she had been knocking for almost 5. In between banging on your door she was calling you, but she could tell from the vibrating coming from behind the door that you probably didn’t have your phone on you.

There was; however, Milo who stood on the other side of the door barking at her. She hadn’t wanted to meet the dog like this, but it seemed like she didn’t have a choice. She raised her fist to knock once again, but the door opened before she got a chance.

“Billie? What are you doing here?”

You’re stunned to see the medium standing in your doorway dressed up in what you assume must be her work clothes. You didn’t check to see what time it was, but you didn’t think it was the end of the day yet. It was still sunny outside and Milo hadn’t bugged you for food yet.

Billie stood silently taking in the sight in front of her. You looked worse than she’d expected. The clothes you were wearing were wrinkled and dirty, your hair was a mess and your eyes were red from crying. She looks to the floor and confirms that your phone is lying abandoned before her attention turns back to you.

“I was worried, Y/N. You haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.”

You frown suddenly feeling even worse as you manage to shake your head before taking a step back. You move to grab Milo who is already headed toward Billie. You’re too distracted to tell if it was in a threatening way, but you grab onto his collar regardless as you open the door a little wider so Billie can get out of the hallway.

“Milo, stop. Sorry, come on in.”

Billie looks to Milo first who is eyeing her curiously. She sees his one pale eye and then looks to his wagging tail before deeming it safe to move toward him. She shuts the door behind her and looks back to you with a frown. Seeing you look so unbalanced definitely doesn’t make her feel any less worried.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

This question makes you falter and the pitiful façade you’d conjured up shatter. Your shoulders dropped and you sighed heavily before you shook your head. You looked to Billie with tears in your eyes despite having cried all damn day, and opened your mouth to try to explain. All you managed were three words that you doubted she’d understand.

“I miss him.”

Billie doesn’t say anything, she just holds out her arms and you immediately fall into them. You release Milo who comes up to sniff Billie, but neither of you notice as the medium engulfs you in hug. You start to cry harder at the feeling of arms tightening around you, holding you close before you register what Billie’s saying.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Her words make you hold her tighter, as close as possible before you just let it all out. You’ll be embarrassed later, but for now you feel safe with Billie. You can’t be alone anymore. You’re not sure how long you stand there crying your eyes out with Billie’s arms wrapped around you, but by the time you regain some of your composure, it feels like it’s been hours.

You don’t notice as Milo circles the two of you before sitting down behind you. He paws at you but you ignore him as you force yourself to pull away from the medium with a with an apologetic look.

“Oh jeez. I’m sorry, I think I—your shirt is…”

You trail off as you Billie doesn’t even bother to look at her ruined shirt. She couldn’t care less at the moment because her only concern was you.

Billie waves you off as you take another step back and almost run into Milo.

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”

Unlike you.

Billie doesn’t say this because she can tell that you are feeling embarrassed about your breakdown. She didn’t want that, but what’s worse is that she had a feeling it wasn’t over. She had no idea what she’d walked into, but she didn’t want to leave. Not until she knew you were feeling at least a little better.

You just stare at Billie anxiously. You hadn’t counted on her seeing you like this, really ever, if you had a say in it. However, now that you’ve thoroughly embarrassed yourself you somehow felt even worse than you had before Billie got here.

You try to distract from the elephant in the room by jumping into host-mode.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t—do you want something to drink?”

Billie shakes her head before she looks around a little until she sees the kitchen. She can’t be sure, but if she had to guess you hadn’t gotten around to eating today. The only time you probably got out of bed was to take Milo outside.

“I’m fine, Y/N. What about you? Have you eaten today?”

You open your mouth to confirm that you had, but you hesitate. You guess it’s mid-day and you’d spent most of your day lying around. You hadn’t gone to the kitchen except once and that was to feed Milo.

“Um…”

Your lack of an answer is enough for Billie and she decided to take charge. She figured that in order to get you to do anything in this state, she’d need to be a little more assertive. She just hoped her instincts were right and that you wouldn’t respond poorly to her trying to take care of you.

“That’s what I thought. How about I make you something.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Billie was already headed toward the kitchen before you gathered your senses. You turned to follow her, watching as she quickly took off her jacket and hung it on a nearby chair. She looked around to see what she had to work with while you scramble for an excuse to stop Billie. You should have known it was a waste of time.

“You don’t have to. It’s okay, really!”

Billie turns back to you with that damn smile that you couldn’t say no to, and you realize you’ve already lost. Milo just wags his tail as he follows the blonde into the kitchen to see what she’s doing. You groan as Billie takes this as a win and shoots you a smile.

“I want to. Just relax, sweetheart. Milo and I have this handled.”

Billie reaches out to pet your traitorous dog who only pants happily in response, his tail wagging even faster now. You sigh as you sit down at the counter to watch her cook. You fidget slightly as you follow her movements as she navigates your kitchen. You know there’s not much in the fridge since you neglected to go shopping yesterday, and the day before. You run a hand through your hair with a frown, but stop short when you realize how dirty it is.

When was the last time you showered?

You look back to Billie who has grabbed a few items from the fridge and placed them on the counter. You slip out of your chair before finally looking to the clock on the oven.

It’s 4 pm.

“Um, I think I’ll just shower really quickly.”

Billie looks up with a smile before nodding in response. Milo’s tail starts wagging harder with each item she picks up, but she doesn’t pay him much mind until you leave.

“We’ll be here.”

Billie watches you retreat upstairs and waits for a door to shut before she sighs heavily. She gets to work making what you once told her was your favorite comfort food before she turns her attention to Milo. He’s just sitting on the rug in front of the dishwasher watching her intently. He seems well behaved and Billie briefly wonders what tricks he knows.

“What are we going to do about Y/N, hm?”

Milo just continues to stare while Billie lets her mind wander to the woman upstairs.

She hadn’t planned on telling you like this. Billie had wanted you to tell her about your father in your own time. She feared the consequence of rushing things and telling you the truth now, but what could she do? She knew it would come up and she wasn’t going to lie.

She just hoped that you wouldn’t be angry, and that you could handle the truth.

You are out of the shower in ten minutes because the thought of Billie Dean downstairs makes you antsy. You find comfy clothes to change into before you head downstairs. It smells great and as you reach the kitchen you realize what Billie had made you.

You feel yourself smile for what was probably the first time today at the sight.

“Wow, this looks great. I’m starving.”

Billie just smiles before she hands you a plate which immediately has Milo running to your side. You sigh before you shoot him a look that he doesn’t even acknowledge as he starts to whine at you.

“Milo, stop it. You’ll get yours later.”

When he whines again you point to his bed and tell him to go lie down. He does but he just stares at you with puppy dog eyes that make you roll your eyes.

“He’s so precious.”

You smile before you shake your head in disagreement. He can be a little much at times. You say this to Billie and she just laughs before asking you where you want to eat. You decide against sitting at the table and lead Billie to the living room. You sit on the couch before patting the space beside you.

“Come sit.”

Billie obeys and once she’s settled next to you, you move a little so you’re shoulder to shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

Billie smiles in answer, nodding as she watches you shift slightly. You eat in silence for a few minutes squished against Billie’s side before you gather the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I’m just—working through some things.”

Billie just shakes her head before she reaches out for you. You squeeze her hand in return as Billie does her best to reassure you.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.”

You don’t quite know what to say, so you just nod. There is a lot that you want to say to Billie. You need to thank her for practically dropping everything to come and check on you. Then there’s the food that you’ve already finished. You sigh as you put your plate down on the coffee table in front of you before turning to face Billie.

“Thank you.”

She just smiles wider as you take a moment to look at her again. She’s wearing a pretty blouse and a pencil skirt that you wish you’d appreciated more when you’d answered the door.

You realize that there is a lot of Billie that you should have appreciated sooner.

You knew she was a force to be reckoned with. She was smart, hard-working and determined to help people. You loved how considerate she was and how she seemed to know what you were feeling even before you did. This thought made you frown slightly because you hadn’t considered it before.

Not only did Billie Dean seem to know your feelings without needing to be told, but she knew other things too. Specifically details that you had been careful not to mention.

“Billie?”

Billie knew what you were going to ask just based on your expression. It had turned pensive and tentative quickly as you lost yourself in thought. She’d seen the emotions playing out across your face, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little bit anxious.

“Yes, Y/N?”

Billie waits with bated breath as your eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion before you sit up and shoot her a questioning look.

“How did you know I was talking about my father?”

Part 6

[ceratonia-siliqua]

I saw you were open to prompts and I was wondering if you could write something with Android Peter?? (bonus points if smut is involved) Your writing is so good and I would love to see your take on it!

Thank you for waiting! I hope it delivers!!

Ship: WinterSpider (former Stucky mentioned)

Warnings: Nudity mentioned, some dehumanization due to the nature of androids, and some asshole Steve mentioned (sorry buddy)

“Bucky, come on. Just give it a shot.” 

“Tony-”

“You’ve been depressed for months, just take him for a few weeks. If you absolutely hate having him around then you can return him. I just finished designing a maternal instincts chip for Pepper, worst case she’d love to use him as baby practice.” 

“Fine, fine. Whatever, what do I need to do?” 

Tony beamed like Bucky had been the one begging rather than the other way around. The bastard put a hand on his shoulder as he led him out of the study and into the lab. It wasn’t a long walk, just a quick pop down the hall and a few stairs. The room was not a place he ever went, having heard legends of the absolute horror show it was. 

The rumors were on the fucking money but not in the way he had expected. 

It was filled with mechanical body parts, shocking realistic ones that left him staring as he tried to put together that they’re entirely creations of tech. He knew Tony built droids, fuck, the whole world did. It was his business. He’d gotten so good at the task in fact that he was facing some news shitstorms given the advancements in AI leading to a genuine conversation in what to do as the creations gained further and further sense of sentience. They’d tried to stop Stark, but when you have enough money to buy out the federal government, not much could be done on that front. 

“You’re gonna love him. He’s an absolute sweetheart, in fact, he’s got a heavily modified Gen 4 Sweetheart Build. One of a kind! Even perfected the synthetic curls working on him. Possibly one of the kindest AI’s I’ve ever constructed, little bit of a trickster when he wants to be though, couldn’t let you get away without a bit of a challenge-” Tony continued to go on as he practically shoved Bucky towards a side room. 

“Tony, please don’t tell me you made this android specifically for me.” He had been under the impression it was a match Tony had made after the fact, not something with genuine thought put into it. 

“Can’t just throw any random personality at you, Bucko! You need a specific set of traits and I am happy to deliver seeing as how nothing like this kiddo is like what we have on the market.” 

“Tony, you should have asked first. What if I can’t take care of this-” Machine? Man? How was he supposed to refer to this gift Tony was trying to give him? 

“Trust me! You will.” 

“Tony.” He stopped just before the closed door leading to the room where this now present anxiety was lurking.  “Why are you doing this?” 

There are several beats of silence before a word passes through the space. “Bucky… you haven’t been the same since Steve left. I want to help you move on from him. It doesn’t take a super genius to see that he broke your heart.” 

It would have been kinder to just have punched him in the gut. Steve had abandoned him. Left him for a woman from his youth after promising a life with him. There had been no reason, no suggestion Steve had been unhappy with him, yet one day he was there and the next there was a note on the coffee table and a gaping hole in his apartment. 

“Please, just try. I know you’re still trying to work through this but just try him out for a little while. You deserve to be happy, open yourself up to it. That asshole wins if you stay hung up on him forever.” 

He really fucking hates when Tony is right. 

Without another word he opens the door without Tony’s permission and steps into the room. The tiny form that lays on the fluffy duvet takes his breath away. 

The boy is lithe, so small Bucky is scared for a second that Tony has given him a child. Getting closer though he sees the marks of manhood, more defined muscle, raised cheekbones, a lack of true baby fat anywhere on his body. He couldn’t help but notice the way a set of small, smooth balls peek out from his pressed thighs. Yet to see his face and Bucky was already feeling the tugging connection, a need to know more. 

Rounding the bundle, he can’t help but pull a blanket off of one of the random shelves, covering the slip of a thing in front of him. Taking the opportunity to glimpse the face of the android coming home with him, he crouches in front of that seemingly sleeping face. 

It takes his breath away. Small noise, delicate cupids bow, wild and frenzied curls framing rosy cheeks. He desperately wanted to see those eyes, wanted to know if they were just as soft as the rest of him. 

“His name is Peter. One of the most high end models, he has features not even on the market. He can feel cold, heat, pain, pleasure. Both his throat and anal cavity are outfitted with the most expensive and durable stimulation sleeves we have available. I picked a version that everyone loves, top seller. He’s able to cum if you want him too. Knows how to groom himself but has preferences. I picked��� something a little more dependent. He’ll keep you busy. Utter love bug is what he is. He’s had a little bit of ‘on’ time, just enough to calibrate some settings. His list of enjoyment is fairly open, he’s predisposed to certain things but since he’s never experienced anything he’s not sure what he likes quite yet. Gentle, kind hearted, and designed to form deep attachments, he should be perfect.” 

He is the opposite of Steve. Not the exact opposite, but it seems Tony worried about hitting too close to home and made something that was unfamiliar enough to be wholly new while still takinging into consideration what he might enjoy. Even size wise, where Steve had been bigger than him, Peter was much smaller and maneuverable. Peter could be a doll in his hands if Bucky wanted, put him in control. 

“He’s also the second ever android to be programmed with the ability to form connections of love and feel the full range of emotions available to humans.” 

Bucky’s head shot towards the other man. “Tony, that’s illegal.” 

The frown on that goatee ridden face shows just how aware of that fact he is. “I know, but only on market versions. If you self construct a droid or personally program and install the coding needed, which most people can’t, then it’s fine. I’m not allowed to sell people love, but I can give it to you for free.” 

Already stuck in this deal, already tender for the angelic little thing in front of him, he sighs. “We’re not gonna get in shit for this? He’s not gonna get disassembled if people find out?” 

“Most people aren’t even going to know he’s not human. Unless they get really close and study him, no one on the street is going to see him and think he’s anything but a regular young man out with his boyfriend.” 

“... Alright Tony, you win. Where do I sign?”

____

Becoming conscious, and aware of that consciousness, it is something humans were unprepared for in their creation of AI. After all, children forget the trauma of being born, but how do you prepare a being that can already understand the complexities of life for the sudden plunge into reality? Really, you don’t. 

Peter woke up and for the first time, was aware. His systems were all fine, green lit and all areas functional and ready to go. Yet, he didn’t move. Everything was sounds, shapes, colors, objects, things he knew but that were not familiar. It was something to take in, how do you even begin when there is so much? 

There is a pressure between his shoulders, and suddenly he is focused on what it is to feel. 

“You seem a little overwhelmed, sugar. Everything okay?”

The voice is smooth, registers as male in his system, compared to things he’s never heard but knew the sound of. 

“Yeah… just- trying to get my bearings.” At least speech wasn’t a difficulty. It was not comfortable on his tongue but they were still doable, something he could succeed at even as his vision is too full. He closes his eyes, sighing as the lack of input makes everything feel less chaotic within him. 

“Take all the time you need, I’ve got plenty to give.” 

“What’s your name?” A basic way of understanding, something so ingrained in his code that it was the easiest thing he’d done so far. 

“Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes if you wanna get technical but Bucky is fine.” 

“Bucky,” The name rolled across his tongue, smooth and buttery. It was new but old, as if he’d been told the name thousands of times. It felt like an old hat, a detail he would remember even if everything else in his memory failed. “I like it.” Something clicked, a sense of enjoyment, a rush of pleasant feelings across his skin and the delicate, hair thin wires underneath. 

That seemed to knock the man into silence. Peter reached out, groping for the being that was with him, showing him kindness despite their lack of previous introductions. Fingers grazing something slightly scratchy, he gasps, eyes flying open on reflex when a light pressure envelopes his wrist. 

The man is fuzz but Peter knows enough to know what beauty is and this man must be the very definition of it. Long hair, dark shadows across his upper lip and jaw. Blue, a color he had not realized had a name till he saw it here. He feels warm, a giggle escapes him, something he knows is a sign of his happiness, one he hopes Bucky will share in. 

Smiling is a sign, a good one. Something that makes Peter giddy as he flexes his fingers against that same scratchy surface on Bucky’s face. 

“What is this?” Scritching away with the tips of his digits. 

A chuckles, soothing and filled with a note that rolls slow and low across Peter’s ears. “A beard, you know what that is?”

He looks up the word, searching in his head for an answer until it pops up. “Oh! Yes, I do.” 

“Really are new to this, aren’t you?” 

His cheeks suddenly feel heated and an odd feeling curls in his belly as he glances away. 

“It’s okay darling,” There is a rustling of fabrics and a gentle set of lips pressed to his forehead. A sign of affection, and one Peter knows he loves the second he feels it. “We’ll get you all figured out.” 

[tainted-wine]

Past Due

Reader X Giran, Dabi, and Mr. Compress (NSFW)

(OOF, This little bastard of a fic has been fighting me every step of the way. It took so long because I was second guessing every single sentence I wrote. Finally, here’s the darkest shit I’ve written so far.)

(This is pre-Overhaul arc, so the bois Giran and Compress are still whole)

Words: 7.8k

Heed These Warnings: Murder, Kidnapping, Noncon/Dubcon, Giran being a dangerous dude, Knives, Forced Oral and Anal, Voyeurism, Humiliation, and the Protagonist just being a total dumbass

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

For as long as you have lived, luck has been by your side like a bipolar twin attached to your hip. It was thanks to luck that you were born into a quirkless family in the trashiest of neighborhoods, your penniless parents separating and leaving you to fend for yourself. The streets had no use for you; no quirk, no charisma, no money, you were just another parasite desperately clinging onto the city’s rotten underbelly.

But it was also thanks to luck that you survived this long. The average person can remember each and every brush with death in their life clearly, but you—you’ve lost count of how many times this cruel world has tried to pick you off. So far, you have dodged every bullet, knife, and blast of quirk-based power aimed in your direction. How do you keep slipping past all of these dangerous criminals? Your reckless ass has no idea. Luck was simply a sadistic douchebag that enjoyed dangling you over the jaws of death, only to yank you back up and repeat the process like a sad little yo-yo.

As you drove to your place in a panic, you wonder if luck has ever fucked you this hard before.

———

Things had gotten somewhat organized, and by that you mean that you finally had some sort of plan instead of gravitating toward the nearest opportunity that didn’t look ready to tear you apart and throw your remains in an alley. You’ve even made an accomplice, a woman not quite as powerless as you, but an unfortunate soul with less experience in this…line of work. To make things even better, you managed to strike a deal with a prominent broker. Giran was a name known all throughout Japan’s black market, and to think that he’d see potential in a quirkless broad whose notable trait was simply not dying—it was your lucky day. He supplied you with weapons that will make surviving in this hellhole much easier, telling you to pay him within the next five days.

Your partner in crime asked if this was a good idea, that you didn’t seem capable of gathering that amount of money in the span of time you were given. There was no reason for her to worry; with the heat the two of you were packing now, you now had the ability to rob more than distracted civilians wandering the streets.

But before you could even enjoy your brand new firepower, luck decided to be a total asshole again. It was only the second day when you both were ambushed by a group of ruffians. Their quirks were pretty damn impressive, honestly. One of them levitated your gun right out of your hands before you could even fire, instantly leaving you helpless so that the other dudes could close in and beat the snot out of you.

The two of you woke up, bruised, bloodied, and stripped of Giran’s weapons. Damn, you don’t remember a deal ever going south this quickly. Must be a new record.

Alright, so your weapons were gone and you only have a fraction of the money so far. You can figure this out. Your partner was fuckin’ hysterical and you have to smack her before she gives herself a heart attack. The money was barely coming in, and before you knew it, the fifth day had arrived.

Yeah, you weren’t ready to face him yet.

Look, you weren’t exactly running away from him, you were just making sure to give yourself some space while you got your shit back together. That’s why you immediately moved to another part of town and now made sure to never drive down the same route twice. No, you weren’t gathering money for yourself and completely brushing off Giran, like your partner was suspecting. She has no idea what she’s talking about so she needs to shut up already and help you sell this jewelry that you worked so hard in stealing.

Okay, maybe Giran has been trying to call you for the past couple of days and you were officially ghosting him, but she didn’t need that knowledge to add to her stress. You probably weren’t even in any danger. The deal didn’t cost that much, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy to get truly pissed over some petty crook like you, right?

It’s been a week since the due date, and you both were still safe and sound. It was time to get your paranoid little buddy and discuss your next course of action.

When you reached her shoddy rented room, the door was already cracked open. Strange, and very careless; she should know better. You pushed it the remainder of the way and strutted inside. “Don’t leave your door open, dumbass. Anyway, I gotta—”

Your partner was sprawled out on the bed, open eyes still showing hints of the terror that she most definitely felt before her body became riddled with bullets. The smell of smoke and blood finally reached your nose when the shock of the scene before you wore off. The poor gal probably didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate.

“Oh…nevermind.” You close the door and briskly walk through the hall and out of that dangerous building.

------

This all led up to you speeding to your own run-down apartment.

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, now. This might have nothing to do with Giran. Maybe she pissed off some guys behind my back, or maybe I pissed them off and they found her before they found me. I keep forgetting just how many shit-lists probably have my name on them.’

Whatever it was, that instinctive twist in your gut was telling you that it was no longer safe around these parts. You had overstayed your welcome, anyway.

You glanced in every direction as you entered the building. At what time was your partner killed? If they’re after you too, do they already know where you live? There was no time to waste.

Checking to see that you weren't being followed, you entered your room and went straight to packing. You were basically a drifter, so you had few long-term possessions, so few that they could all fit into one bag. You packed your clothes, essential groceries, and your knickknacks that were ripe for selling. You’re loaded up and ready to go, and you don’t even need to go through the trouble of contacting an accomplice anymore. It’s those paper-thin silver linings that keep you going through this endless shitstorm of a life. With a silent goodbye to your short-lived home, you made your way to the door…

And a series of knocks freezes you in your tracks.

The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was dizzying. Shit. Shit shit shit. Whoever is on the other side can’t be friendly, but you had checked! You made sure no one was tailing you!

You backed away while your eyes darted around, deciding if you should defend yourself or find an alternate route to escape. Your only line of defense was a switchblade, so fighting was probably as bad of an idea as it usually was. You looked back to the single window in the room. ‘The fire escape.’

Several harder knocks spurred you into action. You unlocked and pulled at the old window, the worn frame almost breaking off as it opened. The damn ladder and stairs were one room across, but you can jump across the sills if you were careful enough.

There were more knocks, this time followed by a male voice. “Why the hell are we knocking? She’s not gonna answer.”

Another man responded. Shit, there’s more than one? “True. I just like to give the peaceful route a try.”

Something happened to the door that your fear-addled mind couldn’t comprehend. In the span of a second, the wooden door’s shape was warped and shrunken down into a small sphere. You didn’t spend any time to observe the two men at the entrance—you were already scrambling out of the window. The small ledge was difficult to balance on. If you could just get enough leverage for a jump…

“Oi!”

Fuck, you had to take the leap now, but before you could, a pair of hands took hold of you. In a blind panic, you drew your small blade and swung wildly at your attacker, doing your best not to lose your footing. One hand drew back and you heard a hiss of something like “little bitch”, and you thought this was your chance to break free and get away, but the hand still gripping the waist band of your pants got hot, so hot that it reached your skin and had you yelling in pain from the intense heat. With a powerful yank, you were falling back into the room and being pinned to the floor.

‘No no come on, Lady Luck. You’re always here to save my ass, right? I could use your help right fucking now.”

You thrashed and screamed, but then you saw the face of your captor and ew, that shit made you scream even louder. At least make the last face you see more appealing and less…burnt.

The burned man just looked annoyed while holding you down. “Just compress her already.”

Compress? What? Were they about to crush you? That sounds like a really shitty way to go. A gloved hand was pressed to your head, and everything began to distort at a rate too fast for your mind.

It was dark…you felt like you were floating…are you dead? Did it happen that fast? At least it was painless. There was a voice echoing somewhere, but all you saw was blackness. It sounded like it was coming from above. “God?” He’s real, after all?

God sounded very similar to the burnt asshole that attacked you. “That was easy. Why did he need us for this?”

The other voice that you still couldn’t attach a face to answered. “Giran does a lot for the League. It’s only fair that we do him the occasional favor, isn’t it? Her partner has already been taken care of.”

Well shit. Not only were you still alive, but you had been captured in some way to be delivered to him. You wanted to believe that you were in no serious danger, but no one sends two guys to break into your place and abduct you unless they had something sadistic in mind. Maybe your late partner was onto something this whole time.

The talking continued, but the sound was so faint. It’s like you were wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. This entire void, or whatever it is, was uncomfortable—the darkness seemed vast, yet it felt claustrophobic and heavy, like a powerful gravity preventing you from moving. What kind of quirk was this?

The mystery man was talking again. “Your arm is bleeding.”

“Oh right, she caught me with that little blade.” The burnt one said calmly. “It’s not that bad. My arms can’t feel much.”

“It’s not the pain I’m worried about; find something to wrap it up!” There was a sound that was difficult to discern, possibly a long sigh. “She made quite a scene at the window. I hope she didn’t bring any attention to us.”

You heard a grunt from the burnt one and could picture him shrugging. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say that she was a jumper and we stopped her.”

“…Who in the world tries to jump from only three stories?”

“A dumbass, and I’m pretty sure that’s what she is.”

The burnt guy can kiss your ass.

Their conversations were the only indication of time passing. Maybe you heard a few noises from whatever area they were currently in, such as a car passing by or a dog barking, but it was all too muffled to know for sure.

You hope you won’t be stuck in this prison for too long. The emptiness of it all was going to drive you insane. The abyss apparently sensed your distressed, shaping lights and colors all around and lifting the phantom weight off of you so quickly that you had to hold down a rush of bile in your throat.

It’s still fairly dark…a dimly lit room, no furniture, your knees on a hardwood floor, a figure sitting in front of you…

“Good morning.”

A greeting has never filled you with so much dread, uttered by a voice you haven’t heard in nearly two weeks.

The big-time broker himself was seated before you in a simple metal chair. When you met him in the bar to do business together, he had such a nonchalant aura around him, friendly yet detached. The smirk on his face seemed permanent, wearing it even now as he stared down at you, the little rat that has been hiding in the cracks of the city to avoid his sight. You didn’t feel threatened at all when you spoke in the bar; part of you knew that this man was in no way harmless, but he didn’t go out of his way to intimidate.

But now, even with the same relaxed posture and the same informal tone, his presence was sending strong chills down your spine with your brain screaming DANGER.

Giran leaned in, elbows resting on his thighs and a lit cigarette tucked between his fingers. The hanging bulbs illuminated only parts of his face, leaving the rest in a menacing shadow. “How have you been?”

You had no idea how to answer that. “F-fine?”

He gave a satisfied hum, as if he cared about your wellbeing. “That’s good to know. You’ve been hard to contact lately, so I had no idea.”

You swallowed, or at least you tried, but your throat was forgetting how to work properly. “I…” A cough escaped you. “I’ve been busy.”

His gruff chuckle unsettled you. “Of course. We’re all so busy these days, aren’t we? I’m not the type to stick my nose in others’ business, but may I ask what you’ve been so busy with? Hopefully something that involved gathering my money?” There it was.

Creating some more distance between your potential killer might help you think a little more clearly through the loud beating in your head, so you crawl backwards on shaky limbs like a drunk crab. “Y-yes! I’ve been doing my best, it’s just that I ran into a little problem an—” You bumped into something, turning your head to see a man looming over you. His attire was sharp, like that of a showman—even had a damn top hat. However, the mask he wore was rather ominous, the strange pattern resembling an abstract face. He didn’t budge when you had backed into his leg, only looking down at you as if you were a scared kitten.

In the corner of your vision you noticed the burnt one leaning back against the wall, watching you with disinterest. If it weren’t for the cold stare and the peril that he’s already put you through, you’d dare to admit that the greenish-blue hue of his eyes were kind of pretty.

“Don’t mind them,” Giran said with a lazy wave. “Those two are being kind enough to stick around in case I need them again. So, you were saying?”

You tried to recall where you were in your improvised excuse, and decided that you couldn’t risk having such a lie backfire. “I-I’m working on it. I have most of it so far. I just need a little more time.”

Giran’s face didn’t change. “And how much do you have?”

“Um…I…” What the hell do you say? Are you just digging yourself deeper? Is it possible to go any deeper? “Maybe I don’t have most, but I will soon so—”

“How much do you have?” It was firmer this time, making you shrink back. Dancing around his question wasn’t a good idea.

With a shaky breath, you answered quietly, “A hundred thousand yen.”

Giran placed the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag before blowing out a small cloud of toxic fumes. “A hundred thousand…of my three hundred thousand yen.”

Fuck, when he says it like that, maybe that is a lot of money to be missing out on.

You honestly wished he would show some sort of anger; his unwavering calmness was making you more anxious than any kind of rage.

“Can you tell me what you didn’t understand?” He asked.

“Huh? What…do you mean?” You couldn’t hold back the tremble in your voice.

“When we talked, I thought I made my measures clear. I give you the weapons, you pay me within the next five days. For every late day, I add more to what you already owe me. And if you take way too long, I’ll have to personally show you why you shouldn’t make deals where you can’t hold up your end.” He took another drag. You’re getting a feeling that the shrinking roll of tobacco is playing a big role in maintaining his leveled head. “Well, that all sounds clear to me, but there must be something in that explanation that didn’t get through to you, because you just ignored all of it.” Those final words were topped with a humorless laugh.

Just like that, every foolish decision you’ve made during the past week slams down on you. You were like a child that was confident they could escape whatever punishments were planned for them, now that they were finally caught, they just wanted to blubber endless apologies in hopes of being forgiven, and that’s exactly what you do. “Please, please just give me more time. I’m sorry. I just need another chance.”

Giran simply rests his head in one of his hands while pondering. “You know, this normally wouldn’t bother me. I consider myself an even-tempered guy. But you just had to go and run, avoiding my calls and hiding away for an entire week. If there’s anything that steams me up,” his brows furrowed, the first physical sign of anger that he’s shown. “It’s when an uncooperative client runs from me. Sorry about your friend, but I had to make sure I got my point across. Now it’s your turn.”

He reached into his violet jacket and pulled out a knife. Most of it was a large bulky handle, topped with a short but efficiently thin and curved blade. A wood carving knife.

As he rose from his chair and approached, you were suppressing the urge to just laugh at your own distress, a habit of yours that has caused more than one misunderstanding in the past.

“Compress, if you will.” Giran’s hand beckoned you upwards.

The man still behind you, apparently named Compress, locked both of your wrists at your back before pulling you up on your feet. “Hey-I-Wha-Wait a minute! We can talk! I can fix this!” You stuttered in pure desperation. Giran was poking at the tip of the knife and testing its sharpness, paying no attention to your pleas.

“It’s a shame, really. I happen to have one major weakness,” he admitted while inspecting his pricked finger. “Women. I’m always going easy on them—giving them more chances than they deserve. I can’t help it.” He grips your cheeks roughly, making you squeak. “And it really breaks my heart that I have to ruin such a pretty lady.”

“You don’t have to.” Your squished puckered lips sputter out, making you look and sound ridiculous. “Maybe I cou—"

The knife hovering so close to your face silences you. “Where should I start?” He wondered. You hold as still as possible while the sharp metal lingers dangerously close to your eye. “Maybe I should take out an eye? Maybe both?” His grip on your face prevents you from turning away, so you shut your eyes instead, accidentally releasing the tears that have been gathering in the corners. You feel his hand lower to hold your chin so that he can press the blade against the side of your face, so close to breaking skin. “Or maybe I’ll carve out your cheeks?” A thumb brushes against your lips and pushes past them. “You are quite a talker. Maybe I ought to go in there and remove that tongue.”

Your eyes remain closed, trying to focus on something else. The full-body tremors that you couldn’t stop, the press of Compress’s body against your back as he held onto your wrists, anything but the deadly blade trailing across your flesh. Every time the cruel man applied pressure, you braced yourself for the pain of cold steel cutting into you like fresh produce, but he would always pull back. It was pure torture and he hasn’t even harmed you yet.

“Hmm, you really are a cute one,” you heard him murmur as the knife trailed down your neck and across your collar. “Do I really want to carve such pretty skin?”

There was a loud groan, prompting your eyes to open and look to the burnt one who left his post at the wall. “For fuck’s sake, old man. How about I handle this so you don’t have to play mental tug-o-war with yourself?”

Giran didn’t seem fazed by the crude way he was addressed. “Oh? What did you have in mind, Dabi?”

Dabi gave an evil smirk of his own as he walked over. “I wonder how badly I can burn a person without killing them.” A scarred hand was placed on your shoulder and you squirmed at the rising heat. “Maybe we can find out together. How about it, girlie?”

You felt the other man behind you shake with a soft laugh. “So cruel, Dabi. I’m a gentleman myself. I could help, but taking a limb or two from such a beauty would be an unforgivable crime.” The implication of what he could do with his quirk made you fear for your arms that were still in his grasp.

“Great. Chivalry isn’t dead in the world of villains.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong, though. She doesn’t look bad.”

There were too many hands on you. A rough aged hand caressed your throat and jaw, a gloved hand was tenderly running through your hair, and burned ones were shamelessly groping your chest and squishing your breasts. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut it.” Dabi snapped, not letting up his assault. “Burning you might be a waste. Maybe I should just fuck you instead.”

Your stomach twisted in disgust at the very thought. The other two men pulled back and stilled at the suggestion. This nasty motherfucker wishes he’d get some. At least there were more reasonable voices in the room to keep the sicko away.

“Well now, that’s not a bad idea.” Giran declared with a nod of approval.

‘Ex-fucking-scuse me?’

Compress gave your shoulder a suggestive squeeze. “A vulgar way of putting it, but it’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Then it looks like we’ve all come to a new agreement.” The sleazebag exhaled smoke right into your face, stinging your already watery eyes and forcing several coughs out of you. “I hope you’re alright with that, darling.”

You shook your head fast enough to disorient yourself. “No! This is sick! Get your hands off me!”

“No good, huh? You think I should stick to the original plan?” Dabi dared you with a dazzling blue flame appearing in his palm. The memory of his scorching touch had you freezing up. “I’m just kidding, I don’t give a shit if you want this or not. This ain’t a friendly hookup.”

Compress leaned into your ear, voice sounding horribly close even with the mask protecting you from his lips. “I’m going to let you go now, and you’re going to cooperate with us, right? Surely you know how outmatched you are.”

Yes, you knew, yet there’s a little voice strongly urging you to fight and attempt an escape anyway. But you knew that will only end in pain and possibly death, and even though you were dreading what they had planned for you, the pitiful survivor in you is willing to sacrifice your dignity to stay alive. And so, you nodded.

“Very good,” you heard the smile in his praise. Your tender wrists were released so that he could take the hem of your shirt and slowly begin to pull it up. Your arms remained stiffly at your sides, the oppressive air around the three dangerous villains suffocating and leaving you light-headed.

“Cooperation, remember?” Compress reminded you.

With a hitched breath, you raised your arms, allowing him to peel the shirt off and throw it aside. Dabi wasted no time in exploring your newly revealed skin, while the gloved hands moved on to work at your bra and Giran undid your pants. You try to keep your breathing steady as you’re stripped, even when your pants fall down to your ankles. The second your bra is unclasped, you move to cover your freed breasts, only for the scarred bastard to slap your arms away.

“Quit it, I’m trying to feel you up,” He wasn’t very gentle in handling you, and his texture was so strange, wrinkled skin and the staples keeping him together scraping across your mounds. While he ventured lower, the other two men took their turn with your feminine assets.

Giran was fondling you slowly, but he seemed to be paying much more attention to your face, the face that you were having a very hard time keeping blank while Compress was massaging your other breast way too tenderly. It would help to shut your eyes once again, but that only enhances their touches, sparking goosebumps all over and threatening to pull a moan from your throat. You chose to look to the side and hide away from the broker’s dull gaze, but there was no avoiding Dabi’s hand palming your clothed sex, making you yelp. “AH! Don’t! You can’t just—”

He squeezed you down there, sending a foreign buzz through your abdomen. “What the hell did I just say?” He scolded. “I think I know how to shut you up.”

Giran made an amused hum. “Well Dabi, given you were the one who suggested this, I’ll grant you the honor of teaching her a lesson first.”

Your stomach dropped at the rough lips parting into a toothy grin. “You’re too kind.”

“Just don’t ruin her too quickly, alright?” Compress urged him before patting your back and stepping away. Giran also turned away and returned to his chair, leaning back with one leg crossing over the other.

The only one holding you now was the fiery villain; it had you sweating profusely even without the use of his quirk.

“Now, on your knees,” he ordered and pushed down onto your shoulders, forcing you to kneel. Your chest was tightening painfully when he unbuckled his belt to draw his half-hard cock. It wasn’t exactly any comfort, but it was wholly intact unlike the rest of him. “Start sucking.”

You kept your lips sealed and shook your head, only to have your hair grabbed and yanked back. Your pained cry was all he needed to shove his meat into your mouth. Your shout changed into a gag from the fleshy intrusion.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name was uttered with a mocking venom. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of a doubt and believe that you don’t have the memory of a dead goldfish, but in case you do, let me remind you that we brought you here to hurt you.” That dreaded heat was back, his hand threatening to call those blue flames and set your hair ablaze. “So which would you rather deal with: being carved and burned into a bloody mess, or having to please a couple of dicks? Doesn’t the latter sound more bearable?”

You couldn’t pull back to answer, his hold on your head tight and unyielding, so you nodded.

But for some reason, that didn’t satisfy him. “I need you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

‘No I can’t, you overcooked motherfucker! What do you want from me?’ Having no idea what to do but also not wanting to try his patience any further, you worked your voice around the thick rod and managed a choked and barely comprehensible “mmyeff.”

The sloshed word made Dabi laugh and you felt him twitch on your tongue. “Cute. That’s good enough. Now put that mouth to work so I won’t have to turn your head into a torch.”

Admitting defeat, you moved your head to take in more of his growing erection, wriggling your tongue in a poor attempt to get away from his salty taste, only to stimulate him in the process. You feel him respond with shaky breaths, but the fact that you’re servicing this terrible man doesn’t make you want to try any harder.

Dabi realizes your slow pace isn’t changing and his grumpiness quickly returns. “Oh come on, put a little more energy into it. A quirkless bitch living in the worst part of town, this can’t be the first time you’ve had to suck dick to save your life.” You look up and glare at him, which didn’t do much to intimidate when you were blowing him at the same time. He only smirked. “If you don’t pick up the pace, then I’ll have to take charge, and I don’t think you’d want that.”

You push yourself to put in more effort, taking in more of his now fully swollen cock and gagging pathetically. Despite what the singed shithead had guessed, you weren’t experienced with this. Your sex life boils down to a couple of hookups. This hectic existence with its cast of untrustworty characters wasn’t suitable for any kind of serious relationship, and sexual favors were something you tried to avoid as much as possible. Those rare nights with a partner were nothing like this, and you sure as hell would never ask for a fucking audience. A wisp of smoke nearby reminded you of Giran’s presence.

The sick broker was just sitting and watching with interest, his smirk still present. He seemed satisfied with just watching you in this humiliating state. Compress stood out of sight, but he was most likely doing the same. It made you just want to curl up and hide from these hungry eyes.

You heard a tired sigh over you as Dabi adjusted his grip and was now holding both sides of your face.There was no warning when he thrusted forward to jam himself into the back of your throat, the sting making your eyes well up.

“Sorry, but I think I’ve given you enough chances,” Dabi panted while reveling in the feel of your mouth all around him. His cock slid back and allowed you to breathe for just a second or two before plunging back in.

Breathing through your nose was the only option as he pumped in and out of your throat with little restraint. You gurgled helplessly and tried to push at his thighs to keep him from going so deep, but that only made him chuckle and fuck your mouth more roughly. He was in complete control now, so all you could do was take it as best as you could. Saliva gathered as your throat was violated, some of it oozing past your lips and running down your chin.

“Look at you, turning into a drooling mess for my cock. You like having your mouth fucked just like a pussy?” Demeaning words were spoken between his grunts, commenting on the depraved state of your face—you could only imagine how you looked at the moment with your extra lubricated mouth allowing him to move in and out more easily.

The erratic slams of his hips against your face signaled that this torture will be ending soon, as long as you could endure the assault on your windpipe that was making you dizzy. Any cry of distress or plea to slow down was reduced to wet gurgles and more spit bubbling from your mouth. With a teeth-clenched growl, Dabi presses your face flush against his pelvis, engulfed by his musky scent as cum shoots straight down your throat. Black spots were appearing in your vision with both your nose and throat blocked. ‘Can’t breathe…can’t…’

“Hang in there, just need to make sure you swallow every last drop.” He keeps your head locked in place so that you could feel every spasm as he feeds you his seed. Finally, he releases you and steps back, allowing oxygen to rush into your lungs as you coughed and wheezed.

“Whoops, maybe I went a little overboard,” Dabi joked at your shaking form that was hunched over hacking up a mixture of saliva and semen. That fucking bastard…

“You think?” A sarcastic remark sounded from an approaching presence behind you. Compress kneels beside you, placing a hand on your back as your coughing fit slowly died down. “That’s not my ideal way of punishing a lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Giran?”

You didn’t have the strength to look at said man and the amused expression that he was undoubtedly wearing. “I’m not picky myself. It was a good show,” you heard him say. You can physically feel your dignity leaving you.

“Well, I can give you a better one.” The phony gentleman grabbed and straightened you up. You noticed that he had removed his hat, his head concealed by what may be a ski mask. It was strangely symbolic—beneath all of that pizzazz was just another unforgiving criminal. “Dabi certainly did a number on you, didn’t he?” He observed, fingers tracing over your chest and the drying drool that had trailed down. You heard a “damn right” from Dabi who had returned to his spot at the wall. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t leave you so roughed up.”

His words did nothing to alleviate the growing fear as his hand wandered down to your panties, fingers pressing against the damp cloth. “Oh my…and here I was thinking he was being too hard on you. Looks like you didn’t hate it as much as I thought.”

You shuddered at the small chorus of laughter from all three men. Dabi took the opportunity to taunt you again. “I had a feeling she was the type that loves being treated like a hole. The bitch probably would have gotten off if I went a little longer, not that she deserves to.”

“Ah, but I think she does. In fact,” Compress pulled the underwear to the side and touched your slick directly, making you gasp. “I’d say she deserves more than she can handle.”

“N…St…op…” Your voice was hoarse from the abuse your throat had gone through. His fingers began soft strokes against your glistening folds, a feeling that wasn’t unpleasant, but you held back your whimpers to avoid both the vocal strain and giving him any gratification.

The gloved digits moved skillfully across your sensitive lips, kindling a hot desire deep inside of you. No, you really didn’t want to be feeling that from him. Your own hands curl into fists when you feel him prod at your opening, just barely penetrating you and making you bite your lip in a painful effort to suppress a moan.

He looks right at you; you can only guess what face he was making. “Trying not to make any noise, are you?” His free hand removed the patterned mask, revealing chocolate eyes and a smile that wasn’t at all sweet. “I sure do love a challenge. Then again, I already know that I’ll win.”

Any retort you had prepared died on your lips when two fingers slipped into your heat, unable to hold back your whimper even with your mouth closed. “There it is,” he purred close to your face. “But I think we can do better.”

Your cunt throbbed with each brush against your walls. He couldn’t go too deep in your current position, but that didn’t deter him as he pistoned in and out, flexing his fingers every which way until he found that forbidden spot that made you wail. The white hot heat was threatening to smother you completely. You found yourself grasping his arm and weakly pushing at it, silently begging to make it stop before you burst.

‘Don’t look ahead…Giran is watching…don’t look ahead…’ The mantra repeated in your head, echoing loudly to distract you from the unstable knot in your core. The inner chant was to no avail—several hard presses against your nerves had you crumbling beneath the searing heat of your climax. With no restraint remaining, your broken whines rushed out of your convulsing body and echoed through the room. A thumb circles your clit and prolongs the all-powerful sensation.

“Try to bear it, darling.” Compress says to you, but his voice sounds so far away, drowned out by the vibrations starting from your pussy and spreading all over, engulfing you. Even after your orgasm passes, the assault on your sensitive womanhood doesn’t stop, the sensations becoming painful. You would have fallen over if Compress wasn’t holding you, his arm wrapped around you in an insultingly affectionate embrace as he continued to overstimulate you. The words falling from your lips were weak and incoherent, the occasional ‘no’ and ‘too much’ being heard.

Sobbing in the villain’s shoulders, you can make out the blurred violet figure in your foggy vision, still lounging and taking silent delight in your struggles. You just barely noticed the slight curve of his lips as Compress forced you to cum again, pitting your muscles against another wave of excruciating spasms. This time he did let you collapse, your body sprawled out on the floor as your walls continued to clench.

“Hmmph, not bad.” Dabi can be heard, and his voice alone makes your throat burn again.

Compress was still close, curiously squishing your juices between his fingers. “I could have gone for longer, but she still needs energy for the main act.”

You hear a dark laugh from Giran. “So generous of you Compress. What would I do without you gentlemen? Just do me one more favor and remove the rest of your clothes.”

“Of course,” the showman moved over to fully strip you. You stayed limp as he pulled your drenched panties down along with your pants that were still hanging at your feet, then moving on to remove your shoes. You were now completely bare, body shivering despite the warm still air of the room.

“Alright, miss. That’s enough rest. Time to get up and come over here.” Giran orders coolly. There was no urgency in his voice, but you knew you shouldn’t keep him waiting. If only your entire lower body wasn’t screaming. Compress sensed your plight and took hold of your waist, prepared to pull you up.

“No no,” Giran held up a hand while stomping out his cigarette. “She’s a big girl and can stand on her own.”

Compress simply shrugged and retreated, leaving you to force your aching arms and legs to move and lift you up.

Even after being violated, you still couldn’t resist covering your chest and mound as you slowly approached the man that you deeply regret ever getting involved with. You tried to ignore how gross your body felt—the salty fleshy taste lingering on your tongue, the wetness that continued to run down your  legs, your bare feet shuffling across the old dusty floor. There was a prominent bulge in his pants, revealing just how much this was all exciting him.

“Sit down and have a ride on me.” It was said so casually that you needed a moment to comprehend.

Dabi barked impatiently. “Hey, don’t just stand there like a modest statue.”

Realizing that Giran isn’t going to take out his erection himself, you lean in to open up his pants, fighting every urge to pull your hands away as they work at the buttons and zipper, pulling down his underwear to watch his cock spring out. He didn’t seem to react, only watching your face like he has been since you’ve been tossed into this damned place. You stare at his waiting dick until you accept that you have to get closer, standing over his legs before lowering yourself down onto his lap. You have to grab the soft yet firm organ to keep it in place as it touches your opening.

He was so close, smoke-scented breath hitting your skin. There was no way to avoid his gaze at this proximity. He was free to see all of the shameful details on your tear-stained face.

It pains you to admit that Compress’s fingers made the stretch more bearable as Giran’s head pushes into your cavern that was still sensitive from the previous man’s onslaught. You had to place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as your hips sunk down on him, breaths shallow throughout your poor attempt to stay relaxed and not tighten up. Several inches later, you had him fully sheathed inside you.

“Good. Very good.” His voice was low and rugged, eyes closing briefly so that he can take in your surrounding heat. “Now start moving. I didn’t bring you over just to keep me warm.”

You didn’t have enough pride left to protest, so you did as instructed, slowly lifting your hips before bringing them back down, ignoring the strain put on your thighs. Giran placed a hand on your ass, the contact making your pace falter for just a second. He looked so at ease as you bounced on him that you wondered, if it was just the two of you, perhaps you could have taken this as an opportunity to attack. But in the current situation, it would only lead to certain death. The thought leaves your mind as quickly as it came.

“Three days.” The two words cut through your weary breaths and the squelch of your pussy. You give Giran a look of confusion before he specifies. “I’m giving you three more days to collect the money.”

The news surprises you enough to halt your hips, an action he doesn’t approve of.

“I didn’t say stop.” The warning in his tone had you instantly moving again. He lightened at your compliance; he sure knew how to flip his friendly mode on and off like a damn light switch. “Very good. I’m trying to show you some more mercy here. Don’t ruin it for yourself. Anyway, you need to hurry and do whatever you can to get that money. Steal, call some old friends, maybe sell your body? I don’t think you’d be half-bad at that.” He gave your rear a light smack, making your walls squeeze him in shock. “If you don’t have enough by the time we meet again, your lovely body won’t stop me from peeling your skin off a second time. Are we clear, sweetheart?”

The fear from his threat grips your chest as you keep trying to please him, moving in a way that keeps his dick away from your g-spot. “Yes,” you whimper through your pants.

Giran caught on to what you were doing. “I’m not convinced.” Both of his hands take hold of your hips and push you down, forcing stimulation on your hypersensitive bundle of nerves. A scream rips through your burning throat. “I’ll say it again: Are we clear?”

“Yes!” Your voice cracks and tears are flowing down your face once again.

“You won’t run from me again?”

“No! I swear I won’t!”

“Good girl.” He was the one setting the pace at this point, forcing you up and down in pursuit of his release. There was another agonizing orgasm growing in your abdomen, but the hands controlling your movements weren’t giving you a chance to escape the inevitable storm.

The final slam collides his throbbing cock with your cervix, and the pained pleasure has you quivering in his hold, crinkling his shirt with your white-knuckled grip as you cried out from every foul spurt into your womb. His soft groans were heated against your neck.

His pats of approval on your back are enough to push your worn figure into his chest. He chuckles and rubs you like a lover that didn’t just force you into the most disgraceful moment of your life. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Despite your limbs feeling like pure lead, you wanted to get off this man as soon as possible. “Please just let me go.”

His smile filled you with a fresh wave of dread. “Soon, darling. But I need to make sure I’ve made my point. I think the other two gentlemen would appreciate a turn.”

You heard the quick footsteps before he even finished, scarred hands grabbing and pulling you off of Giran’s softening cock. Fuck, the two had been so quiet for the past moment that you forgot about their presence.

You jolt at the feel of Dabi’s revived hard-on pressing against your back while Compress stops right in front of you, his own length bobbing freely. You flinched at the damp gloves caressing your chin and lips.  “Are you ready to return the favor? Don’t worry, I won’t treat your mouth as badly as Dabi did.”

“Sadly,” The crueler man behind you added before pressing down and bending you forward, your head now leveled with Compress’s waiting dick.

“Open up for me,” he orders with a hand resting in your hair. Your jaw still ached from the last cock in your mouth; you hoped that he truly was going to at least be more gentle as you parted your lips and took him in.

Dabi rubbed up and down your spine as he watched. “Well look at you, such an obedient little bitch now.” He began to knead your ass cheeks before spreading them, your body tensing in fear as a finger toyed with your back entrance.

“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, guess I’ll have to take another hole.” It was the only warning he gave before his thickness was pushing forcefully into your unprepared ass. The searing pain was as intense as his quirk, your muffled shrieks vibrating against Compress and making him moan. Dabi smiled at your suffering. “Can’t complain, ‘cause this sounds a lot better. Hope I don’t do too much damage in there.”

He fucked you as hard and fast as your tight passage would allow, pushing the other villain’s dick further into your throat with each thrust.

Soon, they will switch places. And then they will take you separately. And Giran will stay seated, taking pleasure in watching you break.

Your mind eventually wanders to what will happen afterwards, if there is any possible way to right the biggest wrong you’ve ever committed…or if you simply had three days left to live.

It feels like luck is done saving you.

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

tagging @mothwithteeth​ because their thirst for Giran inspired me. Go check them and their awesome work out!

[queensofthekastle]

For the dialogue prompt -- how's about 42?? :]

HOLY SHIT OK IT TOOK ME A MONTH BUT I'VE DONE IT. FINALLY. Life was just happening everywhere, thanks for waiting me out. 🙏

TW: descriptions and references to racist police violence.

The prompt was "I'm only here to establish an alibi." I was totally stuck--what could be blamed on Frank that he wouldn't have actually done? Canonically to the comics (though I commend the show for not giving a flying fuck about whether Frank went after glorified DHS cops who were dirty) the only things Frank won't touch are bystanders, cops, and active duty military.

And then I had it. Because 2020 has been A Year and I'm still processing some shit. So, here we go.

-Stellar

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

The door rattles under a succinct knock at 2:45 am—just when Karen had been so close to falling asleep, caught in that limbo of vague consciousness and wandering thoughts just on the cusp of falling into dreams. So, it’s with more irritation than concern that she drags herself out of bed after the second round of door-bludgeoning. It being post-closing time on a Friday—well, Saturday now—she's fairly confident what she’ll find through the peephole will be a drunk neighbor with the wrong apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor, probably, the last.

A cautious look through the peephole does not reveal one of her gregarious bar-hopping neighbors though, but a still figure; hood pulled close around his face to shadow shifting eyes that look black as ink in the low, shit light of the apartment hallway. Frank has a lovely mouth, but it’s set now in a tense line. Karen’s heart picks up speed, a fullness in her chest and a pressure in her veins—middle of the night, tense Frank is never a good sign. Though he doesn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere, which is more than can be said for some of his other visits.

She undoes the door chain, and she’s quietly but earnestly asking “what’s going on?” before she even has the door open wide enough for him to see her face.

“Nothing.” He says, voice rough and low, but calm. “I just need someone to know it’s nothing.”

He looks askance, looks at her. She allows herself a sigh.

“What does that even mean, Frank?”

He shifts his weight and looks at her from under the shadow of his hood. 

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

“Because you didn’t do something, or because you did?”

“Didn’t,” he says, and she believes him. She always does. It’s one piece of why he’s so dear to her: Frank never lies to her, and she never lies to him.

“This should be interesting,” she says, and opens the door far enough for him to step through. When she’s closed it behind him she asks if he’d like a drink. He answers without looking her in the eye, mind working on something else far away from her little apartment—he asks for his usual, of course. Only Frank would suggest coffee this near to 3:00 am.

“Not sleeping tonight?” she asks. He shrugs one shoulder.

“Guess not.”

“Uh-huh. So you didn’t do anything, but you’re pulling an all-nighter in my apartment? I’m going to need an explanation here soon, Frank.”

He hovers beside the hutch that acts as her kitchen island without looking any more settled than he had out in the hall. His jaw works for a moment before he answers.

“I don’t know how much you want to know. Let's just say I ran into someone with a mission about like mine and I’m giving her space to work.”

“Oh. God. A Punisher copycat? Jesus, Frank. The law turns a blind eye to one of you, I doubt you’ll get away with two.”

“Nah,” he says, “nothing like that. I’m it. This is a one-time thing—lady's got some things to get out of her system. I only found out because she was after the same supply chain I was.”

“Supply chain?”

“Ammo,” he says flatly. Karen holds her next blink a little too hard and a little too long. But he is what he is—she accepts that again every time she opens her door to him—and she doesn’t comment except to ask:

“Who is this person after that you aren’t?”

“It’s probably better you don't ask. If someone comes sniffing after me about it you should be able to say you didn’t know anything.”

“So if one of your Homeland ‘friends' shows up to see if you’re testing their good graces what do I tell them, then? That you just showed up at three in the morning for a chat? No one is going to buy that.”

He shifts, not quite shrugging, looking off into space with the raised eyebrows of feigned innocence.

“Just say I saw your light on, came to say hi.”

“Right. And you were walking around Hell’s Kitchen to see my light on in the first place because . . .?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Hoping maybe if I tried my luck with a walk I’d find you up.”

Karen sighs, turning away to pour his coffee. She’s made it thick as hot asphalt for him, in part because she knows he likes that, in part because she’s so damn tired she’d lost track of how many grounds she was piling into the coffeemaker. Frank takes the mug she offers him with a low “thank you.” And sure enough, after a sip, he smiles.

“You always make my kind of coffee,” he says.

“It’s an easy recipe,” she says, leaning over the counter opposite him, “just make it so no sane person would drink it.”

He laughs, a very short, low sound that rumbles in his chest and rasps in his throat. 

“Dare I ask what you were actually in the neighborhood for?” She asks. “If insomnia is your alibi?”

“Probably shouldn't. Let’s just say I had a meeting.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow, conveying as much skepticism with the look as she can.

“Meeting as in you’re probably accessory to whatever it is this friend of yours is doing?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Karen fixes him with her best piercing journalist stare. He drinks his coffee. They stalemate that way in silence for a minute or so before he meets her eyes and speaks.

“There are some things I don’t touch,” he says. “People doing their jobs, following shit orders and shit training and fucking up in the process—shit I’ve done, Afghanistan . . . I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Would be a hypocrite. It’s not my place. And I guess you could call it self-preservation, too. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, though.”

“Think about…?”

He takes a long drink, eyeing her over the top of the mug, making some calculation she can’t guess at.

“You know any Latin?” he says finally. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes mean anything to you?”

It does, and for a moment, she’s sure her heart has stopped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Who watches the watchmen. Tell me this is what I think it is.”

“I’m not telling you anything, don’t worry.”

“Frank,” she hisses. She doesn’t need his sarcasm right now. She thinks she knows what it could be that he won’t touch and still endorse: with Frank it’s always either war or justice, and every headline for the last month has been about the absence of justice on a battlefield where he could never hope to win. Cops in the city conveniently overlook Frank. He gets the ones they can’t, they have no vested interest in handing him over so long as he doesn’t mess with them. It’s an unspoken arrangement that lets Frank do what he does—and what he does lets him stand to live. Karen knows that. They’ve been over it enough. The police let Frank slip through their fingers and he doesn’t pick a fight in exchange.

But it’s been a long summer, and every day of it has been a fight with police for the thousands of protesters gathering over and over throughout the city. In early June a beat cop—White, of course—used a kind of handheld Taser repeatedly on an unarmed Black man “resisting arrest" for a crime he didn’t commit. Cell phone footage from witnesses made it online despite the NYPD's best efforts, and all anyone saw when watching it wasn’t a criminal resisting, but a victim on his knees, clutching his chest, begging please, please, I have a heart condition, I have a pacemaker, before the cop shocked him again. And again. Until he wasn’t on his knees but prone on the ground, gone still and silent.

The officer was reinstated after a paid leave six days ago. The DA declined to prosecute. 

And yesterday, the innocent man, having spent weeks in a coma induced by heart failure, was declared dead.

Frank looks Karen hard in the eye, an unflinching stare that says he knows she understands. She puts her face in her hands.

“There’s shitstorm coming, isn’t there?” she says.

“Probably.”

She shakes her head, drops it into her hands again. She can feel him watching her. A minute ticks by. Maybe two.

“Karen.”

She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his.

“You feel you gotta do something with this?” he asks. It neither a judgement nor a threat. She worries her lip for a moment before answering.

“This person you know of,” she says slowly, “they won’t implicate you?”

“No.”

“And do you know enough of their plan that you could stop them? Tip someone off?”

He takes a long drink, holding her with those deep inkdark eyes, and for the first time, he lies to her.

“No. Nothing.”

She knows it’s a lie. She knows he wants her to know. She could call him on it and he wouldn’t deny it. But she doesn’t. 

All she says is “then I guess there’s nothing we could do,” holding his eyes while she speaks, making sure he understands what’s happening here.

Frank nods. It’s enough.

Karen looks away, stares at her hands folded in front of her, tracing the patterns of veins under pale skin.

After a moment she asks, “would you like anything stronger?”

Frank looks at her with cool appraisal that says what he won’t out loud—that somehow, on some level, he helped with what’s to come. And he knows she’s letting him get away with it.

“No thanks,” he says. “But you go ahead.”

And she does. She falls asleep beside him on the couch, drunk with her head resting on his shoulder, sometime after 4:30, an economy bottle of wine that started full and is now half gone still out on the coffee table.

On Monday, Ellison will ask her to look into the story of a body found charred beyond recognition in an NYPD patrol car.

She’ll tell him there was nothing she could dig up, and never mention it again. 

[vidimillion]

Hc of jason and nico meeting pre HoO?

thank you for asking this. i hope you wanted something really long, because not only is this really long but it’s also only half coherent.

jason was freshly eleven when he met the ten-year-old nico di angelo. it was early in the morning when he'd heard a centurion of the third cohort mention a disturbance in the forest. it wasn't exactly eavesdropping, he swears. he was just passing by them, when he knew he should've been asleep.

years later, he didn't know why exactly he did it, but he supposed he was young. he wanted to prove himself.

or maybe more accurately, he wanted to break his unearned reputation of being a golden boy. what better way to do that then to do something he wasn't supposed to?

being the dumbass kid he was, he went out alone to the forest, bringing his sword and nothing else. he didn't know what to expect but when he saw a black mass in the forest, sucking up the light like death itself, he was expecting a monster.

then the mass turned around, eyes afraid and hands shaking as they gripped a long black sword. and jason saw that he was just a kid.

before jason could do anything, the boy turned away and disappeared into shadows. freaking out about whether or not he'd just seen a ghost, he ran into the barracks and told the first person he saw. whispers go around fast, and by that afternoon jason hears the theories of who he saw in the forest— a son of pluto.

jason convinces the senate not to send patrols to look for the boy. "You didn't see him, he looked so scared." he'd say. "A patrol would scare him away! I'll look for him myself, every day, I promise!"

he keeps the promise, even when the boy doesn't show up for weeks after that. he keeps it because he knows what it's like to be left confused and alone, forced to fight things you didn't know were real. and he knows it's normal, he knows that's just what happens to demigods, but it doesn't change how much he remembered wanting someone to save him.

he sees the boy again weeks later. and before the boy can run away again he yells after him, "We know what you are!"

the boy freezes, and it looks like jason made it even worse but at least he bought himself time. "No, I mean— you're a demigod right? I am too, we all are here."

jason smiles at him, "do you want me to show you in?"

(actual headcanons following)

jason decides this guy, who's name is nico di angelo, is his best friend now. before bringing him into camp, he felt weird about possibly having another child of the big three around. but when nico confirms the fact three days later, all jason feels is relief.

nico bunks next to jason in the fifth cohort but says he can't pick one to join. he says it's because he can't stay for long, and jason asks why but nico doesn't give him a straight answer. so instead, he takes nico shopping for bedsheets. jason wants to make sure the bunk nico's claimed as his stays his, even when he's gone.

the reputation they build for themselves is incredible. as the only kids of the big three in camp, they're powerful separated but unstoppable together. (this proves for fantastic entertainment when they spar, and a very tough fight for whoever they're going up against if they're a team.)

it's also a worthy mention that not only do they become more powerful when they're fighting together, when they're off the battlegrounds they also get a whole lot stupider. they've got wild spirits, and though they reign it in when they're on their own, they cause shitstorms of trouble when they're together.

(more under the cut)

nico's gone for weeks at a time but every time he comes back jason never gets less excited. he greets him when he arrives and waves him off when he leaves again. that becomes the norm soon— whenever nico's here, you can find jason right next to him.

the senate said nico couldn't stay unless he picked a cohort, and if he picked a cohort he couldn't leave. when he one day comes back with a report from pluto himself explaining why nico has to come and go sometimes, they find a way for him to stay. (they won't hesitate to admit the boy's grown on the community. they wouldn't wanna say goodbye to him either.) and thus, nico was freshly eleven when he's made the ambassador of pluto.

jason isn't allowed to leave camp jupiter, so sometimes nico sneaks him out with shadow travel. the first time they did it, jason actually puked because his twelve-year-old system is a little weak. it was worth it though, because nico bought him his first mcdonalds. jason doesn't think he could ever go back.

that's also how he found out that nico's dad gives him unlimited money to spend on whatever. he realizes nico has zero budgeting skills when he was nearly persuaded to buy a twenty dollar ice cream

when they were both thirteen years old, they were both officially allowed to go on minor quests. on the first one they take, it goes haywire but they meet a little puerto rican girl their age. after a little bit of explaining (and also a little bit of de-escalating, because wow this new demigod is good with a dagger), they find her name is reyna, and they take her back to camp jupiter

jason adopts her immediately, and thus so does nico, because they're a two-in-one deal. they become an iconic trio immediately— some people throw around rumours about love triangles between them, but none of them are ever the same. some say nico and jason argue over reyna's love, some say nico and reyna are fighting for jason's, some say jason and reyna are fighting for nico's.

reyna gets phantom crushes on both of them, mostly out of feeling like she needed to have a crush on them. they're the two people she loves most in the world, so it felt like proper procedure. it fades fast once she realizes they're very clearly in love with each other. she doesn't say anything about it, wanting them to realize on their own. she just hopes it's soon.

by the time nico comes back to camp with a curly-haired daughter of pluto, he's already told jason and reyna of who bianca was. he doesn't answer their looks of concerns for a long time. (but they fucking love hazel. new adoptee)

nico comes back from the war with kronos to be told jason lead the roman army and defeated krios by himself. he flips his shit.

(but he still congratulates jason on the praetorship by taking him on a small trip to gold coast, australia. after battling a monster in public, they appear in the news for allegedly fighting six feral red kangaroos in the street)

jason is diagnosed with ptsd soon after the war. nico finds that he can't bring himself to leave, not when he's one of the only people who know how to calm jason down from a panic attack. he can't leave him, not when jason has never left him.

one of the ways his ptsd manifests is through night terrors. and he doesn't want to ask for help. he's always telling people "there's no shame in asking for help" or "you can ask for help when you need it, we won't judge". yet he can't bring himself to follow his own advice. it's different for him, he often thinks. it's just different.

one day, he gets an especially bad one. it's so bad he almost can't breathe, and it takes him nearly two and a half hours until he's even able to move. when he can feel his legs again, he walks to nico's private quarters.

jason doesn't even have to say anything, and nico is pulling him inside and settling him in his white sheets. the same ones they bought together when they were little, relocated after they'd both moved from barrack bunks.

they don't say anything, but jason quietly asks if nico will hold him. there's something unreadable in his dark brown eyes, but he says yes with such certainty that jason knows he means it.

a few weeks later, jason wakes up in the back of a school bus, holding a pretty girl's hand but not knowing her name. the only thing he remembers is the name nico di angelo.

[sword-envy]

well how the turntables...

Fandom: A Tale of Crowns @ataleofcrowns

Content warning: swearing and light gore

Word Count: 2830

Pairing: X/A lite. lite

Description: Azad doesn’t care for how or why he finds himself facing down the Pale Sword once again; what he does know is that he’s getting a little Spirits-damned tired of cleaning up the man’s messes.

or, that time A tried to read X's mind, failed, and then got their fucking nose broken

With Xelef pinned under his forearm and his famous sword lost somewhere in the grass behind them, Azad loses his last shred of patience and smacks his palm against Xelef's head.

Azad can see Xelef's eyes widen in his peripheral as his magic surges forward, rushing past a few feeble mental blocks, buffeting them like rocks in a river. Azad flips throught the immediate memories--his own face set in a stern expression as Xelef was thrown against the tree, the feeling of a sword being knocked from his hands, their duel picking up as Azad pressed forward, demanding to know where Xelef had hidden that stupid--

He doesn't put him to sleep first, doesn't want to waste the time doing it, and as retribution for all the headaches this damned mercenary caused him that day alone, he intends on making this sting. The magic rises to him, easily, flowing from his palm and it presses into Xelef's mind, searching for some shred of clarity regarding the shitstorm that had been raging for the past week.

And then, fire. His head fills with fire. 

Xelef's defense eases just enough for Azad to feel the weight of someone’s hands curled and pushing against his forearm, but even in his dizzy state, he holds his ground and doesn’t let Xelef up. A particularly painful jolt leaves him winded, pitching forward. He catches that familiar, stupid smirk, and Xelef opens his mouth to speak.

It bursts to life behind his eyes, accompanied by searing pain. His search is halted immediately by that wall of flames, acting almost like a physical barrier that proceeds to march forward and knock him flat on his ass. The burning fills and dulls his senses and he's vaguely aware of the feeling of someone poking around; If he wasn't too busy trying not to drown, his skin would be crawling. 

"Sorry, beloved." And then he slams his forehead down on Azad's nose.

The bones break with a sickening crack that reverberates through his skull and pierces the white-hot flames still clouding his vision. Azad's distantly aware that Xelef pushes him away the same moment their heads collide, and it isn't until he feels the ground against his back that the mental invasion recedes and he can feel his broken nose intimately.

"Fuck!" he shouts, pain setting in and blood flying into the hand he presses to his face. Xelef is still standing, presumably looking at him, and Azad fumbles with one hand for something to throw. His fingers find a rock and he throws it with all the force he can muster (which is a lot, judging by the shattering sound that follows after Xelef dives out of the way). "Fuck!"

He sees red and still glares through it at Xelef, who at least has the decency to look sheepish and extend a hand to help him up.

Azad slaps away the offered hand. "What, by the void, was that?"

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never run into a mental defense before.” Azad ignores him and raises unsteadily to his feet, leaving Xelef to sigh dramatically.  "I mean, I'm not going to tell you. But I can definitely recommend that you don't try that mind-reading trick on me again.”  Azad considers rolling his eyes, but another wave of pain hits him and he elects to instead squeeze his eyes shut and ignore him.

He's tired. His head hurts. His nose is fucking broken. Azad can predict the lecture about duty and finishing tasks, almost down to the unique color Dara’s face is going to turn, but this is just some stupid retrieval mission that he has no personal stake in. He is going to find a healer and go to sleep, nobility be damned.

Xelef raises his hand hesitantly, almost like he's going to try and touch him, but seems to think better of it. "You know, there's a few more of us nearby," he says lightly, turning away to search the grass. "I'm sure we have someone who can help you with that."

Azad spits a clot of blood on the ground. "What was the fucking point of breaking my nose if you were going to offer to fix it?"

"Aww, do you want me to kiss it better?" The teasing is nothing if not expected, but Xelef still crumbles a little under the glare Azad throws his way. He averts his eyes. "I, uh. I didn't actually mean to break your nose. I just wanted to stun you. I'm--really sorry."

This time, Azad really does roll his eyes.The idea of relying on Xelef after that little scene is far from appealing, but their duel had carried them a significant distance from any Imperial forces. One of the Blades would be his best, fastest bet for a healer right now. "Fine," he grumbles. "But you owe me."

Xelef laughs, perhaps a little nervously, and Azad watches distantly as he scoops Azad's own sword from the ground. Azad opens his free hand, waiting to get it back, but Xelef wordlessly secures it in his own belt and starts walking, inclining his head for Azad to follow. He feels himself hesitate, focused on his sword on Xelef’s belt.

Was he trying to apologize? Or to disarm him?

"Give that back," he grumbles, speeding up to fall in step with Xelef. "I can carry it."

Xelef's pouts. "I was trying to do you a favor, you old grouch. But fine, hold a grudge."

Azad scoffs at the accusation, ducking under the tree branch Xelef holds out of the way. "You broke--"

"Hey, that's ancient history!"

"That was five minutes--"

Xelef ignores him entirely, grinning and waving over someone Azad doesn't recognize. Azad’s lips twitch at the diversion, but decides to pick a fight later. There’ll be plenty of time later to discuss what “ancient history” actually constitutes regarding a broken nose.

The Blade that approaches is fairly small, wearing light armour even for the mercenary group, and they move quickly past the few others gathered in the small clearing. Xelef greets them with an easy grin, resting his hands on two swords like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Fîlya! Care to lend a hand? Azad here went and got his nose broken." Azad rolls his eyes almost far enough to see inside his head.

The Blade, Fîlya, eyes him with some suspicion, taking in the state and Imperial look of his armour, but it doesn't look like they're about to disobey the Pale Sword. They incline their head to Azad, uncertainly but not without respect, and clear their throat. "Move your hands, please," they say politely as they peel off their gloves.

Azad finds himself glancing over at Xelef, who just raises his eyebrows at him. Insufferably, he winks. Azad resists the urge to roll his eyes again and removes his hands, leaning forward enough for them to take a look. They pull a wad of cloth and a waterproof pouch from a bag at their waist, dousing it with the liquid inside.

He closes his eyes and schools his face into neutrality. He can feel his eyes and mouth twitch as Fîlya carefully prods the sides of his nose as they clean off the blood, likely making a mental image of the damage before trying to mend it. Azad is no healer, but he at least knows the basics of how it works. It’s not as simple as pouring magic into a wound and waiting for it to finish; such reckless use would quickly lead to the presence of hard, painful growths that would need to be cut out, lest they spread to the rest of the body. Healing was a careful process affected by a variety of factors, including a healer’s skill level, their specialization, and whether it was suited to the wound they were seeing.

A sharp pain snaps Azad from recalling more of Rêzan’s long-winded explanation on how healing magic works, and he grimaces. 

“Sorry,” Fîlya says quickly, drawing their hands back. “It looks like I’ll need to put the bone back in place before I start healing. Do you want anything for the pain? Something to bite on? Maybe somewhere to sit?” Azad blinks his eyes at the choices, and Fîlya looks on with their eyebrows drawn, chewing on the inside of their lip.

Mostly, Azad wants this to be over with. “No, but thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Xelef exchanges an amused look with the Blade, who seems more confused than anything, but they shrug and turn back to Azad. They raise their bare hands and he closes his eyes again, feels them place their hands back on his face, their thumbs on either side of his nose. “Uh, Chief, can you--?"

"Yeah, of course." Warm hands appear too quickly on the sides of his head for Azad to move away from, and the heat emanating from Xelef briefly distracts him. Xelef holds him firmly, and Azad opens his mouth to protest having to be held down like some sort of child. It’s annoying. It’s embarrassing. His face heats up from the irritation at the gesture, not from a certain someone’s proximity or breath brushing against the back of his neck.

While he’s distracted, Fîlya pops his nose back into alignment on the distant count of two.

Pain explodes behind his eyes once again and he clenches his teeth, trying not to break out into obscenities. “Sorry!” they say quickly, carefully running over the bridge of his nose again with their fingers. The familiar hot-cold tinge of magic slowly seeps into his skin, and the healer starts talking again, likely trying to cover the sound of bones mending themselves together. “The closer I get it back to the original shape before healing, the better it turns out in the end. I'm hardly a master, but this should heal up pretty well," they explain. 

To his left, Xelef scoffs. He still hasn’t taken his hands off Azad’s head, and the heat from them is starting to sink into his skull. (Azad is absently aware of Xelef’s thumbs moving almost imperceptibly against his hair, like a soothing gesture).  "Fîlya's just being modest. She's one of our best healers, no need to worry. You'll look exactly the same as before." Azad doesn’t respond. If he really needs to, he can have Rêzan or someone else fine-tune it; the sooner he can get out of here, the better.

By the time he opens his eyes and the pain dulls into mild soreness, he sees two familiar figures stalking towards them. Fîlya makes a strange noise, immediately turning tail and leaving, Xelef drops his hands, and Azad braces himself for a conversation that will undoubtedly keep him from his bed for a little longer. "Tûjo. Heval."

Tûjo silently inclines his head, his usual greeting, but Heval seems a little less inclined towards business as usual.

"What," they ask tersely, "Are you doing here?" They didn't bring their axe with them, he notices, but Heval's arms are crossed and their tone doesn't exactly seem pleased from under their iron mask. Azad sighs, and Xelef seems to take that as an invitation to talk.

"Why, Azad simply couldn't resist my offer for dinner and decided to join us! He's completely enamored to the idea of becoming a--"

Azad can feel his eye roll ripple through his posture and looks dead Heval in the eyes. "Xelef broke my nose." Heval sucks in a sharp breath and raises their hand as though to pinch the bridge of their own nose; Tûjo blinks but otherwise doesn't move.

"You broke his nose?" he says, and Azad is able to pick up a tinge of something he can't quite identify in Tûjo's tone. Xelef laughs a little too loudly and rubs at the back of his neck, something Azad has noticed he does when he’s embarrassed.

"Accidentally," he insists. "And Fîlya fixed it up for him! It's like it never even happened! I'm sure he won't hold it against me, right?"

Azad hums at that and carefully touches his nose. It feels tender, but otherwise correct. "Time will tell."

Tûjo coughs into his fist, eyes crinkled slightly, and Heval huffs in annoyance.

"Even if he did break your nose," they say, eyeing Xelef with disappointment, "What, exactly, are you doing here? We're hardly working towards the same goal right now." Azad shrugs.

"It's a professional difference. I honestly couldn't care less. Besides, I don't even have my sword." He motions towards the blade, still dangling from Xelef's hip opposite his pale scimitar. "He wouldn't let me carry it."

This time, both of Xelef's right-hand mercenaries turn to look at him. He crosses his arms and grins at them both, but something about the smile doesn't fully sit right. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

"What? A man can't carry a sword for his injured friend?"

No one pushes the claim, but Xelef still unclips the sword and passes it back to its rightful owner. Azad slides it back into the scabbard, bemused at the fact that Xelef was really so reckless as to carry a naked blade swinging from his hip.

The three people sensible enough to not do that exchange uneasy glances, until finally Xelef clears his throat.

“Well, Azad, I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to your own camp,” he says amicably, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. Azad doesn’t expend the energy to shrug it off. “Why don’t I walk you back closer to your camp? It’s dangerous to go alone, after all.”

“Wouldn’t that leave you walking alone?” Azad asks. Heval tilts their head, and nods once in agreement.

“He’s right, chief. It would be needlessly dangerous to travel alone. We don’t know who’s still out in the forest at this point, and not all of the soldiers are going to be so understanding.”

Xelef waves off the suggestion. “Oh, come on! I’ll sense anyone coming for a mile away. You won’t even finish dinner before I get back.” Xelef’s other hand reaches out to clasp Heval’s shoulder comfortingly, and they relax and sigh heavily.

“Just be careful, please.” They’re still looking at Azad with suspicion, and Azad raises an eyebrow at them. Heval clears their throat, and inclines their head to him, Tûjo following suit. “Until next time, Azad.”

“Until next time.”

And so, Xelef’s hand still on his shoulder, they steer away from the lowlit camp and back into the darkening forest. It’s still light enough to see, and Azad reluctantly allows Xelef to take the lead as they walk; even if the two of them both gravitated towards inner magic, Xelef’s sensory abilities were--admittedly--exceptional.

They walk in silence for a while, picking through the grass and the underbrush, before Xelef speaks up. “How’s the nose?”

“It’s fine,” Azad says, after consideration. He ducks under the branch Xelef holds out of the way, realizing that's at least the second time he's done that. “You’re being...awfully attentive,” he adds carefully. Xelef shrugs with an easy grin.

“Why? Are you enjoying the attention?” he teases.

“I’m suspicious of it.”

Xelef’s eyes drop as he kicks a rock out of the way, lips turned down in a frown. Azad feels the urge to bump their shoulders, which is an unexpected and mostly unwelcome idea. Instead, he wets his lips against the urge to assuage the guilt that was showing under Xelef’s sulky demeanor. “It’s fine. Really. Before you go all “ooh Azad, beloved, don’t break my heart, please forgive me”,” he teases in his best Pale Sword imitation. Xelef’s head snaps up and his green eyes stare at him in open disbelief.

The Pale Sword cracks a smile. “I do not sound like that!” he insists, but the smile colors his voice and he forges forward. They’re getting close, Azad realizes. “Spirits, you’re insufferable sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t know about ‘sometimes’,” Azad says airily. “I try to be insufferable most of the time, actually.”

Xelef shakes his head, black locks swinging. “It works,” he remarks dryly, and slows to a stop. He looks around quickly before turning to face Azad, hands on his hips. The last reaches of sunlight are nearly gone, past the golden fire-like burn of sunset. The colors around them are muted, matching the expression on Xelef’s face.

“Until we meet again, Mirza,” he says dramatically, sweeping into the most sarcastic approximation of a bow Azad has ever seen in his life. “Perhaps next time you’ll win.”

Azad scoffs and rolls his eyes one more time. “Or I’ll return the favor.” He walks past Xelef, towards the distant glow of the Imperial camp through the trees. He thinks about his bed, the scolding he’ll face after he packs up and heads back to the city, the color the General’s face will turn when he finds out what he did.

It’s strange. Even without looking, he gets the feeling that Xelef is smiling at him.

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (4/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: I know I’m a little tardy with the post this week, but I’m happy with how this chapter turned out. It’s mostly conversation, but I’m a huge fan of just sitting around and talking with the people I care about, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Warnings: Description of transformation/pain (not in depth)

Part 3

The door clicks open and I look up for a moment to see Clint and Bucky stumble into the apartment. Clint flops down onto the couch and lays himself across my lap. Bucky presses a kiss to the top of my head before taking a seat in the recliner to my right. Clint whines when I don’t pay attention to him, so I set my book aside and comb my fingers through his hair.

“What, are you a dog?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he mumbles.

“Mmm,” I hum. Clint sighs happily. I turn to Bucky and ask, “How was your day, then?”

“It was alright,” he says. “Uneventful, actually. Seems like we’re in the quiet season, so Steve is mostly just drilling the Maximoff kids and making sure they’re combat-ready.”

“Are they still not working well in the field?”

“It’s not that they’re bad, they just need more training. There’s only so much you can do with brute strength before your opponent gets the upper hand.”

I nod. “Are they making good progress?”

“Relatively. Steve gets a little frustrated with them from time to time, but they’re kids, y’know?”

“Their attention span leaves much to be desired?” I suggest.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, something like that. At this point, only time will tell.”

“That, and getting their asses handed to them out in the field,” Clint interjects. “They’re good kids, but training is only gonna do so much good. Trial and error is what’s really gonna help ‘em.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t know about that.”

“I think he might be onto something, Buck,” I say. “A lot of the time, the best way to improve is to actually put what you’re learning into practice. They’ll learn better on missions, especially with you guys there to keep them safe when things get rocky.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re doing better for them than was done for either of you.”

“She’s right,” Clint says. “We may not be perfect, but at least we’re not criminals.”

“I’ve found that’s always been the best quality in a good teacher.” Clint laughs and rolls to the side to press his face to my stomach. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, you can’t tell me that the bad guys don’t make shit teachers. I wound up with more cracked ribs and bruises with S.H.I.E.L.D. than I ever did with the Avengers.”

Clint stops laughing and rolls back to look up at me. “What?”

“You know Hydra had a presence in S.H.I.E.L.D. even before the whole shitstorm a while back, right?” I look between Clint and Bucky. “You’re looking at me like I grew a tail or something.”

“Considering you just dropped a fucking Hydra bomb on us, I’d say we’re reacting pretty well,” Clint says.

Bucky moves from his chair to sit in front of me on the floor. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me with sad puppy dog eyes.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” I whisper. “I was never used by them. They didn’t do anything near what they did to you.”

“That doesn’t matter, (Y/N). They still pushed you too hard. They still hurt you.”

Clint takes my other hand and I look down at him.

“Tell us,” he says. “How long?”

I shrug and shake my head. “Probably fourteen or fifteen years? I don’t know. Someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. approached my dad after the accident that gave me my wings.”

“What happened?” Bucky asks.

“I… well, I was on a field trip in seventh grade to a factory or something for a science class. The group was walking across a catwalk over a bunch of chemical vats, and a couple of kids were dicking around near me and they got too rowdy and I got knocked over the side, into one of the vats.” Clint and Bucky’s hands tighten around mine. “They fished me out really fast, they washed me off, and pretty much just sent me on my way when I didn’t immediately melt or break out in hives. And I was fine for like a week, but then things started changing really fast. I shot up like five inches in three weeks before anything started actually sprouting.”

“Holy shit,” Clint mutters.

I nod. “Yeah… shit was itchy as hell. The bone structure started growing first, I had all kinds of stretch marks because everything grew so fast. As soon as the feathers started coming in it was like everything was covered in ingrown hairs or something. It was around that time that S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking. They said something about wanting to do some tests, make sure I was alright, and that nothing about this transformation would affect my quality of life. My parents were cool with them just taking me with them for some reason, and I went with them a week later.”

I let my head fall back against the couch and sigh. “I found out that my bones and muscle density had changed completely and skeletal structure in my torso shifted for three months or something after I moved into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility full time. I couldn’t move properly until everything came in fully and stopped moving around, and even then the pain didn’t really go away for years. No one believed me, though, so as soon as everything seemed like it was under control, someone decided that I was going to be a new asset, and I had to start training around six months after they brought me in.”

Bucky moves suddenly, letting go of my hand and gestures for Clint to sit up. I watch him, brows pulled together, as he carefully picks me up and sits on the couch with his back against the arm. He places me in his lap and waits for me to situate my wings comfortably before nodding to Clint. With Clint’s head in my lap and Bucky’s arm around my back Bucky places his free hand on Clint’s chest and Clint covers it with his hand. I let my head fall onto Bucky’s shoulder.

“Keep going,” Bucky murmurs.

“The trainers I was assigned were always at least twice my size, and I know I’m strong, but I wasn’t anywhere near as strong as I needed to be to face up against them when I was that young. I don’t think I was close even at fifteen or sixteen. I just didn’t have the muscle mass. But they still threw me around like I should’ve been able to keep up, and yeah, I learned, but they probably wasted more resources on patching me up than on actually training me. They at least waited till I was eighteen to put me in the field, not that they didn’t try before then. Something tells me that Fury or someone close to him had a hand in that. Y’know, someone with a brain who recognized that a minor, who was supposed to be a simple case study, shouldn’t really be an agent or anything like that.”

“And your parents didn’t have a problem with this?”

“Of course not. They didn’t even know it was happening. S.H.I.E.L.D. was compensating them for my time and making sure that I finished my education. My parents were ecstatic.”

“That’s messed up,” Clint says.

“Mm, yeah. Kind of.”

“Did they know what was happening?” Bucky asks. “Did they ever visit to check in on you?”

“No, and if they ever tried, I’m sure someone turned them away.” I shake my head. “I never told them about the training because I thought that was supposed to be normal. I don’t think they knew about anything past the tests or my schooling. I don’t even think I told them I was an Avenger.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to feel normal. Block out the trauma for a while and feel like I belonged somewhere.”

“Well,” Clint says. “You wound up with us instead of the well-adjusted ones, so looks like the joke’s on you.”

Bucky flicks Clint’s ear and Clint frowns. “Right, poor choice of words. What I meant is that people with shit always tend to gravitate towards each other. You don’t have to try and be normal like everyone else. You’re allowed to figure out where your normal is and then find your people. The people with the same normal.”

“Why do you always say the dumb thing first?” Bucky admonishes. “You’re smarter than that.”

“Force of habit,” Clint says.

“Get a better habit.”

“Guys,” I say. “Come on. Can we please not blow this out of proportion? I’ve barely been back a month. I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in again. What my normal is.”

“You’ll get there,” Bucky says softly. “We’ll help you.”

I sigh and lean heavily against him. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank us for,” Clint says. “We’re your boys. We’ll always be here for you.”

“I appreciate that,” I say. “Really.”

Bucky hugs me close. “We know.”

I nod against his chest and place my hand on top of his and Clints. I feel Bucky relax and I allow my eyes to close. However, Clint tenses under my hand and I have to suppress the annoyed groan that’s building at the back of my throat.

“What is it, Clint?” I ask.

“How do you know I’m gonna say anything?”

“Because the only time you’re silent is if you’re asleep or unconscious. Considering you’re not asleep, and well on your way to being unconscious, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re itching to say something.”

“I don’t like the quiet,” he mutters.

“Just ask your question, Clint,” Bucky says.

“Maybe I don’t want to ask now.”

“Clint, please,” I poke his stomach. “We’re not making fun of you. Just ask the question.”

He sighs. “It’s just that we don’t know what you were doing when you weren’t helping Kate. Private investigative work can be a full-time gig, but there’s no way it was anyone but her.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” I mutter.

“How is she even making money?” Bucky asks. “Her father cut her off, right?”

I nod. “He did, indeed.”

“Then how is she surviving?”

“She takes little paid vigilante jobs, mundane PI gigs, and the occasional odd job if she can’t make rent,” I say. “Can’t say she’s really winning the game yet, but she’s doing her best.”

“But what were you doing to pay the rent?” Clint asked. “I mean, you probably weren’t doing any vigilante work.”

“No, I definitely wasn’t doing vigilante work. I had some money saved up when I was first out there, so I was able to finish that degree I started when I was still at the tower.”

“That couldn’t have taken up much of your time.”

“I really didn’t. But it gave me a jumping-off point to start doing some freelance work. I wound up writing for a shitty advice column and editing for a few steady customers.”’

“That pay well?”

“Hell yeah. I’m good enough and fast enough that I can charge between fifty to seventy-five dollars an hour.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. And my clients work fast enough that I always have work throughout the week. I’m not rich by any means, but I’m definitely not broke.”

“Wow,” Bucky said. “You’re still working with them?”

“Yeah, I don’t see any reason to stop now that I’m back. I like the work too much to let it go.” I sigh. “It’s nice to have something outside of the Avengers and everything that links back to that. Something that I’m passionate about that doesn’t rely on anyone but me and keeps me out of danger.”

Clint laughs. “Yeah, danger is definitely a turnoff in our line of work. The only thing that tops it is the high potential for death.”

Bucky snorts. “I think you’ll find death isn’t always permanent.”

“Disappointing,” I say.

Clint's giggles die down eventually, but he immediately asks, “Have you gone out flying yet?”

“No,” I answer.

Bucky seems intrigued. “Really? Not at all?”

“Really. Not at all. I’ve been busy with work.”

“But you get stir crazy so easily.”

“The fact that I don’t want the rest of the team knocking at my door outweighs the restlessness.”

“Are you sure?”

“Clint, Tony would be breaking down my door right now if he knew I was back in town. I’m not ready for that. Let alone the kind of emotional beration I’ll get from Nat when she gets to me.” I squint down at him. “You’re just scared you can’t keep me a secret, aren’t you?”

“I might be.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll go out in my own time.”

“What if I let something slip?”

“Then you tell them you don’t know where I’m staying. It’s not… It wouldn’t be awful for them to know I’m in town. The issue lies in whether or not they know where I am.”

“I don’t know if I can keep that in, (Y/N). You know the kind of mind trick Tasha uses. I am not immune!”

Bucky pressed his nose to my shoulder. “I’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” I laugh. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“ Clint’s right though, you really do need to get out,” he continues. “Staying cooped up here forever isn’t helping your health.”

“I know…”

“Why don’t we go upstate this weekend?” Bucky asks. “We’ll steer clear of the compound, but we can find somewhere you can just get out and fly for a while.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll stay behind,” Clint offers. “I have work to do around the building. If the team needs anything, I’ll be here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Buck needs some time outside of the city, and you need to get out of here and fly. It’ll be good for both of you.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Bucky says.

“Mm, no problem.” Clint hums and closes his eyes when Bucy pats his chest.

Bucky convinces Clint and I to move to the bedroom. I agree, but Bucky has to carry Clint when he refuses to get up. I went ahead and grabbed the book I was reading earlier and propped myself up against the headboard. Bucky lays beside me and Clint cuddles into his side. Bucky reads over my arm and bumps me with his shoulder when I turn the page before he’s done.

When I yawn one too many times, Bucky takes my book from me and tosses it onto the bedside table.

“Go to sleep,” he says.

I nod and pull my wings tight against my body so that I can turn onto my side and lay down. Bucky pulls me close and I curl into the side of his body. I nod off just as Bucky presses a kiss to my forehead.

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

Part 5

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked this chapter, please reblog, comment, and/or shoot me an ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Tag List:

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This Fic:

@avengerscompound​, @nerdy-bookworm-1998​, @shirukitsune​

[radioromantic-moved]

a study in semantics

(hey, does this look familiar? it should! because i fucked up and it got deleted for a little while. things are okay now)

i came up with the headcanon that frank calls me a ray of sunshine initially sarcastically before it evolves into an actual affectionate nickname. and yeah, that’s what this is.

word count: 1650

They say in the business world that first impressions are everything.

Nyx probably didn’t get the memo. Actually, they probably got the memo and promptly chose to purposefully ignore it. 

They show up to interview for a position at Toy Zone wearing all black, with a close-cropped mess of blond hair as the main splash of color in a wardrobe that would probably camouflage them in a dark room. The way they cross their arms over their chest and stare across the desk they’re sitting in front of, Frаnk feels vaguely like he’s the one being interviewed.

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he mutters to himself.

They level a bright green stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, I’m guessing ‘cheerful’ isn’t one of the reasons you’re going to list as to why I should hire you.”

“I’ll have you know, my close friends find me delightful.”

He can’t tell if they’re joking. They deliver everything in the same sort of dry, vaguely amused sounding tone, as if they’re watching a somewhat-interesting movie. 

“We have a uniform here, you know,” he says. “It might clash with your aesthetic a little.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that from what you’ve got going on.”

They gesture at his bright red polo, name tag dangling conspicuously from it. “I can handle the shirt,” they shrug, “as long as I can still wear this coat. I feel like I’d have a case to sue if you guys didn’t let me wear this coat.”

It is a cool coat.

“There isn’t anything in our rulebook about letting you wear a coat over the shirt. Just don’t let it cover your nametag. But back on track, we still have to figure out if we’re hiring you at all. Do you work well in a team?”

                                                      ---

 It’s been a few weeks. 

And yes, he hired them.

People aren’t exactly clamoring to work at Hatchetfield’s one toy store smack in the middle of a shopping mall, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. 

Supply and demand notwithstanding, Nyx is on the team now. They get along surprisingly well with Leх (actually, not that surprising. They seem to be someone who never grew out of their edgy teen phase anyway), and whenever they’re on break the two of them engage in spirited discussions about--

“No, I’m serious. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Dude, I’m a high school dropout. Aren’t they all, like, cheerleaders or prom queens or something?”

“What? No! Don’t you know your lore? In the real kitschy ones, cheerleaders and prom queens die first.”

Frаnk stops dead in his tracks. “What in the world are you two talking about?”

“Leх would be the final girl in a horror movie,” says Nyx. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Have you met me?” protests the younger of the two cashiers. “I’d probably run right into the middle of some shitstorm of a situation and get myself decapitated or something because it was a panic response.”

Frank shrugs. “I’m with her on that one.”

Nyx scoffs. “You’re just petty because you’d be the first one to die, Frаnk. Actually, scratch that--” they stare at him for a few seconds with that weirdly intense gaze of theirs-- “second. Final response. You’d die second in a horror movie.”

“Man,” he says, shaking his head, “you really are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Leх pats Nyx on the back. “Damn straight.”

                                                       ---

bossdude: Can I ask you for a favor?

me: okay shoot

bossdude: Something came up. I’m not gonna be able to open on Sunday. You’re the oldest staff member I have, so consider yourself officially temporarily promoted.

me: whoa whoa whoa

dude 

you want ME to open

on SUNDAY

bossdude: It’s one day. You can handle it.

me: alright but don’t blame me if people are dissatisfied with my subpar customer service and lackluster welcoming skills

so dissatisfied that it translates into anger

and eventually a boycott

and eventually you won’t need to find sunday replacements

because our store will be only a fading memory  in the greater hatchetfield consciousness

why did you let me open on sunday?!? why?!?

bossdude: For the love of--

Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you.

I’ll see if Leх or Alice can help out.

You type fast.

me: awwww, thanks

��                                                     ---

Nyx groans, resting their head on the counter. “I did not get enough sleep last night. I’m dead tired.”

“Well, you better snap out of it,” he says. “We’re already down one pair of hands today because you insisted you’d work overtime if Leх took the day off to watch her sister.”

Nyx lifts their head. “Of course I did. Her sister’s got a fever. I may be weird and creepy and kind of mean sometimes, but I’m not a monster. Workers have to assist one another when the corporate millstone attempts to grind away our humanity.”

“Still a ray of sunshine, I see.” He sets down two coffee cups next to them on the counter. “Maybe this’ll help wake you up. I went across the street before you came in and picked them up. The one on the left’s yours.”

 They take a tentative sip. “Hey, a white chocolate mocha. How’d you know?”

“You were talking about getting one after work last week. I remember it since it seemed like a weird order for you--you know, with your everything.”

Nyx grins. It’s a small one, but somehow, it seems to light up the whole store. “What? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable drink for a ray of sunshine such as myself.”

With that smile, he thinks, they could almost live up to that nickname for real. 

He doesn’t say that out loud.

“Oh, and, um, thanks. For the drink, I mean. It was surprisingly generous of you.”

“No problem.”

                                                      ---

“Now that was what I call a successful day.” Frаnk places a hand over his heart in faux-affection. “I love rich kids’ birthdays.”

Nyx looks up from rearranging the cash register. “Little Jonathan is sure gonna be occupied for...uh, maybe two days, before he gets bored and starts asking for more stuff.”

“Nice to see you’re as much of a ray of sunshine as ever,” he says, and there’s something suspiciously like fondness tinging his voice.

“Well, it’s not that I’m not grateful for the bonus.” They slide the cash register shut. “I can finally treat myself to a ticket to that alien invasion movie I’ve been wanting to see.”

“Aliens. Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, and I’m sure your taste in movies is so highbrow.”

“I never said that. I like alien movies. You know, I was also planning to go see that at some point. And, you know, I guess today is as good a day as any.”

He didn’t think that. He has no idea why he said that.

They raise their eyebrows. “Are you asking me on a date?”

WHAT.

“What?! No, I was just, you know, bringing up the fact that I like alien movies and I might see that one on my own time. Maybe today, maybe some other day--still vague. Still working out the details. You know how it is.”

“Ah. Now everything is much clearer,” deadpans Nyx.

“But you know, and I’m speaking from a business perspective here--seeing as we both want to see the same movie, and we both have free time and the means to see it today, it would be convenient for both of us if we...in a strictly platonic sense, here--if we saw it...together? Assuming we’d be paying for our own refreshments.”

“Well, how can I say no to such a captivating offer?” says Nyx with a shrug. “You’re paying for your own ticket, too, though.”

“Aww. Can I suggest--?”

“You cannot.”

                                                      ---

Frаnk enters the supply closet and confirms a long standing hypothesis of his. 

“If it weren’t for the hair, I wouldn’t have known you were in here.”

“The dark is my natural habitat. One day I will return there for good,” says Nyx without turning around.

“Sometimes I think you’re just screwing with me.”

“Yeah, that one was a joke,” they admit. They swivel around to face him. They’re sitting on a box. 

“Any particular reason why you’re in here and not, you know, doing your job?”

“Mrs. Monroe’s in again--she wanted me to check the back for one of those dinosaur puzzles. The longer I’m in here, the more time she thinks I’m dedicating to her request. And I just needed to take a breather.”

“I could issue a write up for that, you know.”

“Well, I could be looking for a puzzle and be taking a breather at the same time.”

“We don’t have any of those puzzles.”

They place a hand on their cheek in mock-surprise. “Oh, really? I wonder what I was taking so long for! I was sure a sold-out item would magically appear in the back once she asked about it!”

“I see you’re a ray of sunshine as usual today.”

They scoff. “Oh, you could have used that earlier. A single sarcastic comment is a waste of ‘ray of sunshine’ compared to the ‘I will return to the dark’ thing.”

“Didn’t you say that was a joke?”

“Well, yeah, but a purposeful one. I gave you the setup and everything. C’mon.”

“I’ll--I’ll do better next time?”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Nyx remarks.

                                                      ---

He calls Leх a ray of sunshine once and never again. 

It feels wrong coming out and only more wrong when Leх looks at him sideways. “Don’t call me that. It feels creepy.”

“Yeah, I’m...not doing that again.”

“You’re lucky Nyx wasn’t here to hear that,” says Leх as she organizes stuffed animals. “Might have made the whole thing lose its meaning.”

“What--there’s no meaning to it, and it’s not a whole thing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Leх with a rare smile.

It’s more of a smirk, really. 

[sweetness47]

The Newcomer

Pairing Cas x Dean x Sam

@castielspnbingo​ – pirate AU

@spndeanbingo​ – Castiel

@samwinchesterbingo​ – dry humping

@deanandsambingo​ – bed sharing

WARNINGS: MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!!!! Smut, threesome, wincest, three men, sub! Cas, amnesia, near death experience

“This is gonna be one hell of a shitstorm Sammy!” Dean’s words carry through the walls of the cave. The waterfall gem was one of the best finds the brothers had discovered since landing on the island. It had proven a life saver many times, shielding the boys from the occasional tropical hurricane that passed through.

They had formed a routine for storms, the first was making sure the shelter was secure. Food was piled for the long haul, as the storms could last anywhere from a couple of days to a week. The boys made sure there was enough dry wood to last, then they spent their days and evenings huddled for warmth, fucking, making love.

Sam loved being the big spoon. He was taller than Dean, which made him a better cuddle buddy. He usually woke first, and he was always rock hard. Sam would grind his erection into Dean’s ass, the two pairs of thin boxers providing little shielding. He would start humping his older brother, holding his hips as he assaulted him. Dean loved how it felt, it was his favorite way to wake up, moaning as each push got more intense. When he couldn’t take it any longer, Dean would pull from Sam’s hold so he could turn and face his lover, their lips colliding in a heated exchange that left both needing. Sometimes Dean would go first, sometimes Sam, but neither one left unsatisfied. Their life was perfect.

~~

“Captain! Hurricane!!!” Gabriel shouted. Cas looked to the skies, his eyes taking in the dark threat, mentally preparing for the worst.

“Secure those barrels! Get the sails rolled up! Move! Anything not tied down needs to get below deck! It’s coming in fast!”

Michael and Luci grabbed the sails, while Gadreel and Gabe began moving lose items below. The brothers were the most feared pirates to ever grace the seven seas. Modern day thieves, the family of brothers turned to piracy as a way to survive after they were orphaned. Cas wasn’t the oldest, in fact, he was the youngest of the five. He was ten when their father had passed. As he grew, none could deny his natural ability to lead, to be calm and level-headed, even when things went south. Actually, his leadership and quick thinking had kept them from getting caught numerous times.

They had enough to retire 10 times over, but the urge to venture out, to feel the thrill of the adrenaline rush as they lifted precious cargo from various places without being caught, was too great to resist. The sheer power they felt after each successful heist was beyond addictive. They had encountered storms before, even hurricanes, but this one was darker, more menacing than any previous ones. Indeed, this one was far more dangerous, and Cas was pretty sure it was a category five.

FUCK!

High velocity winds and lightning set up them much quicker than they had predicted. Visibility dropped to near zero as the heavens opened, unleashing a torrential rainfall. Cas yelled for everyone to get below, to forget the kegs that remained loose. The lives of his brothers were worth far more than some cargo.

He watched the last brother reach the safety of the cabins just before waves crashed into the sides of the boat, catching Cas off guard. The last thing he remembered before his head slammed into the rails, was the lightning bolt hitting the deck, cracking the vessel wide open and flames erupting to engulf the entire ship.

~~

The brothers peeked out after the three-day event, eyes taking in the damage from the storm. Leaves and branches littered the swim hole, but thankfully the shelter remained mostly intact. That was the one thing they were grateful for, the shelter that the cliff provided them. Dean volunteered to check the main beach, mostly because Sam had done it last time. They usually came back empty handed, but occasionally were graced with various gifts, including clothing, well-packaged food, blankets, and even toiletries.

Today was different.

At first, Dean saw only the wreckage: broken wood, tattered sails. He began to pick through the rubble, finding a few surprises, including rare gold coins and jewels, hell, he even found a few kegs of beer and wine. Then he noticed the movement under a distant pile of rubble, followed by low moaning.

Fuck! There was a person under there!

Dean ran over, grabbing the wooden planks and tossing them aside. He uncovered the man’s dark hair first, then worked on the rest. Finely tuned muscle and well defined hips had Dean licking his lips. Jeez Dean, focus!

He found some rope and a made a makeshift sleigh to bring him back to camp.

“Sammy!” he yelled.

The younger Winchester came running. “Dean? What the…” he paused when he saw the unconscious man on the stretcher.

“Found him under a pile of rubble. I didn’t get a chance to go through the rest of the stuff. Thought this should be our first priority.”

Sam nodded and knelt down beside the stretcher. He checked his pulse and checked for any major signs of injury. Finding none, he checked for ID next. The family crest was the only thing Sam did find on his neck chain, but there was no name with it.

“Well, whoever he is, he’s going to have one nasty headache. He’s lucky he survived.” Sam noted. “I’ll go check through the rest of the stuff. You stay here. And, Dean?”

His brother looked up, meeting Sam’s lips in a gentle kiss. “Yeah?”

Sam smiled. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry Sammy, I ain’t planning on dying today.” With that, he playfully swatted Sam’s ass while sending him to check the shore line.

Moaning from the makeshift bed had Dean focussing once again on the newcomer. His eyes fluttered open, trying to adjust to the sunlight. His eyes took in his surroundings, then they landed on Dean. The man tried to scramble away and gain a defensive stance. Dean put his hands up slowly, palms facing out to show peace.

“Whoa, easy. I’m not going to hurt you. I found you buried under some wreckage and brought you to our camp. You’re safe here.”

The man relaxed, then gingerly brought his hand up to the back of his head, wincing at the pain. “Thank you for helping me. Where are we?”

Dean shrugged. “No clue. My brother and I have been here a long time, over a year.” He held his hand out in greeting. “Name’s Dean.”

The man paused for a moment, then took the hand offered. “Cas.”

Both Cas and Dean stared a few moments longer, as sparks passed between them. It was almost magnetic. Both men pulled away quickly, embarrassed. Sam returned later to find Dean and the stranger talking while consuming some fruit. Behind Sam, a sled filled with men’s clothing, bottles of wine, a few kegs of beer, and a slew of well sealed rations, including granola bars, toiletries, dried fruit, jerky, and first-aid supplies.

Dean lets out a low whistle, then turns to Cas. “Sam here is my younger brother.” Then he turned to Sam. “This is Cas.” The two exchange handshakes, and again both feel a spark, a magnetic attraction that neither would admit to. However, this doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. But instead of jealousy, he feels lust, noting the three-way connection possibilities. Dean feels himself getting hard at the idea, wondering if Cas would be interested in joining him and Sam.

The evening is filled with talk and laughter and food. Cas notes that the brothers are very easy going, and has also noticed that they haven’t pressed him for any information about himself, not that he can remember. He can’t even remember his own name. The only reason he was able to give a name at all was he had seen it tattooed on his forearm.

Among the notable details is the closeness the two brothers share, and the spark he’d experienced with both men. They were both devastatingly handsome, an instant attraction no one could deny.

Eventually, arrangements were made for sleeping. The brothers offered their guest the choice of cave or the lean-to cabin they’d built. Both had decent sleep areas and a fire could easily be built in the cave if need be. Cas chose the lean-to, giving the brothers the larger quarters. They bid each other good night and Cas watched as Sam and Dean wrapped their arms around each other and walked toward the waterfall.

Cas couldn’t fall asleep. He tossed and turned, feeling like something was missing. The boys had made quite the home here, the bed was more than comfortable, so whatever was bugging him, it wasn’t the comfort level.

Then he knew. It was the sleeping arrangements. Cas couldn’t explain it, but the desire to sleep with Sam and Dean was overwhelming his mindset. He wasn’t sure if he swung that way, but his mind didn’t care, and neither did his cock, now rigid with the idea of the brothers taking him. If this was going to be his first time, he wanted it to be with Sam and Dean.

Before Cas had even blinked, he found himself heading toward the cave. The closer he got, the more excited he became, as heavy breathing and lustful noises greeted him. He glanced inside to find the brothers entwined in each other’s arms, dry humping, grinding as they kissed. Cas began rubbing his own hard cock, moaning softly as he watched.

Dean looked over to the entrance, seeing Cas standing there. He whispers something to Sam, who nods eagerly.

“Cas, both Sam and I would love for you to join us.”

Cas had never moved so fast as he did then, driven by lust and desire, his need to fuck and be fucked by these two sex gods dissolved any rational thought. Clothes flew in all directions as he strode toward his goal, till only his boxers remained. Dean grabbed him first, devouring Cas’s mouth with his own. Sam reached inside both men’s shorts, stroking the hard shafts that meet his hands.

They moan as the kiss heats up. Sam moves to stand behind Cas, nibbling along his neck and shoulders. He bites and sucks, leaving a few marks along the way. Dean breaks the lip lock long enough to suck on the other side, also marking Cas.

The brothers look at each other, then at their new toy. “Ours.” They said in unison.

With in seconds, all three are void of their shorts, eager for what’s to follow. Dean and Sam make a plan, then tell Cas.

“Cas, Dean wants to take you first. Then you’re going to take me, and then you watch Dean suck me off. Got it?”

Cas nods. Sam gets down on hands and knees, moving so his ass is in the air. Cas spits on his hand, then rubs it on his tip, mixing it with the precum that is already leaking out. He spreads the cheeks of the younger Winchester and pushes in slowly, groaning as he bottoms out. The shear pleasure it brings is more than Cas ever imagined.

Sam grinds against Cas, and Cas begins to move, pulling out then slamming back in, thrusting hard and without mercy, causing Sam to curse as he’s hit with mounds of pleasure. Dean’s eyes are full blown with lust as he watches.

“Hold still Cas. Present that firm ass for me.”

The command makes Cas even harder. The dominance radiating from both men has him whimpering with even greater need. He discovered at that moment how much he enjoys being a sub, being ordered around by the brothers. Cas bends down, covering Sam’s lean body with his own, shivering with anticipation.

Dean lines up with Cas’s tight hole, and first inserts a large finger, then a second. Cas moans as the large digits stretch and fill him. Dean pulls out and Cas almost complains, until he feels something bigger pressing in. Burning sensations jolt through him, then he sighs when Dean begins placing soft kisses along his neck and whispers in his ear. “Relax, take a deep breath. The more relaxed you are, the easier this is.”

Cas closes his eyes, willing his muscles to release the tension. He wants this more than he’ll admit, so he succeeds and the tension leaves. Dean feels the instant shift, and pushes his way in slowly. He stops to let Cas adjust, then pushes a little more. Each time he kisses along Cas’s back and neck, knowing he needs the tenderness for relaxing.

He finally bottoms out, and silence fills the cave for a minute. Then the three men begin, first Cas pulls out, then Dean, only to have Dean slam into Cas, which causes Cas to slam into Sam. The rhythm is almost too much, jolts of electricity envelope the three lovers, and they shiver with delight. They thrust again and again, picking up speed as they go. The cave echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin, grunting, moans of ecstasy. Cas is the first to find release, his cock spilling inside Sam, then Dean follows, crying out Cas’s name as he cums inside the dark haired man.

But Dean isn’t done, as there is still one man that needs to be satisfied. Cas watches as Dean kneels in front of Sam, licking his lips as he eyes Sam’s erect cock, already dripping with precum. Dean runs his tongue over the hard phallus, teasing the tip, then taking his brother’s cock into his mouth. Sam grabs Dean’s hair and thrusts his cock forth, fucking his older brother’s mouth with gusto. Dean grabs Sam’s hips for support as the assault continues, and Cas practically drools at the entire whole scenario. Fuck! These brothers were hot and damn sexy! Sam doesn’t take long, a guttural cry escaping as he deposits his load, and watching Dean as his brother swallows every single drop. Dean stands, and taking Cas’s hand, the three men head to the pool to wash up before going to sleep, together.

@legion1993​

[darylwillfightnatureforcarol]

Back To The Past Chapter 4

Description: The day after Daryl’s successful trip to the past. He and Carol share a talk that gives him a plan for a second trip. 

Back To The Past

Daryl slept better than he had in weeks.

He guessed it was the knowledge that Carol was alive.

It was also probably due to the time travel. Eugene wasn’t lying when he said it messed with you.

For the first time in weeks, he didn’t have a nightmare.

Instead, his dreams were strange. They included interactions that he was sure didn’t happen, but at the same time, knew they did.

This must be what Eugene was talking about when he said he had two sets of memories.

Daryl could remember talking to different people, including Carol. But those conversation hadn’t happened to him. Not really.

He knew he couldn’t hide out in his room forever, so he readied himself for the day and left his basement.

--

Daryl squinted at the bright sun as he emerged. He could see everyone going about their days as normal. They had no idea of the changes he’d made. It was a little surreal.

“Hey,” he heard from nearby.

He whirled around to see Carol sitting on the steps leading down to the cell. She had her hair loose and he found himself caught, staring at her momentarily.

There were times when he missed her short hair, but he had to concede she looked just as pretty like this. He knew what it meant for her too.

She had cut it for years as a safety measure. Now she felt safe enough to let it grow.

He shook himself out of his thoughts enough to answer her.

“Hey.”

She pursed her lips and sighed.

“You over being weird?” she asked.

Daryl frowned, but then his mind showed him memories of conversations between them.

His past self had been extremely confused upon waking and that had been evident in the conversations he’d had with Carol.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he muttered, not knowing how to explain.

Carol hummed and nodded, looking down at her lap.

“Aaron was talking about going after Lydia tomorrow,” she revealed.

Daryl nodded in acknowledgement.

Carol sighed again and played with her hands in her lap.

“I think we need to talk.”

Daryl chewed his lip. That sentence never led to anything good.

“About what?”

“About what happened and what keeps happening.”

She avoided his eyes.

Daryl moved over and sat next to her.

“Tell me.”

“I know you’ve been pissed at me. That I keep disappointing you,” Carol started with a frown.

Daryl shook his head.

“Nah, I ain’t been pissed at ya. Not disappointed neither.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Not lyin’.”

Carol huffed and stared straight ahead.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she breathed, and her voice cracked. She shook her head. “I mean, I know, but I don’t.”

“I get it,” he replied.

He was no stranger to trying to analyse himself and coming up empty. He knew they all had some form of PTSD. The book he had found in Atlanta had helped him some with understanding that. It was still hard to understand the mixture of feelings you could experience.

“I don’t think you do. Not really,” she said looking troubled.

“Why don’t ya tell me then.”

“It’s like, when I think about her or what happened, this... Rage takes hold of me,” she started, lost in thought. “I’ve experienced anger before. I thought it was the strongest during the war with the Saviours. This… I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Daryl didn’t say anything. She needed to get this all out there.

“The pills. I thought they would help. Not just to keep me from sleeping, but to keep me from thinking about it. Any of it.”

Carol glanced at him before looking ahead again.

“And… And Lydia,” she broke off and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, they were shining with tears. “I swear, I never wanted her to get hurt, or for her to run off like she did.”

Daryl hummed.

“I know it. That ain’t in you.”

His words caused her to frown again.

“Maybe it is. I still did it. Even when you begged me not to. All I could think about was the one-up it could give us if it worked.”

“It’s your grief. It’s got ya blindsided. It’s understandable that ya ain’t actin’ like yourself,” he tried with, what he hoped was a compassionate expression.

“It’s making me a liability!” she burst out with anger in her voice. “Ya ain’t a liability,” he retorted vehemently. He knew some of the others thought it, but he would never even entertain the idea.

Carol’s anger left her quickly and she gave him a sad smile.

“You’re sweet, but deep down, you know I am.”

Daryl was ready to argue the point, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“I can’t stop these feelings inside of me. Whatever I’ve tried hasn’t worked,” she sucked in a breath before looking him in the eye, “That’s why, when you go to look for Lydia, I’m going to stay here. I don’t want to but it’s safer for everyone.”

Daryl watched her, watched as she sunk into self-loathing.

“I can’t trust myself anymore. That’s why I didn’t let you untie me,” Carol confessed in a whisper, her tears flowing freely now.

“Maybe it’d be better if you locked me in the cell…” she trailed off.

Daryl shook his head right away.

“Nah. You don’t belong in a cage,” he said, reminding him of his conversation with Lydia. “You’re gonna make it through this. We will, together.”

Carol pursed her lips but didn’t answer.

“I hope you’re right because I think I’m losing myself. Worse than I ever have before.”

With those words said, she stood and made her way up the stairs to their front door and slipped inside.

Daryl sat there for a while once she was gone.

Her words had put a lump in his throat. It was Atlanta all over again but fifty times worse.

He didn’t know how to help her. He’d tried to get her to open up to him. It was like she couldn’t or wouldn’t. It was all too much for her to even say out loud.

And then, he had an idea…

--

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat your previous statement,” Eugene requested, looking stunned.

“I want ya to send me back again,” Daryl repeated.  

“But you fixed things,” Eugene said with a frown.

“Not everything,” Daryl replied, thinking of Carol’s broken soul.

He’d saved the body of the woman he cared about but inside her, she was feeling like she was dead anyway.

“I need ya to send me back further.”

Eugene watched him, looking nervous. He fiddled with the pen in his hands.

“How far are we talkin’ here. A couple months…”

“Back to start,” Daryl cut him off.

Eugene’s eyes widened and he dropped his pen. He blushed as he heard the clatter. He stooped to pick it up and then looked at Daryl again.

“You mean...”

“I mean right back to start. When this whole shitstorm began,” Daryl elaborated, cutting off Eugene again.

It was something Daryl did not feel guilty about. If he let the man drone on as much as he wanted, nothing would get accomplished.

Eugene looked stumped. He sat in one of the armchairs, flicking the pen in his hand again.

“I see. Well, I think I get where you’re going with this. Problem is, that’s going back years,” Eugene started, looking deep in thought now.

Daryl huffed and glared at him.

“Can ya do it or not?”

“Maybe,” Eugene answered.

“Don’t give me no maybe!” Daryl spat, his voice raising.

Eugene jumped and Daryl sighed. He relaxed his stance to put the man at ease.

“Sorry,” Daryl apologized, “It’s just, I need to do this.”

Eugene nodded, having recovered from his fright.

“Understandable. Man on a mission. I can respect that.”

Eugene regarded him once more.

“I’ll see what I can do. Give me a couple of days,” Eugene said, still thinking.

“Alright,” Daryl replied and looked at the strange man for a beat before including a, “Thanks.”

Daryl returned to the house and headed straight to his room. He needed to ready himself for the potential trip he was hopefully going to take.

It would be a good idea to be extra prepared if he was going to travel back that far.

--

Carol watched Daryl slip downstairs with a frown.

She had followed him to, of all places, Eugene’s attic. She had waited outside, unable to hear their conversation, to her disappointment, and then followed him back their house.

What was he doing going there?

Daryl had never been too outwardly mean to Eugene, but he had definitely never gone out of his way to spend any sort of time with him.

Carol knew he found the man exhausting.

So, why was he visiting him?

Carol stood at the top of the stairs, frown deepening.

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken, Interlude 2: One Rogue Thought

Written by @jkl-fff

PART I - PART II [Interlude] - PART III - PART IV [Interlude] (you are here) - PART V [FINAL]

——————————————————————————————–

Bill, putting DVD back in case: Well, now you’ve seen ‘em all (until they finish the new ones, of which only Renegade 6 will be stupendous, and that largely thanks to everyone dying—much pathos by meatbag standards, much comedy by mine). So … Whaddya think, Fordsy?

Ford, taking in a deep breath: I think … I think I’m personally going to make a working lasercutlass (with SCIENCE!), drive to wherever the hell George Dufas lives—

Bill, helpfully: That would be Skyjogger Ranch, not too far north of San Francisco. I know, because I know lots of things.

Ford: Alright then, I’m going to drive to Skyjogger Ranch, and then I’M GONNA SHOVE MY HOMEMADE LASERCUTLASS RIGHT UP HIS SCRIPT-SPEWING ASS AND ACTIVATE IT!

Stan, startling awake in easy chair: Wha?! Huh?!

Ford: THAT WAS THE BIGGEST WRECK OF TRAINS THAT WERE LOADED WITH ASS-SHIT THAT I’VE EVER SEEN! [rises to his feet, stamps around, gestures emphatically] AND I’VE BEEN TO SEVERAL DIMENSIONS WITH EXTREMELY SHODDY RAILWAY INFRASTRUCTURES AND BOOMING, FERTILIZER-BASED ECONOMIES! MEANING SEVERAL DIMENSIONS WITH FREQUENT AND NOTABLE WRECKS OF ASS-SHIT-LOADED TRAINS!

Stan, rubbing eyes: Yeah, we picked up on your meanin’ there. [yawns, scratches self] What time’s it, anyway?

Bill, grinning at this development: What’d you think of the acting?

Ford: WOODEN! FLAT! LIFELESS! LIKE THIS FLOOR!

Bill: All George Dufas’s fault. Those were all highly acclaimed, highly trained actors, and highly gifted actors. He insisted as Director they act like they didn’t know how to. Like I said before.

Ford: WHAT?! WHY?! RRRAAARRRGHGHGH!

Stan, yawning: Moses, it’s past midnight already …

Bill, egging it on: Heh. And the depiction of non-human meatbags?

Ford: MOSTLY INFURIATINGLY RACIST CARICATURES OF HUMAN MEATBAG CULTURES—er, “human cultures”, I meant just “human cultures”—AND BLANDLY UNIMAGINATIVE OR INSUFFERABLY ANNOYING (LIKE JERKJERK)!

Stan, heaving himself upright: Hey, Sixer?

Bill: Hehehe! George Dufas’s influence again. And the use of the Force? The lasercutlass duels?

Ford: THE FIRST WAS SO UNDERUTILIZED AS TO BE FUCKING POINTLESS, THE OTHER SO OVERDONE AS TO BE SHITTING BORING! THEY MADE SWORDFIGHTING WITH LASERS BECOME BORING! HOW?! WHY?!

Stan: Sixer?

Bill: Hahaha! Still George Dufas! And the script?

Ford: THE SCRIPT?! WHAT SCRIPT?! THAT WAS USED, BARGAIN-PRICED TOILET PAPER! RRRAAARRRGHGHGH!

Stan: Sixer!

Ford: WHAT?! … Er, sorry. What?

Stan: It’s past midnight. Meanin’ it’s bedtime. You comin’ or what?

Ford: Gah! I couldn’t possibly sleep now! I’m too enraged!

Stan, shrugging: Well, I am. So … keep the nerd-ragin’ at, y’know, an “indoor voice” level of volume. ‘kay? [kisses him goodnight, shuffles out]

Ford, momentarily taken aback: Um … Where was I?

Bill, helpfully: The script. Which was also George Dufas’s fault. Basically, the whole prequel trilogy is a case study of what happens if you give a man who had one or two good ideas in the past— when there was an entire team of more talented people to shoot down his one or two thousand bad ideas and sculpt the few good ones— complete creative control of a project.

Ford, remembering how disgusted he is: No, it’s a case study of what happens if a tornado picks up a barn full of diarrhetic animals— A LITERAL SHITSTORM—hits a warehouse of blank paper, then some fuckwattle decides to gather up the pages and use it as a script! It made exactly 0.0 sense as a story! According to SCIENCE! itself there wasn’t even a measurable amount of sense made in this story! And, believe me, I understand that writing isn’t easy, but they had … How long exactly to work on the scripts?

Bill, promptly: Almost exactly16 years to work on the first one, then almost exactly 3 years for the second one, and another 3 for the third.

Ford, trembling with self-control: S-sssixteen years for one script? And that mmmakes … t-t-twenty-two years total to come up with … with that p-pile of hot, fffffuck-juggling shhhhhhhhhhhit … [loses it, explodes] OH MY VARIOUS ENTITIES OF COSMIC POWER FOR WHOM THE TERM “GODS” COULD REASONABLY BE USED AS A SHORTHAND, EVEN IF IT IS SOMEWHAT MISLEADING!

Stan, from the other room: Indoor voice!

Ford, stomping around: WE COULD COME UP WITH A BETTER PLOTLINE FOR A PREQUEL TRILOGY IN ONE NIGHT THAN THAT MOVING BAG OF NEGATIVE FUCKGUZZLE DID IN TWENTY-FUCKING-TWO FUCKING YEARS! AND Y’KNOW WHAT?! [takes Bill by the shoulders] WE WILL, GODSDAMNIT!

Bill, disbelieving: Really? You wanna do something with me?

Ford: AND IT’LL HAVE COMPELLING CHARACTER ARCS, AND SUBTLY DEEP WORLDBUILDING FOR THE GALAXY, AND THE FORCE’LL BE SHOWN—

Stan, from other room: IF YOU DON’T KEEP IT DOWN, STANFORD PINES, I’LL COME OUT THERE AND SHOW YOU MY FORCE RIGHT UPSIDE YOUR FOOL HEAD!

Bill, excited: Mabel left a bunch of … of arts and crafts stuff upstairs. We can use those for this! I’ll just … just run and get them! Hang on! [scampers up the stairs]

Ford, suddenly alone: … wait a minute … [stops short, looks around deserted room) What the freeze-dried hell am I doing?

Stan, grouching back in: What you’re doin’ is bein’ a pain in my ass—a loud pain in my ass!

Ford, almost panicking: No, I’m … about to write better plots for the prequels? With Cipher? I think?

Stan: And? What’s the problem?

Ford: And I don’t … I can’t trust him! That is the problem!

Stan: You can’t trust him to help write what is essentially gonna be a Cosmos Conflicts fanfic? [rolls eyes] C’mon, Sixer, it’s not like he could write anything worse than what we just watched. You were just goin’ on about that.

Ford, faltering: No, I mean, he’s still planning to takeover! No one can trust him, so what am I—

Stan: Just be the scribe yourself; that way, you maintain creative control of the fanfic and he can’t take it over.

Ford: I mean the planet! Er, the galaxy! Gah, no, the dimen—

Stan, deadpan: Oh, yeah, that’s a real dilemma right there. Can’t have Farth Bill takin’ over that nerdlinger galaxy, or we’ll hafta write a whole ‘nother generation of whiney Skyjoggers masterin’ the Force to confront him.

Ford, irritated: Damn it, Stanly, you know what I’m talking about!

Stan, rubbing eyes: Look, I’m gonna share some Old Wisdom™ I learned as a professional conman with you. And which, in fact, you yourself told me rather recently. [lays hands on brother’s shoulders, looks him in the eyes] You don’t hafta trust someone to work with ‘em, ya dumbass. And don’t hafta trust ‘em to be nice to ‘em, neither, ya dumbass. Or even to like ‘em, ya dumbass. You can do all that, while still not trustin’ ‘em … ya dumbass.

Ford, blinking owlishly: … What? I told you that? But—

Stan, slowly: Listen, I didn’t trust Bill at the start of the summer, but I still talked to him. Still interacted with him and was nice … ish and such. And only a week after? I had him workin’ for me. [gestures dismissively] Yeah, he caused some trouble at the start, but I didn’t lock him up ‘cause of it. I was patient with him, I showed him I’d work with him, and I showed the l’il bastard he can’t beat me at my own game— I always got an eye on him, so he can’t get anything major past me. And now? He’s just like any other employee I’ve ever had (except for Soos) … Slacks off and shoplifts about the same amount, too.

Ford: … And you’re bragging about that?

Stan, smugly: Heh. Yep. Think about it, Sixer. For him, that’s huge progress.

Ford, reluctantly: I guess, but—

Stan: Listen, you don’t hafta trust Bill. Okay? You know already he’s up to something (or so you’re convinced, anyway), so he can’t trick you. You’ll be suspicious of absolutely everything, so he won’t be able to get something past you in the middle of, say, writin’ your stupid, nerd fanfic. Or talkin’ ‘bout an anomaly. Or just havin’ a civil conversation every now and then. Okay? This gettin’ through that metal plate in your skull? I mean, it should be able to since—not to put too fine a point on it—you suggested it to me not too long ago.

Ford: I don’t … need … to trust Cipher … to be nice to him …

Stan: Exactly. And—Moses on a moped!—his name is Bill. [turns, goes to leave, pauses in doorway] And for fffffuck’s sake, keep it down while you two do whatever. Some of us are tryin’ to actually sleep.

Ford, standing lost in thought: … can’t believe it … so simple … really have been a silly, old fool not to see it all along …

Bill, returning: Sorry that took so long. I got buried in an avalanche of Mabel’s spare sweaters while digging this stuff out. [unloads an armload onto the table, pulls up paper and pencil] Where do we start, Fordsy?

Ford, a little overwhelmed: Um … honestly, I’m not sure …

Bill: Hmm … Well, what’re the big problems that gotta be fixed? Let’s start with that. What made you mad in the movie?

Ford, after only a split second of thought: Midi-chlorians firstly. Those go, because the Force is a mystical power-energy thing— damn it all!—and not some sorta bacterial infection!

Bill, making a note: Good. Good. How about that Rule of Two? Speaking as a megalomaniac, I can say it’s stupid to only have one agent working for you. You’d get nothing done!

Ford: Um …

Bill: What? Oh, Yog-Sothoth’s sixth soleus, that was a joke.

Ford, deciding to believe that: R-right. Um … None of that immaculate conception or prophecy crap, either. That’s gone. Came out of nowhere, served no purpose, we don’t need it.

Bill, making a note: What, you don’t like the idea of Space Jesus? How about rewriting the romance so that it doesn’t just … happen, y’know? So that there actually is a romance, and not just two straight characters who bone ‘cause they’re the opposite genders?

Ford, getting excited: Moses, yes! And rewriting Otherkin so he isn’t some whiney kid who just … just does stuff because the plot needs some action! We could do that for all of them! We could make it all as great as it deserves to be!

[hours and hours of excited fanboy collaboration transpire …]

[malexfan10]

Now that my anger has calmed down.....

We got a season 2 renewal!!!

I can't say how happy I am about that. To get the renewal so soon after that wreck of an episode last night means everything! If we had to wait a whole month.....

Trusting the writers to fix what they broke is a whole other thing after that finale. But it can go two ways.

Either they completely decide to screw everyone over and have M&M be endgame (if Michael says 'I never look away' to Maria I will be completely done with it all) or they will test the waters with M&M and when they decide they've had enough, break them up and have Michael go back to Alex. I'm thinking scenario 2.

Now how should this all play out? It sucks that we even got a triangle to begin with and the fact that Michael said 'I never look away' and then ended up looking away to Alex's best friend no less brings my anger back from last night. The fact that Alex was sitting there waiting and wondering, looking at his watch, sad and alone while M&M was happening is not a visual I will forgive the writers for anytime soon. To top that, this ending made Carina happy if it ended there? That still puzzles me. Seriously, lady?? BUT what's done is done. Can't change the past. We can only hope that season 2 is not a terrible shitstorm like last night was.

So how can this all play out? Will Alex be waiting in the sidelines, depressed and upset, watching his best friend and true love across town being happy? I hope not! If they have M&M explore a relationship for half the season or even the whole season, then Alex deserves to move on as well. Do I still want Malex to be endgame? You betcha! But both sides to that relationship deserve happiness, not just Michael. If they can't have it with each other right now because one side has decided his happiness lies elsewhere, then Alex deserves the same treatment.

The last thing I want is for Alex to take that rejection as a sign and shoot his walls back up. He has done amazingly in terms of growth this season and I need his character to keep growing. The boy deserves so much happiness! So does Michael after all he's been through but because he chose Maria and because I dislike the triangle and how those M&M feelings came out of nowhere, he's not my focus right now.

Should a new relationship for Alex be with Kyle? I love that dynamic and I don't want anything to mess with that. Plus, in terms of where they are with each other, there is still so much healing that needs to be done. These two were probably best friends as kids. I love Kyle a lot but you can't fix that friendship overnight. Little by little, they've been making wonderful progress so I want that friendship to flourish next season and an added complication of a relationship won't exactly help. If Malex were completely done, I'd be gutted but I would change my tune on Kylex. But for now, let Alex be with someone new.

All of this is if they keep M&M together for half or most of the season. If it's a one or two episode storyline, then I don't want Alex getting involved with anyone else. But they put the effort to push this triangle so unfortunately, it doesn't seem likely that they will abandon M&M that easily or anytime soon.

Michael and Alex have been through so much in 13 episodes, together and apart. It's why we love their characters and storyline as much as we do because we feel for them and our hearts hurt seeing them tortured. Michael was always searching for a family, for a sense of belonging and when he found his mother, she was taken away in the most cruel and tragic way. But all these people around him see him as family too. They care for him from one degree to another. He's been through a lot on the show but he still has such a huge capacity to love.

For Alex, he started as an abused, scared, gay teenager terrified from his father's actions into choosing a life he never wanted for himself. Did he end up enjoying the Air Force? I think he did because like he said, it felt good winning battles. But at what cost? He put his life and happiness on hold for 10 years and lost his leg in battle. He's the definition of pain and suffering on the show but despite it all, he has always maintained this incredible kindness in his heart that is unmatched.

Alex started the season closed off and unsure and the journey he went through was beautiful to see. He found his inner strength, he faced his demons (Jesse) and he started forgiving those who had hurt him by seeing who they are now (Kyle). He finally reached a place where he wasn't terrified to open his heart to love again. That scene with Michael last episode? That was so pivotal to his storyline. He showed Michael how important he was to him, not just through actions, but through words. Words that have been lacking between them for so much of their history. He was willing to stay and die with him. He wouldn't have been able to have that moment with Michael at the start of the season. Where he was and where he ended up showed the biggest growth from all the characters in my mind. It was easily my favorite personal story arc of the season. Sucks how that growth got spat on last night but it doesn't take away from who Alex is now.

Do I want to see Malex be separated? No, I love them wholeheartedly. I haven't been this invested in a TV couple in a long time probably since Pacey and Joey back in the day. Oh, just a side note - Carina mentioned how she wants Michael to be the Joey Potter of Roswell. Giant No Thank You to that idea. As much as I love DC and PJ, the way Joey ping-ponged between him and Dawson was just ridiculous, never knowing who she wanted until literally the final episode of season 6. That is not what I want to see for Malex. Hope she changes her mind on that idea quick.

But anyway, with Michael choosing his version of a happy ending last night, then Alex certainly deserves the same. I hate that Michael chose Maria. I hate that he knew he and Alex were going to talk but he blew him off and went straight to Maria anyway. I hate that they kissed. I hate that Maria acted on her feelings knowing what Michael means to Alex. I hate that neither thought about Alex in that moment. I hate that he played the guitar in front of her. But if we're going to be forced through more M&M, then let Alex try to move on too.

I want Malex together, of course I do! But if Malex is endgame, and I think that they are, the writers are definitely not making the road easy for them or us. In the meantime, while I fast forward through whatever M&M scenes we're going to be getting, let Alex have some pleasure too. I want them to explore his family more, his mother, his heritage. Just give that boy some love and happiness please!

I love both Vlamis and Tyler equally but it shows how inexperienced Vlamis was with TV fandom. Tyler was a lot more reserved with his interviews - he'd been through it with PLL Haleb vs Spaleb. He expressed how he felt about Malex but that wasn't all he touched on. Vlamis (Oh how I still love him) was all Malex, Malex, Malex for weeks and then the shift in his tone was so obvious. He spoke about M&M a lot more towards the end. The powers that be advised or urged him to do so because everyone knew how the season was ending. But I still love him and of course I love Tyler. The Vlamburn bromance is everything.

I just want to add that Tyler's tweet today really helped heal my heart a bit. He's such a sweetheart for reaching out to the fans and trying to assure us. Knowing we have a season 2, I choose to believe him.

Sorry for the long post. I still hate how it all went down last night, how Alex was left alone and pining while M&M got together. I hate how both Alex and Maria were nothing but props for Michael's storyline. The finale felt rushed and I could probably pick only three things that I liked from the whole episode. Kyle, Liz and Max hugging in the desert and Rosa. I didn't even like that Malex scene in the trailer or Michael telling Isobel he loves Alex because of where it all went.

But now that we have a season 2, we have to look forward. I want to see filming pics and behind-the-scenes when they start planning the season. Hoping that M&M won't be depicted as some grand romance next season because seriously, what the hell? I hope that Alex can continue to grow and his friendship with Kyle grows even stronger. In the end though, I want Malex. I wanted them last night and I want them in the first episode of next season. That's obviously not realistic anymore so all I can hope is that they don't make Alex a sad, lonely, heartbroken 3rd party while they explore M&M being together. Because if they do, this fandom will seriously riot! And no more giving sacred Malex moments to Maria either. Please stop doing that. And flesh Maria's character out more next season too. Away from Michael, preferably, but more than being the bad best friend who hooks up with her besties soulmate. Like, honestly, come on. Girl's got such great potential.

In the meantime, I will bury myself in writing fanfic to tame my anger at that crap ending until season 2 🙂

Vlamburn ❤

[winterheart17]

Those of you who have been with me for awhile will probably know my work woes as a magazine writer. Essentially, while I love my colleagues to death and more often than not, the work I do (except when I run into fake ass scum of the earth and still have to write a good piece on them). Anyways, an update on what’s been happening - it’s been a very, very rough three weeks. I’ve broken down more times than I have in the past 2 years in this short span of time. I’m unashamed to say my wage is incredibly low - I get paid RM2350 (that’s approx 580USD) a month. In the past (almost) three years, never gotten a bonus and only a RM100 (approx 25USD) raise which bumped it up to 2350 only in the past year. As for my workload, I have to handle the Features, Lifestyle, and Beauty sections (that’s pretty much more than half the magazine). Most writers only handle one section or at most, Features and Lifestyle go hand in hand.

The company’s narrative is also unethical and shitty. Think about everything you know of a toxic relationship - this is it. Instead of motivating you, they keep telling you you’re not worthy of being paid more until you actually believe it despite having everyone else’s jaw drop when they find out how little you earn. The sad thing is, the CEO would rather pay an outsider she thinks can add value to the company as opposed to treating her actual staff well and retaining them. Turnover rates are crazy. And I used to think my editor was better than that, but after the last appraisal, it’s all changed. She doesn’t seem to get that I’m doing so much, SO, SO much. Since last year, we are down by 3 people but we never hired and the workload was redistributed with me taking on the lion’s share. To put things in perspective: I have to write 30 pages from scratch. If it includes sourcing for and lifting other articles as well as editing them for the sections I handle, it’s 50 pages. Every issue. Every month.

This is also why I’ve had to take periodic breaks from Tumblr simply because I don’t have the energy to do anything else. And if I’m honest, my love for writing is so drained because I feel so undervalued and overworked. I work through weekends at times to rush articles. I don’t even realize weeks have flown by.

Anyways, my appraisal was about 3 weeks ago and it was a shitstorm. I felt my editor had it in for me. She’s been telling my deputy editor (my friend) how she feels my work has been slipping and etc. I’ve asked my dep ed if it is that bad, and she’s told me while she’s noticed my spark is no longer as it was, my work is still relatively good. Never terrible. Plus, despite handling the most, I hand in my articles one of the earliest coz that’s my way of being a team player - if I hand mine in late as well, that’s it, the whole train will be derailed.

When I told my editor I was handling a lot and I feel the company undervalues me with such a low pay - she took it so personally. SO PERSONALLY. Despite me telling her three times it’s not her, it’s upper management - she attacked me. She went on about how I’ve been slacking and this is bad and that is awful and how I haven’t given her a reason to fight for higher pay. And inside, I’m just... so the past 2.5 years were nothing? And she went on to say how she knows when I cut corners and she allows me to do them (excuse me, miss, it’s impossible for me to handle EVERYTHING without lifting or easing up some workload in some areas if I’m to hand in everything on time). Plus, she’s a bit hypocritical. When she sees me stress, she will tell me not to and that I can lift to ease my workload. But when I do, I’m perceived as lazy.

I broke down. Badly. It wasn’t even the pay. It was how underappreciated I was and it showed. Her face completely shut down and no one knows why - she’s often been very emotional with her previous writers. She told me she could see I had one foot out the door and I told her that’s about right. And I told her I hate being in this stagnant rut and I take pride in my work - I don’t do this on purpose but seriously, this job is killing my love for writing. She told me she appreciates me and how much it “breaks her heart” I don’t see it - but how she treats me below is bullshit. So, we didn’t actually manage to resolve anything. But before we ended, she asked me to give her a “hug” - it felt so fake to be honest. And it was obvious I was crying still when she switched off the lights and walked out of the room.

The meeting room is adjacent to reception where we often get media packages. Reception will call us down from Level 1 to pick them up. But this time, as I was trying to compose myself, my editor called me out to pick up HER package to be taken upstairs. I think I was just so in shock, I couldn’t comprehend so I did it quickly so that the receptionist wouldn’t see me cry. I was halfway up the stairs when my editor hollered up the stairs for me to come back down as there was another package. This time, the receptionist did see me cry.

And I feel so ashamed - I feel I should have just walked away back then or done something. But I was too in shock and struggling to control the tears - I couldn’t believe how appalling she was at the time. She couldn’t even be a decent human being to someone she said she “appreciates”. And that was it - that was the end of the line for me and the last straw. She came back up and cheerily spoke to the rest of my colleagues - acting as if nothing had happened.

Shouldn’t you ask yourself as an editor why one of your most hardworking girls is demotivated instead of shutting it in until appraisal and just assume I was slacking? You want me to give my best - but do you even deserve my best consistently. Oh, I also said the way I tried to be a team player is by keeping with the deadlines and handing my work on time to ensure we go to print on time. Her response: “but if that’s the kinda work I’m getting, I don’t want it.” Not gonna lie, that was a slap to my face. I wanted to quit there and then. I promise, no matter how demotivated I get, I never hand in unsatisfactory work - just not my BEST.

Anyways, long story short - I don’t want to jinx it but I may have a new job on the horizon. But I just need to have it in black and white first before I confirm everything and quit. The offer actually came just a few days after the appraisal, which was a godsend. But yes, that’s not even the end of the drama - I’ve got another post coming up soon about another huge headache I’ve had to deal with the past two weeks. So, it’s unfortunate but this job has just drained my soul and what I love about writing and I know it’s reflected here on Tumblr. Man, it feels good to let it all out. This is why updates come out so slowly now and why sometimes I go MIA. I just couldn’t take it anymore and had to write it all down here. Thank you to all of you who have waited so patiently for all my updates. Seriously, you have no idea how grateful and thankful I am for all of you keeping whatever small embers of my love for writing still burning ♥️