#(securing his data apparently) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lusmeitli · 3 months ago

Text

Where light in darkness lies

Summary: How helping with a panic attack can lead to something more.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Panic attack, a hint of angst, fluff, a bit of fingering.

A/N: There aren’t a lot of explanations given. I have also taken a great deal of liberties to bend characters at my will.

9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9~9

The kettle seemed to take forever. Wasn’t there a saying… a watched pot never boils? Apparently, it applied to kettles, too. As the appliance imitated sounds of an imminent blast off, you poked the tea bag at the bottom of the mug with the spoon from one side to another, then clockwi–

Suddenly, everything was plunged into darkness.

“Curses.”

You stretched your hand out to hold onto the kitchen counter for something… tactile. Grounding. Darkness was your foe.

The familiar fireball under your skin licked up your back and across your chest. Its heat seemed to suffocate you. Breaths came out faster, shallower, harsher. Fumbling to try and find your phone on the counter your hands knocked something over. It shattered on the floor. The mug.

Not enough air. You just couldn’t get enough air into your lungs. The only sounds you heard was the pounding beat of your heart and the ringing in your ears. The panic rose up like a monster looming in front of you, a cruel smirk on its face, before it would open its horrifying hellmouth and swallow you whole.

And then you felt hands on you, whirling you around. Soft lips firmly pressed onto yours, moving with purpose and absolutely no hesitation. Its spark set a fuse alight, burning through your body until it reached your brain, sending a shockwave through you. It took your body a long moment to snap out of your onsetting panic attack and to respond to the kiss. You nearly sobbed into the lips, at the distraction and relief they provided, your hands fisting in a shirt, warm skin and contracting muscles under your fingers.

The heat you had felt moments before was gone. In its stead grew an all consuming need. A soft moan escaped somewhere from the back of your throat. It broke the spell. You heard the person kissing you take in a shaky breath, before their lips left yours and it was over. Several moments later the lights flickered back on. You stood rooted to the spot, staring at the empty space in front of you and the broken mug on the floor.

Your fingertips ghosted over the spot where lips had touched yours and a blush crept over your cheeks. In the corner the kettle clicked, the water now boiled.

*****

“Loki?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you sure it was him? I mean how can you tell?”

You brought a hand over the receiver, trying to shield the words so only your friend could hear.

“I, um, hacked into the security camera footage from just before the power cut. He had walked into the kitchen literally a second before it happened.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then a heavy breath. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. Ain’t that something.”

“You’re right,” you huffed out, “I mean, this is me we’re talking about, right?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“But it is though, isn’t it,” you said, rubbing your tired eyes. “It’s just little old me. Even if it really was him, it probably just was some silly prank or a dare.”

*****

The Quinjet in the hangar was your favourite place to work. Even though today you were in the tail of the jet downloading the aircraft log from the Flight Data Recorder, which involved squeezing into a rather tight space. All that to plug in the USB cable and to then balance the laptop on the palm of your right hand, whilst operating it with the left. You had tried to talk to Tony about moving the access point, seeing as it was a weekly task, but Pepper had walked past and diverted his attention. Judging by the way he immediately stalked after her, he hadn’t heard a word you said.

Thirty-seven percent through the download, the power in the jet cut out and you cursed. Setting the laptop down, you fumbled for your phone, turned on the torch and made your way through the jet to inspect the fuse box you knew was located just outside the cockpit. No light came in from the hangar, which seemed odd. Maybe it was another power outage that affected the whole tower. You tripped and the phone slipped from your grasp, landing somewhere face up.

“Not again…”

The panic started to rise in you once more. You felt too hot, the air seemed stuffy and heavy. Your breath came out fast and ragged. Hands outstretched, you bumped into something hard. Something that shouldn’t be there. You gulped as hot dread shot through your veins and took a step back. With lightning speed slender fingers wrapped around your wrists, tugging you forward to bring you flush against the hard body. Instead of consuming you, the panic ebbed off. Your body knew this touch. Though firm, it meant no harm.

You felt their chest rise and fall, a lot slower than yours. Slender fingers trailed up your arm, over your shoulder and neck. His fingertips skirted over the skin of your throat, goosebumps erupted all over your body. Someone released a slow breath - presumably you.

The fingers moved into your hair and curled around the base of your head, tilting it up. And then those wonderful lips were on yours again. This time, he angled your head to deepen the kiss. The taste and feel of his tongue moving against yours robbed you of your bones and you faltered, glad that his hands held you pressed so tightly up against him. He seemed hungry, needy. His lips left yours, trailing a few kisses over your jaw, before he rested his forehead against yours, noses touching for a wonderful moment, your short breaths mixing.

And then he was gone again. Your hands fell to your side and you blinked against the bright light in the jet that hummed over your head. Yet again you were left wondering what had just happened and, more importantly, why.

*****

“It only affected the hangar this time.” You pulled a book off the shelf in the shop.

“More hacking?” your best friend asked, finger searchingly running over the spines.

Shaking your head, you thumbed through the pages. “My coworkers told me.”

“So you’re saying he did it on purpose?”

Shrugging, you put the book back. “He knows magic, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Honey, I love you, but before you go down that obsession-rabbit hole, it’s my duty as your bestie to warn you. Just please be careful. This is Loki after all. Hm, where is it?”

“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

The pitying look in your friend’s eyes was almost too much. “Oh where to start… He’s a god, immortal and several centuries older than you,” she counted off on her fingers.

“Actually,” you mumbled, “he is mortal. Asgardians just have a longer life span of about 5,000 years.”

Your friend blinked, surprised. “Who told you that? Dr Google?”

“Thor, actually. He had to fill in a form for the Quinjet learner’s licence and we joked about his age.”

“I love you, but you’re weird. Happy rabbit hunting then.” A victory cry fell from your friend’s lips as she pulled out what she was looking for and pushed it into your hands. “You want spicy? Here you go.”

“‘Three Swedish Mountain Men’?” you read.

She wiggled her brows. “They’re hot and they like sharing…”

You rolled your eyes, but put it on the pile of books you were getting anyway.

*****

Late shifts were your favourite, because it allowed you to actually get work done, without the phone going off every other minute. The only thing you didn’t like about them was walking back to your room afterwards.

It was 3am when the lift doors slid open and your shoes softly squeaked on the dimly lit corridor. Nightlighting mode, as Tony called it. You hated it and walked faster. Rubbing your stiff neck and rolling your shoulders, you rounded the corner. Just a few more metres to your door. But someone grabbed your hand and pulled you into the refuse room, which was pitch black.

Cool fingers were placed on your lips signalling you not to make a sound.

You nodded your head and the fingers moved from your lips, slowly, tracing. Then both hands were in your hair. His fingers cupped your head and you felt his breath against your lips. Your hands were on his chest, gripping the front of his t-shirt. Soft cotton. You closed your eyes.

“Please,” you said so quietly you thought he didn’t hear.

But he had and his lips brushed against yours, light as a feather. Your head was swimming, your heart aching. His touch was soft and gentle. He had kissed you before, but it was as if he was now seeing you, in the darkness of the refuse room, for the first time. Taking you in, kissing every inch of skin that was exposed. His lips grazed the knuckles on your hand and a lump formed in your throat.

His hands cupped your head and you felt his fingers fiddle with your hair bobble, before the restraint was gone and your hair hung loose. His hands combed through the strands. You couldn’t remember the last time someone did that.

Your hands ran over his biceps, his shoulders, his pecs, his abs. You wished you could say something, anything, but you feared you’d spoil the moment, that he’d pull away. His lips found yours again and he angled his head, his tongue slowly dancing with yours. It was the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.

He changed his footing to come at you from a different angle, pressing his body flush against yours. He peppered small kisses on the corner of your mouth and down your throat. He seemed to have found a spot he liked, because he sucked on it, his teeth grazing, lips easing the light bite. Before he pulled away, he inhaled deeply at the crown of your head, and placed a gentle kiss on your hair. You felt safe, basking in his warmth. And like the times before, he was gone.

By the time your legs felt stable enough to support you again, you opened the door and walked back to your room.

A smile crossed your lips as you realised that this was the first time you hadn’t panicked in the dark.

*****

“Maybe he’s shy?” your bestie suggested as you sat on her couch, both spooning ice cream out of the same tub.

Loki and shy were not words you would have put in a sentence together. But then, sometimes you were wondering if his aloof stance was just for show.

“Have you tried talking to him?” she asked.

You shook your head. “I could never work up the nerve. He seems… so unapproachable in the light of day. Maybe it all really is an elaborate prank.”

“Or,” your friend leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “or he has the hots for you and just can’t find any other way to show it.”

You mulled this over for a while. “But why in the dark? Why isn’t he saying anything ever?”

“When do you see him?”

“At extended team briefings, but the Avengers come in last and sit at the front. Rogers requested it.”

Your friend rolled her eyes. “Any other time?”

“Well, in the hallways, but either he’s with someone or I am.”

“Meh. Where else?”

You leaned back, thinking. “In the canteen?”

“Okay, now we’re talking.”

“But, again, he’s always with someone.”

“Well… looks like you’re screwed.” She made a show of licking her spoon. “Or about to be screwed.”

She laughed as you threw a pillow in her face.

*****

It was just an autumn storm. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for that it was five in the morning and had been going all night. You were standing by the window, looking out onto the soft glow of the city that never slept. Angry gusts of wind whipped big raindrops against the windowpane. Your breath misted against the cool glass. Normally, you slept through storms, but not this one.

The team had yet to return from a mission and you were worried sick. The mission was particularly perilous. You knew this because Tony had called you into his office, shut the door (something he never had done before) and told you that he couldn’t give you any information, but that ‘some serious shit is going to go down tonight’ and to trust - dramatic pause - him. It all was accompanied by a stare with which Tony seemed to try to convey a secret message. You guessed he didn’t mean himself, but Loki. Hence, you had chewed off all your nails for the last few hours.

When the door to your room opened, closed and footsteps approached, relief flooded through you. Not a moment later his hands were on your waist, pulling you back into his chest, his presence seeping through your pores. His arms curled around you, the slightly damp leather of his suit softly creaking, and your hands flew up to grip his forearms tightly. His head nestled in the crook of your neck, his lips soft against your skin.

“Thank heavens,” you whispered.

You couldn’t remember who moved first, but you found yourself up against the wall, his hands on your ass. Your legs wrapped around his hips that pushed into you; his mouth felt hot on yours. The kiss was all teeth and tongues. Desperation mixed with relief. A moan rang through the room - definitely yours - as you offered yourself up to him. And he took, greedily. His hands were everywhere on your body, pulling you close, pushing more into you, closer still. A disgruntled huff made it clear it wasn’t enough. And then his hands were under your hoodie, bare skin touching bare skin. A tug, a pull and the fabric was up and over your head, landing somewhere on the floor. His lips closed around your lace covered breast until he found your nipple and sucked on it.

Your hands weaved through his damp hair - if you had any fingernails left, they’d be scraping his scalp. Instead you tugged gently on the soft strands, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hips rolled into yours, his desire evident and yours dampening your knickers. His hand slipped into your leggins, his fingers moving over the globe of your ass, slowly, squeezing, as his mouth was plundering yours.

The moment his fingers found your soaking centre, you both groaned. He slid two digits inside you, making you gasp. His hips rocked into you, the leather seams on his crotch providing friction for your clit. Your hands tried to fist in the leather, to get to feel his skin.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, taking you by surprise, propelling you into oblivion. Loki grunted, his movements became jerky, before he stilled and rested his damp forehead against the crook of your neck. His hot breath puffed against your skin, and he just stayed like that, letting you run your fingers through his hair in a comforting rhythm. Then he slid his fingers out of you and gently placed your feet back on the ground. His forearm leaned against the wall behind you as he kissed you thoroughly, with a gentleness that made your eyes sting with unshed tears.

Your thoughts were going a mile a minute and you were thinking of what to do or say now. Would he stay the night or would he vanish again, like always? You heard the soft creaking of his boots as he moved through the dark room and then back to you, handing you your hoodie. You took it, fingers brushing his. The moment you pulled it over your head, your bedside light was on and you found yourself alone.

Again.

*****

The APU of the Quinjet was situated - as in most aeroplanes - in the tail. One of the reasons you were in charge of the upgrade of the jet’s internal bleed ducting was that you were small and slim. None of your co-workers could squeeze in there (thank you, Tony, for prioritising sleekness over practicality). Ironically, there was no air conditioning in this part of the jet. Droplets of sweat gathered on your forehead as you lay under the engine with your torch and toolkit, religiously running through the protocols.

“Five more checks, Y/N,” you heard your colleague, peering down at you from the moveable steps he was standing on, holding up the upper engine encasing with another work mate. A whistling noise became louder. “Then we can test– what the hell?!”

You lifted your head just as a massive explosion tore through the hangar. The space where your co-workers had been a second ago was swallowed up by a fireball. It felt as if the jet was airborne, tossed to the side, then came to a sudden stop. Metal screeched and groaned.

Your head hurt. A lot. There was a ringing in your ears and you just couldn’t see anything. It was dark, so dark. You wriggled backwards but to your horror realised that you were stuck, trapped between the engine and the jet wall. It felt like you were burning up and you tried to shout, scream for help, but you couldn’t get air in your lungs, no matter how hard you tried. Then, mercifully, you fainted.

When you came to, you were in the medical bay. It looked like a war zone, people lying or sitting on the floor, waiting to be seen. Some of them with burns and cuts, others in the bays next to you with drips and field surgeons around them. You spotted your two work mates, both with minor burns and a few bruises, but thankfully alive.

A few stitches on your forehead, one arm plaster casted and in a sling, and a packet of painkillers thrust in your good hand by a disgruntled, stressed out medic later, you limped your way out of there. Anything was better than sitting around in the sick bay, where there were people who were much more in need of a bed than you were. It also helped with getting away from the sight of the body bags that were quietly carried past you. Six, you had counted. The biggest attack on the Avengers Tower so far, people murmured. And the deadliest one.

In front of the debriefing room, you were handed a tablet and sat down. It was standard protocol after an incident like this: you filled in your report and then talked it through with your supervisor. End of. So you filled in the boxes and waited outside Tony’s office for your turn. As you walked in and sat down, he looked at you.

“You okay, Y/N?”

You gave a brief nod. He blinked and then tapped a few keys on his phone, before taking the tablet you held out to him.

“Let’s get this over with.”

In the middle of your interview, the door suddenly burst open. A very out of breath Asgardian god almost stumbled over the threshold, a stony expression on his face. He was like a vision from your dreams, donning his leather suit, covered in dust and blood - not his.

His eyes roamed over you as he stood in the doorway, lingering on your arm in the sling and the stitches on your face for a moment. Then his eyes met yours. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t looked into one another’s eyes before, but this felt different. Intimate.

In four strides he was next to your chair. He stretched out his hand and you placed yours in his, as if it was a practised gesture between you two. A gentle tug had you standing up.

“Loki…,” you started.

“I thought you were dead, love,” he murmured, voice rough, lifting your good hand to his lips to ghost a kiss onto your scratched knuckles. Your insides melted at the endearment and his gesture.

“I give you a thousand thanks, Stark,” he addressed the other man, eyes never leaving yours, “for alerting me that my beloved is okay and with you. However, Agent Y/L/N will have to finish the incident debrief at a later point. I require her presence for an extremely urgent personal matter.”

“Get outta here already, Shakespeare,” Tony grumbled, trying to hide a smirk. “Who’s next?”

But Loki didn’t pay him any heed. He gently cradled your face, his thumbs caressing your skin.

And there, right in front of Tony, with the door wide open for everyone in the very busy hallway to see, right there was the very first time that Loki kissed you in the daylight.

~fin~

#loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki x reader #loki x female reader #avengers loki #loki fanfiction #fluff #angst

211 notes · View notes

vyzz-undercover · 2 months ago

Text

pspspsps dinner time everyone

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(5,700ish words) (im cooked)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon [again]

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions of virginity

•vague breathplay

•even more negligible aftercare

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•tumblr's pisspoor formatting as per last time

———————————————————————————————————

im once again doing a free magic show here and pulling a rabbit (this fic) out my ass. so, without further a-do the tagging... @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @pluvio-tea, @the-raven-lady, @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @lemon-russ. let me know if anyone else wanna be tagged if i do a part three HAHAHAHHAHA i might double down on the comedy-of-errors and have Guilliman get involved. Not like a three-way with this particular fic, even if I'd love to slut papa smurf out. There's always another time and another chance to sexualise an old man :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato finds you relatively easily.

Truthfully, you make no actual sport of it. But he's never going to pass up a cheap bit of entertainment at your expense.

At this time of the ship's cycle you're most likely to be in the east wing, pointedly the lower libraries. He knows this. He won't confess why or how he knows, though—so, fuck off.

You're lazy and predictable. To say nothing of the fact you're far too comfortable scuttling about his Father's vessel. If a hypothetical assassin ever could get onto the ship without being stomped into paste by him immediately, they'd have no problems tracking you down. You may as well be a sevitor running on rails for all your movements stay the same.

He notes you're not on the first level.

Nor the second.

You are on the third, in the leftmost quadrant.

In the restricted reading area.

You do have clearance—but the fact still irks him. Typically, this was for his more decorated brothers to catalogue Xenos. Typically, one needed to be accompanied to even access this level.

But oh, no—no, you're allowed.

You're allowed because you are a damnable leach of a woman. And also the bane of his existence, did he mention that? And you're—you're—tucked up in secure side-room, reading on a data-slate; half-asleep in a little blue robe and looking the pict of adorable sloth.

You don't notice him immediately.

Clearly too absorbed in your gerrymandering-for-servitors cheat-sheet.

And that annoys him even more.

Because, are you really that obtuse? So unassailable in your own mind that you're this blatantly fucking oblivious? He's an Astartes, damn it. Sure, he's in casual rest attire instead of clanking plate—but he's a large, two-and-a-bit meter tall trans-human war-machine standing in the doorway—and you haven't even noticed him. Ignorant like some little rodent chewing away at crumbs in it's hovel.

His Father's got a vermin problem on board, and the mice are stupid and bold and literate... along with rather cozy, apparently.

A finely woven navy throw is swaddled around you where you're lying on the chaise lounge. And the sight of you bundled up inspires a vivid déjà-vu of the last time you were alone with him with little more than a blanket over you.

Cato hesitates for a heartbeat, swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and sets his jaw.

He steps into the room and waves a hand over the laser-pad locking mechanism.

There's a fractional second in which you become cognisant to the sound of the shutter door closing and where you actively notice him.

Then there's a shrill scream as if you've pinched a nerve.

The data-slate goes flying, pelted at his head. But it hits the shutter door and clatters to the floor, far-off any hint of a good mark.

Useless woman.

Realising it's him a moment later, you heave out a racketing sigh.

"Throne of Terra, Ca—" you start, and it sounds like you're going to say his first name before you rightly correct yourself and say, "C-Commander, you scared me half to death."

He immediately sets about accosting you, "Have you been sitting here with the door open this whole time?"

"No," you nip out.

"You are aware that I can tell when you're lying?"

"I'm certain you can," your tone flattens in a way he's only ever heard you talk to particularly sleazy representatives with. It's not an honest exchange, it's double-speak. It's mocking. You're mocking him.

He grits his teeth.

You've grown more open in your defiance towards him as of late, certainly not because of any revelation or reason and it rubs him in a dangerous, new way. He's not about to let it slide, either.

"Is that so?" His words are sharp and accusative and he hopes—he hopes he'll get the delight of watching you cower like you usually do when confronted by him. "Have you been lying to me often, then?"

Half his hopes come true. You look away nervously and mumble something almost inaudibly, and he'd not have noticed if not for his far superior hearing.

It was, "...maybe," and all Cato can help but do being himself, is detonate.

"And what have you been deceiving me of, you scheming little whore?" He snarls, fuming—a dozen crimes and sins crowding his mind you might be tried for. Maybe he's been far too lenient to the actual reality of your evil. Finally, validation to corroborate his deviation—maybe you'll admit you're some Slanneshi fleshchanger, and that you intended to have burrowed so deep in his mind.

Nonetheless, you're nowhere near even close to fast enough to defend yourself. But it's not like he gives you the chance.

He's crossed the distance with a practiced speed. And quicker than you can even yelp, you are pinned to the lounge—a shackle in the form of his fist around your smaller throat.

The pressure is a limp handshake by his standards. You're not really choking. Just stifled slightly for good measure.

Still, it'd be a mere flex to break your neck. He could snap you like a stylus with what was to him, ultimately, nothing but a simple twitch of his fingers. And he would think more about the blatant contrasts between you both much longer if he wasn't far too distracted by the fact you even struggle prettily wantonly. Big eyes wide and glossy with animal panic. Involuntary tears gather at the corners as you register what's going on at last. The mad temptation to lick them if they so much as dare trail down your cheeks begins eating at him.

Some rational part of his rational mind reminds him he can't get the truth out of you when he's vaguely throttling you, though—and he lets you go begrudgingly. Instead opting for looming over you as you roll sidelong on the couch, breathing fast.

He crouches down to your level and grumbles, still absorbed in his raging.

"Speak," he barks, and pointedly grabs you by the chin.

"I–I hadn't actually—" you start, breathless as you mumble. "Actually, uh, laid with anyone, even though I nodded I sort of... had."

He's staggered at the statement, "...that's it?"

A vague lie of omission, but it's not the great corruption he sought to root out.

Then he actually thinks about what you've just admitted.

Like fog banished under a rising sun, his anger at the thought of treachery immediately dissipates into blistering revelation.

"Hold on, you..." Cato starts, baffled and completely knocked for a six, meeting your gaze slowly—genuinely stunned as he pulls his hand back fully. "I... I was the first?"

You look away cursorily, face reddening not only with your previous strains, but with embarrassment.

Now, that was the reaction of a guilty conscience.

Cato doesn't know what to do with the information. Nor does he really know what he feels.

He'd been the first. He feels like he's won something over his brothers. Therefore, fuck the lot of them—and fuck Titus, specifically. Even if he's not sure why. He truly couldn't believe it. There's success, sure—but then there's taking the laurels: whole and absolute. And this... this is exactly that. But oh, for some apparently vestal thing, you'd let him bully down to the hilt in your tight cunt; whining like a whore when he spilled himself inside you. Throne, it was almost suffocating to think back on it now. So willing to have your maidenhead taken, nevermind the fact you weren't the only one who'd had a new experience that day. But you didn't need to know that.

"Another notch to my mantel of victories then," he ultimately decides is the best thing to say, gloating to himself.

"Unbelievable," you sigh softly as you shakily sit yourself up.

But there's the problem again. The one tangible, constant problem with having laid you. It's made you mouthy. He only ever glimpsed your boldness when you interacted with other baselines in the past. You never sassed Astartes, or at least, he's never seen you do it. But now that stubbornness and unwillingness to back down in a political forum is on full display heedless of situation. As if you've suddenly become one of the auto-felating Imperial Fists—or any of Dorn's insufferable ball-busting scions, really. Worst of all, it's only managed to somehow make him even more enthralled annoyed with you than usual. You're still too good at quashing your anger, hard as it is to rouse. But he loves loathes that you bite the lure instead of shying off now.

"To think that I was the first—is your entire professional role not centred around charm? Would no one else have you with that rotten attitude you've been hiding?" he says, knowing he's being nasty, knowing he's twisting the knife; and absolutely praying for you to fall for it.

Cato watches a rainbow of emotions pass over your features, before you settle on one that makes you look like you ate something sour. He's hit a weak spot. But the sentiment holds true. His Primarch thinks you the best and brightest to sway planets? You couldn't even seduce some daft, drunken aristocratic fool to fuck you.

You, the prettiest baseline he's ever seen.

...maybe Guilliman is right in saying the Imperium has rolled belly-up with bloat.

"That's not—that's not why and you know it," you open your mouth and jumble your words briefly before getting out, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who won't have a panic attack because of the several Astartes that insist on following you around?" You continue, raving and flustered, "Do you think anyone would get near me with you—or—or... maybe Captain Acheran, or the good Chaplain, let's say, breathing over my shoulder?"

"You should be grateful any of us waste our time babysitting you," Cato oafishly shoots back like a petulant child, brows furrowing, "You should be thanking me for doing the brunt of it."

Your nose scrunches up, "Pardon me, Commander, it's surely entirely my fault that we are both at the whims of our Lord Primarch."

He pauses.

Something about this interaction isn't stirring his temper like it should.

He should be absolutely livid with anger, or at the very least blowing your eardrums out with a 'shut the fuck up,' at full Astartesian line-command volume.

Yes, he should be seething, and yet he's not. To his surprise, he's actually feeling more enthused than anything.

This feels... exciting, almost.

"You've only grown the backbone to talk back to me because I fucked one into you," he remarks sharply in reply.

You sputter, and go red, robbed of your words.

"Or maybe this is mere performance," He adds with a sneer, tipping his chin up proudly.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic puff of air, "Y-You're such a..." you start, but your voice tapers off—and you look away, pouting.

"I'm a... what?" He taunts, leaning close.

You grumble, apparently feeling brave again; meeting his gaze and puffing yourself up.

"You're a bully," you hiss, clearly upset but undeniably frazzled enough to be somewhat ranting again as you add, "A bully w-who's so disgustingly egotistical you've convinced yourself you're some great conqueror or... something... j-just for having been in me, as if I've never put anything in myself before."

Oh, but wait, Cato likes the idea of that. He likes it so much he completely forgets to acknowledge the insults in your statement prior. He likes the idea of you suffering like he had been—alone, yearning—aching for something you didn't know the dizzying reality of. He can imagine you smothering your sounds, those blessed whines he's got memorised, into a pillow in that cushy little quarters of yours, squirming on your meagre fingers, or maybe cold silicon. You didn't need that lesser imitation now. Cato'd gladly fill that role. He'd gladly fill that hole, too.

Nonetheless, he immediately wonders who you were getting off thinking about.

He'd streak the length of the ship for it to've been him you'd been fucking yourself over.

"Who were you thinking of?"

You blink at the completely offhanded question, then start sputtering, stalling.

"What? I-I—" you stammer, "That's not important or relevant—I just... did it, it's—"

"Keep lying and see where it gets you," He cuts in, raking you with an aggravated frown, and oh, excellent, you're starting to relearn he's not fond of your half-truthing, finally.

You duck your head a little, cringing under his gaze, trying to scoot yourself backwards. But there's nowhere to go.

Cato realises belatedly that in the middle of your antics, the sleeve of your robe has started to fall from your shoulder. His brain short-circuits momentarily with the sheer amount of air that floods his head. Your warm, soft skin on display just for him. He didn't get to see all of you last time. He felt a good portion of you, yes—but he didn't get the chance to admire acknowledge the whole vista. Not because he was too desperate to rut against to try. Or because he was probably going to swoon like a fool if he did. Shut up, he's no coward. Afterall, his hands had been close to your chest, but now—now he can actually look.

He's going to absolutely ruin that lovely canvas you've given him.

"Nobody," you say softly.

"Groxshit," he snaps.

"Fine—" You swallow and start scrambling for a response, "Malum C-Caedo."

Cato genuinely cannot help but bark a laugh at that, "Spare me, you haven't even met the man, moron—you're only saying that because your most recent reading was on his last briefing," he rolls his eyes. "You forgot I was there with Guilliman when you were given it."

You look at him like a cornered little mouse, and finally—finally, your sleeve falls just enough that he's given a perfect view of one of your tits.

"You already..." you grumble softly. "You already know who, then, so I shouldn't even have to dignify this."

"It's me, isn't it?" He asks darkly, and while he tries to sound haughty, the fact he's thrilled by both the notion and the sight of your partial nudity ends up warping his tone into a vaguely manic chuff.

You glance aside and stammer loudly, "N-No."

No, you say—but he hears your little heart flutter. And sees your pupils dilate.

"I hope you're aware you can't lie to save your life," Cato drawls.

Your gaze snaps back to his, and for a brief second, your expression is flushed with embarrassment; until it changes to a sour little scowl.

"I'm not a bad liar, you're just an Astartes—" you start furiously, but check your flustered anger.

Cato smirks.

It's not a completely clean victory, but it's good.

It means his own lusting madness is at least reciprocally vindicated.

And at that realisation, Cato's impulse control violently loses balance; and he's painfully aware he cannot, for the life of him, contain the hungered almost purr-like sound that crawls up his throat.

You go back to looking transfixed at that, and he pauses.

There's something... pulling him in even more than before. He feels as if he's taken the bait, and the hook, and the line and sinker—hell, he's taken a good bit of the rod, too. Everything's a little too heated, and he's got an innate, intuitive feeling you're just as wound up as he is—wait. He breathes in deep and slow, and scents the air. Throne, he may as well have been cold-clocked at the temple by a Dreadnaut for all the innate information he suddenly receives. You're quite frankly drenched in want. You're getting off on this. Smothering him in a dizzying biological chant of hormones that scream—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He leans close, and puts a hand on the arm-rest; the other palm slowly moving towards your chest.

Your eyes follow it—but you voice no complaints nor rejections.

Justified now, he's ecstatic. And your skin is as perfect to the touch as he remembers.

His hand looks huge compared to the breast cupped in it, idly toying with the consistency of the flesh in his grasp. It's much softer and malleable than he thought it'd be. Almost like a water-skin. Thumb depressing your right nipple, before drawing a thoughtless circle.

You sigh lightly and relax a bit, and Cato takes that as another open invitation.

He uses the same hand to tug away the fabric from your other shoulder.

Quick as anything, he's practically stuffing his face against you without any real warning, ignoring your flinch at his haste. Cato's letting the urges he'd withheld in that wretched shack out. And it's so worth the wait. He groans, licks a fat band over your left breast, and worries at the perked little bud with his teeth until you're squirming; only to drag his attention up to nip at your fragile throat.

You're breathing hard, and you open your mouth as if about to speak—but ever spiteful, Cato rewards your attempt with the drag of his tongue and the press of his teeth; and that promptly shuts you up. The faint salt on your skin isn't half bad of a thing either, honestly. He rather likes it. It tastes like how you smell—and he's absolutely luxuriating in it. It makes it all the easier to map your chest from the curve of your breast to your collarbones, garnishing you with eager drags of his tongue and mouth-wrought bruises.

And now you're glorious. The marks on your skin are vivid—he's guaranteed you won't be wearing anything showy for a good while. No lovely vile plunging necklines for you to display to bastard dignitaries. Not unless you want to explain why they're Cato Sicarius sized. They'll also be a good reminder to you of exactly who's superior.

You're still too dazed by his efforts to realise the extent of his actions, but he knows exactly how hot and bothered it's made you. That honeyed reek of arousal is driving him insane.

Urged on, he digs a hand down and around your back and drags you off the lounge. Manoeuvring to turn so his back rests against the lip of the lounge, nigh dumping you before him on the rug.

"W-Why...?" You blink, stunned for a second before righting yourself and meeting his eyes. Cato's sat himself cross-legged, before letting them unfold, one tenting and the other splaying out.

"I did all the work last time," he starts impatiently, and leans up to grab you by the forearm; bringing your hand close close to the cradle of his hips, "Now it's your turn to do something for once."

...Cato's not sure you're actually listening, because he could've bet his helm you'd've become irate at that statement if you were. That, and you're glaring between his thighs.

Ironically, he also almost instantaneously finds he doesn't really care to continue the train of thought. Not when you trace the engorged bulge of him through the folds of his tunic. Groping at the base, before smoothing your palm to the rounded tip.

There's no accursed buttons between him and the open this time, thankfully—and that means he can simply tug aside the folds of his layered tunic and bare himself from the belly down.

His cock lays fat and heavy with blood, smearing precum as it moves from his navel to leftward on his hip when he straightens up.

You're staring.

He scoffs at your apprehension and says, "Alternatively, perhaps you can—"

A soft, "Shhh," leaves you.

He snorts like a big, angry stock horse, brow raised. No baseline, regardless of rank, would dare treat Cato like this; none would dare even think to treat to him like this. Except you now, apparently. You forget your station, your place. Making demands of an Astartes is nowhere near your clearance. Your best option is to implore, not command. Yours is to nod your pretty thick head and smile your fair rotten little smile and obey your betters.

"Did—did you just shush me, woman?" Cato's nigh instantly consumed by a rush of anger at the sheer audacity, sneering. "In what reality do you think you've any right to shush me? I'm Commander of the Victrix Honor Guard, Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of—"

Of... of something.

Suddenly your insolence is inconsequential to him. All that matters is the smooth glide of your dainty hand on his cock, and the sight of your thumb and pointer being unable to wrap around and meet given how thick he is.

You look up at him slowly for a second, before your focus returns to apparently sussing out how best to saddle him. It's a timid gesture, like you're anticipating overstepping—you're cautious.

He's about to remind you of the fact you've taken him before, so Cato's proven he fits and all this coyness of yours is arbitrary. But he guesses the point is moot when you're suddenly already stradling his hips.

With one small hand finding a place on his stomach, and the other holding his cock straight beneath the obscurity of your garbs, he feels you lower yourself enough to make contact; testing before offering a little more urgency.

With an agonisingly careful roll of your pelvis, the head of his cock catches against the soft ring of muscle at your entrance for a second.

He grumbles despite himself.

He can't watch his cock sink into you like last time thanks to the curtain of your robe, but at least he can certainly feel every millimeter of it happening.

Tight heat feels like a death shroud over his mind as he draws a blank on anything else.

And finally—finally he's stuffed down to the hilt—and oh, he's filled you to your end just like the last time. Throne, he's drunk off the spongy heat the thick head of cock is squared right up against.

This position's made your cunt just that bit shorter inside thanks to gravity.

You whimper, clearly trying desperately not to start shaking.

You start shaking anyways.

He's fascinated by the small, restless palms now pressed flat and trying to find a counterpoint on his broad, tunic'd chest. Soft and un-calloused aside from the small bump of a pen's rest on your writing hand. Everything about you is warm and soft. Inside and out, you're all his.

He exhales harshly through his nose and blinks, gaze shifting from your hands to your tits, then to your face.

You wear an even more flushed expression now, overwhelmed, with all your focus on him.

Right where it always should be.

"Hurry up," he grunts sharply.

You swallow hard, and promptly drop your gaze.

You, surprisingly, manage to lift yourself up despite your theatrics. And, little by little, he watches you strain up until just the tip of him is still buried in you.

Angling yourself, you keen, carefully sinking back down on his cock and reeling at the stretch again as you settle, ass meeting his dense quads with a soft plomf.

He can see you biting back a moan, pointless as the act is.

"Keep going," Cato grits out, "I didn't tell you to stop."

You frown halfheartedly, and your insides clench around him despite yourself.

You start a slow rhythm, the noise of colliding skin on skin echoes in his ears. Slick friction, and fucked-out, half-stifled cries. Your pace quickening. Riding him. Using him at your own leisure, like the precious wretched little thing you are. You repeat the same dizzying motion again and again, and again—rising and sinking—up, down, up, down; until it's clear you've found an angle that hits something just right, sending you over the edge with a rattling gasp.

A low groan crawls up the back of Cato's throat and slips free without restraint.

He's barely able to cope through the tight squeeze of your orgasm around his cock; but he steels himself, winning the fight to not spill in you right then and there at that. No small thanks to the furious couple hours he'd spent earlier in the simulated night cycle furiously attending his urges.

His calloused mitt can hardly compete with the nigh painfully silken clench of you. And the view—Throne, to simply watch is a level of spectacle he can't even put into words. It's nothing short of hypnotic seeing your face soften with fucked-out delight—he can't believe he'd ever thought it was good the first time around when he hadn't even seen you meet your end.

You stop suddenly, seated to the hilt, trembling and oversensitive—grinding back and forth, nails digging into his pectorals through his tunic.

"Just... n-need t'catch my breath..." You whimper, and that debauched tone wreaks havoc through his mind. An unceasing urge to pound you to tears overtaking what little sense he has left. It's the ravenous fact that you, the little parchment-pushing temptress, are all tuckered out from cumming on him so quickly. He's preening at the fact he feels that good to you—oh, he's going to send you limping back to your quarters.

He wants to watch you break.

"You lazy little cunt, you can't do a thing right, can you?" Cato groans, your thighs twitching as he lifts you by the hips and makes you sink back down.

He gets the treat of seeing your eyes swim back in your skull, dumb with sensation.

Lulled by the reedy, oversexed moans slipping from you with each motion; and he can't help but start thrusting up, matching pace.

"Hardly even four and a half minutes—and you're a mess, absolutely useless." He heaves, dropping you to full-hilt for a second to manoeuvre you better. You're nigh but a gasping dead-weight, delirious.

If you're going to act the entitled bitch, he'll screw you into something alike submission. Which is exactly why he's then pulling out, shoving you against the lounge on your back; and moving your thighs to bracket his hips as he half kneels on the rug. Just to slide himself back inside, balls-deep in willing flesh. The only dignity he affords you then is the space to wrap your arms around and behind his shoulders. Which you rightly do without demand.

Hold on, was the unspoken order.

Then he's fucking you into the lounge like his life depends on it. He's glad to notice it's bolted down, but the damned thing creaks—nonetheless, he can barely even hear it over the perfect sounds you're making.

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, barely holding back the noises that choke his own gullet.

"You're so damn lucky you're a nice tight hole," he rasps harshly, "That's all you're good for, hm? For me to fill?"

There's a gutting sort of beauty in the way you're looking up at him with open desperation. He's trying so hard not to fall victim to the siren call of it, but it's perfect vile and he can't help but fold. He'd kill for that look to never leave your face when your eyes fell on him.

"Fuck, I must be in your womb at this rate—would you like that? My load in your womb?" Cato says between a great lungful of air, only to start huffing madly to himself when you nod drunkenly. "Good, because that's exactly where i-it's going."

Mind reeling with every resounding sticky slap of his balls against you, paired with scorching wet slide of him pumping in and out of you. You're crying, all your sensibilities lost in the thorough pace he's ploughing into you with; trying to pull him in by tugging at his shoulders, but with your meagre strength it's merely a vague suggestion.

Still, he leans into it, if only to finally seize the chance to lap the tears off your cheek, and you sob; trying to turn nose to nose with him. Your pathetic pawing at his broad back only exacerbates the overwhelming urgency in his blood.

He's so close.

Bliss crests up like a tide inside him, building and building, stunned with how it makes him buck into you. He's dazed in a way he surely wasn't designed to be resilient against. He can't even shut his damn mouth to stop moaning—and only technically manages to do so when you cover it with your own the very second he's about to finish; your legs squeezing impotently down on his hips, trembling through another climax.

His nerves light up like an orbital barrage, body rocking against the pretty, willing thing below him that you are. He has no idea what's going on beyond that. Are you kissing him? Is that what you're doing? Half his brain is stunned by the idea and the other half is flooded by the rushes of pleasure in his system making his tendons cramp, ravaging him with the sound of his hearts thudding in his ears.

Working himself right into agony; he's tensing against you as he empties himself as deep as he can. His pace finally breaks pattern and staccatos as his mind leadens.

Lulled by the molten satisfaction that swamps him soon thereafter, Cato blindly tries to chase forward and keep your lips on his. Emphasis on tries. He thinks he likes it, foreign as the sensation and sentiment is. He's got his tongue in your mouth, but no real clue what to do beyond lapping further in like a man dying of thirst—and then, of course, you decide to start weakly thrashing for air, blunt teeth grazing against the invading muscle—so, with a miffed groan; he pulls away, drooling as he slumps front-long against you and the lounge with a rumbling sigh, letting his eyes close as he basks in the afterglow.

You're panting still, nosing against the nape of his neck—likely having difficulty respiring under his weight—but despite that, you're still twitching around his spent cock, just like last time.

Wistfully, he wonders if he could sleep with you stuffed full of him like this. Slotted together and absolutely buried in your cunt; reaming you out as far as your small frame will allow. He enjoys the idea of that, and of holding you close.

He listens meditatively as your breathing steadily evens out, a soft in-out rhythm he can hear start in your chest only to feel warmly dancing across his collarbone a moment later.

Your small hand glides up the back of his trapezoid and combs through the short hair at his crown.

He shivers almost immediately at the act, thoughts clouding. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now. He can't really bring himself to do anything. He's locked in. It's like he's been sedated, or scruffed about the neck. Then your fingers trace the bare skin behind his ear, and he snaps from the trance enough to crack an eye open to glance down.

"Don't push your luck," he bites out automatically and leers away.

You immediately stiffen, and lurch yourself back—seemingly completely confused.

He's not exactly sure why he reacted that way either, but he's certainly not going to address it.

Ultimately, he opts to pull his cock out of you with scant decorum rather than linger on the topic. Then he settles into a kneel as he eyes the soaked-in stain below the bunched-up fabric of your robe.

"Well," he snorts.

And damn, it's difficult to hold a straight face at the overdramatic, painfully oblivious pout you shoot him.

So, Cato just continues watching you with a cruel sort of satisfaction as you sit yourself up shakily, and realise the mess.

You blanch, promptly shutting your legs and fussing—your ass is half stuck to the fabric of the lounge by your own slick and his spent when you move to stand on shaky, unsure legs.

He's aware of the fact you're after something to wipe away the aftermath. But he's far too content observing you struggle for the moment. Pleased, even. Especially when he's treated to the cringing gasp that slips from you when his semen no doubt starts dripping down your thighs.

You're panicking within seconds. He can hear your heartbeat quickening, plus the acrid tang of baseline stress hormones pervading the room.

There's nothing to spare. Unless you want to leave another smear across the lounge cushioning, but he doubts you'd go so low. He, however, has no such reservations—and yanks the plush velour padded square up to wipe his cock off. It's not as if he wasn't going to toss it down one of the incinerator shafts on the library's second floor anyways.

"Do—" you begin softly, but amend yourself, "Would y-you have anything... to..."

He stares at you, brows furrowed.

Floundering now, you waddle close and swallow harshly.

"To... wipe this up?" You finish, barely a whisper. He can tell you're sour at the fact you're stroking his ego and essentially too full of him to go anywhere.

Cato scoffs, holding up the seating cushion, "What? Too spoilt to use this?"

You cringe at him, "People have sat on that—hundreds of people, probably. I-I don't have your immunity to infection."

Cato cedes on that point at least, because he assumes being a baseline is hell. And so very not his problem, too.

Completely out of left field, comes the temptation to lick you clean. His mulish hind-brain reasons it's a brilliant idea, namely because you'd likely be squirming for him again. Even if he has no real idea of what to do beyond that. Lap at your clit, probably—he's not actually done any of this before except—well, except just slamming into you. He has the basic gist of all of this from biologis graphics and pornographic motionpicts. Yes, the latter are technically contraband on Ultramarine chapter vessels—Throne, he actually remembers when that was put into force. He was still green behind the ears when that'd happened. But those specific brothers had displayed it for abstract amusement, not... it's intended purpose—rather: 'Lo, look at this curiosity, brothers! See they're fornicating, how very so strange! Baselines am-i-right?'

Honestly, it's never actually anything heretical, except for maybe the terrible acting.

He'd deem that punishable by death.

Regardless, Cato's guessing the process of licking something can't really be some sage art form. Not like duelling, and fuck, he's stellar at that. He's stellar at almost everything, he reasons. So why not that? You're such a wanton little thing he'd probably make you finish on accident.

Yet he decides against it as soon as the logical part of his brain boots back up. Largely given the fact he's probably already going to have a hard time as it is trying to avoid others on his way to mask the stink of sex. His brothers have keen noses, it wouldn't be difficult for them to notice the smell of you on his way to his chamber if he's not careful. Let alone if it's smeared all over his face. Next time, however—

"Surely it's not that bad," he says off-handedly.

A surge of shame appears on your face as a red, blotchy belt across your cheeks, and you seem about to protest before he grumbles.

"Still, you really ought to find a solution," he remarks idly, and he notices the implication isn't lost on you.

You frown softly, and wrinkle your nose at him.

"Maybe some manners would help you achieve your goals," he adds, with a clearer spite.

Your frown grows nigh comically harsh.

Cato grunts wryly, satisfied at your annoyance and paws at the hem of his tunic—tearing a portion off and holding it out to you.

You grab the edge of it and tug, but he doesn't let go.

"And what do you say?"

"Thanks," you answer hastily.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls the torn fabric back towards himself ever so slightly, causing you to over extend closer to him.

His stare stays locked on yours, and he gets the treat of watching you dither and fluster under his focus momentarily before you amend, "T-Thank you..." you swallow, and break eye contact, adding; "Commander Sicarius."

"Was that so hard?" Cato scoffs, especially thrilled as he lets go of the scrap—eyeing you as you trot aside, and gingerly begin to wipe away the mess of satisfaction coating your thighs and rear.

When you're decidedly done, you stomp back over to him and hold out the soiled fabric.

He reaches for it, only to have it promptly pulled away.

Cato scowls, and takes a step forward into your space—only for you to inch forward into his.

You're tormenting him then, he decides; or rather he thinks. He's not sure. You don't look smug—you look... nervous? Your lips have drawn into a thin line and you keep glancing between his eyes and behind him randomly.

"What?" He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

"Lean down," you mumble, then quietly make the additional effort of throwing in a "...please."

Cato grumbles at the request but complies, and Throne, he's glad he does; because suddenly you're up on your tip-toes, your hand on his jaw—and your lips are on his cheek.

He blinks, dumb as a mule. It's over as fast as it started and he can't even begin to unpack the elation he's abruptly feeling.

Heedless of his dazzled state, you clear your throat with a bashful laugh—and then the rag is suddenly stuffed into his open hand. He's still frozen there as you practically rush out the room, scooping your previously flung data-slate up as you frantically wave the door mechanism open and vanish from view.

A long wheeze escapes his throat in the empty room, his face thudding with heat.

Oh, he's fucked fucked.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #ultramarines #cato sicarius x reader #cato sicarius #honestly its more like:#cato 'allergic to introspection' sicarius #writing

169 notes · View notes

railingsofsorrow · 1 year ago

Text

(not so) stupid things

[spencer reid x reader]

A/N: hi! this is my entry for the CM meet cute challenge created by the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins

summary: the one where reader is a detective responsible for a case the FBI is called to work on and as they try to make a good first impression, it slips their mind that one of them does not shake hands.

or... based on the eighteenth episode of criminal minds' S8.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 1.7K

warnings/content: anxiety (implied); case related violence; mentions of injuries and blood; mentions of needles; two awkward people (try) flirting; fluff; language.

navi

masterpost

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”

“O-oh,” you stutter out, blinking in surprise and immediately drawing your hand back. How could you have forgotten this?

Your boss had told you some important information about the team you were going to work with: the Behavior Analysis Unit. It completely slipped your mind who the “Doctor who doesn't shake hands” was. You just vaguely knew Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi, but the rest was a bunch of strangers you hadn't connected the name to the face yet. That included the Doctor who was giving you a tight-lipped smile and had sputtered out the most quick statistics data you had ever heard.

Did he just said kissing is safer than shaking hands?

The blonde sighed, her glare towards Dr. Reid softening when she turns to you. She offers her hand and you take it with a light chuckle.

“That's just Spencer's way of saying he doesn't shake hands.” She clarifies. “I'm Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.” She introduced herself and then proceeds to do the same with the rest of the team. You finally connect the name to the face and you feel more at ease.

“Nice to meet you all,” you say. “I've prepared a room for you to set in during the investigation.” You lead them to the bigger roundtable room you had in the station and wait for them to scatter around to start listing the findings of the case you had until now.

They had a quick way of thinking – it was the first thought that went through your mind as you observed each Agent throw a possibility on why the crimes were happening and the reasoning for the M.O as well. It kind of amazed you how connected they seemed to be to have reached that adjustment within themselves.

The first lead took you to a museum. Your main goal there was to find anything on the suspect you've been following. That required you to speak to one of the museum tour guides who apparently had contact with them as you saw in one of the security cameras.

“How long have you been doing this?”

You immediately grimace at the invasive and completely inappropriate question that leaves your mouth. You couldn't help saying stupid shit when you were nervous. The FBI made you nervous. You had been chasing the suspect for more than three months and only now you were able to find a pattern in their behavior. Obviously, you weren't working alone, but you still feel dumb for not having noticed what is clearly obvious in federal agents’ eyes.

“Doing what?”

Your attention snaps back from the crowd of people to him, whose head was slightly tilted in confusion. The question you made escaping your mind for a second. “Oh. I�� Actually. You don't have to answer that, I'm sorry.” Cheeks burning and hands sweating weren't a great combo right now. Your witness still hadn't stepped away from the group of children so you had to wait.

“It's okay.” He shrugs, burying his hands on his pockets. His eyes fall into your fidgety hands and he's familiarized with the feeling of being uncomfortable in big crowds. The museum was full, which was unusual according to you. “Mhm, did you mean how long have I been in the FBI?”

You hum quietly, arms folding across your chest.

“Seven years, five months and twenty-one days.” Your lips part in astonishment.

“Seven years?” You ask, dumbfounded. Spencer nods in affirmation. “You look like a college student—” you quickly cover your mouth with a hand, your cursing being muffled by it. “Sorry, I'm sorry. That came out wrong, I just meant that you look young and—”

“No, no, it's okay.” Spencer chuckled, amused by the whole thing. “I do get that a lot. Technically, I am a college student. I'm on my third PhD.”

Have you just met the next Einstein?

“How do you do it?” You say in wonder. “I mean, I went through college one time and I couldn't wait to get far from it as I possibly could and—” you were interrupted by the sound of his laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides caused you to smile a little. You realize your shoulders were less tense and you could actually feel your feet again.

Spencer clears his throat before responding, his face carries a soft flush and you find it endearing. “I like studying.” Before you can ask him to elaborate, your eyes narrow at the tour guide, who you were supposed to talk to, stealthily disappearing into a hallway. This is how you end up running around a museum chasing someone that had just moved up to be the primer suspect in an ongoing investigation.

“You okay there?” Agent Morgan's voice pulled your gaze away from the medic stitching up your wrist.

Luckily, you and Doctor Reid succeeded in catching the museum tour guide, leading you to find out that the murders in the city were actually premeditated by two people, not just one. But that didn't go smoothly, the unsub — a curious name the BAU used, you've never heard it before — had a knife in their possession. Just as you were about to snatch it away from their reach while Spencer talked him down, your skin earned a slice right on your wrist because you were bold enough to tackle them to the floor.

Not a nice feeling, but you faced similar situations before, so that wasn't out of the ordinary. That didn't mean you enjoyed the feeling of being poked around.

“I'm fine,” you give him a grateful nod. “Just a scratch.” The image of the BAU's genius flash through your brain. “Huh, is Doctor Reid okay? I'm pretty sure he almost got one of these in his face.” You refer to your cut that was currently being dealt with.

Something that you can't recognize twinkle in the Agent's eyes. Amusement? Smugness? “Oh, Reid's alright. He's actually been asking non-stop about y—”

“Morgan.”

You see his smirk increase when Spencer strides over to where you are. The two share a look that you can't translate due to the tickling of the needle in your sensitive skin.

He's sitting beside you in no time and you're about to say that he doesn't have to bother, but he beats you to it.

“Up to 1 in 10 adults struggle with needles. 16% of them actually avoid getting vaccines because of their trypanophobia.” You look at Spencer as he inhales to keep rambling. “Studies show that many people grow out of that fear, but some remain with it.”

“Clearly,” you mumble, embarrassement causing your neck and cheeks to become red.

His eyes widen and he quickly raises his hands, “Oh, no! That's not what I— I didn't mean to—” he sighs as your lips try to hold back a smile. “I tend to say stupid things when I'm nervous.”

The medic says you're good to go and that's your cue to let out the breath you've been holding in instant relief as you can not longer see the needle. You thank them and step out of the ambulance.

“Like claiming that kissing someone is safer than shaking their hand?”

He stumbles upon an answer which takes you to a laughing fit that attracts some attention. You ignore the ugly looks in order to focus on a warm touch on your shoulder, stopping you from bumping into a police officer.

“Sorry, I was messing with you,” you say slightly breathless, your shoulder tingling where his hand lay. “I say stupid things when I'm nervous, too. I guess we have that in common.” Spencer is grinning when he pulls his hand back. You wonder what his thinking as his eyes travel across your features.

Maybe he's finally concluded that I'm a fool.

“Why would you be nervous?” You look away at a passerby to avoid his stare.

“Nothing, I—” he swallows, folding his arms and unfolding them right after. You don't need to be a profiler to realize he's nervous.

Your slow pace halts when he stops following you. You wait for him to sputter out random statistics or literally anything except for what he says next.

“Can I have your number?” He croaks out. “I thought that it wouldn't be unprofessional after the case was over because technically we aren't working anymore and— you know what? Never mind, forget I said—”

“Doctor Reid,” you say carefully. He clips his mouth shut. “Yes, you can have my number.” He lets out a soft oh and you smile. You ruffle through your pockets to find a pen and when you do find, you silently ask for his hand and he raises it towards you, confusion drawing his brows together.

He feels a tickling sensation as you write your number down on his open palm.

“There.” You offer him a smile to which he replies with one of his own as his eyes scan your scribbling on his hand. A vibration in your blazer forces a heavy sigh to leave your lips. You apologize as you grab your phone. “Ah, yes. I'm— I'll be there.” You turn to Spencer with a disappointed look after the call ends. “Sorry, I have a lot of reports to finish and they need me in the station.”

“It's okay.” He nods. “I understand.”

You don't leave right away though, hesitating in your step. He just as awkwardly stands there. Are you back in high school or something? When have you ever been that shy?

“So, I'll see you around?” You ask.

He outstretches a hand to your surprise, “Yes.” When you accept it, your fingers tingle at his soft skin. Both of you draw yourselves back at the same time. “Bye, Detective.”

You wave at him, already retracting to leave to avoid further embarrassment. “Bye, Doctor.”

You can't help the giddy feeling in your chest as you walk back to your car. A few hours later, your phone screen flashes with an unknown number.

#mentioningmargins #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid blurb

422 notes · View notes

captainsophiestark · 2 months ago

Text

Epiphany

Javi Rivera x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Twisters

Day Two Prompt: "It's been a long time."

Summary: Javi's job bring him back into the same town as a sort-of-ex, but if he wants a chance at rekindling anything, he's going to have to answer for his decision to work for Riggs.

Word Count: 3,189

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: Happy spooky season everyone!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I grinned as I lined up my shot on the dartboard ahead of me, ignoring the heckling of my friends and a few new competitors we'd met at the bar. I was the undefeated champ at darts, both tonight and in general, and I hadn't gotten here by letting people get in my head.

I let out a breath, completely focused on the center ring, and sent the dart flying in one smooth motion.

Bullseye. As planned.

I turned to my friends with a grin, enjoying their chorus of groans. While I wasn't completely undefeated for all time, I was undefeated tonight, and I was frankly having the time of my life.

"Okay, there's got to be somebody in this bar who can beat you," teased one of my friends, throwing an arm over my shoulder and turning to scan the rest of the patrons who hadn't been roped into our competition yet.

"I bet I could give it a shot."

I turned at the sound of the voice to see a man I hadn't seen in years.

Javi Rivera and I had met while we were both studying at Muskogee State College almost six years ago. We'd hit it off, going quickly from friends to dating, and after only a couple months, I'd started to be able to see a future with him. And then, three of his friends died in a tornado while they were trying to test their PhD project and secure grant funding.

I'd done my best to be there for Javi, but we'd pretty quickly realized he needed some space--from chasing, from school, from Oklahoma. From everything. Including me.

It sucked to say goodbye to someone I loved, but at the same time, I got it. We'd parted on pretty good terms, deciding for both our hearts it would be best for the break to be clean. I'd thought about him a thousand times since then, clean break or no, but I hadn't seen him once. Now, he was standing before me in the dive bar just outside my hometown, apparently challenging me to darts.

"...Javi?" I managed, a smile tugging at my face despite the shock and disbelief. He grinned back at me, holding his arms out but not making any move to close the distance.

"Hey. It's good to see you."

I grinned, quickly closing the rest of the space between us to wrap Javi in a hug.

"It's good to see you too! What are you doing here? ...How are you doing?"

He stepped back with a smaller smile on his own face, running a hand through his hair before he met my eyes again.

"Better. A lot better than the last time you saw me, actually. I'm working with a team that's researching tornados, trying to get better data to better understand them and hopefully make everybody safer as a result. My team's just passing through the area on our way to chase a some big cells developing further West, and we're staying in town for the night. I was really hoping I'd find you here."

"You know, I do have a phone. And I haven't changed my number."

He grinned. "That was going to be Plan C, if Plan A of finding you here and Plan B of finding you at another bar didn't work out."

I just shook my head and laughed.

"You know, there's a lot I could say about that, but I think instead I'm gonna settle for kicking your ass in darts."

"Oh, bring it on. I was watching you, I think you've lost your edge since the last time I saw you. And I can tell you right now, I haven't. I've only gotten better."

"Sure you have, Rivera. Come on, put your money where your mouth is. You start us off."

"If you insist."

Javi leaned in close, hitting me with a charming smile as he took his half of the darts out of my hand, taking his time and letting his fingers linger over mine. For a split second, it was like I was back in grad school again, spending weekends blowing off steam and occasionally working on our project from the back table of a bar. Then, he pulled back, turning his attention to the dartboard again.

"Loser buys drinks," he called as he drew his arm back, then let the dart fly. He hit an 18, but not on any of the score-multiplying rings. I grinned.

"You're on."

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

Javi and I spent most of the rest of the night together, trading blows in darts and just catching up with each other again. To my delight, it had been like no time had passed since we'd last seen each other. We immediately fell back into the same happy, comfortable routine we'd had for years, and my heart did a happy little flip in my chest every time Javi leaned into me with the smile I loved so much.

We stayed out at the bar together long after my friends had left, hovering at a back table together until they kicked us out. Javi had walked to the bar from his hotel, so I gave him a ride back, the two of us lingering as clearly neither of us wanted to leave. When Javi finally hopped out of the car, it was only after we'd made plans to get together the next day, depending on the tornado situation.

Luckily for Javi and I, the forecast the following morning looked very calm. Javi texted me early, and we made plans to get together for lunch. I was practically walking on air as I drove into town, parking and hopping out to wait for Javi before heading inside. I didn't want to get too far ahead of myself, but having Javi back in my life even for these twelve hours or so had been amazing. I couldn't stop thinking about him, and frankly, I didn't want to.

Unfortunately, my happy little bubble got momentarily popped by a Storm Par truck pulling into the lot. I frowned and narrowed my eyes. They'd shown up in the area recently, swooping in like vultures and taking advantage of tragedy in the community to make a profit. If they were heading into the restaurant for lunch, Javi and I might need to find somewhere more peaceful to hang out.

I glowered at the truck, trying to project as much malice and disapproval as possible. Then the door popped open, and my heart stopped in my chest.

Javi climbed out of the driver's seat. He had on a Storm Par button down. He grinned and waved at me as soon as he saw me, but I couldn't do more than stare back. What the fuck was he doing?

"Hey! Sorry I'm a little late, I had a meeting this morning-"

"With Riggs?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Javi stuttered a step, the smile on his face dimming a little as I crossed my arms. He came to a stop in front of me.

"I... what?"

"I think that's my line, Javi. What the hell are you doing? Why are you showing up here in Storm Par shit?"

"I told you I was chasing again-"

"You told me you were here researching tornados! Not conning grieving people out of their family homes!"

Javi took a step back, blinking like I'd physically slapped him across the face. I huffed, trying to get a hold of myself. I'd been almost shouting by the end of my speech, and I really didn't want to throw a scene in front of the restaurant.

"Listen, I get why you're mad," Javi started, holding up his hands like a peace offering. "But Riggs is funding research that's going to allow us to better understand how, why, and when tornados form, which will save lives. We're on our way to the most complete understanding of a tornado ever, and we never would've gotten here without Riggs investing and getting us this tech."

I'd started shaking my head after the second sentence, getting faster and faster until Javi finished speaking. I huffed a disbelieving laugh and took a half-step back towards my car.

"There are other ways to get grant money, Javi. Ways that don't include Riggs."

"Yeah, just ways that include risking everything going into an EF5 that got almost all of my best friends killed."

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. It had been a dream come true when Javi walked into the bar last night, but this was quickly turning into a nightmare. Hurt, anger, saddness, and disappointment formed their own little tornado in my chest, and I barely managed to keep my voice level as I met Javi's eyes again.

"I know what you went through when you lost your friends. I understand why you're making the choices you're making. But you know as well as I do that Riggs is taking advantage of people, actively hurting people in this community, and that all the data you bring him with your research is just going to make it easier for him to swoop in looking to make a profit after disasters, not bringing help before them."

"That's not what we're doing-"

"You might be able to convince yourself of that while you're riding around in your stupid trucks, but unlike you, I was born and raised here, and I never left. I know what's happening, I know the reputation your sponsor has earned for you, and frankly Javi? I want nothing to do with it. Any of it."

Javi huffed in surprise, then scowled.

"I take it to mean that includes me?"

I nodded, slowly at first, then faster and more confidently as I took a few more steps back.

"As long as you're going to keep enabling the vultures? Yeah, that does include you."

He huffed again, a humorless laugh, as he shook his head and shuffled around like he couldn't figure out how to react. It felt like a knife to my heart, but I didn't let myself hesitate before turning around and heading back to my car. I'd sat and cried with neighbors in the wake of tornados, trying to salvage anything we could in the wreckage, before polished looking guys in suits came in and way underpaid for properties, then left without lifting a finger to help a single living thing in the devastated area. If Javi was willing to be a part of that, then he was nothing like the man I'd known and loved before.

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

I sighed, dropping an armful of books on the kitchen table. I still had a few things to bring up from the storm shelter, but I couldn't stop myself from sinking into the nearest chair. It had been a long few days.

Less than 48 hours after Javi and I had our fight, one of the worst tornados of the year had touched down much too close for comfort. It had done some significant damage to the next town over, although not nearly as bad as it could've been. Exactly what had happened was still a little unclear, but it had been a long time since one had come that close to me. I hadn't been expecting it to affect me, but my knees were actually feeling a little weak.

I took a few moment to focus on breathing deeply, then rallied myself to move the last of my supplies out of the storm shelter. I'd just made it to my feet again when a knock came at the door.

I sighed and honestly debated pretending I wasn't home. But, most likely, it was a neighbor coming to check in or share news from the tornado. I didn't want them to worry, and I probably wouldn't get away with pretending not to be here.

I made it to the door just after another knock came, slightly louder this time. I swung open the door without looking outside first, then froze halfway through the motion when I found Javi staring at me, standing on my doorstep with a six pack of beer held loosely in one hand.

"Thank god you answered. Listen, I'm sorry. You were right. Kate was right. Storm Par... Riggs..." he shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. His hair and clothes were a mess, back to the Javi I'd known in grad school instead of the perfectly-pressed Storm Par rep I'd seen a few days ago. More than just that, though, he looked frazzled. Offbalance, in a way I'd never seen before.

"Javi... are you okay?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Did you hear about the big one?"

"...The tornado that just hit?" He nodded. "Yeah. I've only heard bits and pieces outside of the siren, but yeah. What happened? Is everybody... you said Kate's name earlier."

He quickly reassured me, getting halfway through reaching for my hand before pulling himself back.

"Kate's fine. I convinced her to come out here and help with research, but she almost-" Javi stopped short, closing his eyes for a long, long moment. I frowned, briefly considering what to do next, but it didn't take me long to reach a decision. Javi seemed to be implying he'd ditched Storm Par, but even if he hadn't, I still cared about him. And he clearly needed somebody right now.

"Javi. Why don't you come inside and sit down? Take a breath for a minute?"

He nodded, opening his eyes again and taking a slow, deep breath.

"Thanks."

"Sure thing."

I held the door open, and Javi didn't need me to show him where to go. We'd spent a good part of our relationship hanging out in this house, and it hadn't changed much since then. I followed Javi, letting him decide where he wanted to settle. Eventually, we ended up on the back porch, Javi settling into the bench swing where we'd watched more sunsets than I could count. He set the six pack down by his feet, and after a moment's consideration, I sat down next to him.

Javi didn't look at me as I joined him, his stare still a thousand yards out on the sun that had just started to approach the horizon. I gave him a few moments, then gently reached out to take his hand. His attention immediately snapped to me, his eyes wide with surprise. I gave him a soft smile.

"How long as it been since we spent an evening sitting out here?"

He huffed a laugh. "It's been a long time."

We shared a little smile, then after a moment, I sighed. Javi seemed calmer, at least slightly, and now I needed some answers.

"So... you wanna tell me what brought you here?"

"I came to apologize. You were right about Riggs, and about what's important. I want to be helping people, and it's a long story, but it became clear in the last few hours that I can't do that as long as I'm working with Riggs. I just wish I'd been able to figure it out earlier."

Javi shifted, taking my hand in his and shuffling a little closer to me. The apology was sweet, and I'd missed having moments like this with Javi, but his answer still had a lot of holes.

"I'm glad to hear you're done with Riggs- I mean, I'm assuming that's what you're saying?"

"Yes. Very much yes."

I smiled. "Okay. But maybe you should start a little further back on explaining what happened between now and the last time I saw you. Starting with why you failed to tell me Kate was in town."

"...In my defense, I was planning to tell you at lunch."

I couldn't hold back a snort.

"Fine. Depending on how good the rest of your explanation is, you get a pass on that."

Javi laughed. "Good. Alright, let me think about this..."

It took a while, but eventually Javi managed to walk me through his whole story. It was the serious catchup we'd been planning to have over lunch, but with the added beneift of a private moment together in one of our old favorite places. A lot had happened since Kate had come to town, and she'd had the same kind of fight with Javi as I had, but he'd come around and stepped up when it mattered.

"So, now we're done with Riggs. We're working on a pitch for investors back East right now, actually. Kate's going to present what we've got so far, and hopefully we'll have ethical funding for helping people and nothing else by the end of next month."

I smiled, leaning into Javi. The sky was red from the sunset now, and we'd been holding hands the whole time. Even though we'd gone years without really talking, right now, it felt like nothing had changed.

"I'm glad to hear it, Javi. And I'm so, so glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me too. It was dicey there for a minute, but we're on the other side now."

I leaned a little further into Javi, and after a moment, he raised one arm and stretched it around my shoulders. I sighed.

"You know..." Javi started. He paused and cleared his throat, then shifted a little on the bench before continuing. "Kate and I could actually use some help working on those grant proposals, and maybe some of our future presentations. I know you've always been happy to do your own thing, but... we'd love to have your help if you want to come back to spending more time with us. I would love that."

I leaned back to look Javi in the eye, and I couldn't keep a gigantic smile off my face for even a second.

"Honestly Javi? I would love that. Both to be part of helping you guys finish what you started, helping our community, and... for you. I missed you a lot."

"I missed you too. So much. And I know I'm the one who left, but if you'd be willing to give us another shot... I'll be around for the long haul."

My heart did a backflip in my chest, and the beaming smile on my face mirrored the feeling.

"I would really love that Javi."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, good." He smiled back at me, then started leaning in before stopping short. "Can I kiss you?"

"Absolutely you can."

He grinned, then the two of us closed the distance as one, Javi's hand going to my waist as I tangled one in his hair. It felt right, and we both smiled into the kiss.

"No pressure if this is a little fast," I said, pulling back from Javi just enough to speak, "but... would you like to stay the night tonight?"

"You know I've stayed the night before, right? Regularly. I don't know if it can count as too fast if we've already done it a million times."

"Fair point. So what do you say?"

"I'd love to." He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on my neck and then moving slowly up towards my ear. One of his hands moved to my thigh as he whispered: "I've got a lot to catch you up on if you're going to start writing grant proposals for us. I think we've got an all-nighter coming on."

I laughed, pulling back and swatting at Javi's arm. He just grinned.

"Okay, I'm officially banning work talk until tomorrow morning."

"Honestly, you don't have to tell me twice."

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Twisters Taglist: @turtlee-says-rawr

92 notes · View notes

genjispeace · 5 months ago

Text

Hate Me Sweetly - Genji X Reader

In which Genji and the reader get trapped in a closet together. The two tend to bicker on missions, and tensions rise in a small space.

tags: long, like seriously buckle in for this one, AFAB reader (mostly gender neutral but Genji does say good girl once), enemies-ish to lovers, I never really hated you, unprotected sex, rough sex, vulgar language, low-key a slow burn (they kissed on page 8 on my writing program), filthy but also sweet and soft (they're in loooooove)

side note: there is a moment in this where a man is threatening the reader. nothing ends up happening, but it felt like I needed to say that.

a/n: whew...hope this one was worth the wait. I am still sick, so it may not be my greatest, but I think this is actually my personal favorite of all i've posted hehehe hope you all enjoy it as much as I do <3

You hold your breath as you walk past one of the guards. He nods at you and you return a shy smile, hiding the majority of your face in your fake maid’s outfit. Being the only person at Overwatch that wasn’t often in the public eye, you’re usually the only option when it comes to sneaking anywhere. Like now, you are sneaking into a small side base that Talon has, hoping that you can retrieve data off one of their servers without making a scene. That sneaking, though, is often accompanied by disagreements from your team members. You have hardly any fighting experience compared to them, which means you are essentially being sent into a pit of vipers. You’re a gifted medic and fairly decent at working computers, but that’s where your experience stops.

“This isn’t a good idea,” a voice crackles over your in-ear device. Genji. He wasn’t a fan of this plan from the start, nor is he ever a fan of you sneaking into places. You grit your teeth and ignore him. He seems to doubt your capabilities in all situations, which grates on your nerves, especially considering how many times you have nursed his wounds and how many times you have successfully snuck in and out of places. You’re a valuable member of the team, which is something seemingly everybody except Genji can agree on.

“Ignore him. We’ve got your back,” Cassidy’s southern drawl echoes in your ear. You know they do. They hacked into the security cameras and can watch your move, and they are close enough to break in if things go south. You have full faith that you are safe in their hands, even if Genji doesn’t want you there.

The two men start to bicker through your in-ear and you tune it out easily. You make your way through the long hallways, your heels clacking on the tile floors. You pull at the hem of your dress, which was made to be a bit too short for your liking. It barely goes down past your butt, leaving the majority of your thighs bare.

“Stop adjusting. You seem nervous,” Reyes’s voice says in your ear. You heave out a sigh as you look up at the camera in the corner of the hallway. A quick glance around you reveals that you’re alone, so you bite out a whisper back into your in-ear.

“I feel naked.” You really do. Not only are your legs nearly bare, but the outfit cuts low across your chest, leaving the top of your breasts visible. It’s cliche, offensive even, but apparently that is how Talon likes their staff dressed.

“Darlin’, you look great,” Cassidy’s voice echoes again, and you roll your eyes. The two of you have been close friends for a while, so it’s not unlike him to jump at the first chance to tease you. You hear an annoyed sigh in your ear, which you think is from Genji.

“Shut up, Cassidy. Now isn’t the time for you to stroke-” Genji starts to snap, but Reyes quickly cuts him off.

“Enough. The security room should be at the end of that hallway on your left.”

You follow the instructions, carefully walking down the hallway. Your footsteps echo in the empty space, and you hate the way you start to shiver. You’re not cold, but the thought of it being nervousness makes you feel weak. You wrap your hand around the handle and start to turn it, Reyes telling you how to access the server in your ear. But, as soon as you push the door open, his voice fades away.

A guard sits in the security room, leaning back in one of the chairs. Your breath hitches in your chest. This room is supposed to be empty. It is supposed to be an easy-in easy-out job. The room, full of different screens and computers, is bright and jarring, but the only thing catching your attention is the rifle that the guard has sitting on the ground next to him. He is facing away from you, and hasn’t seemed to notice you yet. Maybe you could grab the rifle from him, but what would you do after that? If you shot him, it would be too loud. No, you need a different approach for this one.

“Get out of there,” Genji says in your ear. Of course he would want you away from it. He thinks you can’t handle just one guard. Maybe he’s right, but you want to prove him wrong. Maybe it’s that desire to make him eat his words that has your feet moving forward, crossing the large room until you’re standing next to the guard in his chair.

He finally notices you, and you can feel his eyes on you as you bend over and reach for the trash can under the desk. When you hear him let out a low whistle, your skin starts to crawl. Could you knock him out with this? Your grip tightens on the plastic bin. No, not strong enough. Distract him long enough to sneak your flashdrive near the main computer?

“If he touches them, I’ll-” Genji’s voice crackles through the in-ear, but static starts to shriek over it. You flinch at the noise, but pretend to push hair out of your face so you can turn it off.

“You’re new,” the guard says in a purr. You stand up, holding the small trash can in between you two, like some sort of barrier. He still sits in his chair, but he’s leaning forward now, his eyes tracing your face with intent. Once you’re standing, his eyes trace even lower and his gaze makes your skin crawl.

“Yeah. Just started,” you mumble. You point at a balled up piece of paper on the other side of the large desk. You can’t get to it without him moving, and you really need to sell this maid act. “Can I get past you?”

“Be my guest,” he says, but barely inches his chair backward. You frown at first, then realize what he’s doing. You’ll have to push past him, practically be in his lap, to grab it. You start to snap something out, but then realize, if you do that and lean back against the desk, you should be able to reach the computer well enough to put your drive near it. It has to be within a few centimeters for around five minutes to get all of the data. Can you even hold out for that long?

You have to. Straightening your back, you place the bin on the ground and step in between the guard and the desk, reaching for that damned piece of paper. You finally grab it, but before you can retreat, the guard scoots his chair forward and pins you against the desk. His dark eyes are level with your breasts, and he seems to be taking advantage of that. You fight back every instinct in your body telling you to hit him and run. Instead, you use your hand that’s not holding the paper to reach into your pocket and pull out the drive. You place it softly behind you, praying that it is close enough.

“Such a pretty thing. We don’t get many like you around here,” the guard coos, looking up at you. His eyes are dripping with evil and it has you shuddering under his glare.

“Sorry, I-uh-I’m not-” you whisper out, trying to free yourself from the trap he has you in. He backs up just enough to stand up, but it also gives you enough space to get away, until his hand wraps around your arm. You wince at the feeling of his clammy fingers squeezing against your skin, then he turns you around and pushes you against the back wall.

“You don’t get to come in here like that and not intend to do anything,” he barks out. His other hand has found its way to your hip, slowly inching upwards.

“I’m just trying to do my job,” you say, hating the way that your voice shakes. You force your eyes shut. You don’t want to see how he is looking at you anymore. His hand keeps inching upwards, nearly cupping your breasts.

“Oh, you can do a job for me. How about-” he starts, but his voice shifts into a scream. Your eyes snap open and your heart plummets in your chest at the sight. Blood spurts out of what used to be his hand, the thick red liquid painting your dress and your chest. You cringe at the feeling of it, warm and sliding down in between your breasts. You finally snap out of your daze and you look up, where Genji stands a few feet away, his blade now dripping with blood. He moves so fast that neither you nor the guard can react, and the guard’s throat is quickly slit. His body slumps to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

“So much for subtlety,” Genji whispers, sheathing his blade behind him.

“I had that handled,” you say, but the way that your voice shakes says otherwise. Genji’s eyes widen at your words, and you wish you could see under the black mask to see the rest of his face.

“Bullshit. You-”

“Got the data, didn’t I? I would have made it out,” you cut him off. Your fear and shock slowly starts to evolve into frustration. You would have completed the mission without him.

“Fuck the data! Who knows what he would have done to you,” Genji snaps back, closing the distance between the two of you. His chest heaves as his voice rises. He comes close enough you can see the deep brown in his eyes, a color you find beautiful most of the time. Now, though, that brown is alight with frustration. The way he is looking at you would be enough to kill somebody, but you have never backed down from him.

“I am completely capable of handling this!” You scream out. Genji doesn’t back up, but he doesn’t say anything. He reaches up to your face and pushes onto your in-ear, turning it back on.

“-on your way. You’ll be outnumbered. Find a way to hide until we can get in,” Reyes shouts over the device.

“Fuck,” you whisper. At that, you hear footsteps thundering down the hallway. Genji wraps his hand around your arm and pulls you behind him, leading the both of you to a door you hadn’t even noticed before. He pulls it open and shoves you inside. It’s some sort of utility closet, with various brooms and other supplies scattered around. It’s small, barely enough to fit you, but Genji manages to squeeze in with you. He pulls the door shut and it clicks, leaving the two of you standing there, chest to chest, with nowhere to go. You can’t even try to back up. You can barely breathe with how cramped the closet is. A small light twinkles above your head, barely giving any light.

“What is your pla-” you start, but Genji clamps his hand around your mouth. You squeak in surprise at his touch, which is more gentle than you would expect from him. He seems to have better hearing than you, perhaps an advancement from his cyborg body, because you hear the door to the security room open after that. You watch Genji’s face with wide eyes as he listens to the men on the other side of the closet door. If they open that door, they’ll kill both of you. Genji’s otherwise soft features are hardened with focus, but you can’t help but shake. You could be dead in a minute.

The guards’ voices overlap and blend in your mind. You try to pick up on what they’re saying, but any hope of focusing on anything is long gone now. Is this seriously how you’re going to die? Locked in a closet because a mission went sideways? Your chest aches at the thought of it. It may be a cliche, but you have always wanted to grow old with somebody. Find your soulmate, if there is such a thing, and live life to the fullest with them. Now, that wish seems far away.

The guards argue about something, but their footsteps and voices eventually fade. The door to the security room slams shut, and you let out a deep sigh from your nose. Genji lowers his hand away from your mouth, but you stay silent. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything either, but his hand moves against the doorknob and twists it. The door doesn’t move. There is enough light above you to make out a slight frown taking place on Genji’s features as he pushes on the door again, but it still doesn’t give. In the bleak light, you can barely make out the features of the door. It seems to be some kind of industrial one. Not exactly the type that could be knocked down easily.

“Fuck,” Genji whispers. “Reyes, we’re locked in.”

“Fucking hell, Genji,” Reyes’s voice is in your ear again. “We’re locked out. We’re trying to get in, but we need more reinforcements now that the guards are alert.”

“So what? We just stay in the closet?” You say. Your voice is still quiet, like you’re still scared somebody will hear you. You hear a sigh from the other end before your commander speaks again.

“Yes. Stay put. We’ll work our way in. For now, turn your in-ears off. We don’t know what kind of technology they have. They might be able to scan for it.” Reyes sounds exhausted.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, reaching up to turn the device off. Genji doesn’t respond to Reyes, but obeys the command and reaches up to turn his off. That leaves the two of you standing, your fronts flush with one another, locked in a dark closet in silence. At least you’re not dead.

You lean back, your head knocking against the wall. It could be worse. Definitely could be better, but it could still be worse. A soft sigh escapes your lips. Not being in imminent danger, you are finally able to properly take in your surroundings. The cramped closet smells like dust, but the smell of blood takes over. Your skin is sticky with it and it stains. Some of it has dried, but it still leaves red blotches along your skin. It’s a good thing you aren’t squeamish and work with blood, or you would be nauseous now.

“You okay?” Genji says. You snap up to see him watching you intently, his dark eyes searching your face. Are you okay? Hardly, but you also don’t want to seem weak to him.

“I’m fine,” you say, and cringe at how weak your voice sounds.

“Liar,” Genji replies. “Talk to me.”

“Why?” You snort. Maybe it’s being locked up in here, or maybe it’s the emotion from everything that just happened, but everything seems to be piling up. You’re afraid you’re going to snap if you stay like this without letting it out, but you can’t let it out to Genji. Not when he already doesn’t seem to want you on the team.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Genji says. His voice is soft and gentle, much like his gaze on you.

“We almost died,” you whisper out.

“That’s part of the job,” Genji says softly. Maybe he didn’t mean it in a bad way, but the way he already doesn’t seem to think you can handle it combined with those words is enough to snap the rubber band of your patience.

“I get it, okay? You don’t think I’m good enough for this. You don’t want me on the team. You hate me,” you yell at him. Your outburst seems to take Genji by surprise, because his eyes widen and his brows furrow. You let out a soft breath, then speak again. “Just forget it.”

“Hate you?” Genji mutters. He lets out a soft snort and you roll your eyes.

“Just forget it, okay? We could die here, and I’d really rather not have my last moments be spent arguing with you,” you snap out. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t seem to back down.

“You think I hate you?” Genji looks down at you, his gaze now sharpened and fully on you. You can’t ignore how your heart beats harder under his stare. God, you’ve always found your attraction to him so irritating. You press your hands back against the wall, steeling yourself. The wall feels clammy against your hands, but it’s the only stability you have, other than leaning in Genji’s body.

“You obviously do.” Genji’s brows furrow at your words. His gaze drops, then his eyes widen. He snaps his gaze away, staring at one of the walls. It’s hard to see in the dim lighting, but you swear you saw a dusting of pink along his face. You frown at his sudden shyness.

“Your-uh-I think I must have nicked your dress with my blade,” Genji coughs out. You finally look down to see what has the ninja blushing, and a deep red takes over your face too. The top part of your dress is sliced open, showing your soft skin blotched with drying blood. You’re wearing a bra, but the swell of your breasts are still visible, still covered in blood. A sigh escapes your lips as you reach up to the fabric, trying to pull it together and cover yourself up somewhat, but it’s no use. Your chest is bare and covered in blood, and you’re locked in a closet flush with Genji’s front.

“Stop acting like a schoolboy. You’ve seen boobs before, haven’t you?” You mutter out. It’s going to be more awkward if he continues to refuse to look at you.

“Of course, I have, but that was by their choice. Not…this,” Genji gestures with what little space he has to move. It’s then that you realize just how close the two of you really are. Your boobs are pressing against his chest, just barely, but the contact is still there. Your cheeks turn even redder at that, and you force yourself not to think about how it makes your nipples harden.

“It’s fine. You can look at me like this,” you say. A small part of you wants him to. You want to see his reaction when he gets a good look at your state. It’s a naive part, though. Surely he wouldn’t feel anything, right?

“You sure? You may not believe it, but I am quite a gentleman,” Genji says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m sure. Or keep staring at the wall. I don’t care.” His head turns slowly, his eyes darkening as he looks at you again. You see a muscle in his jaw tick under the tight mask as his eyes drop lower, just briefly, then return to your face.

“You’re bloody,” Genji says, his rich brown eyes now locked with yours. Maybe he wasn’t interested, if one look is all he wants. You fight the urge to slap yourself. Now is not the time to think like this, especially about Genji, of all people.

“It’s not mine,” is all you can think to say.

“I know. My blades would never touch your skin. I’m angry I even got close,” he mutters, which makes you frown. That is the first time Genji has ever even hinted at being regretful to you.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you say softly. There’s a sudden tenderness in his eyes, one that you have never seen before.

“I could have.”

Genji seems to cut off the conversation after that, not intending to talk about it anymore. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, you with your head leaned back and Genji leaning against the side wall. You wince when something seems to poke you in the back, and lean forward to adjust how you’re standing. It’s an absentminded movement, but it pushes you further into Genji’s front. You didn’t know it at the time, but it created an unholy amount of friction against Genji. He groans out and rests his forehead against the wall. A groan you mistake for discomfort.

“Sorry. I think there’s a splinter in the wall,” you explain yourself. You continue moving, not realizing just how much you are rubbing up against him.

“Please refrain from moving like that,” he breathes out. His voice sounds shaky. You frown, but finally pull the splinter from the wall and flick it to the ground. Except, something else seems to be poking you now. It’s in a different spot, lower and in your front.

“Genji, move your blade. It’s poking me,” you mumble. Genji sucks in a deep breath as you look down, your eyes widening. You can barely see anything, but it doesn’t seem to be one of his blades pressing against you.

“That’s not a blade,” you whisper out, your cheeks heating up again. He’s…hard? His clothes cover it for the most part, so you can’t see it, but you can certainly feel it. You look back up at him to see his face the color of cherries. He pushes off the wall and looks down at you, his brown eyes blazing.

“I told you I don’t hate you,” he says. You stare back at him utterly dumbfounded. He’s…attracted to you? No, maybe it’s just the confines of the space. Nothing else. You start to reply when a loud bang sounds from seemingly far away. You jump, which only pushes you more into Genji’s front. There’s some sort of fight happening outside.

“Fuck. We’re going to die here,” you scream out. You turn to face the door, but Genji cups your face and forces you to look at him. He moves too fast, he always does, and he pulls his mask down and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, ghosting, at first, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. You don’t.

You push further into it, letting him know just how much you want it. You feel him smile against your mouth before his kiss becomes more aggressive, more hungry. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you whine at it, which gives him entry into your mouth. To say he kisses you would be unfair. He devours you. It’s like he wants to lap up every taste he can, in case he never gets the chance to do it again. Heat starts to flood to your core and you grind against him, but when the door to the security room slams open and shakes against the wall, the two of you pull apart. You pant against him, and he silently adjusts his mask, then unsheathes his sword. Feet stomp outside the closet, and you swear you hear a gun cocking. This is it. You’re going to die here. You get one last look at Genji, his gorgeous brown eyes, his angular face, his dark hair, just to take it all in. Then you squeeze your eyes shut. A tear rolls down your cheek. Is it going to hurt to die?

“They’re in here!” A voice calls out. You snap your eyes open. You recognize that Southern drawl. Cassidy. You try to call out to them, but your voice catches in your throat. You can’t help the smile that takes place on your features, and Genji presses his face against your forehead. He’s kissing you through the mask.

“Cover your eyes. I need to break this lock,” you hear Cassidy call from the other side. You reach up to do it, but feel Genji wrap himself around you and shift so his back is to the door. He’s shielding you from it. If something goes wrong on Cassidy’s end, it’ll hurt Genji and not you. You try to fight him, but he’s always been stronger. You feel Genji’s hands close around your ears, but the sound of Cassidy��s grenade is still loud enough to make you jump.

“Don’t turn around,” Genji whispers in your ear. Your back is to the door as he lets you go, but you do as he says. Perhaps because you’re too in shock from thinking you were dead to move.

“Cassidy, give me your shawl,” Genji says. The two start to bicker, but you eventually feel the soft fabric laced with the smell of gunpowder and cigars wrap around your shoulders. It goes down low enough to cover your bare chest, and that’s when it makes sense why he didn’t want you to turn around. Cassidy, and anybody else in the room, would see your chest. Maybe he is a gentleman.

You soon feel an emptiness behind you and turn around. The bright lights force you to squint as your eyes adjust to it. As soon as your eyes adjust, you notice Genji is nowhere to be found. Cassidy helps you walk, in case you need it, and Reyes leans against the desk with the drive in his hand. He gives you a curt nod, which is his way of saying “good job” without actually saying it. You feel a warmth in your chest at the silent praise from him, but it’s not enough to warm up the cold absence you feel now that Genji isn’t next to you.

Angela insisted on doing a full check-up on you as soon as you got back. She swatted Cassidy and Reyes both away, kicking them out of the room so she could make sure you were okay. Cassidy scowled at her and said something about his shawl, but the doctor slammed the door in his face. As a medic, you work under Angela a lot, so you know how serious she takes her patient care. There was no use fighting her, even if you did assure her over and over again that you were fine. She eventually discharged you, but not before giving you a loose shirt to wear back. As you were walking out the door, she even pulled you into a tight hug. You smiled at her, your heart warming. She may be your mentor, but she’s a damn good friend too.

You make it back to your room okay and, as soon as your door is shut, you strip off the extra shirt, then the torn up maid’s dress. The blood seeped through your clothes and onto your stomach. It’s dried and cakey now, a stark contrast to your skin. You crank the shower up and jump under the spray, letting it wash away everything. You have to scrub harshly against your chest to get it off, but the warm water soothes you. You’re back at base. You’re safe.

You stay in the shower until your fingers prune, and eventually hop out and change into sweats and a T-shirt. You stop at the mirror in your bathroom, which still has a slight layer of steam. Your attention immediately flies to your lips, and thoughts of Genji flood your mind. Did he kiss you because he wants you? Or was it just because he thought he might die?

There’s no point in fretting about it now, though. It happened. You wouldn’t take it away, and you hope he wouldn’t either. You open your bathroom door and step out into your room, the soft hardwood chilling your bare feet. The same ninja that was just in your thoughts sits on the edge of your bed. He looks up when he hears the door. His hair is wet, a few strands sitting on his forehead, and a cloth mask is on his face.

“You okay?” His voice breaks through the silence.

“I’m alive,” you say, walking across your room and sitting on the bed next to him. You’re not touching each other, but you could if you moved. You don’t dare, though.

“I’m sorry,” his head hangs.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” You stare at him. Is he apologizing for kissing you? Your heart sinks. If he tells you that he thinks it was a mistake, your heart may shatter into pieces.

“Everything. Mostly my blade touching you.” His head still hangs, like he is refusing to make eye contact.

“Genji, you didn’t hurt me. It didn’t touch my skin. You-”

“I could have!” He shouts. The sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and he stands up quickly and starts to pace your room. “You think I hate you? That’s why I don’t want you on missions?”

“Yes,” you answer him honestly. He stops pacing in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t want you on missions because I don’t want you getting hurt. The thought of anything happening to you, of living in a world without you,” Genji starts, but his words fade and he shudders.

“Why?” Your head spins at his words. He’s always been so harsh about keeping you off missions.

“Because I love you,” he whispers. You almost thought you imagined it, but heat runs along your cheeks. Your gaze drops, but Genji tucks his hand under your chin and forces you to look up at him. “That’s why I kissed you when we heard the fighting. I thought…if I was going to die there, I wanted to be able to kiss you at least once first. That’s why I’m here now.”

“Genji,” you whisper, but his thumb grazing along your bottom lip stops you.

“I can walk out that door right now. We’ll pretend it was just heat of the moment, not that I couldn’t stomach the idea of dying without kissing you at least once, and we’ll move on. Or…you stop me.”

Genji still rubs his thumb along your lip softly, the touch tender and gentle. The air hangs thick between the two of you. He’s putting his heart on the line. No, he’s putting his heart in your hands. You release a soft breath, as you look up at him. His dark eyes are pleading, almost scared.

“Don’t go,” you breathe out. Your voice sounds like a plea, one that Genji is all too eager to fulfill. You start to rise to your feet, and he watches you carefully, closely, but you don’t miss the spark in his dark eyes. You reach up to his face, wrapping your fingers around the mask. He could stop you at any point now, it would take nothing for him to overpower you, but he doesn’t. You pull the mask off his ears and down, dropping it onto the floor.

For the first time, you can see under his mask in actual lighting. Pink scars litter his face, dotting across the skin. You feel him take a deep breath as you look at him. Is he really nervous?

“You’re…” you reach up and touch one of the scars along his cheek “beautiful.”

Genji smiles, a lopsided grin that takes up half of his face. Your stomach flips at that smile, and suddenly want to see it more often.

“As are you,” he says back. You cup his face, but don’t move otherwise.

“Can I kiss you?” You say. It sounds like a plea again.

“Please do,” Genji replies, and it’s enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you. Your lips lock and his scent fills your senses. Walnuts and fresh pine. His tongue darts along your bottom lip again, and you grant him entry easily. Your tongues intertwine and he takes over your entire existence. There’s nothing else. Just Genji.

It’s softer and more tender than the previous kiss. Something past lust, something more. Your heart thumps in your chest and heat spreads to your core as his hands find their way to your hips. He pushes you down against the bed, the impact making a soft gasp come out. He falls with you, refusing to break the kiss. When you whimper into his mouth, though, he pulls away.

“Don’t make noises like that or you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” he says. The low, gruff tone of his voice sends shivers along your skin and heat straight down to your core. He looks down at you with wild eyes, a deep hunger hiding under those deep brown orbs.

“Maybe I want that,” you match his voice with a low one of your own.

“I told you I love you, right?” He says, making you frown. Why is he asking that?

“Yes,” you reply.

“Good, because I’m going to fuck you like I hate you,” he groans out, then his lips are back on yours. It’s hard, aggressive, and starving. His fingers dig into your hips, where you know there will be bruises. His mouth leaves yours and moves to your neck, pressing harsh kisses along the skin. You whimper out when he bites you, which makes him growl against your skin. You feel his hands push under your shirt and you shudder at his touch on bare skin. His metal hand leaves a chill on your heated skin, but it only adds to the fire blazing inside you.

You don’t have a bra on, so when Genji’s hands ghost over your nipples you let out a soft gasp at the content. He continues sucking bruises into your neck and collarbone, but you feel him smile against your skin at your gasp. Your back arches from just his touch on your nipples, and you pray he gives you some sort of relief soon before you explode. He pulls away from your neck and pulls his hands out from under your shirt, and you whine at the loss of contact. In the time it takes you to blink, Genji rips your shirt off. Literally rips it, tossing the excess fabric away. He sits back on his heels and truly looks at you. Your skin is flush, your breasts moving with each breath you take, sweat beads along your skin. He licks his lips as he looks at you, and the motion is enough to make even more heat go straight to your core.

“So fucking pretty,” Genji mutters, then his mouth is back on you. This time, though, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp out his name as his tongue moves along it. His hand, the metal one, pinches the other nipple. He continues sucking and pinching, but uses his spare hand to push your sweats and underwear down. You help him out and lift your hips, pushing until the clothes are off your body. He moves so one of his legs is in between yours, his knee on the bed. He’s so close to where you need him, but so far away. You squeak when his hand digs into your hip and pulls you down, so you’re rubbing against his leg. Fuck. His pants graze your core, and it’s just barely enough friction to have you grinding down onto it.

“You gonna ride my leg?” He smiles against your skin. You try to bite back a response, but he takes your nipple in between his teeth and silences you. You keep grinding onto his leg, letting the friction rub against your clit and give you a small amount of relief. But it’s not enough.

“Genji, please…I need you,” you whimper. You know you sound desperate, but you don’t care. “Inside me.”

Genji’s grip on your hip tightens even more, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, and he growls lowly against your skin. He pulls away long enough to pull all of his clothes off, and it’s your turn to gawk. He’s all lean muscle in a lithe frame. The metal of his hand reaches up his arm, then there’s metal starting around the middle of one of his thighs. You try to gawk more, but he wraps his hand around your ankle and pulls, dragging you along the bed. You feel your breasts bounce with the motion and Genji’s eyes zero in on that too.

“Do you have any condoms or…?” Genji snaps himself out of his daze, but you shake your head. You’ve had an implant for birth control for years now.

“I want you, no barriers,” you say. “I want you to finish inside too, if you want.”

“Fuck…” Genji says, his eyes searching your body. “You can’t just say things like that.”

You start to say something back, but his hands on your thighs silences you. Expectation builds up inside you, and you finally feel his fingers rubbing at your core. He rubs slow, agonizing circles into your clit, but it’s enough to have your head rolling back. You’re already wet enough, and he pushes one finger into you slowly. You try to close your thighs, but a sharp smack against one of them freezes you. The fading pain melds pain and pleasure together, and it makes you clench around his finger.

“You like that? Does my pretty thing like it rough?” He mewls, slowly stroking his finger in and out.

“Yes,” you mumble in between ragged breaths. He adds another finger, but his pace stays slow.

“Good girl,” he coos, rubbing the spot he had smacked. He starts to pick up his pace, working you with just his fingers. Your orgasm builds up faster than you thought it would, his fingers bringing you to the edge. Your moans and whimpers fill the room, and your hands grip into your bed. Your skin starts to buzz, that familiar feeling building up in your core. Your legs shake, and Genji slaps your thigh again. He slaps the other one, curling his fingers inside of you at the same time, and it’s enough to make you fall apart. You cry out, your back arching off of the bed. Your heart beats in your ears and black dots your vision.

“Pretty when you cum, too,” Genji says, pulling his fingers out of you. He takes them up to his lips, dipping them into his mouth and tasting you off of them. You clench around nothing at the sight, begging for him to give you more. He smiles down at you, pushing your thighs further open so he can align himself at your entrance.

“Look at me,” he says. Your daze from your last orgasm is slowly coming down, and you’re able to focus. You lock eyes with him and as soon as you do, he starts to push inside you. Your mouth falls open at the stretch, soft whimpers escaping as you take each inch. His brows furrow, but his brown eyes stay on you. He wants to see your face as you take it all. And take it all you do. He’s not small by any means, and the stretch gives you a delectable sting.

“Fucking hell,” Genji says. He doesn’t move for a bit, letting both of you adjust. “How did I know your pussy would be fucking perfect?”

“How did I know your cock would be perfect?” You say back, which makes a smirk grow on his features. It’s true, he stretches you perfectly, melding pain and pleasure in the most delicate way. He starts to move slowly, and even then, each thrust has soft moans escaping your mouth. He starts to move faster, reaching up to intertwine your fingers together as he does. His other hand, though, does something less tender, as it wraps around your throat. It’s not a tight hold, just enough to keep control, as he thrusts. You clench around him with each thrust, matching his pace with your own.

“Genji,” you whimper his name out, like a sacred prayer. “Genji.”

“You gonna come around my cock for me like a good girl?” Genji says. You whimper at the sound of such vulgar language coming from his mouth. That, and the praise, of course. You nod, not trusting yourself to form anymore words. His hand leaves your throat and snakes down your body, his fingers reaching your clit. You scream out at the sensation of both, any little resolve you had quickly fizzling away. You toss your head back and scream out his name, your nails digging into the hand he’s still holding in, as your orgasm rocks through you. If you thought the first one was strong, it was nothing compared to this one. Your legs shake, electricity building through your entire body like a crackling live wire. Genji helps you through your release, never easing up on you. You hold tighter onto his hand as he continues to overstimulate you, his fingers still on your clit and his thrusts still quick. You pant out breaths as it comes down, but you can feel yourself continuing to clench around him. He lets out a soft curse, then groans your name. His thrusts come to a messy stop as he reaches his orgasm, his hand in yours tightens as he finishes inside you, the sensation making your legs shake. His head drops into the crook of your neck, the two of you panting against each other. His warm breath tickles your skin as he catches his breath. His soft and fluffy hair tickles your neck in a way that feels incredibly intimate.

“I love you too,” you say. It’s quiet, and you’re not certain he even heard it, but you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck. He pulls back and smiles down at you, that lopsided toothy grin filling your chest with warmth. His skin is sweaty, but it makes him even sexier.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, pulling out and helping you up. You try to walk on your own, but your legs are so weak that you almost drop. He catches you and helps you to the bathroom, where he grabs a washcloth and warms it in the sink. His touch is gentle and tender as he cleans you, a stark contrast to his roughness from earlier. Eventually, he finishes and helps you back to your bed. He lets you on first, then crawls on the bed and presses against you. You roll so you can lay your head on his chest.

“Genji?” You say softly.

“Hm?” “I like knowing that you don’t hate me,” you say, but sleepiness seems to take over your voice. Genji laughs, and your heart lurches. You’ve never heard a genuine laugh from him, and it’s a beautiful sound. One you want to earn more often. You start to doze off, listening to his heart beating in his chest and feeling him run his hand up and down your spine. You really like knowing that he doesn’t hate you.

#genji shimada #genji x reader #overwatch 2 #blackwatch genji #overwatch #genji ow #blackwatch #genji shimada x reader #genji overwatch #reader insert

102 notes · View notes

deathworlders-of-e24 · 3 days ago

Text

Thomas, Engineer

Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sparks burst upwards into the goggles Thomas was wearing, the plasma cutter in his hand burning at several hundred degrees, focused to an incredibly fine point. Holding it in his work gloves was awkward at best, but years of practice had made him exceptional at his job. Sixer and Mace might’ve been better at the finer detail work, Padrino had incredible dexterity after all, but making custom tools was well within his wheel house too.

The two bot brothers had asked him to make a special kind of nano wrench while they ran a ‘memory sweeper’ program through his old translator, the one that had caught that rogue signal all those cycles ago. The group had been working on it in their off time between maintenance requests, and they were finally just steps away from the answers they were looking for. All they needed now was to strip the memory code out of the device, and for that they needed itty bitty tiny nanoscopic tools; ergo, while the twins worked their programs, Thomas got to work making the things they’d need.

He was almost done too, when the comm-link trilled. A patch job in the security chief’s office, apparently one of the terminals was unresponsive and the door was getting jammed up on something. Personal projects would have to wait.

“Roomba, we got a job. You coming with or hanging out here?”

[Statement: you operate at greater efficiency when this unit is present]

“That’s right buddy, but I’m asking what you wanna do,” Thomas said.

“Beep.”

[Statement: I would like to assist please]

“Thanks Roomba, I appreciate that.” Thomas held his arm out and the little droid climbed up to his usual perch on the man’s shoulder. “Look at you, making decisions for yourself. Good for you bud!”

Thomas adored the little robot, and as Roomba got smarter, that feeling only grew. Every day the small cleaning drone was getting more clever, his AI evolving ever further, thanks to the upgrades from Sixer and Mace. Pretty soon Roomba would be as smart as Thomas was.

Maybe I’ll teach him how to play virtual chess, he thought. Or I’ll build him a little controller and we can split screen a blaster battle game or something!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two made their way through the ship, waving and saying hello to the many people who stopped Thomas to look at the small robot on his shoulder. At this point in their mission, it was common knowledge that one of the humans had made a cleaning drone their ‘pet’, although Thomas was trying to make it clear that wasn’t the case. Roomba was his own person, he just so happened to have very little legs and it was faster to just catch a ride on his human companion. It probably didn’t help that outside himself and the Padrino, nobody else had the hardware to understand what Roomba was saying, so all they ever heard was Beep.

They made it up to the command deck and knocked on the door to the Chief’s office. It opened halfway before getting stuck, hidden gears grinding, and there was the Chief, leaning on his desk with a data pad in his hand. Thomas figured Chief Ducane was kinda cute, what with his scruffy yet trimmed beard and his various tattoos, but macho wasn’t really his thing on guys. That being said, he could see why some on the crew were whispering about him, the man was built. Thomas tried getting his attention through the crack.

“Reporting Chief, you sent a maintenance request?” Thomas said through the gap in the door.

“Yeah, I did,” Chief Ducane looked up. “Oh right, you’re Thomas right? I don’t remember if I’ve introduced myself yet, I’m Danny Ducane. You’re the guy with the domesticated maintenance droid, right?” The Chief got up to the door and pulled it open himself, the hydraulics groaning as it slid open the rest of the way.

“He’s not…” Thomas started, annoyed, but took a beat. Don’t antagonize the guy who can pull apart the doors. “This is Roomba, he has an adaptive learning AI now, like the Padrino on the crew. He’s not a pet.”

Roomba looked up when Thomas said his name and trilled angrily at the idea of being equated to a house cat.

“Beep.”

[Statement: Please inform the other human that I am not domesticated in any way, and would prefer that not get said again]

“He said you’re being rude,” Thomas explained.

“Beep.”

[Sufficiently put]

Chief Ducane looked at the two of them for a moment before raising his hands in defeat.

“Okay, fair enough, that was a dick move on my part. Sorry little guy, didn’t know you were one of the clever bots.”

Thomas nudged his tool bag with his foot, and the Chief took the message.

“Right, my control console is fritzing out,” Ducane said, shuffling awkwardly towards his desk. “The screen blurs every couple minutes, and the door got stuck this morning, don’t know what that’s about either.” The chief stood there, gesturing to his desk with one hand, the other fumbling to put the data pad down where Thomas suspected he thought he wouldn’t be able to see it. It occurred to him that Chief Ducane might not be the most technologically savvy, considering you could read a data pad from either side, and the exact same script was frozen on his console screen. It looked like a checklist of sorts, but Thomas wasn’t here to snoop classified documents. Unless it’d be funny, then maybe.

“Right,” Thomas said, eyeing the chief, “it’s probably just an electrical short, a little leftover from that solar flare the other day. I’ll have to strip some wiring but it’s a quick fix. Though the door might have to be taken out so I can get into the motors.”

“And how long will that take?” Ducane asked.

“Maybe an hour? Maybe more?” Thomas shrugged. “Takes as long as it takes for me to get in there.”

Thomas looked at him a moment, standing there with his hands on his sides. He could hear Roomba’s mechanical innards ticking and whirring as the little bot held onto his perch on Thomas’s shoulder.

“Guess I should let you get to it then,” Chief Ducane said, clapping his hands and heading for the door, but he stopped before he left, like he’d just remembered he’d left the stove on or some such.

“Hey, just a quick question,” he said, turning back to face Thomas. The chief’s hands were fidgeting, hooking and unhooking his thumbs into his pockets. “Are you acquainted with the Sed engineers? Kor and Taren?”

Thomas thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“Sure, I’ve seen them around. Why?”

“They ever seem real busy for unknown reasons?”

“Honestly? Like you want my work appropriate answer or my actual opinion?”

“Both.”

“Well my work appropriate answer is sure, they seem good at their jobs, usually off together on requests.”

“And your personal opinions?” Chief Ducane pressed, crossing his arms and shifting to stand in the doorway, as if he was keeping Thomas sequestered until he got answers to his odd line of questions. Thomas didn’t need to ponder the question that long.

“Honestly? Honestly they kinda suck,” He blurted out, a little more venomously than he’d intended. “Like, okay, don’t get me wrong, you ask them questions and they give the right answers, they know how things work and they know the right tool for the jobs, but work wise? Half the time nobody can find them. I’ve had three repair jobs handed over to me in the last two weeks ‘cause they’re off somewhere fooling around.”

“Fooling around?” Ducane intoned, “as in…?”

“Well we just kinda assumed they were an item. And look, we’re sympathetic, but the work load is insane on a ship this size with this many conflicting requirements. Temperature differences for different races, atmospheric controls bottoming out, I got a guy with four arms for a boss and even he thinks it’s ridiculous how often stuff around here breaks.”

“So you all just assumed they were off somewhere… doing that, while you all just put up with it? Has anyone seen them like this?” Chief Ducane pushed.

“Roomba did,” Thomas said, tilting his head the little droid’s direction, “while we were doing repairs in the air ducts a couple cycles ago.”

“Beep.”

[Please do not disclose this information]

“Huh?” Thomas put the little droid in his palm and let him stand for himself. “What’s up buddy?”

“What’s he saying?” The chief asked, shifting focus from Thomas to Roomba and back again.

“Beep.”

[Disclosure of this information will bring my work efficiency into question]

Ohhhhhhh, Thomas thought.

“He’s just saying how weird what he saw was,” Thomas shiftily explained, patting the little droid on the head. “We were working some repairs in the ducts when Roomba saw Taren in another part of the ship through the grating. He was on a comm-link and Kor showed up with a thing Roomba didn’t recognize, but from what he told me it was some hand tool I think.”

“So maybe they were just on another job and not screwing around?” Ducane questioned.

“Nah, couldn’t be, I was supposed to be the only repair guy in that part of the ship at the time. Everyone else is still supposed to be in the core room making repairs after that solar flare.”

Thomas took a deep breath and looked Ducane in the eye.

“Chief, be straight with me, is something going on on my ship?”

“What do you mean your ship?” Ducane scoffed.

“Trust me, this ship has already gotten enough of my blood, sweat, and tears man. I probably love her more than anyone else on this boat, so yeah, she’s my ship.” Thomas was getting a tad red in the face as he said this, which was fair, as it was slightly embarrassing to voice this odd idea of his. “Look man, this ship might be just a job to you, but it’s not just that to me, okay? So if there’s something happening here that could hurt her, I’m not gonna let that happen.”

How odd that a simple maintenance request could have such an impact on his day?

Roomba reach up and tugged on Thomas’s earlobe.

“Beep.”

[New Task Uploaded: protect Noah. Confirm?]

“That’s right Roomba, that’s what we’re gonna do,” Thomas said, weirdly amped up now. Chief Ducane stood there looking at him incredulously.

“Is every kid in the galaxy just ready to ride shotgun off to war these days? I swear, you younger guys need to do something more productive and fun with all that extra energy you have.”

“Shove it… respectfully, Chief.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have anything concrete that something is happening, not that I could tell you if I did.” Ducane shrugged and crossed his arms again, leaning against the wall. The data pad behind them on the desk trilled, a new file had been sent to it, and before the tones had silenced themselves, Thomas felt as if his neurons had just taken a bolt of electricity across his frontal lobe. He turned back to face the Security Chief with a dread look tacked onto his face.

“Hypothetically, Chief, if somebody had possibly intercepted a weird transmission while outside the broadcast shields, how important would that be?”

Chief Ducane stared at him a moment, then clasped his hands together in front of his mouth before sighing uncomfortably hard.

“I’d say that’d be pretty important, kid.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I thought you were supposed to be smart!” Danny half accused, walking quickly down the hall away from the lift.

“Man, I’m like actually a genius, I have four degrees, but nobody ever accused me of being smart,” Thomas said, shrugging. “I didn’t want to get kicked off the ship if it was nothing, which it probably is!”

“You wouldn’t have gotten kicked off the ship. If I can’t even get rid of Grite, you’re as safe as can be.”

“Oh, okay,” Thomas said sarcastically, “then I totally should’ve spilled it when, while on a space walk, my somewhat illegally jailbroke translator picked up a rogue signal on the long range communications array for the ship I just got a job on. I’ve seen people canned for less, I could’ve been tried for espionage or something.”

“You did what?”

Thomas and Danny turned on theirs heels to see Odis the Galley standing in the doorway they’d just passed, a ‘coffee’ mug in hand. It had a cartoonish drawing of a purple cow on it.

“Oh good, we’re just telling the whole ship now, I guess,” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m definitely getting fired.”

“Wait wait wait, Odis is cool,” Thomas vouched. “He’s a real stand up guy.”

“What did you do now humie?” Odis groaned, downing whatever was in his mug before sprinting to join them. His shorter legs had to move twice as fast to keep up with the taller humans.

“So you know that project the twins and I have been working on?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah, you’ve been using your off hours for something that’s not video games, of course I noticed.”

“Fired…,” Danny moaned. “Court marshalled even.”

“Quiet big human, the smart human is talking.”

“Oh no, we’ve established that word doesn’t apply to me.”

“Beep.”

[Thank you for not telling the human I fell down the air ducts]

It was a wonder how the entire ship didn’t know what they were doing by then, seeing as they were not exactly discreet as they headed down to the maintenance decks. When the group of them finally made the locker room, more than one set of eyes was watching them, though it was mostly Chief Ducane they were looking at. It wasn’t exactly normal operating procedures for the Chief of Security to walk into their locker room.

“How is it that you humans are always up to something ridiculous?” Odis asked, shaking his bulbous gray head. “I mean, as a Galley, I’m actually impressed with the level of… what’s a good human word for this nonsense?”

“Shenanigans?” Thomas offered.

“Ridiculous words, ridiculous people…,” Odis laughed. “The cows are cool, but the rest of your world is just a mess of weird, huh?”

The humans didn’t respond, though given any thought, they couldn’t have refuted the Galley anyway.

Sixer and Mace stood at their work table, the terminal screen running thousands of lines of code a second. Thomas would’ve loved to comb through it given the chance, but now wasn’t the time.

“Twins!” he called over, “Got it up and going?”

“Almost, Human Thomas,” Sixer replied.

“Hello, Security Chief Ducane,” Mace greeted.

“Yeah, hi guys,” Danny said. “I hear you all have been working a little side project?”

The two Padrino turned to each other and each gave a quick burst of machine speak before turning back to face them.

“Human Thomas, do you believe it is time to inform the ship’s command structure of our findings?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Thomas nodded.

“Good, because we have finished preparations. We simply need the tool you made up and to see if the sweeper program retrieves any data.”

Thomas patted down his coveralls before fishing the nano-wrench from his inner pocket. He handed the tool to Sixer, who turned back to the table and made the final adjustments.

“Moment of truth, I guess,” he said.

“You realize I’m going to be extremely pissed if you got me down here and all worked up for nothing,” Danny said pointedly.

“Understood… sir,” Thomas swallowed hard.

The computer ran its program, thousands, hundreds of thousands of lines of code fluttering across the screen, the Padrino’s speed was impressive to say the least. They definitely had to teach him that sometime.

After a minute of them staring at the terminal in silence, the screen showed a resounding-

“Nothing?” Thomas and Danny said in unison.

“Correct,” Sixer said.

“Unfortunately,” continued Mace, “the translators are not equipped with enough memory storage to log something the size of a communications transmission.”

“So we’ve got nothing?” Thomas said, hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know what he wanted the signal to be, but nothing was… incredibly unsatisfying, to say the least.

“Did you try to see recipient data?” Odis asked, eyeing the console code.

“What?” Thomas turned to him, confusion distorting the disappointment on his face.

“With the long range array, it’s got recipient data built into the message, so the thing knows who it’s going to,” Odis explained slowly. “Back in the day, we Galley used to strip data out of long range messages to find new planets to… interact with. It’s how we found the humies first, caught all those messages you kept throwing out into space.” Odis rifled through one of his side pockets and brought out something that looked like a key fob with a port on one end. He popped open a panel in the terminal and plugged it in, hitting a couple keys to sync the programs together. Thomas watched, confusion and disappointment morphing into a cautious optimism. Maybe they’d find something after all.

“And here… we… go!” Odis said smugly, triumphantly hitting the execute key. The screen rolled the code again, but this time information began loading, the computer compiling the data for them.

“And you just happen to have this… why?” Danny looked sternly in the Galley’s direction.

“If it makes you feel any better Chief, most of my free time has been spent with the kid playing Terran video games,” Odis snickered. “Don’t worry about what I’ve been up to, worry about whoever is sending messages to the GAIL High Council.”

“What the hell?” Danny exclaimed, leaning over the console to examine the data.

Sure enough, they couldn’t recover any of the message, the data was just too big for the little device to have caught any. However, Odis’s tracer did show that whatever the signal was, it had gone straight to someone by the name of Mons on the High Council of the Grand Assembly of Intelligent Lifeforms.

“Chief, what the hell are we looking at?” Thomas asked, for the first time actually realizing that something could be deeply, darkly wrong on the ship.

“This doesn’t make any sense, communications can’t go directly to the Council, not without going through Captain Skitch and me,” Danny kept looking at the screen, rereading the data from start to finish, over and over again, before pulling out his data pad and copying all of it down, taking photos too.

“What are you doing?” Sixer asked.

“Making sure whatever we have here, there’s multiple copies so we can’t lose any proof later.”

“Do you suspect there’s another agenda aboard this ship Chief Ducane?” Mace followed.

“… I sincerely hope not, but either way, none of this ever happened. Not a single one of you saw any of this, okay? Nothing and no one,” Danny looked at each of them in turn, making sure they understood his meaning, “is going to hear about any of this. And when I call any of you to my office, it’s double time, understood?”

“You got it Chief,” Thomas said immediately, the others following suit, but with much less gusto.

“Beep.”

[Task: protect Noah in progress]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The work shift ended with no more excitement, however Thomas’s heart rate hadn’t declined even a bit in the following hours. The idea that something could threaten the ship, his ship, the ship he’d almost died for already, filled him with some very mixed emotions, not the least of which was apprehension. It did reassure him that Chief Ducane seemed like a good guy, and that he wasn’t going to take any disciplinary measures against the worker crew for anything, but the idea that they could be called on to actually do something was daunting.

Walking to the mess hall, Thomas realized he’d never actually made any of the requested repairs to Danny office. He pulled a comm-link out of his back pocket and sent a quick “sorry, I’ll be right there to fix the door” text, but was alarmed at what the Chief of Security replied almost instantly.

>Someone searched my office while cameras were out of commission. Nothing is missing. They took advantage of the door being jammed and unlocked<

Another message:

>Don’t come up here, it’ll look suspicious for the both of us. I’ll make another request tomorrow. Tell your friends to be careful, and come to me immediately if you see anything at all<

Thomas shakily put the comm-link back in his pocket and headed back towards the Vending Machines. He saw Odis sitting in the corner and joined him after getting his food.

“You ever think someone in the GAIL could do something pretty bad?”

“What, you think you humans have a monopoly on being kind of shitty?” Odis snorted. “You’re not that weird, you know.”

#deathworlders of e24 #humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are strange #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #humans are insane #humans are terrifying #original story #original character #creative writing #writing

50 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 6 months ago

Text

-> CH. 3: ANDROID AUTOPSY (OR IS IT NECROPSY?)

synopsis: you start to work on the autopsy of the ortiz android. connor tries to establish a friendly rapport with both you and gavin. but gavin is, as always, a fucking cunt.

word count: 2.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: connor looks so fucking funny while he's falling in the break room scene 😭😭 like i hate that he's getting hurt but his face is EMOTIONLESS LOLOLOL

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

When you walked into work ten minutes ago, you expected something to be wrong. That’s just how it goes these days, with deviants running rampant in the streets and all.

But not this. Not the deviant from last night, deactivated in his holding cell. Apparently, he rammed his own forehead into the wall and didn’t stop until he died. Thirium stains the wall, the floor, and his already-bloody uniform.

You sigh, holding a hand to your forehead. “Блять…”

“I recognize that one,” Chris mumbles as he unlocks the cell.

You slip on your bib apron and tie it in the back. “Yeah, most Americans do.”

You walk into the cell and gently put your hand on the android’s shoulder. He doesn’t move. He really is dead.

“I fucking hate this job.” You grunt as you pick him up in a bridal carry. Thirium stains your apron as he slumps into your front. “Goddamnit. I’ll slap whoever triggered the deactivation so hard they’ll remember it ‘til the first of next month.”

“Sure you will.” Chris locks the door as soon as you exit.

You huff out a light laugh. “Accompany me to the autopsy room?”

He smiles. “Anything to get out of being in Gavin’s company.”

You and Chris mostly walk in silence to the autopsy room. There’s early morning chatter and the scent of coffee floating through the air. People give you a wide berth when they see the limp android in your arms.

But the walk is short. The door before you reads ANDROID AUTOPSY ROOM. You adjust the body in your arms and press your right hand to the biometric scanner. It beeps once and the door opens.

“And this is where I get off,” Chris says.

You smile and bend at the knee, mimicking a curtsey. “Thank you for accompanying me. And if Gavin burns his tongue on hot coffee again, please! Feel free to get me right away.”

Chris laughs. “Yes, Officer!”

You laugh in kind and enter the autopsy room. The door shuts automatically behind you. Inside is a long steel table and lots of electronics – screens, wires, outlets, cords. You set the body on the table and get to work.

You flick on the power switch and the computers come alive, one by one. The screens come on and quiet music starts playing – a string piece accompanied by softly-sung Russian.

Once everything has come on, you move over the android and press just behind his ear. With a soft click, the plastic flicks open and a small port is revealed. When you open your left hand, the wires of your polymer glove snake out and plug themselves in.

The screens light up with reports on the biocomponents – percentages, damage reports, the like. Your eyes flit over the numbers, trying to decipher what was abnormal.

You unplug and the wires slither back into your glove. You sigh and start filtering through the data, finding what was important and worth noting down. You work that way for a while – looking over numbers and biocomponent data and listening to music.

After a while, you feel a buzz in your pocket. You pull out your phone, read the text that just came through, and send a quick one back.

Chris: Connor just came thru. Said it was looking for you and Hank. Sent it your way You: you sent an ANDROID to an ANDROID autopsy room?? Chris: Humans are in human autopsy rooms all the time dumbass You: true. just hope connor doesn’t freak. hank here yet? Chris: What do you think? You: axaxa you’re right ))

You look up from your phone as there’s a knock at the door. You get up and unlock it, revealing who’s behind it – and, of course, it's Connor.

“It’s nice to see you again, Officer.” He smiles. “May I come in?”

“Nice to see you, too. And, uh…” You move to the side, gesturing inside. “Yeah, sure. I know a deactivated deviant isn’t the most welcoming sight, but…”

“It’s okay.” Connor moves inside, rubbing his hands together as he observes the room. “I’ve seen plenty of them.”

“Ah.” You move back over to the computers. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or concerned.”

“Impressed, Officer.” Connor stills in place, his eyes flitting over the computers and the numbers on them. “I’m the one who deactivated most of them.”

“Oh. Okay.” You glance over your shoulder at him – you’re not used to having someone else in your workspace. You gesture to a chair that’s tucked into a corner. “Uh, you can sit. If you want.”

Connor nods. “Thank you.”

He moves over to the chair and sits, folding his hands in his lap politely. His eyes are still on the computers, quietly watching as his LED flickers yellow and processes the data. The only sound is the soft music and your footsteps as you move between screens, noting down abnormalities.

Connor cuts the semi-silence. “Where are you from, Officer?”

You glance over at him, then back to the computers. “Chelomey, Russia. Why?”

“I want to establish a friendly rapport. It’ll be easier to work together if we know each other better,” Connor says. “I’ve heard Chelomey described as ‘the first city of the skies.’ It’s on the first successful flying platform – the Icarus, correct?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “That’s right.”

“How was that?” Connor asks. “Living there, I mean. What was it like growing up?”

“Eh.” You shrug. “Got a nice Makarov Pistol when I was ten. Never had a snow day in school – we were just above the clouds. Was surrounded by children of astrophysicists and bioengineers.”

“You say that like they’re a separate group of people,” Connor says. “What are your parent’s career paths? If it’s not too intrusive to ask.”

You turn, leaning back against the autopsy table and facing him. “Sounds unrelated, but – do you know how the Icarus Platform works?”

Connor furrows his eyebrows, his eyes flitting to the floor as his LED turns yellow and flickers. After a moment, he looks back up at you. “The engines operate on the principle of the Archimedes Screw. The propellers don’t interact with air currents, but directly with Earth’s magnetic field instead.”

You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Did you just look that up?”

“No.” Connor’s gaze immediately falls to the ground. “Yes.”

You cough to hide your laughter and turn away. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t expect you to know anyway.”

Connor clears his throat. “Please, let’s return to the topic at hand.”

“Yeah, okay.” You scratch the side of your nose and smile. “The engines take up a ridiculous amount of energy, yes? So there are nuclear reactors on the platform to supply a continuous energy flow. My parents worked in the northern reactor together.”

You shrug. “Not much more to them. Named Olga and Yegor. Nice people. Doubt you’ll ever meet them.”

“True,” Connor says. “I doubt they would let an American-made android into the USSR. I also doubt that the travel ban to and from the USSR will be lifted anytime soon.”

Your head dips in a nod. “Maybe if you were manufactured back in my home. But there’s a chance that, if you were, you’d be dancing ballet in the Maya Plisetskaya Theater.”

“I feel like that’s a metaphor.” Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “But I don’t understand it.”

“It’s not.” You laugh, hiding your smile behind a hand. “There are specialized robots that dance ballet in the theater – I went once, not my style. Just a chance that, with how nimble they made you, you could’ve been a ballet bot.”

“There are robots made specifically for ballet?” Connor asks.

“Well… they’re…” You cringe a little. “Multifunctional?”

Connor shifts so that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows on his knees and his hands together. He seems intrigued. “Multifunctional how?”

You look away and cover your mouth with a hand. You can feel your face start to warm. You really don’t want to talk to Connor about this. He obviously knows about sex and prostitution, because it might be involved in the cases he’s handling. But you don’t want to talk to him about either of them!

You bite down on the inside of your lip, hard, to dismiss wandering thoughts. (Because, honestly, you shouldn’t be wondering what his model is capable of doing! Not when he’s right there in front of you!) You swallow thickly and try to talk.

“Господи, khm…” You groan quietly. “It was also a, uh, brothel? Kinda? The clients were human, but the whores were… not.”

“Oh.” Connor looks down at his hands. He rubs them together, almost like a nervous tic. (But androids don’t have nervous tics. Do they?)

“Yeah.” You scratch your cheek, trying to ignore how warm it is. “I’m, uh… I need a coffee. And I can’t leave anyone alone in the autopsy room if they’re not authorized to be.”

“I understand.” Connor stands. “I’ve been meaning to explore the office. May I accompany you to the break room?”

You nod. You really hope he’ll continue to act like the past half minute didn’t happen.

As soon as you have all the computers in standby mode, the music paused, and your Thirium-stained apron hung up, you lead Connor out of the android autopsy room. The walk to the break room is short, and he adjusts his pace to match yours as you walk.

Internally, you really hope that Gavin isn’t there. Maybe he got hit by a car coming back from O’Mansley Donuts.

But, of course, hopes are meant to be dashed. And that dream is crushed when you hear Gavin scoff as soon as you enter the break room.

“Fuck, look at that…” he says. You tense as soon as you hear his voice. “Our friends, the plastic detective and the werewolf, are back in town!”

“Please, not today, Gavin.” You spare a glance at the poor officer that Gavin has trapped in conversation. Then, you move over to the counter to find a spare paper cup and the coffee pot.

“What? I just wanted to congratulate it on its good work last night!”

“Thank you, Detective Reed.” Connor nods politely.

You scoff under your breath and internally curse him for being programmed to be so nice. As you pour yourself some coffee, you wonder: would it really kill him to tell Gavin to fuck off?

When you turn around, hot coffee in hand, Gavin is standing a few feet away from Connor. You lean back against the counter and decide to let this play out.

“Never seen an android like you before.” Gavin looks Connor up-and-down. “What model are you?”

Connor stands, unfazed. He doesn’t even blink. “RK800. I’m a prototype.”

“A prototype!” Gavin parrots. He turns to the other officer, gesturing at Connor vaguely. “Android detective!”

He looks back to Connor – looks up at Connor. It would be funny if you weren’t so on edge.

“So machines and commies are gonna replace us all.” His eyebrows raise. “Is that it?”

Connor stays silent, just looking at Gavin.

“Hey.” Gavin clicks his tongue. “Bring me a coffee, dipshit.”

“Gavin,” you cut in, a warning unspoken in your tone. Connor blinks once and tilts his head slightly to the side.

“Get a move on!” Gavin snaps.

You set your coffee on the counter and hurry over. You put a hand out towards Gavin – again, a silent, unspoken warning.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “But I’m not permitted to take orders from you.”

“Oh! Oh.” Gavin cracks a wicked, sarcastic smile before driving his fist straight into Connor’s solar plexus, quick and unpredicted.

“Вот чёрт!” You immediately move to catch Connor as he almost collapses, wrapping an arm around his front and steadying him with your other. He recovers after a few moments and blinks hard before pulling himself away from you. He adjusts his tie (which, honestly, didn’t need readjusting) and sighs sharply.

“Are you okay?” You ask. You’re tempted to hold a hand out just in case he collapses again.

“Is it okay?” Gavin laughs sarcastically. He jabs a finger at Connor. “If Hank hadn’t gotten in the way yesterday, I would’ve fucked you up for disobeying a human.”

He steps backwards. “Stay outta my way. ‘Cause next time, you won’t get off so easy.” Gavin’s eyes turn from Connor to you. “Same goes for you, werewolf. If you stay in my way, I won’t fucking hesitate to trample you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Last I remember, wolves eat pigs.”

Gavin just scoffs and turns to the other officer. He exchanges a glance with her, and they both walk out together. He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out.

You turn to retrieve your coffee from the counter, then lean back against it. “What an asshole.”

“Is Detective Reed usually like that?” Connor asks. “That… aggressive?”

“Yes.” You blow the steam off your coffee and take a sip. Way too bitter, but you don’t have any other choice regarding caffeine.

Connor moves beside you, facing the entrance of the break room. “And what did he mean when he called you werewolf?”

“There was a Russian serial killer called The Werewolf.” You look down into your coffee. “He was a cop. It spread, and now corrupt cops are just called werewolves. Gavin thinks he’s smart, calling me that, even though I’m not technically a cop.”

Connor hums. When you glance over, his LED is flickering yellow. You choose not to comment on it.

“Are you okay?” You ask. “Like, actually. Gavin punched you pretty hard.”

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor says. “The impact disrupted my Thirium pump for a second, but it quickly regulated itself.”

“Good.” You take a sip of coffee.

Connor turns to look at you. “Why are you concerned, Officer?”

You glance at him, then look down into your drink. “I don’t know. Just don’t need Gavin putting sticks in our wheels, that’s all. And putting you out of commission would be a major problem.”

You can see Connor still looking at you out of the corner of your eye. His eyebrows draw together a fraction of an inch, then he looks away.

You turn the other way and choke down another sip of bitter coffee.

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

118 notes · View notes

brynn-lear · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere SCP Senior Researcher!Dottore who loves to act as the mentor figure for Agent!Darling.

Dr. Zandik had always been known for his surgically precise way of handling anomalies— but there's an intensely palpable reason as to why urgent cases aren't left on his desk. Before he could ever conclude an experiment, he'd ensure that he explored every possible data there is to be recorded, quantifiable or otherwise. This usually meant he'd apathetically sacrifice Class-D personnel just to find what the test subject would react. Site 02 reveres him... Yet most of his colleagues would rather have new blood trained than indulge his unnecessary experiments.

What made you first stand out to him was your files. Apparently, you share similarities with the famous SM-046 patient; you've contracted Urbach–Wiethe disease in your early childhood as well. Just like SM-046, your colleagues dubbed you as "Agent Without Fear". You could only shrug and laugh the teasing off. It's a challenge for you to distinguish what is malicious from pure— so you lived most your life expecting the latter.

With Dr. Zandik's passionate nagging requests, SCP-500 was updated with a new line...

Addendum 500-13:

Request 500-2022-A approved. One (1) pill of SCP-500 was ingested by Agent (L/n). Subject reported to have improved skin, mucous membranes, eye, vision, speech, and respiratory symptoms. However, neurological symptoms caused by Urbach–Wiethe disease have shown no signs of improvement. Number of pills is forty-six (46) at the time of writing.

In truth, the fact that you remained as the "Agent Who Can't Feel Fear" after the Trial 1 made Dr. Zandik more interested in you. Which is why, much like last time, the doctor submitted another revision. Instead of an SCP, it was a personnel file.

Yours.

Incident Report 921-A

Date: [REDACTED]

Personnel Involved:

Dr. Zandik "Dottore" █████ [Senior Researcher]

Agent (Y/n) (L/n) [Assigned MTF Officer]

BEGIN LOG

Dr. Zandik: Agent (L/n), just the person I wanted to see. I’ve requested you be assigned as my permanent bodyguard. Agent (L/n): Really? That’s a new one. Why me? Dr. Zandik: I’m very interested in your unique approach to security. I think your presence will be invaluable. Agent (L/n): Well, if you say so, Dottore. I guess I’m in! Every time I work with you, you're always dragging me around to say hi to whatever weird and funky SCPs you're working with. This should be fun. Dr. Zandik: Undoubtedly so. I’m looking forward to working with you. Agent (L/n): Great! I’ll do my best to keep you safe, even if I seriously think you can handle most things on your own, Doc. Dr. Zandik: I assure you. It’ll be a learning experience for both of us. END LOG

Addendum Incident 921-A-1:

Agent (L/n) has been reassigned as Dr. Zandik’s permanent security detail, as requested by Dr. Zandik. The nature of Dr. Zandik’s interest in this arrangement remains undisclosed to Agent (L/n).

#Zandik x reader #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #SCP au #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere gi #yandere doctor #yandere male #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines

119 notes · View notes

embrosegraves · 11 months ago

Text

ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣

(request) Fernando Alonso x Reader After Fernando’s Big Crash™ the reader helps him remember them “You were my first kiss.” + “Smiling in the middle of a kiss.”

Warnings: mentions the crash from Barcelona testing in 2015. written with female!Reader in mind. pretty sure thats it, could be wrong tho

You hadn’t seen what happened so much as you had heard it happen. Apparently no one knew how the crash had happened. Just that Fernando had somehow crashed out at turn 3. Pre-Season testing had never been so stressful for you. All they entailed was testing the new car on the track, gathering a bit of data for the engineers and then it was off to the first race of the season.

You had never expected to end up in the hospital waiting for Fernando to wake up in the hospital bed. You were grateful that you had taken lessons to learn Spanish because so far the doctors in Barcelona didn’t speak a lick of English. They tried speaking to you in broken English until you replied back to them in almost perfect Spanish. Eventually, they managed to explain that due to the force of the crash he had sustained, it was likely that some of his memory would be lost. Whether permanently or temporarily, they could not say. It would all depend on when Fernando woke up.

You thanked the doctors and sat down next to your boyfriend’s hospital bed, clasping his hand in yours. You were worried. Of course you were worried, your boyfriend just crashed and potentially lost every memory of you! You had no idea what you would do if Fernando didn’t remember you. You just had to hope that he would remember who you were.

Around an hour later, you felt something squeeze your hand. Your head shot up from looking at your phone, turning to see that Fernando’s eyes were slowly but surely opening. You waited until his eyes were fully open before speaking.

“Fern?” he slowly looked over to you, as if he couldn’t quite tell who you were, “Are you okay?”

You watched as he licked his slightly dry lips, so you grabbed the cup of water from the bedside and helped him take a sip.

“Gracias Señorita.” He said.

“You’ve not called me that since we met for the first time.” Despite the doctors warning you that he might not have all of his memory, it still surprised you to witness Fernando not recognise you. You had been together for 5 years now.

“Forgive me if this question sounds silly but,” you took a breath to steady yourself, “do you know who I am to you?”

Fernando frowned at the question. He took a moment to think before answering, “You feel familiar to me. I know that you are important but I cannot remember why.”

Your face had fallen more and more with each word he spoke. Moving your gaze to the bedsheets, you tried desperately not to let him see the tears welling in your eyes.

Fernando had seen your tears nonetheless and gripped your hand a little tighter, “Lo siento.”

“It’s okay.” You wiped the few tears that had fallen and tried to give him a comforting smile when a thought came to you.

“Could you tell me about us? So I can remember?”

“Of course I can.” And so you spent the next 45 minutes telling him about everything you had been through in the five years you had been together. How just two weeks ago he had brought up that he wanted to get married someday but that he still wasn’t sure about having children. You told him about how funny you thought the media was when he was racing for Ferrari because everyone wanted to paint him as a womaniser despite being in a very secure relationship. You had even told him about how you had met each other.

“You were my first kiss, you know?” You said to him. “That New Years party where we met. I had been so shy that night and then you came along at midnight and just kissed me. It was honestly the most fairytale thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Can you kiss me?” Fernando suddenly asked. Your shock was evident on your face. You weren’t sure why he would ask that. Especially because he didn’t exactly remember being your boyfriend.

“O-Okay.” You slowly got up and leaned towards him. Gently, you placed your hands on either side of his face, his own hands coming to rest over yours.

The kiss was slow, and extremely soft. His lips moved with yours and if not for the situation you found yourself in, you would say that it was one of the most romantic kisses you’d ever had. You had honestly not expected a whole lot to happen when you agreed to kiss him. Part of you hoped for something, anything, to click in his head but you weren’t going to hold your breath.

You definitely didn’t expect for Fernando to start smiling in the middle of kissing you. You went to move away just a little bit, but before your lips could separate Fernando’s hand moved to hold the back of your neck and he pulled you closer than you were before. What was a slow and gentle kiss quickly became passionate and almost desperate. It was like Fernando had been deprived of water in the middle of a desert with how he kissed you.

Finally pulling away from each other, you began to catch your breath. The kiss had taken a turn and quite literally took your breath away.

“Fern?” You asked, your voice small but hopeful. Looking into his eyes you see love and adoration practically gushing from him.

“Hola, Mi Reina.” He caressed your face as he spoke to you. Even if you weren’t looking at him, you could hear the smile in his words and how he spoke.

“Do you remember?” Your legs felt like jelly. You were so frightened to ask, it didn’t matter that he was using his preferred pet name for you.

“How could I ever forget about you, Mi Amor?”

The way I had already written pretty much the whole thing, and then STRUGGLED to think of a way to end it with a one-liner.

Anyways I hope you all enjoyed this one! It's my very first one for Fernando so I'm really hoping I did the request justice.

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated!

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fluff #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso #fa14 #I love you all <3 #reblog with tags I missed please!

210 notes · View notes

megaerakles · 8 months ago

Text

To Whom It May Concern

Tim couldn’t stay.

No matter what Bruce had said when he caught Tim in the act of laying the paper trail to establish his Fake Uncle, no matter how long Dick had sobbed into the phone at him during an inordinately expensive long distance (read: off planet) phone call, no matter how much Alfred had been fussing over him and insisting it was no trouble at all to care for him since Tim’s scheme had been revealed and promptly foiled, it just didn’t change the fact that Tim couldn’t stay. Truthfully, the Wayne family’s apparent sudden burst of affection for him actually made this whole thing worse because somewhere along the way, without even trying, Tim had failed to keep things wholly professional between them and somehow tricked them into thinking he belonged in their family!

He couldn’t let it stand. For the sake of Jason’s memory, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the true Wayne family, he had to stop this… this absurdity of pretending that Tim belonged with them from continuing! Tim had to run. Tim had to vanish. It was the only way to make things right again. Sure, the thought of never seeing any of them again, the thought of being done with Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Barbara and everyone in his life he currently held dear once and for all made it feel as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest only to be shoved back down his throat to stop the flow of air into his body—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not nearly as much as they did. This would be for their own good.

Tim was leaving, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be in the end. Not emotionally easier, but logistically easier. Bruce had been extra attentive lately, so he thought he’d have to fake an injury and get ‘benched’ so that they would lower their guard long enough for him to slip away. But by some divine stroke of luck, a new player had waltzed onto Gotham’s criminal scene not too long after Tim’s Fake Uncle plan fell through and started making threats against Batman and Robin. They had apparently freaked B out enough to prompt him to send Tim off to Titan’s Tower to ‘focus on his team for awhile’. Tim had accepted the command with the requisite amount of complaint, planted some fake texts to make it look like he’d actually communicated to his Team that he would be there, shoved everything from his guest room in the Manor that he couldn’t bear to part with into a duffel bag underneath a spare uniform, gave Bruce what only he knew was a more emotionally charged nod goodbye than usual, and then poof. Tim Drake was zapped out of the Batcave for the last time ever.

He let himself have one night in the Tower. Partly to catch a few hours of sleep in a familiar and secure environment, but mostly so he could clean up his room for its next occupant, sweep his belongings and his person for any extra trackers, and repack his bag more efficiently. He also took the time to grab a spare backpack and fill it up with emergency rations. While he was taking plenty of cash, he didn’t want to risk having to go into stores with security cameras for a while, at least until he’d cleared a suitable distance from San Francisco proper as well as implemented the first of his many planned disguises. He didn’t think a bottle of cheap hair dye and some colored contacts would be enough to fool Oracle indefinitely, but if he was appropriately cautious it might keep her from getting a confirmation of his location long enough for the Bats to either get bored looking for him or to actually realize they were better off without him around.

When the early rays of dawn started to bathe the sides of Titan’s Tower in ember colored light, he was off. He left behind seven trackers pulled from his clothes and bag and one more from behind his ear; he’d kept the one he noticed in his favorite pair of sneakers because it was a type that wouldn’t start transmitting data until the Bats actively started tracking it and he was hoping to find someone who wore his size at the bus station he could pay to wear them so he could throw them off for even longer. If all else failed, he would just toss them in an out of the way trash can. He had also left a letter of resignation for Batman that he’d whipped up based off of an online template, signed and sealed and awaiting discovery atop the pillow in his nearly empty dorm room (he had tried for something more personal, a longer note of explanation for Bruce about why he couldn’t stay despite being asked, but—the words just wouldn’t come, and he’d been running out of time). His bag was heavy, courtesy of all of the extra supplies he’d grabbed in anticipation of having to evade not only Batman’s team but the rest of the Justice League. His heart was heavy, courtesy of emotional baggage that he wished was as easy to unpack as his actual bags would be when he finally found somewhere to settle.

He boarded the first bus he saw after he’d gone a few blocks and took a seat towards the back, where he leaned against the window and stared back at the iconic giant T that he used to belong in, however briefly, until it disappeared from sight. And just like that, Tim Drake’s life as Robin was over.

—

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately.

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you all for the past three years. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the team and appreciated the opportunity to learn about vigilantism and hone my detective skills. I’m excited to take these skills with me as I pursue the next step of my career.

During the past two weeks, I have done everything possible to wrap up any ongoing cases and leave no unfinished business. The Robin suit as well as my spare have been cleaned and placed in the armory of Titan’s Tower along with any gear I have been issued.

I wish Batman and team the best, but am afraid I will be out of contact for the foreseeable future.

Sincerely,

T. J. Drake

—

Red Hood stalked into Titan’s Tower with all the grace of a wildcat closing in on its prey, his vicious smirk hidden by his helmet, his unauthorized entrance hidden by virtue of the heroes’ own stupidity in failing to remove his codes from the database. Seriously—he’d thought gaining entry into their so-called fortress would be the hardest part of this little trip, and had only tried his access codes for the sake of checking the most stupidly obvious Plan A off his list! For them to work, to realize that there was nothing truly separating the precious sidekicks from the wrath of a vengeance minded crime lord, well… it sure made the message he was about to send feel all the more poignant.

He had come equipped to subdue an entire horde of Teeny Titans without hurting them (much), but to his surprise, the tower was empty of kid sidekicks despite Robin having been sent to work with his team yesterday afternoon, a fact Jason had gleaned last night from listening to the mind numbing chatter of Nightwing being bored on a stakeout and wanting to chat with anyone over the comms Jason had hacked into. Which he’d done in order to better plan his aggressive takeover of Crime Alley, not because he missed hearing his family’s voices. Nope.

(Since coming back to Gotham, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to stick to the plan when some part of his mind still stubbornly clung to those foolish, childhood dreams of belonging and family and a father who gave a shit and things like that, and kept popping up with annoying questions like ‘what if he revealed his identity to Dick or Alfred or someone just to see if maybe Talia had been right and they’d want him back after all. Clearly, the existence of a new Robin meant that they’d never really given a damn about him, so he was going to go through with this thing, just watch him.)

Truly this had to be fate, because the path to Robin was practically unfolding before him with no barriers. All that was left to do was find where in this gigantic clubhouse the itty little birdie was nesting. Jason tried the common room first. Then the kitchen. Then the rec room. And then the training floor. And the med bay. And then the armory, where he found Robin’s suit, but no actual Robin. He supposed the next place to check would be Robin’s bedroom, because even though it was well past eleven, Drake was a teenager and could conceivably be sleeping in, especially since there was no Alfred around to rouse him at a reasonable hour. Luckily, the doors on the floor with sleeping quarters were all clearly marked with either the name or symbol of the person it belonged to, so it was easy enough to find the one with that all too familiar stylized ‘R’. Jason paused to take a steadying breath before gritting his teeth and deciding to really make an entrance by kicking down the door.

…To an empty bedroom. Like, not just devoid of Tim Drake, but also devoid of books, trinkets, photos, decoration, clothes, dishes, mess, et cetera, et cetera. It looked as clean and sterile as a hotel room, and if Jason hadn’t literally just seen Robin’s insignia on the door he would think he’d entered an unassigned room by mistake. He frowned and yanked off his helmet, as if looking with his own two eyes would suddenly change the scene, but no. Nothing. He strode into the room and yanked open the closet—empty. He walked over to the desk and yanked open the top drawer—empty. He yanked open the bottom drawer, and mostly empty except for—wait, was that a pile of deactivated Bat trackers? Fucking bizarre. When he stood up, he glanced around again, and this time something on the bed caught his eye. It had been easy to miss against the white pillowcase, but there was an envelope tucked up against the pillow. With a scowl, he stalked over and grabbed it.

When Jason flipped it over, he noted that it was addressed to Batman, but decided that since he was a crime lord now he didn’t have to care about something as trivial as opening someone else’s mail. He didn't want to take off his gloves and risk leaving prints on anything, so he pulled out a dagger and used it to slice open the envelope. As he flipped it over to dump its contents on the desk, he had the fleeting thought that he probably should have put back on his mask in case this had been some villain’s ploy to poison Batman, but luckily all that fell out was a single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds.

This he was careful not to damage as he unfolded it. It wasn’t a long note, just a few small paragraphs, so it was quick enough to read: To whom it may concern. This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately…

Jason dropped the letter and took a step back, staring at the innocuous piece of paper with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Robin had—Drake wasn’t—Timothy—the kid, he was quitting? Leaving? Gone?

It could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Except Robin shouldn’t have had any way of knowing Red Hood would be able to track him all the way to Titan’s Tower so why would he have set a trap for him in the first place? A trap for someone else, then? If it was, it was really, really stupid of him because the kid had signed his resignation letter from Robin with his actual name, and surely he wouldn’t have made it this far if he were that careless with his identity. So, it was either a very bad trap, or not a trap at all. And if it was not a trap at all, then…

Then Robin had… resigned. Which, ok, Jason’s stated goal coming into this thing was to get Tim Drake to stop being Robin. So he should be happy about this, right? Except he’d not gotten to toss the kid around and work out his aggression at all so there was no satisfaction in it. Also, the timing was fucking obnoxious. Go figure that the very day he decides to do something about his replacement, the kid decides to peace out of the Gotham vigilante scene and… and go…

… Somewhere. Jason had no idea where Tim Drake would go if he were no longer Robin. Given how he’d waited until he was alone and then left the note to be found on the other side of the country, Jason had a sneaking suspicion that returning to Gotham was currently off the table. The letter had said he would be ‘out of contact’ for the foreseeable future; Jason could read between the lines enough to figure out that meant he was running away.

—Which, fuck. Another Robin was running away from Batman because of… well, Jason didn’t know what this kid’s issue with B was, but there were plenty of potential flaws in the man to choose from so Jason was going to play it safe and assume it was something Bruce did. Clearly, the man could never learn. And now, this poor dumb Robin was going to pay the price! Jason was more than familiar with the number of horrors that awaited kids who ended up on their own. He could starve; he could freeze to death; he could catch some disease like the flu, or get cut on a rusty nail and get tetanus, and then die from it because he couldn’t access medical treatment. He could get mugged, or harassed by cops, or snatched up by traffickers, or—

And fine; Jason himself had meant to hurt him. But that had been for ideological purposes, to prove a point about putting children in danger and not taking good enough care of them and stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt him that badly, just bad enough to freak out Bruce a bit. But Jason was also the Red Hood, and the Red Hood’s mission was to do what was necessary to stop awful shit from happening to vulnerable kids. And this stupid, stupid letter was apparently enough to abruptly transfer Timothy Drake into that category in his head.

Everything Jason had heard about the kid said he was smart, and the timing of his disappearance pointed to some thoughtful planning on his part. Jason could imagine that the little shit had some sort of plan in place to evade Batman’s attempts to locate him, and he probably could manage to run without getting caught by Bruce and the Gotham team for a while. Heck, the kid probably had strategies to get away from most if not all of the Justice League members, since B was sure to call in favors once he got frantic enough about the little bird. But one thing the kid likely did not plan for was being pursued by him. Ex-Robin, currently a crime lord, League of Assassins connections, and a bone to pick with Timothy specifically? (He ran away from home and left a fucking resignation letter about it? Does he not realize what that would do to Dick, to Alfred, to Bruce—)

After stuffing the letter into his pocket, Jason put back on his helmet and stalked out of Titans Tower as silently as he’d arrived, this time with a new yet equally furious purpose sharpening his steps. Sucked to be Timothy Drake, he thought, because the Red Hood got his message and he was officially concerned.

#my writing #my fanfic #tim drake #jason todd #to whom it may concern #would be what this fic is called if I ever continue it haha #but this is as far as I got and then kinda lost steam #but it stands as a one shot pretty nicely so I thought I'd share it here see what people thought. ya know.#could it be a multi chapter fic one day? sure. what do I know. will it be soon? probably not.#um ok what else #unreliable narrator #tim drake has self worth issues #are probably the two most critical tags/warnings for this one.#anyway actually being on desktop is giving me way too much power look at me go all these tags and no typos damn!

98 notes · View notes

aurorangen · 9 months ago

Text

How was Felix's case going? Not good. Their current tactics in exploiting the scammers were not enough for the court. From their sources, the Sterling-Ricos had hacked into the bank organisation to steal Felix's money. Apparently, the bank had a request to fortify their system security from any tech company and since Isaac was a certified ethical hacker, he secured the job before anyone else! Through this method, he also found concrete evidence to end the scammers! He looked up after learning of the new data...

"I found something." All his new findings were enough for legal proceedings on their half, but there was also evidence concerning corruption or money laundering schemes...meaning the Sterling-Rico family could be connected to something bigger.

"Let's transfer this over to detectives, it's not something of our scope," Vincent thought. "Good job Isaac, I'm glad you spotted this."

With Isaac as his right-hand man, Vincent believes they could take on anything. "Anyway, where'd you learn how to hack?" he was curious. "Oh, I took some cybersecurity classes during law school. More hard work and now here I am, eyes as sharp as an eagle," Isaac joked around with his nickname back then. Vincent laughed and sat down, "Lucky you're on our side with that!"

Isaac took off his glasses and chuckled, "Heh, they don't call me Eagle Eyes for nothing."

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #postcard legacy #postcard gen 3 #vincent kingsley #isaac kingsley #pam thawatchai #i just noticed isaacs wearing eyeliner lmao #isaac wearing glasses something i wanted to see 😏 so attractive #vincents old office was a bit beige so i gave it a new makeover!!#and hell yeah they finally got that evidence for court and now to win!#the amount of research im doing for story 😂 like im researching law/detective stuff making things kind of accurate #but its sims doesnt have to be 100% realistic so making own twists #also i feel i can be more descriptive like this instead of writing dialogue in the pics! love using both methods for dialogue

90 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!

I saw your post about the Firefox article that another anon asked about and was wondering why you hate pocket?

I’m wondering if you have any suggestions as to what I should use instead, should I set up an rss reader?

Thanks :)

I think pocket is actually fine and I don't have a problem with it as a product I just find it unintuitive and annoying; for a while i was very irritated with the suggested articles in my mobile browser but then i took thirty seconds to change the settings and that fixed it. I don't think it's, like, a security concern or that it's bad for your data and apparently some people use it to get around paywalls? That's neat.

I am just very firmly set in my ways and grumpy and didn't feel like learning to use it in a more effective manner. Some things I dislike just because I dislike them, not because there's anything wrong with them.

You may ask how I save stories to read later and the answer is that i have more than a hundred tabs open in my browser at all times and "later" is a fake concept. Either I read it NOW or it gets saved as an open tab and gets read when I'm trying to close some tabs to get my computer to stop crying. Pocket seems like a great way to forget that I was going to look at something.

129 notes · View notes

tornado1992 · 10 months ago

Text

Sonic is fighting Eggman on one of his evil lairs, nothing new. Tails helped him wreck some badniks but Sonic said he wanted to annoy Eggman by himself for a little bit, so the little fox wanders around the base, maybe he can collect some data to outpace Eggman before his next scheme, the control room is in the same place almost every time so he confidently enters the room after six seconds of hacking through the lock, a semi solid hologram of a girl with crimson eyes turns to him as he steps inside.

Sage, right, he remembers her, he suddenly also remembers that the “Chaos Energy Use Effects On Non Organic Beings” conference he wanted to see was airing live just at that time, but that was only because could see the program starting and being projected on the multiple screens of the room behind Sage. He keeps looking at them for a whole 10 seconds, then remembers where he is, and as he quickly returns his attention to the A.I. girl while he positions himself to fight, he notices she hasn’t displayed any security measures against him, he also noticed that while he was looking at the screens she only looked at him without stopping, not until now, as he can see how she turns her sight back to the biggest screen of the room without saying anything. He doesn’t say anything either.

He opted to watch the same screen as Sage, getting closer to her, apparently she didn’t mind him being here, if the fact that she didn’t stopped him when he sat on the floor just beside her said anything. He doesn’t remember how long was it since he sat down with her, he doesn’t remember when the yelling and fighting from the lair’s entrance stopped, but that’s good to him, at least now they can hear clearly the presenter’s q&a section.

The fight between hedgehog and madman stopped by the scientist request, as apparently he promised his daughter he would keep quiet that evening so she could enjoy her favorite talk show, a science one of course. The speedster agreed without much convincing, as he also remembered his little brother wanted to go home as early as they could to watch some investigator’s interview thingy.

They walked at a fast pace through the base looking for the fox kit so the old Egghead could kick them out of his house as soon as possible, the control room was the obvious answer for both of them if they wanted to find a curious boy on an evil lair, they didn’t expect to find said boy sitting on the ground smiling and talking energetically with with the translucent hologram A. I. Eggman called his daughter.

Sonic was no scientist, but he knew when someone was talking science, just as he knew how happy his little brother got anytime someone could keep up with him over physics, engineering, mechanics or anything of sorts kind of conversation, but the girl in front of Tails was speaking non-stop, loudly and expertly over some complicated calculations, and the kid’s twin tails wouldn’t stop wagging as he listened. Sonic grinned, he didn’t understand what they were really talking about, but the scene in front of his eyes screamed chemistry.

Even if Eggman could understand what they were talking about, he paid no attention to their voices, nor the motion of the fox’s tails, or how they both turned repeatedly to the screen behind them and then back to each other; focusing only on how his daughter’s eyes glimmered when she listened to the fox’s long answer to her comment, and the smile that they both offered each other when the screens turned off when the show finished. He never saw such smile on his daughter’s face before.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #dr eggman #sage robotnik #sage the ai #tails and sage #they have great potential interactions #Sage robotnik respects Tails #Tails doesn’t know what to think about this specific a.i.#sonic fanfiction

88 notes · View notes

aealzx · 1 year ago

Text

Opening his eyes brought a scene of sterile grey walls and blistering white light that had Donnie squinting after the darkness they had been sucked into. After a few grimaced blinks he simultaneously realized his wrists and ankles were restrained, and Lil Mikey was missing. No matter, he could break these chains with a bit of mystic tech. The magic came easily to him, bringing him comfort in his tech always being with him despite the physically crafted devices having been stripped from him. But this time his effortless attempts were sliced away from him by a wave of nullifying energy that also drilled into his head with a stabbing wave. A light noise of irritation escaped a sneered nose as the energy within him flickered out along with the lights on his markings. Anti mystic tech. Great. They apparently knew who they were dealing with.

But who were they?

A question that was answered sooner than expected when a near invisible door slid to the side, a group of people behind it. “Well,” the woman at the front started. “I’m glad Agent Bishop’s records included a small note about the possibility of you four having gained mystic abilities. I have to admit I’m not completely familiar with the concepts, but I did coerce some help in crafting the proper precautions, just to be safe.” She spoke with an even, familiar tone that didn’t match the situation as far as Donnie was concerned. Her path took her towards him before she stopped and sat in a metal chair that was brought to her from behind. A good signifier to Donnie that she was the one in charge. After a moment of staring at him, earning nothing but a silent glare back, the woman adjusted her glasses and held her hand up, her assistant placing a tablet in her hand. “I have to say, you’ve really let yourself go. Losing nearly a third of your weight. You really ought to take better care of yourself, Donatello Splinterson.”

That caused Donnie to blink, questions rising in his mind that he could mostly start to form answers to. That wasn’t his second name. Mistaken identity? With a mutant turtle? Not likely. But with a yokai? He didn’t know of any yokai turtles by the name of Donatello. She had data about whoever she thought he was though, and he had nothing on her. “Then I presume you’re….?” he trailed off, giving her the chance to fill in the information he was lacking.

“That’s correct. Agent Jane Augustine. John Bishop’s successor, and the one you and your brothers have persisted to be an annoyance to,” Augustine supplied, adjusting her glasses again before rising to her feet once more. “I have to commend you for the setbacks you’ve given me. No one else has managed to break into government security as often as you-...”

Augustine’s speech broke off when she noticed something, her head twitching to get a different angle. She was silent for a moment, then voiced the subject of her derailed thoughts. “Your eyes are the wrong color.”

Oh. Well that was easy. Apparently this other Donatello didn’t have delectably golden eyes like him. “Maybe your sources are just colorblind,” Donnie sassed back.

“And you have an attitude…,” Augustine noted, eyes narrowing slightly. Donnie knew the signs of a brilliant mind churning through possibilities when he saw it. And sure enough a bud of excitement was starting to rise in her frame. “...Where are you from?”

“Earth,” Donnie answered automatically, giving the vaguest response as possible just to be a pain.

Augustine didn’t seem perturbed, instead gripping his chin for a moment. “Which Earth?” she asked.

Donnie realized what was going on the moment Augustine’s thoughts were confirmed by his raising brows. Drawing a breath to smother back her breakthrough, Augustine released him before turning to the others hanging back at the entrance of the room. “Get me a full blood, fluid, and tissue sample immediately. From this one, and the one that was with him. Documented currently under the name Michaelangelo-”

She started to direct her workers, but as soon as Donnie heard enough evidence they had Lil Mikey as well he snapped. “If you even scratch my brother I will blow up this entire establishment. With or without people in it.”

Augustine looked surprised to be interrupted, but politely let him finish before she laughed. “And how will you do that? You’re my ward now. And I have you in chains, and your mystic abilities effectively nullified.”

As her assistants moved to comply with her orders Augustine stepped back, a smile growing on her lips as she watched her new toy squirm and try to pull back from the prying hands. The restraint holding his left arm was transferred to a separate device that allowed them to keep it taught as they lowered it to where they could more easily access it. Donnie struggled fruitlessly against all of the chains, yanking until he could feel the metal biting into his hands and feet, especially when one of them circled wordlessly around behind him. It immediately made him feel isolated, and claustrophobic. His scarred shell was exposed to their invasive hands, the contact delicate but still earning a warning hiss from him. Another set of hands was reaching towards his face, and Donnie pulled back for just a moment before lurching forward without fully thinking.

The monotonous emptiness with which the assistant had been working shattered with shriek from the one Donnie currently had his teeth sank into. It didn’t matter that they had a surgical gown covering their forearm, it was already shredded through. Donnie was aiming for blood, and he got it. The other assistants scattered with various startled noises as Donnie’s victim punched him in the nose, as if they could get him to let go like some rabid dog. They drew their own blood from him, but he refused to release them, even as they yanked against him.

“Doctor, please,” Augustine spoke up calmly, raising her hand to still the commotion as soon as a fist had been used. “I prefer to have my wards physically unharmed as much as possible,” she chastised, striding forward and moving her raised hand to the side of Donnie’s jaw. “There are much more efficient ways to open a mouth…”

Donnie yelped as her finger wedged into his joint, pressing against a nerve and making him snap his jaw open and pull away from the source of the pain. As soon as they were free the assistant scurried back to the others and Augustine calmly withdrew her hand. She paused for a moment to let Donnie spit the blood from his mouth before reaching forward again to snatch his chin in her hand once more. Forcing him to look in her direction, Augustine gave him a slight smile. “Behave yourself, Donatello. I might be a forgiving woman, but many of my employees are not. Especially when you’ve damaged them as such,” she cautioned, reaching her free hand up to smudge away the blood dripping from his nose, but ignoring the lines running down his chin.

Donnie just gave a snarled hiss in response. “Try it again and we’ll see if they lose a finger or two next.”

The response earned a single syllable, mirthless chuckle from Augustine. Pausing for a moment, as if daring him to try biting her, she eventually released him again. Turning for the door, she casually grabbed a damp wipe from one of the carts that had been pulled in to clean her hands. “Evangeline, you’re excused to wash up. But please take samples from the wound for me if you will,” she directed on her path to the exit. “The rest of you finish up here, then meet me in the other rooms. Drop him to the floor if you must.”

Apparently the fear of being bitten was overridden by whatever hold Augustine had over them, for the assistants returned to their assigned task with just a bit more caution than before. At first Donnie thought he was going to be knocked unconscious, but instead the other restraint on his arm was moved like the other one. And this time, instead of just being stretched across a clothesline, mechanical arms with mildly padded poles at the ends curled out from the walls. A breath half left Donnie’s lungs as the poles collided with the back of his shoulders and legs, pushing him forward as the chains kept him taught, lowering him forward until he was pressed against the floor. It made the inside of his elbow harder to reach, but they didn’t seem to care, a clasp slipping over his hand to keep him from twisting his arm as they brought a needle towards it. Donnie snarled, and hissed, and forced his body against the abundance of fetters binding him in place to no avail. It was too much. The wrong kind of weight against his exposed skin. Cold, unforgiving pressure on his scarred back, squeezing air from his lungs. Sharp edges digging into his limbs while they stretched his muscles just barely below the point of damage. Drawing the largest breath he could manage, Donnie released his irritation in the form of a long, headache inducing bellow.

___________________

Previous Next

___________________

This scene was plaguing my brain all day today |D

If anyone is worried this is the most I'll get into in regards to violence against someone that can't fight back. I'm not planning on getting all that dark =u=b

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #blood #mild gore #rise donnie #cross dimension kidnapping #rise + 2003 crossover #tmnt crossover #writing #long post #I marked this as mature #but let me know if it needs other tags

160 notes · View notes