#I’m good at organic things not metal arms

[fire-rose]

Paaaaaain

The cybernetic arm looks so wonkyyyy

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[avengers--assembly]

Hoodie thief

Summary: Y/n is sick (although she won't admit it) and steals Bucky’s hoodie. He wants it back. No can do. Let's argue about breakfast food instead?

Prompts used:

7. Borrowed Hoodie

15.” Who decided __is ‘sick person food?”

25. Summer flu

Word count: 1028

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Sweltering hot temperatures all week long. That’s what the weather app said. That’s what everyone was warning against. Drink plenty of fluids. Sunscreen. Stay inside. All the usual warnings for a normal temperature spike. So why exactly was Y/n shivering like crazy wrapped in one of her thickest blankets?

She wasn’t completely sure, just that the sun was shining through her bedroom window in greeting, and she was in no mood to stand up. Or get out of her blanket burrito. But all that said, her stomach had a dull ache that she was blaming on hunger, meaning she had to eat something.

Her body gave one more shiver as she placed her feet on the floor and hauled herself up. She wasn’t sick. Really, she wasn’t. She had too much stuff to do, like enjoying the nice weather outside. Because it was nice, and her body was just late on getting the memo. She glared at the blanket that dropped on the ground. Her lazy ass decided it was too much effort to pick it up again, so she left it. Stupid blanket.

Walking down the hallway, her summer pyjamas did nothing to help her mismatched body temperature, leaving goosebumps prickling her skin. Scowling, she stomped only slightly into the living room, gaze tracking for any movement.

No one.

Good.

Her gaze landed on an oversized hoodie that was thrown over one of the couches, and she inched closer for a better inspection. Definitely not hers... but big, black, and warm. It met all her requirements. Who cared who it belonged to?

She slipped it on, hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves. The oversized hoodie hung far enough to completely cover her shorts. She allowed a smile to cross her face. Perfect.

Except for a certain super soldier who didn’t share her feelings. Bucky glowered at her, arms crossed, “Cute. 10, 9, 8.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were narrowing in warning. Y/n knew Bucky hated when people touched his things, but by the time she realized it was his, she was already too comfortable to care.

“You’re really going to count down?”

“Take it off.” Was his only response, his irritation obvious. Y/n let out a huff, folding her arms right back at him, “No.”

“Y/n” He warned, taking a step forward. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m not scared.”

“My hoodie. You have your own, don’t you?”

“They’re not as comfortable! And they’re all the way in my room!” Y/n complained, pouting at him. He muttered something to himself, rubbing a finger across his brow, eyes closed, “Stop that” He snapped.

“What?”

“Pouting. Makes you too damn cute.” She smiled slightly, but before saying anything, he continued, “Why do you need a hoodie anyway? Isn’t it like 30° or something?”

"I’m cold. No, leave me alone. I want to make breakfast.”

“You’re cold?” His frown deepened, concern flickering in his eyes, only to be replaced by frustration, “And I’ll leave you alone as soon as you return my hoodie.”

“Make me.”

He lifted a surprised eyebrow at her, but there was a playful glint in his eyes now.

“You sure you want that, doll?”

“I could take you,” Y/n said, still defiant.

He walked towards her, slowly at first, and the pace made a brief flash of fear settle in her stomach. Oh, shit. She was still shivering, albeit less, and her muscles were sore. He was a super soldier with decades of training—and a metal arm to back it up.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” she blurted, trying to keep the nervousness out of her tone. She forced herself not to step backwards. It would be ridiculous if she couldn’t meet her own stubbornness.

“I think now is perfect. You still have something that belongs to me.” Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder with ease. Y/n shrieked in surprise, hands scrambling to find balance as the world tilted beneath her.

“Bucky! Put me down!” He ignored her protests, walking towards the kitchen counter. Only then did he lightly place her on the marble surface, hands hovering a few inches from her waist until she caught her balance. The sudden shift upwards again made her head spin, black spots dancing in the corners of her eyes.

“Nop,” she muttered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against Bucky’s chest.

“Doll?” Concern was evident in his tone. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “Yeah?” She hummed back.

“Why are you cold?”

“Flu?” she said back, almost too quiet for him to catch. He nodded along, “You planning on ignoring it?”

“I’m not sick.”

“Fine. Let me make you breakfast.”

“Just cereal.”

“Oats.” He argued, shaking his head at her choice, “You need better nutrition than that sugary stuff.”

“Yuck.” She leaned back from him, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “Who decided oats were good for sick people?”

“It’s nutrition values.”

“Could be fake,” she reasoned.

“Could be. Toast then?” He bopped her nose playfully, smiling as she swatted away his hand.

“Why do you hate me so much? I need sugar to survive,” she said dramatically.

“I mean, you did steal my hoodie.” He answered back, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“If I give it back, will you love me again?”

“Mmm no.”

“What? Why?” She gaped at him, a brief look of confusion on her face. He smiled, “It’s full of your germs now. Don’t want it anymore.”

“Hypocrite. You just hugged me.”

**

They settled on toast with jam in the end. On the couch, they watched some silly comedy, Y/n still wearing his hoodie, an extra blanket lying nearby. The water and medicine were only a precaution for when she stopped ignoring the facts.

Bucky chose to stay indoors today, and Y/n simply joined him to keep him company. No other reason. The other Avengers didn’t need extra information, even when pool day turned into movie watching instead. Nat had joined them later, settling comfortably next to Y/n and only stealing her food when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Must you, Japan? has become Thank You, Japan

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

BL OLYMPICS! Week 3

This is my last week of passing out metals in various sporting events, as part of the weekly updates.

Aug 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Century of Love (Weds Gaga) eps 9-10fin - There were a lot more unnecessary dramatic speeches than there was practical medical aid being administered. Very extra, boys. I wonder how long it took them to get that "birds meet hug" shot? Meanwhile, great grandpa‘s attitude that he knows best in every way is thoroughly annoying, and yet absolutely appropriate to his age. My great gramps (RIP), had he had the body of a 20-year-old, would behave in exactly the same self-righteous know-it-all way. The doctor is great. I would like him to get his own romance please? What happens when you are the villain in someone else's reincarnation story? There's a whole fanfic there. And yes I cried. I am a sap for this kinda thing.

Final thoughts:

This is a great little show about a young man who fell in love with a pretty girl 100 years ago, and when she died in his arms, he was cursed to live until he could meet her reborn self. Only this time around, she’s reborn into the body of a man. I love it when Thailand gets all up in its own historical business and reincarnation and shizz. I like this pair (it’s not DaouOffroad’s fault I didn’t enjoy most of their first series.) Daou’s wushu is pretty snazzy and we got a fun meet cute. (Erm... Remeet cute? Meet cute 2.0?) Plus this is a very PRETTY show. Despite some ham handed comedy moments, this ultimately has more in common with something like I Feel You Linger in the Air meets First Love Again, then (as one might expect) Until We Meet Again or The Director Who Buys Me Dinner. The leads turned in great performances, although Daou outclassed everybody else on that screen. It’s a good story and a great BL. I’m not sure this is going in my rewatch rotation, but I can’t find any major faults with it beyond a certain level of camp that is sadly endemic to lackorns. Also I’m going to give it credit as the kind of BL that one could safely recommend to lovers of melodrama and historical romance, without having to qualify it as “good for a BL.” It was, to put it succinctly, simply a VERY ENJOYABLE show. 

Under those auspices I really can’t give it anything less than a 9/10. 

Bronze in Fencing

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - It’s cute. They were cute. I enjoyed it a lot. I talk quite a bit about why they're using nai as a you pronoun here:

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 6 of 8 - Honestly the side couple is truly stellar in this show. I wasn’t sure about them at first but now I absolutely love them. Not sure how they are going to resolve such intense dislike (from JJ) by the end of the series. But I’m interested to see them try.

Meanwhile, there isn’t anything else airing right now that makes me laugh as much as the behind-the-scenes from this show. Highly recommended.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 1-2 of 12 - Oh it is so much fun. I’m particularly delighted that our musician is a drummer and I don’t have to listen to him sing... I hope. I’ve been waiting for Big to lead a BL forever. I’m disposed to enjoy this. We can all be confident in one thing, the kisses are going to be great. I like the side couple too, very indulgent daddy. While I am disturbed by the tortoise in the tiny tank, I love the extrovert friendship group. They remind me of my own college crew. It is a cute premise, but I will need them to actually be together in the same room, looking longingly at each other a smooching within the next couple of episodes.

YouTube served me both episodes 1 & 2, and I don’t think it was meant to. So this may be next week's review as well.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - I wasn’t wild about this ep or where this show is going. But I enjoyed the language play. 

Gold in Linguistic Gymnastics

(my new favorite sport)

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - Wow. Sam admitted it just out loud like that! Right after a betrayal? Balls on that boy. Worked on Yo tho. Too well, actually. I wish Yo had made him suffer and dragged him over the coals for a while. But I guess Yo really really likes him back. Meanwhile, the GL side plot also moved quite rapidly. A lot happened in this episode.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 12 - Them ALL jumping into the water was totally ridiculous. It’s still a little slow, because it is a pulp, but I’m rather enjoying it.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 12fin - Almond and Latte were cute. The breakfast with the four of them was funny. I did laugh a lot. Almond getting "first time" advice from his two resident gay dads (or at least trying to) was super sweet. Also I got a lot of smiley kisses. Nice final ep.

Ultimately how do I feel about this show?

A story about 4 boys of differing personalities who end up living together and pair up, falling in love. Slow moving and waffling, with some artificially generated family drama makes this a classic Thai pulp except that in general it's a smiley kiss of a show. It had plenty of good qualities like great communication and sexual rep (including toys, first time, safe sex, and sexual identities). The heat levels were on point and well executed, and the performances were good. It’s just that the script and the directing were lackluster, rendering it ultimately forgettable. Still, fine on a rainy afternoon with some camomile tea or whatever. 7/10 

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 9 of 10 - I’m getting some sort of PTSD from this show, It is making me feel like I’m the problem. Trash watch

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Tues Gaga) eps 1-2 of 8 - Anyone surprised by this jump in the standings? Yeah, probubly not. Anygay... this show is GREAT. Warped af but great. Lemme try to explain.

I actually said out loud during ep 1, "Well this is boundary pushing." By which I mean mine and everybody elses. But it’s Japan, *checks watch* it’s about time they turned out something edging into unpalatable and kinky. And because it’s Japan, I’m more forgiving than I would be were this show nested in the clumsy hands of say... Thailand. So actually this being me, and me being of questionable taste, I’m enjoying this show a lot.

You want me to list the ways? Sure.

Younger seme with grabby hands.

The younger one identified the elder gay as his personal property and it’s now: single motivation, on target, against all odds.

Uke cares about his work and not much else.

Seme cares about the uke and not much else.

Uke is gonna make this boy WORK for it.

That one particularly Japanese style of obsession that I actually adore.

Passes the sniff test!

I’m being reminded of that KBL Love Mate. Which I believe I enjoyed but no one else did. For exactly this set of tropes. Only Japan is better suited to handle them. For me this is a case of:

Must you,Japan? = Oh yes? Well, thank you very much, Japan.  

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 8 of 10 - enter the evil girl character. Yawn.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - It is what it is. 

It's airing but...

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 2 of 12 - I did not catch ep 2 before they took it down from USA YT. I don’t know why it’s down. Either they got a deal for distribution off YouTube or there’s some sort of scandal. Frankly, I wasn't particularly impressed with ep 1 so I’m not rabid to find wherever it’s gone or why. Still, perhaps someone will let us know the sitch in a comment? It's a me problem. I'm figuring it out.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun ????) 10 eps - OMG a uni student who looks too young and a... COP. GAH. The subversion and kink of it all. Why can't I find it? Do I have to go grey?

4 Minutes (Thai Netflix/Grey) - A rich boy at uni suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future. I have a source, but I've decided to hold off and binge if it ends okay, since it's only 8 eps. I depend upon y'all to tell me if it's safe.

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - it's your funeral (or, more likely, one of the main characters'). You can argue but... statistics. You know my feelings on this matter. MY BLOG, remember?

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!! (Yeah this is gonna sit here until then)

Next Week Looks Like This:

Ooo, nice spread.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming This Month!

8/12 First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) 12 eps - About a singer with stage fright and his timid fan stars Charles (H4 the puppy one) and Michael Chang (the youngster in My Tooth Your Love), plus side couple featuring a Thai actor Jame (Koh in Gen Y) and Liu Min Ting (of Guardian fame). What a damn tean. I can't wait. With thier powers combined!

8/13 Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues YT) 10 eps - supposedly Jinlo with air this on their YT channel. Stars August (Love Sick) so I'm excited despite Jinlo's poor reputation. From the trailer it looks like it's following the original pretty closely... just Thai style. GIMMEEEEE!!!!

8/16 The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) ? eps - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something.

8/22 The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) 12 eps - announced in 2023 this one has a high school set stepbrothers trope and is reputed to be high heat. From Taiwan! It's made for me. Based on a novel Mou Mou from the Your Name Engraved Herein folks, so it could go dark. Still, I'm very excited.

8/22 The Paradise of Thorns (Thai movie) theater release - Jeff Satur is back but this does not look like a BL (the gay lover's death is the inciting event). More in Goodbye Mother vein. Looks dark and dramatic. He opposite and extremely well known actor Toey Pongsakorn who has never done gay before.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Linguistic flirting trope! One of my all time favorites. FANTASTIC. (I did keep hearing Gun yelling Papiiiiiii! in my head tho.)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

[scarletsaphire]

This is my fic for @ecto-implosion 2024 with my artist partner @kaidebat! You can find their incredible art here, go check them out!

---

Phantom comes back to Danny's workshop damaged. Luckily, Danny can fix him. He's the one who built him, after all.

--

Danny did not look up at the sound of metal against metal; that instinct had been phased out of him after spending his whole life around the rumbling of gears and the clanging of pistons. If he jumped at every mechanical squeak in his own workshop, he’d never get anything done.

He did, however, jump at the mechanical hand on his shoulder. He calmed down once he saw Phantom’s glowing green eyes. “How did it go?”

Phantom’s eyes darted down to his other arm in lieu of an answer, and Danny followed his gaze. The arm hung stiff at a 20 degree angle, a metal rod stuck in the elbow and sparks flying off of the shoulder. 

“Poorly, I take it.” Danny let the chain he’d been fiddling with fall to the desk. He could continue working on the project later; he had more important things to take care of right now. “Get comfortable. I just need to grab my stuff.”

It didn’t take him long to find the tools he would need and a small collection of spare parts; the clocktower he’d repurposed into his workshop was smaller than his parents, and he prided himself on being neater than they were. Not that he was complaining about their poor organizational habits; if they kept better track of their stuff, then he wouldn’t have a need for a workshop at all.

Phantom was sitting in one of two chairs, his functioning hand hovering around his throat and his face pointed up towards the inner face of the clock. He smiled at Danny as he set down his tools. 

Danny grabbed his own chair from his work desk and dragged it across the floor. “So, who got you this time?” He sat on Phantom’s right, tracing his finger over the cool metal of his arm. It was normally warmer, just above or below the temperature of a normal human, depending on how hard he’d been fighting. Cold to the touch meant the pipes were being interrupted. That wasn’t good.

Phantom did not reply.

Danny furrowed his brow, glancing up at Phantom’s face. He still had his good arm rubbing lightly at his throat. “You’re not talking.” That also wasn’t a good thing; Phantom was always talking. “Move your hand?”

It fell to his side with a clang, revealing a puncture in the metal. Steam leaked from the gash with a slow hiss, mirroring Danny’s own. “Ouch. Nicked your voice box, I assume?” 

Phantom began to tilt his head in a nod, but Danny grabbed his chin before he could. “Don’t! You could hurt yourself. Just-” 

It was a challenge, holding Phantom’s head still while maneuvering over him. 

Keeping his grip steady while climbing over the armrest was awkward, not to mention getting into a position where he could more clearly see into the gash was a tight squeeze on the small chair. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t let Phantom do anymore damage to himself.

The damage wasn’t as bad as it could be, mostly a surface level scratch. It was a miracle that it didn’t damage more; there was a lot of complicated machinery in Phantom’s neck, and if it had cut any deeper, Danny might’ve needed to do a full emergency reconstruction. 

“I think I can fix this right here.” Danny didn’t look up, reaching between the gap in the chair for his tool box. “You just need to stay very, very… still…” He trailed off as his hand wrapped around what he was looking for. 

There were three things he needed to worry about: the pipe, the voice box, and the surface metal. Danny’s first concern was the pipe. Steam leaked from it slowly but steadily, condensing on the surrounding metal and dripping further into his throat. He needed to take care of it quickly, before it interfered with the other parts. 

“I’m going to need to stop the flow to your head,” Danny mumbled. “I can’t fix this without burning myself otherwise. You okay with that?” His eyes darted up to meet Phantom’s.

He couldn’t talk, obviously. With Danny holding his chin, he couldn’t even nod. None of that mattered; Phantom’s eyes sparkled and Danny knew the answer as clearly as if he had spoken. “I trust you.”

Danny nodded, then got to work. 

It was not an easy process by any means. Having an off switch would’ve been far too much of a risk, what with everything he needed to be doing. In fact, Danny didn’t think there was a way to turn Phantom off, not completely. Even disabling a specific part or pipe was very, very difficult, and ideally no one would be able to get close enough to ever begin to figure it out. 

Danny didn’t need to figure it out. He knew exactly what to do, and exactly how to do it, just like he knew every cog, ever gear, every scrap of metal inside Phantom’s body. He’d spent far too much time building him to know anything less. 

A few moments later and Phantom’s head fell limp on Danny’s shoulder, his eyes still glowing faintly, darting around in the sockets. “You’re okay,” Danny whispered, shifting to once again grab Phantom’s face. “I’ve got you.” He held Phantom’s head up, tilting his head up by the chin to give him better access. “I’ll be as quick as possible.”

With the steam out of the way, Danny could make out the exact problems much, much easier. The puncture in the pipe was miniscule, so small that it would’ve been invisible to the untrained eye. Just enough to cause problems, but an easy one to fix. The voice box was in a worse state, but still manageable. The mechanisms that caused it to vibrate had remained undamaged, but was disconnected from the functional speaker. Tricky, but quick. The gash into the metal of the neck was a nonissue - if Danny had a nickel for every time he had to tear through Phantom’s “skin,” he’d be working with fresh, new metal, not scraps, and that wasn’t even considering how often the other automatons punctured it.

“I’m going to need two hands for this,” Danny said. The back of the chair was ever so slightly shorter than Phantom, which was a blessing; Danny settled his head on the back of the chair as delicately as he could. “Is that comfortable?” 

Phantom’s face remained perfectly still, his eyes staring directly into Danny’s, and the gears in his neck whirred. 

Danny shrugged. “Well, I can’t do much else for you, so it’ll have to do.” He grabbed his goggles from the work desk and a soldering iron from his bag. “Don’t try and talk while I’m working, ok? We don’t need both of us hurt.” He leaned towards Phantom’s neck, and started the repair.

There was something oddly comforting about poking around Phantom’s insides. Nostalgic, almost, which was stupid. Danny had only finished building Phantom a few months ago, and it was dumb to be nostalgic from something so recent. It didn’t change the fact that the inner workings of Phantom’s body were familiar, and working on them again - not just surface level repairs, but actually working in him - felt a little bit like returning home.

It made sense, in a way. Danny had spent more hours in the clocktower than he’d spent in his actual house, even before he’d started thinking of it as his workshop. So much of that time, all meticulously measured by the resounding hourly echoes of the bell, was spent working on Phantom - on blueprints and concept sketches, and then individual parts, all long before he’d ever even began to work on the body - of course it would be more familiar than his bedroom at home.

Thinking about it, Danny couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d spent a whole day in his house. It was before his parents started the construction, that was a given. There’s no way Danny would’ve been able to stay overnight with the racket they’d been making, even before they ever finished the first automaton.

He’d thought it was harmless, at first. The first ones had been. A couple of robots with funny shapes whose only real purpose was to prove that they worked, that through science and mechanical work his parents could create life , or at least a semblance of it. It was only after the fourth one that Danny got worried.

It had taken them months to perfect the shell of a kindly old lady, complete with a warm smile and the smallest of hunchbacks. 

“She’s here to help with meals!” his father had said, his arm thrown over the machine’s shoulders. “Make sure that we all stay fed while your mother and I work.”

“We can’t have our kids going hungry, now can we?” His mother smiled at them, and then the two of them had retreated back into the basement, leaving Danny and Jazz with the automaton. 

For an hour it had stood there, perfectly still, smile stretched across the metallic faceplate. The longer Danny stared at it, the further it went from warm to unsettling. When the clock struck noon, it only got worse.

“I-I-I-I-It’s lunch time!” she stuttered to life, wheels below her fake dress spurring her towards the kitchen. “Children need to e-e-e-eat three square meals a day!”

The two of them sat on the couch, watching from a safe distance as she banged around in the kitchen, making a comical amount of noise for the small sandwiches she brought to the table a few minutes later.

If it had ended there, it would’ve been great. If it had ended at the soup she brought out a little while later, that would’ve also been fine. If it had ended at the salad, or the brownies, or the pitcher of lemonade, that would’ve been excessive, but manageable. The problem was that it didn’t end at any of that. It didn’t end until every last possible ingredient in the kitchen had been used up, and even then it was only because Jazz took a bat to the things wheels when it tried to leave the house to get more food.

That was the problem with automatons. They never knew when to quit. They were created with one task in mind, and they would do anything to reach it, over and over and over again. It was only through destruction, when the damage to their physical bodies was too great for them to continue, that they would stop.

Danny’s parents cared about this problem, of course. It was an issue in their process, a barrier between real life and the artificial one they were trying to perfect. They just didn’t care enough not to make more.

It’s why Danny started designing Phantom in the first place; an automaton to make sure that the others don’t go haywire and hurt somebody. An automaton that wouldn’t stop trying to help people until there was no more help left to do. A protector that doesn’t need to worry about the damage the others could do, because he could be fixed. Because Danny could fix him. 

“Done.” 

He removed his goggles, letting them settle around his neck while he inspected the patch. He’d needed to open the gash further to access Phantom’s inner workings, which meant that it couldn’t just be welded shut. The square of scrap metal was a different color than the rest of Phantom’s body, but not noticeably so; at least, Danny hoped not.  

“Go ahead and say something.”

“Testing, testing, one two three.” Phantom’s voice came through clearly, with only the slightest bit of static from the speaker. 

“It sounds good to me. Is it comfortable?”

Phantom hummed. “Much better than before.”

“Yeah, well, a monkey with a brick could’ve made it feel better than before.”

Phantom’s laugh was warm and crackly, as if the speaker couldn’t transmit all of the feeling in it. “You’re selling yourself short again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m going to power your upper motor functions back up, and then I’ll deal with your arm. Sound good?”

“Everything you say sounds good.”

The soft thud of flesh hitting metal resounded as Danny playfully slapped Phantom’s shoulder. “I could just turn you all the way off if you want to be like that.”

“But you won’t.” Phantom couldn’t turn his head to look at Danny, but he could feel the automaton’s burning gaze on him anyway. 

He couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. “But I won’t.”

Phantom’s first move after getting powered on was to roll his head, testing the new metal patch. It held, bending with the rest of Phantom, blending into the fluid motion as if it was skin. “It’s good.”

Danny’s smile widened. “Wonderful. Means I can get started on the bigger problem.” He moved to slide off of Phantom’s lap, only to be met by his metallic arm, holding him in place.

"You can fix it from here, can't you?"

Danny was suddenly struck by the warmth emanating through Phantom's body, the subtle vibration of hidden mechanisms working inside of him, and Phantom's hand, settled in the crook of his hip, holding him firm. He’s sitting in Phantom’s lap. He’s been sitting in Phantom’s lap for the better part of an hour now. 

If Phantom were alive, it would’ve been an incredibly intimate position. But he wasn’t alive. He was an automaton, nothing but metal and steam. It couldn’t be intimate.

So why did Danny suddenly feel so warm?

 "Um. I can?

"Then stay." Phantom lets his grip loosen ever so slightly, but he didn’t pull his arm away. The only movement was to gently rub the small section of skin just under Danny’s shirt. "Please."

It was Danny's turn to burn far, far too hot. “I don’t- I-.” Danny swallowed hard, trying to will away the feeling of Phantom’s fingers on his back. “I don’t know if I can… focus very well. Sitting here.”

Phantom looked up at Danny, staring directly into his eyes. “I have faith in you.”

Danny breathed in the smell of the workshop, letting the piercing scent of metal cut through him. He blocked out the feeling of Phantom’s fingertips on his back, the feeling of his cheeks flushed and red, and the feelings rushing through his head far, far too quickly for him to process. Phantom was hurt. He was hurt and Danny needed to help him before he could deal with…whatever was wrong.

Removing the pipe lodged in Phantom’s arm was a clear step one. Ideally, the job would be as simple as grabbing and pulling, but that would depend on how it was bent, and what exactly it was lodged between. Danny bent to the side, reaching into his toolbox on the floor and ignoring the way that Phantom’s fingers slid further up his back. He tightened his grip around his screwdriver and straightened, then got to work removing the arm plates.

Undoing the screws was easy, repetitive, and time consuming, and Danny couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Something was… off. Not just the weird fluttering in his stomach as Phantom’s hand slowly migrated from his back to his thigh. Something was off about Phantom himself. It was only after Danny had managed to get the first panel unscrewed that he realized what was bothering him.

Phantom wanted something. 

He had wanted things in the past, of course. Upgrades and repairs and disguises and techniques to help him stop the other automatons, or to help repair damage, or a dozen other things. A dozen other things all related to helping . 

That’s why he was created, to help. To help stop the destruction his parent’s experiments wrought, and to help restore what he couldn’t stop, but always to help. As far as Danny had figured, he couldn’t want anything outside of that. 

But here he was. Asking Danny to stay sitting on his lap, even though it would slow the repair. Even though it had nothing to do with a threat. Something was wrong. Or maybe Phantom had a reason for asking, something that made sense within his metallic brain that Danny just couldn’t compute. 

“Tell me about the fight?” That was a safe topic, and Danny could gather information from it. Maybe there was something that happened that caused this weird behavior?

Phantom sighed in a small puff of steam. “Must I? I was savoring the moment.”

Danny’s hands stalled for just a second before continuing their work. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Phantom was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing absentminded circles. “I can if you need me to.”

“I’m more curious about why you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Like I said, I am savoring the moment.” 

Danny turned his eyes to Phantom’s face for a moment, studying it from the corner of his vision. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Phantom was zoned out. That he was telling the truth. But Danny did know better; that shouldn’t be possible.

“Are you okay?”

“Besides the obvious, I assume?”

Danny realized he’d stopped working again, and quickly went back to removing the last arm panel. “Yeah. Besides that.”

“I don’t believe I suffered any other damages.” Phantom frowned ever so slightly. “Have you noticed something I haven’t?”

Danny turned his eyes back to his hands. Should he say anything? Phantom had never lied about his injuries before, and if he said that he didn’t think anything was wrong, he was telling the truth as he knew it. Of course, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t damaged in some way that Phantom didn’t know. If Danny told him, then they could try and figure out what was wrong together. Unless whatever was wrong was messing with his head and had some kind of self preservation built in. 

“You said you wanted me to stay.” He wouldn’t be able to figure out anything if Phantom couldn’t help him, not when so many of these problems lied within internal reasoning. “What purpose does that serve you?”

Phantom tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Does it need to serve a purpose?” 

“Of course it needs to serve a purpose!” The final panel of Phantom’s arm fell to floor with a clatter, punctuating Danny’s statement. “You’re an automaton. Everything needs to serve a purpose. That’s part of what you are, how you work.”

The green glow of Phantom’s eyes burn bright and hot, but Danny did not look away, did not blink in the face of the fire. “Is that truly what you think?”

“I don’t need to think about it, I know it! I know it because I know every inch of you, every cog and gear and piston and screw. I know it just like I know that you’ll be just fine when I do this.” Danny grabbed a hold of the pipe’s top part and pulled, generating a horrible grating metal sound. It finally came out with a pop. “I know you, Phantom. And I know that this isn’t normal, and if something is wrong I can fix it.”

“I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do.” 

“How can you-” Danny was cut off by Phantom leaning forward, metallic lips pressing against his own. 

It was strange. Danny knew these lips, had worked for days and days to sculpt them and make them mobile. Having them pressed against his own, feeling those infinitesimal motions on his skin, the slightest feeling of steam drifting through the space between them? It was something else entirely, something completely foreign and yet so much like home. It was almost instinct to kiss back.

Phantom’s hand, now free from the pipe, raised to the back of Danny’s neck. It made an ugly sound as it moved, slow and sluggish without the final repairs put in place, but neither of them seemed to care right now. When Phantom finally pulled away, Danny was staring at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“I have wanted to do that for as long as I can remember, and I know you didn’t know that.”

Danny blinked slowly, his own hand raising to his lips, his mind lagging behind his body. “I- I don’t.” He swallowed, trying to buy himself a moment to catch up. “How? How are you…?”

Danny trailed off, and Phantom continued. “How am I like this?” Danny nodded. “I have no idea. I just… am.”

“You’ve always been different.” Danny’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t realize… how much.”

“And I never told you.”

“Why not?”

Phantom finally looked away from Danny. “I was worried. That you would deconstruct me. Try and make me more like them.”

Danny grabbed Phantom’s chin, just like he’d done to fix his neck, but now it had a different air to it. More delicate. More human. “I’m not going to do that to you. Not now, not ever.”

Phantom smiled. “Thank you.” A moment of silence, before, “Now what?”

Danny dropped Phantom’s chin to crack his knuckles. “Now I finish fixing your arm.”

“And then?”

“We’ll figure that out then. Hold still, will you?”

“Whatever you need.” Phantom’s smile grew and Danny couldn't help but return it.

[parkvcrs]

Dating Marlon Would Include…

NOTES: if you’re here just to hate on marlon, then just leave. 💀 this clearly wasn’t made for you. anyway, for those who actually like marlon, I hope you all enjoy!

• Marlon is the type of guy to be painstakingly obvious about his feelings — always wanting to be on rotation with you for keeping watch, stammering like there’s no tomorrow, always being close to you so he can keep an eye on you, laughing awkwardly and/or always fidgeting, you get the picture.

- It wasn’t until one night after dinner when Marlon pulled you off to the side to ask you the special question, “Y/n… can we…” he couldn’t finish his sentence because of how nervous he was. You knew what he was trying to ask but you still wanted to hear him say it, so you just looked at him, smiling as Marlon finally mustered up the courage to finish, “Can we be… y’know… boyfriend and girlfriend?”

- You said yes. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fair and good-hearted. Marlon has his faults, sure, but who doesn’t? You accept him.

• You’re his first love

• How does Marlon show affection? A lot of ways! There are times when he won’t be upfront about it. Those times that he argued with you because you were being careless around walkers and almost got bit? It’s because Marlon cares for you and the last thing he wants is for you to get hurt…

• I’m convinced his love language is quality time and/or acts of service

• Because you’re bound to be around Marlon a lot, there is a high chance that you’ll end up being Rosie’s favorite person!

- (Except for Marlon, of course. No one tops him. Or at least in Rosie’s world).

• Marlon’s kisses are gentle and sweet

• I want to say that out of all the Ericson’s boys, Marlon is second when it comes to how lenient he is with PDA, being bested by Louis. It’s not like he has much competition though.

- He’s perfectly fine with kisses on the cheek, hand-holding, things like that. I would say he encourages it, but that’s more Louis’ forte. Marlon is more likely to get shy.

• You no longer have to sleep in your dorm. Instead, you moved yourself to be in Marlon’s room— which is in the old headmaster’s office— which he was elated about.

• He would love Walkman. You find him one on a run and he will marry you on the spot, no joke. I feel like Marlon would be into Metal the most (figures) but Alternative is a nice second.

• Does he get jealous of anybody? Yes… as much as he hates to admit it, there are times Marlon finds himself jealous of Mitch, Omar, and even Louis because he’s scared that he’ll never be good enough for you and that you’re better with someone else, though he wants you to be with him. The same can be said with you getting worked up over Brody but you and Marlon try to communicate about these things as much as possible, so they’re not a problem.

• What helps him calm down? You pull him into a hug, rubbing circles on his back, or running a hand through his hair. <33

• As for your first date, I think Marlon would try his best to be original. Because he wants things to be a bit more private, he’d take you to the shack where the group usually fishes, temporarily making Brody in charge and telling her only to bother you if it’s an emergency. From there, Marlon tried to organize a dinner. Emphasis on try (Omar helped him).

• You both ended up cuddling afterward. Marlon slowly wrapped an arm around you but when it’s time for you to leave— as someone needs you back at the school— Marlon held you for a second longer to kiss you.

[spikezonebby]

Hiii!! Can I request a gn!human reader song fic with the song Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, with Tfp ratchet,

maybe some angst of ratchet realizing how frail his human is, and how he’s going to lose them eventually?

Everywhere, Everything - TFP!Ratchet/Human!GN!Reader

Word count: 1,352

Cybertronian protoform could score and dent, but ultimately all it took was a bit of filler and a bit of sanding to make it look as if nothing had happened. Organic flesh, though? Stitches, antiseptic, and time, then you’re still left with bumps, ridges, and discoloration that would take more pain yet to smooth away.

Ratchet had treated more than a few human wounds. Miko’s scraped knees, asphalt and gravel chunks in Jack’s hands, and the occasional bloody nose from Raf. You, though, could pinpoint the exact moment that the gears really started turning in Ratchet’s processor that things really, REALLY could be worse.

It was when Miko, in all her infinite wisdom, thought it would be fun to make everyone watch one of the Final Destination movies. The amount of car wreckages and graphic, often cartoonishly so, carnage wouldn’t be easy on anyone’s stomach or, uh… Fuel pump, in Bulkhead’s case. You had no idea Cybertronians could vomit but the floor behind the sofa has personal experience. 

Bumblebee tapped out immediately after to ‘go on patrol,’ as Raf had translated. Arcee wasn’t really paying attention and was much more enthralled with watching Jack play with a language app on his phone, occasionally giving him hints and pointers. Miko ended up abandoning her movie to go and wrangle Bulkhead, and of course, Optimus had other things to attend to. Which left just you and Ratchet.

You were going to offer to go do something else with your guardian when the medic’s servo cups around you, scooting you against his thigh. And, well, it’s hard not to feel safe when you’re securely held like the world’s dumbest hamster between two different surfaces of warm living metal. You push yourself up on his thigh, laying yourself as flat against his plating as possible to catch his attention.

“Yes?” He tacks your name onto the end, but his optics are affixed to the screen and his expression has this pinched look of concentration. 

“You okay, doc? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

“What gills are you…” His optics finally flick down to you and it seems he registers the figure of speech. You love it when he gives you that funny, confused and exasperated look. He just looks so cute.

“I’m fine. Just thinking is all.”

Oh, there we go. There’s the dam breaking. You let him know you’re listening by looping your arm around his thumb and coaxing him to curl his digits loosely around you. His expression softens, especially when you press your cheek into the crux of his thumb and forefinger.

“How has your species survived when things like this,” He gestures to the screen with his off hand, “Can happen in the flicker of an optic?”

“The movie? Ratch, a lot of this is highly dramatized and takes astronomical amounts of bad luck.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say we’re brimming with good fortune around here.” Ratchet says with an audible grimace.

“Well,” You wrap your arms around his thumb, then press a kiss to his pad, “I still think I’m one very lucky human.” 

It is then, that you fear, Ratchet was thinking about a little more than just how accident prone humans tend to be. He scoops you up in his servo and holds you to his chest until you’re close enough to his workbench for you to set him down.

Ratchet snorts a chuckle, but he doesn’t seem wholly convinced. His index finger comes around and gently strokes down your back as the medic bot becomes lost in thought once more. The movie ends and everyone who’s left– Just you two plus Arcee and Jack, really– Returns to their stations. Ratchet takes you with him back to the medbay so you can ‘help him test something.’

“M.E.C.H was certifiably insane but they knew what they were lacking.” Ratchet muses, knocking his knuckles against his own chassis, “Humans are soft, squishy, and vulnerable. Of course some kind of armor would be the logical choice. Not certain why your evolution hasn’t started developing something of that sort, you have animals that have done it already.”

“Probably because we’re not animals.” You point out, letting Ratchet go about taking tons and tons of tiny measurements with various rudimentary tools kept in the medbay, “Well, we are but not that kind of animal. And evolution takes millions of years of environmental pressures to stimulate. Instead of getting tougher, humans evolved to be smarter. Don’t have to protect yourself from a situation if you can avoid being in said situation to start with.”

Ratchet actually has to pause in his measuring to give you a long, weary look.

“Okay we you’ve seen evidence of this, Ratch. Example A, Miko and Raf.”

“Alright, alright.” Ratchet sighs, taking a seat at the workbench before you. “You have me there. I’m not giving up so easily though. There has to be something I can do.”

“Babe,” It’s your turn to sigh as you pat your hand against Ratchet’s forearm plating. “You’re like three degrees off of going full Shockwave, I can feel it.”

Ratchet sputters, “I am not! I actually have a medical license!”

“Ratchet,” You say his name as a fond, tired note that you mean with so much love, even if you know he might not listen to you. “Come down here for me, please.”

He’s still just a little offended by the Shockwave comment, but he leans down anyway, resting his weight on his arms so his face is level with you. Immediately you flatten your palms out on the white kibble on his cheeks. He leans into your hands, and you take the opportunity to bump your forehead– Or rather, your entire head– between his red chevron brows.

“Talk to me, doc.” You say, as his optics finally meet your gaze, “Where’s your head at?”

His expression screws up, like a kid that just licked a lemon, but you hold him there and you let him find his words.

“...I can’t be there all the time.” He begins, clipped and shamed. You don’t interrupt him. When he lifts his helm up and away from you, he doesn’t leave you entirely and instead cups you in both of his servos. “I hate the thought that something might happen to you and I won’t be there to save you.”

“Ratchet…”

“And we can’t just lock you up here with us! Primus, the kids need someone looking out for them while the others are off getting the slag beat out of them.”

“Ratch, I’ve been surviving most of my adult life on my own. I’m capable of getting myself out of a scrape.”

“That was before you got pulled into all of this war nonsense! And I wish Optimus would just listen to me when I say you would have been better off if you couldn’t prove we were real and then maybe the ‘Cons couldn’t find you.”

“...But then we wouldn’t be partners.”

Ratchet sighs, optics slipping shut as he tries to compose his thoughts. He shakes his helm.

“And I… I almost hate that thought more than seeing you hurt. Almost.”

You know he means it. You know how much he cares about you and what he’d sacrifice just for your sake. But he’s forgetting one vital thing.

“My feelings matter here too. And I can tell you with absolute certainty… My life is better, richer, with you guys in it.”

You reach up and coax your big medbot back down to you. He obliges, and you happily flatten yourself out against his cheek in a hug.

“I don’t ever wish not to be here, because then I know I’d lose one of the most important things in my life. You guys– Arcee, Bee, Bulk, Smokey, Optimus, you– are my family. And I can’t see myself anywhere but right by your side.”

Ratchet’s vocalizers make this low static rumble as he leans into you, cupping your tiny body against him in his servo.

“Gah, you’re sappy.” Ratchet grumbles, you just laugh.

“I mean it, though.”

“Yeah. I know you do.” 

[notafunkiller]

golden getaway

Summary: Director Bucky and actress reader take some time off and go on vacation, but instead of focusing on the sights, they choose to enjoy each other.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 36), established relationship, teasing (verbal - especially about age: calling him old man and daddy), dirty talk, pet names, fingering, nipples play, clit play, quick sex, no condom (but they are both clean and the reader is on birth control), no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.4K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: This vacation happens in July, so a few months have passed since the first chapter (the premiere was in February).

An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967​ for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

This vacation is a first in many ways for you. You've never been to Italy with your boyfriend before (or anywhere outside the country without your family), especially not on a yacht. And you certainly have never enjoyed the sun and sea like this. You're more of a mountain person, truth be told, but the breeze is so nice, and Bucky always makes sure you're fine: helping you with the sunscreen and getting you back on the deck safely since you're not the best swimmer. And the sight? Absolutely breathtaking, just like the man that almost never leaves your side.

You didn't expect him to be so spontaneous when you first got together, knowing how organized and focused he is when it comes to his job. You saw this when you worked together, but he surprised you with this trip and many other things during the last few months.

“I can’t believe you,” you say when you feel the pat on your ass, despite not being taken aback by his gesture. He never keeps his hands to himself when you’re around. He loves to hold your hand or touch your waist, ass, boobs, or face. Whatever and whenever he can. And even though you’d have thought it would suffocate you before you two got together, it’s actually very enjoyable. Because you also have space, so you’re not suffocating each other at all.

“I missed you.” You feel the words on your skin as Bucky starts kissing you below your ear, making you shiver. 

“I was gone for two minutes, you’re a baby.” To make a short call.

His hands find your waist immediately, and his metal arm feels so good on your skin. You can’t help but close your eyes. It’s cold and comforting at the same time. You’ve never been the type of person who enjoys being out in the sun or tanning, but it’s not bad with him. Bucky makes many things and experiences overall better for you.

“I’m your baby.”

When you feel him prepping small kisses on your shoulder now, you try not to moan. Instead, you let out a fake gagging sound, before complaining. “Ugh, since when are you so clingy? Is it because of your age?”

“Age?” He repeats the word unsure with that low and raspy voice that you love.

But before you can tease him further, you feel his fingers stroking your tummy, and you start screaming with laughter. “Stop, stop. It’s too much.”

You’re almost in tears when he finally puts an end to the tickling torture, turning you around with his hands.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you laugh.” You smile when you feel his lips touch your forehead. “My pretty baby.” Then your nose. “My pretty doll.” And finally, the corner of your mouth, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss him.

He opens his mouth instantly when he feels your hands wrapping around his neck, and your tongues touch. He still tastes like the chocolate ice cream you had a bit ago, and you enjoy it so much.

Breathless, you pull away but don't move, analyzing his face. He is freshly shaved, so you can't see the whites in his beard anymore. Which means you can't use them to tease him. But you can find something else, you smile as you bring your fingers to his chin, stroking.

“Did you think shaving makes you look younger, Mr. Barnes?” You bite your lip not to snort at his expression. You know how affected he is every time you call him that.

The funny thing is that it actually makes him look younger, but he doesn't need that. You love his beard, his wrinkles, and his style. “I should let you know that it doesn't change the fact you're still an old man, who is dating a girl more than a decade younger. Scandalous!”

“Old man…” He whispers to himself before squeezing your ass cheeks twice. “I guess my girl likes that.”

It’s hard to keep still when he touches you like this, but you do your best, moving your hand from his chin to his chest, then to his metal arm. “Hmmm, maybe you should remind your girl all the perks dating an older man has.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, surprised by your change of tone and the obvious meaning of the words. He knows how dirty your mouth can get in bed, but he didn’t expect this, especially now. Good thing his hard-on shows you how he really feels about it when you let your eyes lower on his -now tight- shorts.

“How?”

You don’t answer, instead, you turn around after giving him a sly smile and slowly make your way inside. You know he’s gonna follow you, so you don’t even look back. And in less than thirty seconds -you counted- he’s in front of you, stroking his chin lazily.

“What?”

“I asked a question you deliberately chose not to answer so I could come here, so you tell me.”

You nod your head and without thinking twice, you bring his metal hand right over your covered pussy. “Is what I want clear enough for you now, old man?” And cherry on top, you bring both of your hands to your breasts to show off your hard nipples through your fingers.

He simply moans, incapable of saying anything in return for a while as he keeps staring. And staring. And staring. He wants to lick and bite your boobs so much, but it’s clear you want something else. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” He asks softly as he slips his hand under your bikini. You gasp at the feeling and have to grab him to support yourself when he parts your lips and slides his index finger inside you. Finally!

“Bucky,” you whisper against his shoulder as he starts moving slowly.

“So wet for me. What a little horny girl I have.”

You close your eyes, pressing yourself even more against him. “Faster, baby.”

He nods against your hair and does what you say, but also adds another finger, scissoring them inside you before you can even realize what’s going on. And it’s like you’re on fire all of a sudden. Because it feels so fucking good! Just like your breasts feel against his chest… absolutely heavenly.

“My wet little doll.”

“Mm…” You can barely hear him through the ringing in your ears. His fingers feel amazing even with this pace, but you really need that orgasm faster, so you cry into his shoulder. You don’t know if he can even distinguish what you say, but he gets the point, adding a third finger while bringing his flesh hand right to your clit.

“James, holy shit.” Your legs feel weak and your sight gets blurry as he slides his fingers faster while circling your clit. The contrast between the coldness and warmth of his hands… and the wet sounds, plus his whimpers drive you crazy. So crazy that you come without warning, biting into his shoulder pretty hard as you feel the pleasure getting even more intense. He hisses in pain, but also bliss because he actually enjoys it when you get so feral.

It takes you a few seconds to finally be able to pull away from Bucky. You watch him with your eyes semi-open as he brings his hands, one at a time, to his mouth and licks all the wetness, and comes without looking away from you. 

You groan. “I need to call you old man often if I get this.”

But he doesn’t like this based on his frown. “Doll, you don’t need to call me old man to get this. Do I not make you come enough?”

You snort. Not enough? You’ve never thought you can come so hard and so many times before you got together. You didn’t go past three orgasms when you masturbated, not even with your favorite vibrator. So it’s a little funny he thinks this is not enough, but you ignore it. “Daddy then?”

He chokes. “What?”

“Should I call you daddy?” You expect him to laugh or frown, but he’s pretty speechless. And when your eyes stop on his shorts again, you gasp. He’s even more aroused… “Oh my god, James, you’re so hard.”

“It’s not my fault,” he says immediately, and you don’t remember the last time you saw him so red and flustered. By a word you said. “You make everything, even that, sound hot.”

“I don’t blame you, daddy.” You smile at him, grabbing his metal hand. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, now come with me.”

You don't drag him to the bedroom as he expects. The coach is just as fine at the moment, no need for something else. Especially when you want him so badly.

You let go of his hand just to try and take off your bathing suit. You could just pull the bikini aside, but he loves your breasts and you prefer skin-to-skin contact. You love feeling him.

“Baby?” He asks when he hears you cursing the knot he made under your breath. The bottoms were so easy to take off, but you can't manage to undo your top at all.

“Can you help me, please?” You ask when your arms start to feel numb. He smirks as he unties and takes off your bikini top in seconds, using only one hand. You shiver when you feel him placing a light kiss on your shoulder before returning in front of you.

“All done, doll.”

You roll your eyes at his smug expression. He can do better things with that mouth.

But you don’t say anything, only staring at his face, then down at his trunks, so he immediately gets the idea. You smile when you see his shorts on the floor, then point to the couch behind you. “Good boy, now sit there.”

“Why?” He plays dumb because he knows how much you enjoy it.

“Because I want to make myself come with your cock. Is this what you wanted to hear?” You fight the shyness you usually feel to say these words out loud. You’re well aware he loves it when you speak like this and how crazy it drives him. “That I want to use you to get myself off and if you’re good, I would let you come inside me?” You can’t stop your cheeks from getting red, though, but he doesn’t make any remark regarding that. Instead, he lifts his eyes from your breasts to your face and nods, following your order quickly.

The moment he spreads his legs, you bite your lip. You feel physically unable to look away from his hard-on as you climb his thighs, one leg after another. You’re so wet you can’t believe it…  If you sat on him all the way down, he’d probably get just as wet.

“Want you to use me,” he barely whispers, bringing his dick to your entrance while gripping your right hip with his metal hand. You tilt your head back instinctively and begin to lower yourself on his cock. Little by little.

“Bucky.”

His fingers are on your breast all of a sudden, deliberately avoiding your nipple as he fondles it. You moan, a little sweaty and needy, enjoying every touch, but he makes no sound. And you know he is holding back on purpose. To challenge you.

And you never back off from a challenge. Especially an easy one like this because you know what to do.

Taking more of him inside you steals a whimper out of him instantly. Not a moan, but it still gives you immense satisfaction. You basically won with no effort, and he knows it. He probably wanted it this way.

“Fuck me, baby.” You hear his voice right above your ear. It’s so raspy and low. “Take what you want, I’m here for you.”

You know this isn’t gonna last long, and you don’t need it to because you’re so wet and close already. And so is he. You’ve been teasing each other all morning.

When you start moving faster, you find yourself using his shoulders as support. And it’s perfect! The thrusts are better like this since you can use more strength, and he helps a lot.

You're breathless when his metal fingers find their way to your clit, repeatedly circling and pinching it just the way you always like it. “James…” You can’t even continue because you're suddenly hit by a wave of pleasure. Then another. Then another.

He has to start thrusting back since you're so lost in your orgasm you can barely move at all, your head falling into the crook of his neck. But just for a couple of seconds since your moans and the feel of you push him over the edge quickly.

“B-baby,” he groans, still touching your clit, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. You’re not very sensitive, and he’s in his own universe right now.

“You fill me up so good, bubba.” You manage to say between deep breaths, encouraging him to keep coming.

When he finishes, his hands drop on your ass, squeezing it gently. “Fuck, baby. This was amazing.”

You nod a little sleepy against his chest and leave a kiss right there. “Ihm, it was. Maybe I should change your name.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s frowning, confused. “What?”

“You know… since you don’t like old man that much, maybe I should have you as my daddy.”

“Doll.” You snort at the tone he uses and raise your head to look at him while he wraps his arms around your waist.

“I meant on my phone, silly.”

His mouth opens. “You have me as ‘old man’ on your phone?!”

You bite your lip not to laugh and decide to peck his cheek. “Can you bring me some water, daddy?” You emphasize the last word just to tease him. His expressions are too funny, how can you not?

“Doll, I swear-”

You burst into giggles. “See? Totally an old man… can’t sense a joke.”

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] Eren comes home after a rough night at the bar with Jean. Unable to see him in such a state you decide to tend to his wounds… among other things… I'm talking about his dick. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, minor injuries, blood, marijuana, alcohol is mentioned, dubcon (Eren's high), biting, sadism, masochism, rough vaginal sex, no plot.

“So what exactly happened?” You asked as Eren trudged through the door of your apartment.

He hung his head, attempting to obscure his battered face. The lengthy sigh he let out filled the room with his exhaustion. You took a few steps closer to him while he dropped his keys on the floor. The metal colliding with the tile flooring destroyed any semblance of serenity once held in your home. You pulled him into a hug and he let out a pleased hum. His arms snaked around your waist and he held you close. The remnants of weed smoke and vetiver cologne filled your nose.

“Jean…” He said, tone dripping with subdued exasperation.

“What did he do?” You asked.

It was so hard to hide your desperate curiosity. You loved hearing about the inner workings of his social circle.

“He was mainlining adios motherfuckers all night.”

“What did he do? Black out and kick your ass?”

Eren chuckled. “You honestly think Jean could kick my ass?”

“Maybe. Jean does look like the kind of guy to hulk out when he drinks.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

You rubbed his back, each pat radiating affection.

“I’m kidding. Jean could never kick your ass.”

“He could, but it’s fine.” Eren dropped his arms and released you from his grip. “Can I tell you about it while you clean me up?”

You were finally granted a full view of his face. His right cheek was a strawberry scrape and showed the beginnings of a bruise. His bottom lip was split. The blood exuded from the cut had dried, leaving behind a swatch of maroon. What stood out the most was the fresh blood dripping from his right nostril. You took him by the hand and led him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and held his head in his hands, obscuring his face once more.

“Here,” you said, handing him a tissue.

He rolled it up and stuck it up his leaking nose.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying in vain to wriggle out of his pants.

You had little desire to see your beloved struggle. You kneeled before him and tugged at the jeans, peeling them off. A happy “phew” flew past his bloodied lip.

You grabbed all your first aid supplies and organized them on the ridge of the sink.

“Gimme the details.”

Eren sighed. “Jean decided to hit on every girl at the bar.”

You prepped a cotton ball with alcohol. “Every girl?”

“Maybe not every single girl, but he hit on every girl that had the shit luck of making eye contact with him.”

“Oh no. He was that guy.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “The last one he bothered was with her boyfriend on a date. I tried to tell him! But he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced it was because I wanted to fuck her. I even brought you up!”

“Aww!”

Eren ignored your little remark.

“Fuck. And you know what,” he said, tone bristling with repressed rage. “I wasn’t gonna say anything because Jean was drunk and I don’t even care about what that horsefaced shitdick thinks. But fuck it! He thinks you’re too good for me! Did you know that?”

You swiped his cheek with the cotton pad. A little squeak crawled up Eren’s throat as the alcohol came into contact with his scrape.

“Sorry,” you said softly.”

He looked at you with sad, tired puppy dog eyes, red rimmed from the blunt he shared with Historia and Ymir earlier in the evening.

“‘s okay,’ he mumbled.

His posture grew rounder, softer. A chiropractor would likely have a shit fit had they seen such a shoulder slump but not you. No, even with the little info available you were able to surmise Eren’s immense need to decompress. Why pick on him about his posture when he was already battered and bruised?

You suppressed the urge to tease him and crawled into his lap, straddling him. His Grecian body radiated a pleasant warmth. It felt like home. You brushed a few locks of hair away from his face and gave him a quick peck on the forehead.

“I actually wasn’t aware of that. You know why?” You asked.

“Hm?”

“Because it’s not true. I’m definitely shitty enough to be with you.”

“You have such a way with words,” he groaned as you tended to him. “Anyway, the girl’s boyfriend was pissed to say the least and tried to drag Jean outside the bar by his collar. It all happened so fast I—ouch! If I had been a little quicker…” Eren’s voice trailed off.

His viridescent eyes were pinched shut as you dabbed his face with another cotton ball imbibed with alcohol. Your touch, while gentle, felt like hundreds of needles pricking the apple of his cheek. It was a pain you were familiar with. You tried to be gentle yet thorough. Though each muted moan and wince from Eren made your clit pulse.

“Did the guy fight Jean?”

“He tried. But I got in between them. I thought I talked everyone down but out of nowhere the boyfriend must have heard a sleeper word because he ran at me and punched me in the face twice. The last one sent me into the wall which is why my cheek is all scratched up.”

“What a loser. Did you hit him back?”

Eren half-smirked. “No. Too high for that shit. I was more concerned about not breaking my phone and getting home in one piece. When I saw an out, I took off running.”

“Nooooo. What about Jean?”

The brunette giggled. “Just kidding. I took his phone and got him a Lyft. I did have to push him inside it, but I’m sure everything worked out.”

You couldn’t help but think about Jean fighting his way out of the car in desperate search for unsuspecting women to hit on. You snickered at the thought. Eren placed his hands on the small of your back.

“What’re you laughin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you said, rocking your hips slightly.

His green gaze was penetrating. Even the haze of weed and head trauma couldn’t dull it. Eren’s desire took precedence over all. It was an unrelenting force. You stroked his uninjured cheek.

“Does it hurt? Does it ache at all?”

“Yeah, but I think I know what will make it feel better.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what exactly would that be?”

Eren pressed his semi hard cock against your clothed cunt. He rocked his hips a little, eyes fixed on you, awaiting your reaction. You put your hands on his shoulders and slowly dragged them down his chest, his muscles taut against your palms. You smirked, reciprocated the pressure he provided by grinding up against him.

You pressed your lips against his and sucked lightly on his swollen bottom lip. The metallic taste of blood linger on your tongue as Eren let out a pained groan. He pulled away, betrayal fell upon his face.

“Sorry,” you demurred. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Alright, enough of that. Get up.”

You slid off of his body. He stood up and tossed you over his shoulder with a swiftness you didn’t think his stoned self was capable of. He carried you to the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed.

“Undress.”

You laid there, unmoving.

Eren sighed. “Undress… please?”

“‘kay.”

You eagerly stripped off your clothes and presented your naked body to him. He followed your lead and disrobed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

He crawled onto the bed, his ardor riddled gaze fixed on yours. His cock was tumescent, the tip pink and leaking precum. You longed to tongue the tip and savor the sweetness seeping out. He wrapped his hand around the length of his erection and stroked, leaving it slick and glistening.

You spread your legs and draped your arms over his shoulders and ran your hands down his muscled back, dragging your nails along the way. A pained groan fell from his lips. Your hands stopped on the apex of his ass and dug your fingertips into the delicate flesh.

“Too much?” You whispered in his ear.

“It’s fine,” he replied through a clenched jaw.

You gripped his cheeks harder as he slid his cock into your cunt. Eren’s hunger for pain embedded ecstasy into your existence. His hands roamed your body before one found its way to your swollen clit. His thumb encircled it, applying a hint of pressure as he drove his cock further inside you.

The muscles of Eren’s ass tightened as he bottomed out, his balls slapping up against your writhing body. Your fingers dug deeper into his skin, relishing in every groan that grew from the depths of his throat.

“Does it hurt?”

“Ye—yeah it does.”

“Good,” you growled. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You nipped at his neck and ran your tongue along the length of it. The piquant taste of his sweat dancing across your tastebuds. You wanted to lick him clean, get rid of all the sweat, blood, and stress that afflicted his evening. Eren deserved to be worshiped after the fuckery he waded through… Though he’d have to suffer a bit more.

“Shit!” He cried out as you proceeded to bite him.

Your eyes held an impish glint as he pushed your face away from him. He held you down by the shoulders and thrust into you like you were nothing more than a nameless hole. You missed having his thumb pressing on your clit, but this was nothing to complain about. You were on the verge of coming undone regardless.

“‘Ren—fuck—I’m close.”

Eren was silent, too focused on his cock touching your cervix to respond. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him gently. He welcomed the tenderness even if it took him by surprise. His hips skipped a beat and a trickle of cum entered your cunt. It felt as if the warmth was traveling through your veins, engulfing every inch of your body. Your breathing labored and you struggled to articulate your needs. You wanted to tell Eren how good his cock felt inside you, how happy you were that he was okay, and how badly you wanted to suck on his split lip.

You cried out his name as he pounded his cock into you, the tip now slamming into your cervix. Your body quivered under the weight of his and you felt as if you were ascending.

Eren held you close as your orgasm peaked, whispering the sweetest of words within your ears.

“That feel good, baby? You deserve it after taking such good care of me.”

“E—even though I made you blee—”

A breathy moan interrupted your sentence much to Eren’s enjoyment. He laughed and pulled his cock out, jerking off and aiming his tip at your stomach. He shut his eyes tight as a stream of pearlescent cum coated your skin. He hopped off the bed and grabbed the shirt he had been wearing previously. He wiped away his mess and gazed lovingly at you.

“I could use a shower. Join me?”

“Y—”

He cut you off. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Why ask me then?”

“... Due diligence?”

“I—I don’t think that’s what that means but… alright.”

[jwillbiteyourfingersoff]

Ch.2 : Understanding You

Whats a sheltered vault dweller to do when their kicked from their home? How should they feel? What crushing pain and greif must they feel? More importantly, how do those damn arm-thingys work?

Norm Maclean/Gn!Surface!Reader

Ch: 1

This vaulty is… something else. Hes quiet, reserved, and just generally uninterested in talking with or interacting with me. Hes been feverishly organizing and reorganizing his bag for the few hours we've spent in the same building, only stopping to pace and stare at his arm-thingy. Speaking of…

“Whats that thing on your arm?” I ask, languidly laying on the palette in the corner. His head swivels over to me, my voice breaking relative silence aside from the whistling of the wind. He looks down at his arm-thingy again, looking back over at me blankly for a moment before his brain stops loading.

“My… my pip boy?” He points to it on his arm, the chunky metal device snuggly fit to his wrist. The soft green glow illuminating the bottom of his face.

“Yeah, yeah, pip-thingy.” I wave my hand around in the air before pointing at it myself. “Whats it do?” I ask with genuine curiosity, never having encountered a vault dweller before. They were rare to see on the surface, often shunned or killed for the unique things they carried. I was quite honestly surprised he hadn't been killed yet. He hesitates for a moment, scanning me up and down before walking over to me and sitting down next to me.

“It… it does a lot of stuff.” He angles his pip-boy towards me. “You have a couple buttons, a few knobs…” He scrolls through a couple screens before one catches my eye.

“Wait, whats that special thing?” I poke his arm a couple times to get him to stop scrolling and scroll back.

“Oh uh…” He thinks for a moment “Its like… my ability report. Each letter stands for an ability or trait, like intelligence.” he points at the big I that has an 8 in its column. “It has an eight, which means I’m ranked an eight out of ten on intelligence in my vault. We get our rating based on a menagerie of tests we do every year or so.” He looks over his other scores, flipping past every letter. 

“Soooo, what I’m getting from your little screen is,” I wave my hands expressively around before standing up, bending back down a few inches from his face to make eye contact. “You're a smartass.”

He chuckles, a first for the entire time we've been sitting here together, and rolls his eyes. “You could say that, I suppose…”  He scootches back, getting up and looking down at me as he studies my face, then back down at his pip-boy. “I don't know why I still have it at this point.” He walks past me, his face dropping from the playful smirk he had on before back to the blank stare hes had most of the time we’ve been sitting together. “It shouldn’t really belong to me anymore, I’m not really a vault dweller at this point.” My head tilts to the side, one of my eyebrows shooting up in question.

“You’re wearing the vaulty uniform and got the vaulty tech, why wouldn’t you be a vaulty?” I roll my eyes at him, clearly not buying into what I’ve assumed is an over dramatization. He sighs, staring at me for a moment, opening and closing his mouth periodically seemingly trying to think of a retort. He can't. We revert back down into silence again, this time though, he's not pacing. He stares off into the wall in front of him. I start to feel… bad. We had been bantering before and I knew vaultys could be sensitive but this felt different than someone getting their hackles up over nothing. 

“Ya know,” I begin speaking, digging an arm into my bag and rooting around, “I’m technically not supposed to have these guns or this radway, but I stole it from my old guild.” I pull out two good quality blasters and a good ten radway packs from my bag, smiling lazily at him. He gawks at me for a second before shaking his head and getting a bit aggravated.

“Why are you telling me? Is this a threat or some kind of weird flex?” He yells at me, irritated and realizing my mistake I put that things back in my bag before I respond. He looks genuinely hurt, like I’d struck a fresh nerve.

“Look, I’m not trying to flex on you.” I crawl over to him across the ground, sitting cross legged a few feet across from him. “I wanted to show you that… well I guess, I’m not judging you.” I lean back on my hands, keeping eye contact. “Whatever you did, or whatever they did, or whatever happened regardless, I get getting kicked from a community you thought you could be a part of.” He stares into my eyes for, his blank expression felt like it burned and my face turned red in embarrassment. Had I said something wrong or ignorant? Shit, that was not my intention at all.

“Ok.” He finally responds. With the simple reply, he lays down, turning away from me in a ‘this conversation is over’ kind of way. For the first time in a while, I feel a bit of genuine dejection. I mean weren't vaultys supposed to be all welcoming and sweet? Naive and kind beyond any logical reasoning? What did I do to make this dweller so mad at me? The thoughts spun in my head as I layed down across the room, taking one last look at the back of his head before closing my eyes for another night of restless sleep.

So sorry on the long wait! Schools almost to an end for me (I got less than a month) so you can imagine the work I've been having to do. Anyways, I'm happy to continue this series considering how well it was received! Thanks to everyone who left notes on chapter one, yall were the serotonin boost I needed :3

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 1

series intro here, or read chapter 2

characters: reiner x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader.

notes: this is an 18+ series, please don’t interact if you’re a minor! reader is referred to with she/they pronouns.

content warnings: explicit smut, fingering, reiner eating pussy like a god!!, alcohol consumption, degradation, mild slut shaming (?), mentions of marijuana at the end

“Has he always been a bitch?” You question Marco, inhaling bites of your ramen. He shrugs, “We’ve both been on the team since freshman year and I’ve never had a problem with him. Maybe you’re the problem?” He meets with dead silence as you stare up at him from your bowl.

“Funny, Bott. I’m just not looking forward to spending so much time with him, if he behaves like that, anyway.” Exasperation visible, you slump in your chair to think. “It’s not like he’s on the sidelines. He’s the damn captain, which means I have to talk to him a lot.”

Marco shrugs. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s not that bad. Just try to be nice to him, please. Eren won’t get any nicer if you’re mean. Plus,” He stops to take a bite of his food, “we don’t have the time for fighting. We’re expected to go to nationals this year, and that’s not happening if you two scare each other off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Bott. I’ll see you at practice later.” Uncrossing your arms and brushing off your legs as you get up from your seat. Okay, sure, Eren has yet to be anything except slightly dismissive and maybe just a little shit. He hasn’t actually done anything to you. You toss your bag over your shoulder before thanking Marco for the meal and dismissing yourself.

As the time for practice draws closer, you collect your thoughts as you stand outside the cold metal doors of the university’s second largest gym. Sure, you went to a school notorious for its D-1 volleyball, but the gym’s size was excessive. The high rise bleachers felt as if they would swallow you alive and the walls would collapse in. They had before. You remember the bile pool in your throat as the sports cameras flashes ate at your failure and spat you back out. Like a gazelle running from its predator, your body craves to run away from the glorified arena ahead of you.

“The fuck are you standing in the doorway for? Are you going in, or what?” Is it wrong to want to choose violence? Couldn’t he just say excuse me or ask if something’s wrong like a normal person?

Ugh, you should choose peace and not mess up a good opportunity. Just think about the money and all the nice things you can buy.

“I’m obviously just trying to get in your way.” You push the door open and walk into the gymnasium, not bothering with holding it open for Eren. In fact– hopefully it hits him! 

You hear the door fly open again behind you and a bag hits the ground with a loud thud. Eyes landing on the congregation of men in jerseys surrounding a smaller man, you beeline over to them. As you near, the smaller man, who you assume to be Coach Levi, locks his gaze with you. Is he… angry? Concerned? It’s impossible to determine what he’s thinking as he continues to stare.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Your jaw drops. You’ve met more people in your life than you can count and never did a single person start a conversation in such a way.

“Not as far as I’m aware of…?”

“Okay, if you do what Hanna did, I will rip that baby out of your-”

A blond kid speaks up, “Um, Coach, you probably shouldn’t be threatening them on the first day. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to do that when we really need someone to organize our itinerary and keep practice stats. We’re nothing if we don’t have those numbers.”

“Fine, Arlelt. You and Braun stay here, explain how game statistics work and start having her do one-on-ones after. Performance evaluations for all of you.” You watch as Coach Levi’s eyes hover over Eren, who looks less than pleased. You’re not sure what’s going on there, but also can’t bring yourself to care. “Rest of you can go practice.”

As you glance over at the two boys who stayed, it throws you off that you’ve seen both of them before. The little blond one, you’re pretty sure his name is Armin. You’ve seen him walking around with Eren before, but he always looked so out of place in how gentle he is. You’re pretty sure you watched him bump into a trash can and apologize.

The other, however, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man with such a commanding presence. He’s well-built. You’re pretty sure even a Greek god couldn’t hold up in comparison. You scoff internally, ‘it’s always the fucking volleyball players.’ But there’s something that lingers on your tongue, a conversation revolving around him. Then it hits you, Petra’s gossipped about him before!

“There are some really cute guys on our volleyball team. Did you know that?”

“Not this again, Petra. We’re supposed to be doing our biology homework.”

“Bitch, please. Let me speak. Anyway, there’s this guy on the team, his name is Reiner and oh my god- that is one fine ass man. He’s built like a tank engine. Not only that,” she says, a little giggle follows. “I’ve only heard this from two girls. He says he doesn’t like to hook up a lot, but his head game is insane. Like cum in a minute insane.” 

You stare, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Petra.”

“I don’t know! Hook up with him yourself and you can give me all the juicy details afterwards.” You can only sigh in response, disturbed by your best friend’s inability to study.

But, here he was in the flesh, all 6’2 farmers tan of him. You couldn’t possibly do something so scandalous on your first day, could you? You shake the thought out of your mind as Armin talks.

“Volleyball stats are relatively easy to get the hang of. You just need to watch pretty closely. Even if you do miss something, we record them and you’ll go back through with Eren to make sure everything is recorded properly. Then, you’ll want to convert the numbers of each hit, serve, and pass into percentages compared to how many times it occurred per set.”

Reiner laughs, just a small one, but lord it’s like music to your ears. “Armin, you’re dumping too much info on them at once. It’d probably just be best to just show them the ropes visually and they can go from there. C’mon, let’s have coach set up the camera and record the three-on-three’s that they’re doing now.  We’ll watch the game, I’ll have you watch me record it, and then we’ll go back over it while watching the tape later.”

You nod, feeling just a hint of warmth across your face. Is this even possible, to have a school-girl crush in university? Those days were supposed to be behind you, but you can’t help but have the smallest bit of a smile as you follow him and Armin to speak with Coach Levi.

As you watch Reiner and Armin record the stats, your mind spins with utter confusion. You’re beyond lost, unsure how they’re even keeping up with the sheer amount of movement the players are doing. Dig? Write it down. Set? Write it down. You want to groan, or maybe even just go get dinner as you feel your stomach rumble.

As practice wraps up, your stomach rumbles in pain once again as it craves its next coddling. Reiner glances over from where you two stand, finishing up showing Coach Levi the statistics and getting a dismissive, “make sure it’s right,” instead of an appreciative response. He smiles at you, looking down.

“Gettin’ hungry?” He asks.

“Beyond hungry,” you say, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m being tortured. I haven’t eaten since noon. It’s 7 now! It’s criminal that you guys would starve me for so long.” You tease Reiner. He only responds by glancing at the gym door where most of the boys say their goodbyes before tapping out for the night.

“Y’know, I’ve heard I make a mean rice bowl.” 

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow him back to his dorm room as practice winds down. Upon sitting across from each other at his make-shift dinner table, you learn Reiner is one of the middle blockers, coming at no surprise to you when taking in consideration to his stature. Although, you also learn he was from the countryside and this scholarship was his way out.

“Y’know, I always kinda dreamt of moving to the big city and being able to do what I love. But it’s crazy, man, I still can’t believe I’m here sometimes playing for the top university on the island.” 

Hearing the passion in his voice, you question if it’s right for you to intrude as a manager. Is it okay for you to be in charge of the livelihood of the men who’ve come so far and done so much for their passion? The men who could very well play on Paradis’ Olympic Team in the future? The concern is quickly shoved into your mental locker to be returned to as Reiner asks about watching a movie over some post-dinner snacks and beer. A much needed chance to relax after endless studying, you agree chipperly and move over to his plush couch.

As you two get halfway through Inglourious Basterds, you feel his arm wrap around you and his head turn in your direction. The alcohol running through your system has you heating up just from the skin contact. You blush as Petra’s words return to the forefront of your mind. You turn your head to face him, eyes interlocking with each other. His eyes signal a look of need, not want. You’re not sure if anyone’s ever looked at you like that before. Like a hunter who’ll starve without the meat of the deer he’s trailing.

“You’re so fucking hot” He mutters, you’re surprised a man of his stature can be so quiet. “I don’t think I’ll last with you as our manager.” Reiner closes the gap between the two of you. There’s a slight metallic tinge on his lips, but it’s addicting in the worst of ways and only deepens the experience. You two continue, allowing yourselves to sink into the couch, your body hitting the arm rest. His kiss moves from your lips to your neck, hands beginning to roam until they find purchase underneath your shirt. First, he plays with your bra before making his way under. Reiner moves his lips from your neck gently, almost like he’s scared of making a mistake. He helps you pull your shirt over your head and follows by removing your bra, his delicate touch unhooking the backing.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you coo to him, lust-filled gazes connecting. “Please, I like it a bit rough, I swear.” He groans into the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t say that shit, I might break you.”

You can only laugh at his words, unfazed by the prospect, if not even more turned on by it. 

“Holy shit, please do,”

“In that case,” He says, voice lower as if weighing his options internally. “Don’t blame me if you limp to practice tomorrow.” Reiner helps you remove your pants before his fingers begin to dance over your body again. The touches are soft as they ghost the outline of your skin, your heart beating as you wait for him to soothe the ache between your legs. You attempt to rub them together for a semblance of friction but his arms find their way to keep them split. His gaze shifts up to you, eyes narrow as if disapproving of your behavior. Reiner’s face then begins to move lower, tongue licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh as his fingers begin to dance over your clit. He moves his face over to meet his fingers, tongue flattening against your clit, which draws a moan of approval from you. It seems evident that it spurs him on further as he begins to speed up his tongue, then switching to sucking your bud and having his fingers delve lower to your hole. Reiner holds eye contact with you as he begins to press one of his monstrous fingers inside of you. 

You can only make a noise of approval as he pushes it further in, approving of how well even one of them feels inside. It heightens your pleasure as he thrusts it forward, keeping his tongue dancing and sucking against your clit in a flurry of movements that have you questioning if Reiner is really a man and not a god in disguise. As he pushes a second large finger in, you cry out much louder than you should be in the dorms. You bite down on your lip to withhold any further noises, but Reiner puts a complete pause on what he’s doing.

“Keep moaning, baby. Let them hear how well you’re getting finger-fucked right now. This is what Armin wanted to be doing to you right now, did you know that?” He lets out a deep laugh, lips and face glistening in the dim lighting of his tv. “Bet you’d like that, though, huh?” His fingers move again and you gasp. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it if I bent you over and fingered you from behind to show off the entire team what a good little pocket pussy you are.”

That’s what tipped you over the edge. In fact, it’s probably disrespectful to feminism that you allow yourself to be finger-fucked while getting off to the disgusting words spewing out of the blond’s mouth. But social constructs be damned if this man didn’t stick his dick in you soon. You clench around his fingers as they continue to move, despite your cum gushing over his fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ nasty. But you’re still not ready for me.”

His face returns to its original spot, blowing hot air on it first as you wriggle at the stimulation. Reiner only adds another finger in response, allowing the three large digits to stretch you out before moving them once again. It feels as if you’re melting around his fingers as your back arches to the stretch. Despite slight discomfort, it’s overwhelmingly pleasurable to feel the expertise in his ways.

It’s not long after he adds another finger that you feel the coil in your stomach once again. As his tongue laps at your clit with a technique unknown to you, you’re about to unravel against his touch once again.

“‘M gonna cum,” you pant out desperately.

“Do it, cum on my fuckin’ tongue.” He replies approvingly, allowing you to take the time you need to ride out the rush to your body. For a second, you feel as if you’re floating in the way your back arches off the couch and your head spins in pure ecstasy. You glance over at Reiner, eyes fixated, as he removes his pants and reveals the thing you’ve been so curious to see. It matches his stature in almost every way, which makes you cringe at the thought of him fitting it in.

“You said you like it rough?” It’s a trap, that much you’re sure of. You glance back down to examine how large he is before you reconfirm, but before you know it, the condom has slipped on and he’s making his way back to you. He asserts his way on top, arms on either side of your head as he leans in to give you a quick kiss. It catches you a bit off guard, the earlier metallic taste has changed into the taste of your own cum and there’s a slight wince as you taste it. You can’t tell if this man is slightly depraved or hot as hell.

“I asked you a question. It’s not nice to ignore me.” 

A loud smack to your clit resounds as you let out a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. It’s slightly pathetic, how you’re behaving for this man, but god be damned if anything were to impede your moment. 

He only grunts in response, lining himself up with your entrance. As he sinks in, you bite your lip to fight the stretch. You attempt to lie back and relax in his touch to allow him in, but he’s just so large. Reiner bottoms out, tip just ghosting against your cervix. He only grants you a few moments to adjust to his size before he’s pounding into you, your cries of pleasure nothing but music to his ears. The tip kissing your cervix is making your brain fuzz beyond anything you’ve felt before, and your walls hug him in intoxicating ways. Reiner grips both of your legs, bringing them onto his shoulders to push in further which earns you a grunt of approval from the larger man. 

He fucks you like he hates you. Every so often, his head falls back, and he lets out grunts of pleasure. His body moves like an artist painting their long-lost lover from only a distant memory, hips ferocious in their assault of your cunt. Reiner flips you over onto your hands and knees after an indiscernible amount of time, your sweat-covered body cringing at the chilly breeze it causes. His pace is still unrelenting from the back, cock feeling as if it’s touching every inch it can inside of you.

“Holy shit,” He cries out. “I’m gonna cum. I wish I could cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

Without another word, except for your moan of approval, Reiner finishes and delicately slides out of you, removing the condom and disposing of it. He arrives back a couple minutes later, towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“So, round two?”

“I’m pretty sure you started my period just now.”

[imitationgame77]

Murderbot and ART reading each other's mind

Murderbot claims that ART does not read its mind – that it really knows Murderbot well. But sometimes, it DOES appear as though ART is reading Murderbot’s mind. As if its inner thoughts are leaking into its private feed where ART is sitting and watching.

Here are some examples:

[Quote]

I hate it when ART is right. “I can’t do anything about that.”

You can’t alter your configuration.

I could see the skepticism through the feed. “No, I can’t. Look up the specs on SecUnits.”

SecUnits are never altered. Skepticism intensifying. (Artificial Condition, p.42).

[Comment]

How can see the skepticism through the feed, unless they know each other very well? Murderbot has observed and calibrated ART’s various responses through the hours of joint media viewing, and can now interpret subtle changes in the feed. Basically reading ART.

[Quote]

Its arms were bare, and there was no metal showing and no gun ports. This was not a SecUnit.

I was looking at a sexbot.

That is not the official designation, ART said.

The official designation is ComfortUnit but everybody knows what that means. (Artificial Condition, pp.89-90).

[Comment]

I mean, how can ART tell that Murderbot is looking at a ComfortUnit, thinking of it as a sexbot, without reading its mind?

[Quote]

Without drones, I couldn’t see what it was doing. ART had switched over to Iris’s feed, using her enviro suit camera, and the resolution at this distance wasn’t good. ART needed a field equipment upgrade. Wait, a human would look at it, right?

ART said, Look at it. It’s obvious you’re avoiding it.

Maybe I’m a nervous human who’s afraid of bots, I told ART, but I looked at it anyway. (System Collapse, p.13)

[Comment]

By the beginning of System Collapse, ART is practically always in Murderbot’s head in order to monitor its stats. Murderbot also has the constant awareness of ART’s activities, because of their practically wall-free intimacy. ART can probably hear anything Murderbot is thinking in language (human or machine language) unless Murderbot tries very hard to think privately.

In this scene, it is also sweet that Murderbot does as told by ART, because even though it hates when ART is right, it knows when ART is right (which is always).

[Quote]

(Obviously this is not actually what I’m upset about, it’s just easier to be angry about B-E Unit1’s fuckup and/or disregard for minimum client safety.)

Safer to be angry about it, ART said on our private connection. (System Collapse, p.15)

[Comment]

It really is literally reading Murderbot’s thoughts.

[Quote]

I should have paid more attention. I’d fucked that up, too.

We both fucked that up, ART-drone said. No, it doesn’t read my mind, it just knows me really well. I should have banned refreshment items containing stimulants earlier in the day. (System Collapse, p.133)

[Comment]

Even if ART isn’t reading Murderbot’s mind (which I think it is), ART’s choice of expression is also spot-on.

[Quote]

On our private channel, I asked ART-drone, Is it one of ours?

There’s a 66 percent chance, ART-drone replied. If after our first message they decided to send assistance, they could have met the second pathfinder en route and received the map coordinates that would allow them to locate our exact position.

[…]

Sometimes the thing where it’s like ART reads my mind goes both ways. I said, But you don’t think it is.

No. (System Collapse, pp.191-192).

[Comment]

Murderbot says “it’s like ART reads my mind goes both ways” – even if it is not literally reading its mind, they are so attuned to each other’s processing patterns, that by noting spikes in the feed activities, they can read each other.

For more thorough analysis of implicit communications between Murderbot and ART, I wrote this piece on AO3:

[sh1-n0bu]

I saw your open to requests/asks so I figured I'd give this thought to you but like calling Scaramouche doll I think it would be interesting seeing how he's a puppet

✿ 𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙘𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙮... ✿

characters: scaramouche x nb!reader

warnings: spoilers to wanderer’s backstory and genshin lore up to 3.4, angst, mentions of blood and body torture, dottore, fluff, reverse comfort

notes: interesting thought actually anon! i’ve seen a few smuts where scara likes being called “doll” and i thought why not try writing for an sfw fic?

wanderer hates being reminded of his true origin and “birth”. even though it has been a good year since his erasing of his past selves from the irmunsul and the abandonment of the fatui, he still hates every single thing that reminds him of his past.

the slightest bit of cold metal touching his fair skin reminding him of the times he spent on dottore’s lab table. crying, writhing, struggling against the chains holding his limbs down as the heartless doctor continues his “experiments”. the slightest bits of cold metal on his skin reminding of how the second harbinger would cut away at his skin, hums and mumbles of sadistic fascination tumbling out of his mouth as he cuts off his skin, opening his chest, digging through his organs as the poor puppet cries, feeling every little cut, every little organ removal, everything.

wanderer hates physical contact because the only ones he ever received were followed by pain. whether it be during sparring against fellow harbingers, a fight against his ambushers or a new “experiment” on the doctor’s lab table.

but he finds himself starting to enjoy physical touches. when you jump behind him to surprise hug him, cuddle his smaller frame against yourself while whining about how much you’ve missed him, how much you feel neglected because he didn’t give his usual good morning kisses - he can’t help but laugh at that.

you? the most spoiled lover in whole of sumeru, no scratch that, in entirety of teyvat? uh huh sure.

wanderer finds himself craving physical touches. jumping into your arms, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt as he covers his flushed face with his hat, a small, quiet “…hug?” escaping his mouth.

he finds himself unable to sleep at night as he tosses and turns. the bed feeling too cold, too big, a bit too empty without you to lay beside him. therefore choosing to use your pillow as a makeshift ‘you’ to cuddle through the night.

the fair man finds himself sewing a small doll - similar to his own one - during the time you’re away on a business trip. “mini [name]” he names it with a proud smile as he makes the two small dolls hug each other, placing them together in a cuddling position as he sews a mini blanket to cover them, sometimes even making them kiss as he lets out the most obnoxious, loudest “mwah! mwah!” noises.

however more than those, the puppet finds himself longing to hear you call him sweet nicknames again. the tender tone of voice, soft butterfly kisses, the teasing smile you gives him as your eyes crinkles upwards - he craves it all.

“honey, i’m home!” snapping him out of his affection craving daydreams, wanderer hears your voice call out to him from the front door. the jingles of your keys, the rustling of your clothes all sounding familiar - a warm, heart fluttering routine.

walking up to tackle you in a hug, wanderer smiles as he hears your laughter - however it was hidden as he nuzzles into your shoulder, inhaling your perfume greedily like a starved man.

“…can you call me that nickname again?” he whispers breathlessly, stomach churning and twisting in an odd feeling - love, you taught him.

“honey?” came back your confused reply as you wrap your arms around him. returning the sweet, hidden affections you two share only behind closed doors.

“not that. you know… that one” looking up at you, he gave a slight huff at your stupidity. lips twitching down in a small pout as his eyes softened, the familiar sweet and innocent face he makes stabbing through your heart with a “cute!” sign.

you pondered for a while. not really remembering which exact nickname he was asking you to call him by as you stared dumb foundedly at your boyfriend. noises of thinking and confusion reverberating from the back of your throat as he patiently waited.

“oh! you meant doll?” an imaginary lightbulb popped on top of your head as you looked down at his shorter frame with a hesitant smile. you always thought he might hate it but turns out it was actually the complete opposite.

eyes crinkling, heartbeat quickening, lips curling up into a soft smile was your lover’s reply. ah… he loves it when you call him goo-y nicknames like that. your tone sounding gentle, loving, worshiping almost causing him to feel blood rushing into his cheeks.

“again” he tried to demand but it came out as more of a plea.

“doll”.

“again”.

“hehe… doll”.

“again..?”

“my pretty doll”.

[grayishgiggles]

You Can Rest

Being the big brother can come with expectations, like solving everyone’s problems and being strong for those who feel weak. When this weight gets too heavy for Peter 2, he resorts to spending long nights in Dr. Otto Octavius’ lab. One night, the six armed scientist catches him overworking.

———

A dim overhead light flickered in the dark lab of Doctor Otto Octavius. However, said physicist wasn’t the one up that night. Instead, his apprentice, Peter Parker (Peter 2) was hard at work on a project he kept to himself: new web shooters for Peter 3.

With an arc reactor in possession of his mentor, Peter 2 was hoping he could find a way to harness its energy into a small enough device that didn't need a change of batteries or charging. All he had to figure out now was…how to do that. And that’s what he was stuck on.

With wires connected to the pegs of the reactor and various small tools strewn about the desk, Peter 2 groaned. Maybe if he asked Otto for help, this would’ve been easier.

But no, the sun had to have set hours ago. The last thing Peter wanted to do was bother the scientist in his sleep. He could do this on his own. He was smart. He was the Peters' big brother, for gods sake.

He should know how to do this…right?

Peter 2 rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned back in the chair to crack his spine. No wonder he had a bad back after all these years. He must’ve been craning his neck for hours now.

Suddenly, a buzz from his Peter tingle tapped the corner of his eye. He spun around.

“Otto…”

“Peter, what are you doing up?” Otto was in his robe, night clothes on and his actuators drooping from sleepiness. “Have you looked at the time?”

“I...Otto, it’s all good. I’m just working.” The man gestured to his desk. “You can go back to bed.”

“I can’t now. It’s four in the morning.”

Peter 2 sighed, “that late, huh?” He lowered his head. “I just…I need to work more on this thing, that’s all. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Doc Ock scoffed at that. “You clearly aren’t. You’re working in jeans!”

“Yeah, so what?” Peter 2 turned back to his work, picking a screwdriver up.

Otto stepped closer. “You’re wearing the same uncomfortable clothes you've worn all day into midnight. I've done the same thing. And from experience, it means you should go home."

Peter felt the heat in him rise as his sleepiness lowered his tolerance.

“Why does it matter to you?” The Spider-Man’s voice grew louder.

Out of all people, Otto should’ve known that hard work comes at a cost. Heck, Peter remembered when Doc Ock didn’t sleep the night before his fusion reactor demonstration. He had no right to tell him to rest.

“Because I care, dear boy. Please, you can sleep here if you want…”

“Otto!!” Peter 2 snapped at him.

The doctor had never been yelled at like that by him, his shocked expression meeting Peter’s. The exhausted man's face softened, and took a deep breath. “I-I gotta make progress on this web shooter, doc. If I don’t, then I dunno what to do.”

“You...you have organic webs.” Mumbled Otto.

“It’s for Peter 3," grumbled Peter, "Peter 3’s shooters are all old and they..and they need new tech, okay?!” The man clenched his fists. “Just let me work. I owe it to him.”

“Peter, what are you doing?” Otto asked softly, now next to his apprentice.

Peter Parker bit his lip. He felt his throat tighten and his eyes sting. Peter 2 swallowed. “I..I dunno, Doc. I’m sorry I yelled.”

“I forgive you, dear boy…" His mentor put a hand on his shoulder. "Let’s get out of here. This isn't good for you.” A metal arm slithered around around the man’s waist and gently pulled him out of his chair and into Otto’s real arms. Peter 2 went limp, propping his head up against his chest as he was carried out of the lab.

“I’m sorry…Doc.”

“You’re alright, Peter.”

The numbers 4:30 AM were displayed on the microwave clock in Otto’s kitchen. The doctor's drowsy state was wearing off as the smell of brewing coffee became stronger.

As he was waiting, Octavius kept watch across the kitchen in the living room, where Peter 2 laid on his large sofa. He gave him some of his own pajamas which were oversized but comfier than sleeping in jeans in his opinion. 

Otto hoped he would’ve been tired enough to sleep by now, but no, Peter 2's glazed over expression was fixated on the flickering TV playing a soap opera. The poor thing.

“Would you like something, Peter? I could make hot chocolate. I…I know you liked it back then.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Otto huffed softly. Something was bothering the man, something that had to do with the web shooter he was working on. Why did he feel compelled to make a new one for Peter 3? Did he have a fight with the other Peters about it? Oh dear, he hoped not.

Once his coffee was brewed and poured into a mug, Doc Ock slumped on the couch beside Peter. The way Peter was curled up in the plaid blanket given to him reminded the scientist of when he was young, spry, filled with life. He missed it a little. The TV clicked off with the remote in Otto’s hand.

“So, if you aren’t going to sleep, how about we talk about what’s going on?” He set the mug and remote on the coffee table and turned his body towards Peter.

An actuator gently nudged Peter’s shoulder. All he did was let out a big sigh. “It’s a lot, Doc. I don't know where to begin.”

"How about with the project you have going on in there?" Doc Ock gestured in the direction of his lab. "Why do you wanna work on it so bad?"

"I feel it's the least I can do...for Peter 3. He's in need of upgrades and...I dunno, I wanna make him happy. I have to get them done for him." Shrugged Peter.

Otto squinted. "You always act like...you have to give everything to everyone."

Peter gave a sad laugh at that, avoiding eye contact. "It's what being Spider-Man is about."

A few moments of silence passed.

Otto fiddled with his fingers. “Is there something going on with you and the other boys?”

Peter 2 clenched his jaw. “I mean…yes, but no. We’re all doing great. Nothing happened like a fight or anything." He chuckled. "I love them, doc. They’re my brothers. And..and I wanna be there for them, but...I don't know if they should be there for me."

Otto’s silent attention indicated him to continue.

“I’ve been afraid to…to ask them for support. They got a lot on their plate already, being Spider-Men, especially Peter 1...that poor kid. I don't wanna add onto their problems, Otto,” Peter 2 slowly sat up, hugging his knees. “What if they think they have no one to lean on if I'm weak in front of them? Because I’m the big brother. I should have things under control. I’m their rock, ya know?” He sniffled as his composure began to crumple.

"Peter..."

“I have to be strong for them. They need me, and...I really need them too. But how do I tell them when I'm supposed to have everything together in my life?!”

“Peter."

“I can’t be a burden, Otto. Not to them.”

“Peter, stop that talk.” Doc’s stern but kind voice broke through Peter 2’s rambling. The man glanced up, his vision blurred by tears. He blinked them away as they flowed down his face. Peter wiped his face. “Sorry…”

“Why’re you all the way over on that side? You can come over here…I’m here for you.” Otto opened his arms. Peter weakly began scooting over, but he ended up being carried by metal tentacles into his mentor’s warm embrace. "Goodness, you're being so hard on yourself."

"I know, I know," hiccupped Peter, his arms tightly clasped around the doctor's midsection, face buried into his shirt as the floodgates opened. He thought he was done crying about things, but with these new brothers, he felt so strongly to protect them. He didn't want them to go through what he went through. He couldn't let that happen. But right now, he felt so weak, so tired. For once he wanted to feel protected. "I just...I love them and...I want them to be safe."

"I do too, but you don't get that when you hurt yourself in the process. You're one of them too." He lifted the man's chin to meet his eyes. "What gives them the right to be loved and not you, hm?"

Peter's face was flushed from tears and tiredness. He shrugged halfheartedly. "Y-you got me there."

"You are allowed to be weak, dear boy." His four additional arms wrapped around the two of them to provide support, making sure Peter was properly held. "Weakness is part of being a human. You are still human, Peter, no matter your age or strange super power."

"Heh...true," he leaned back for a moment to wipe his face, "ugh, I haven't cried like this in...forever. And this...this is what I needed."

"A hug?"

"Not just that...but just a big cuddle like this." He laid his head down on Otto.

"I shouldn't be surprised. All you Peters love it." Snorted the scientist. Peter furrowed his brow at that. Otto cleared his throat.

"Peter 1, the little one, I gave him a hug like this and he just...fell asleep. He wouldn't let go of me. Stayed curled up for hours. And that tall one, Peter 3, heh, he's a hugger, alright. He lifted me off the ground, you know? Scared me half to death. I forgot you boys had super strength."

Peter 2 chuckled and shrugged in admission. He wiped his eyes again. "Okay, we do like being cuddly, so be it."

"You probably need this more than they do. Are you usually the one holding them?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind." Peter smiled. "It's nice having baby bros."

"Well, tonight, or should I say this morning, you're getting held. Got it?" He gently pinched Peter 2's cheek, getting a weak giggle out of him. The man nodded with a yawn. "Okay...okay."

Peter let his muscles relax and melt into the embrace. He closed his eyes, finally feeling the waves of sleepiness get to him.

"You know, I was going to tickle you..."

Peter shot his eyes open. “What?!”

Otto laughed. “You probably hate that, huh? That I know your weakness?"

“Otto, no!” Peter tensed up.

"But, now's not the time, I know. I won’t tickle you, I promise.” The tentacles repositioned themselves a little so Peter 2 could comfortably lay on Otto's chest. The man squinted playfully. "You better be telling the truth, doc.”

"I am, Peter. Now close your eyes. Spider-Man needs his sleep.” He was genuine in his tone, gently resting a hand on the back of Peter’s head to run a few fingers through his brown hair.

And the scientist did tell the truth. Otto and Peter nestled into a peaceful slumber, letting the warmth bring comfort to their souls. Never in a million years did Peter imagine his idol/once enemy would be cuddling him like this, but he wasn’t complaining. It was nice to have a father figure like this around. It reminded him of when Uncle Ben would care for him.

For once, he could rest easy.

Otto Octavius was the first to wake up. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes before noticing the man curled up on him. Oh yeah, Peter had a long night, didn't he? But at this moment, he looked so peaceful despite the bit of drool dried up on his lip. The scientist couldn’t help but chuckle.

But now he was in a predicament. In no way did he want to wake his apprentice from his much needed slumber. On the other hand, the scientist needed to get a little bit of work done today regarding the arc reactor.

So, he gently used his metal arms to begin moving Peter off of him. But Peter didn’t let go. Maybe his sticky hands were activated when he slept or something, but he wouldn’t budge. Otto sighed, and returned to the cuddle. “Clingy, hm?” Maybe he could relax for a few more hours.

1 PM rolled around, and Otto completed yet another season of Grey’s Anatomy. While it was fairly inaccurate, he quite enjoyed the acting. When the credits rolled on his newly finished episode, he glanced down. Peter was still out like a light.

A long rest is good, but if it lasts too long, it won't be healthy, Otto thought to himself. Maybe it was time to get up.

"Peter," mumbled the doctor, gently rubbing his shoulder. But he didn’t stir. Otto tried tapping his cheek: nothing. Maybe calling to him louder would work? Nope, not that either. 

Otto sighed. He was going to have to use bigger guns to wake the man-child. And that's when it hit him.

"You know, I was going to tickle you..."

Doc Ock felt a smile tug at his lips recalling the night before. What a perfect idea! He leaned down, closer to the Spider-Man.

"Peter..." Otto talked in a singsong voice this time, wiggling a finger under Peter 2's chin. The man twitched, his brows furrowing.

"Peter, you gotta wake up." His fingers switched to poking his sides, which got his Spider-Man to smile in his sleep. Peter mumbled out a few giggles as he curled up.

"Oh, come on, Pete. Don’t make me really tickle you.” Otto was being gentle so far, but it looked like this would take more than a few little pokes and prods. A metal claw from his tentacles whirred curiously over the man. It faced Otto as if asking for permission. “Get em, Flo,” the doctor encouraged.

Flo nuzzled right into Peter 2's stomach, eliciting a stream of sleepy giggling. "N-Nohoho..." Peter squirmed halfheartedly away from the sensation, but couldn't do much trapped in the cuddle.

"Wake up, Peter," cooed Otto as a metal claw tased his side. That's what woke Peter 2 up.

"Ahack-! Whahahat the heck?!" The Spider-Man sat up to only get a onslaught of light tickles from two playful actuators. "EHEEhehehey!! Gehet off!!" They nudged and nuzzled his stomach and sides like dogs do, only making him laugh louder. He curled back into a ball on Otto's lap. 

"Good morning, dear boy!" Doc Ock chirped. It was refreshing to see his Peter smiling like this again. "How do you like the wakeup call?"

"Gehehet em off! OhottOOHOHOMYGAHAD!!" The tentacles discovered his ribs and pinched them. Peter 2 doubled over in cackling, his arms pinned to his sides. He buried his face into the doctor's shirt. "GEHEHET tHEM OFF!"

"Hey now, don't get rough!" Otto scolded the arms. They stopped the tickling for a moment to lower their heads in agreement, returning to his sides, "nibbling" them with their claws. Peter 2 squeaked.

"Now this is the perfect way to start your day, wouldn't you agree?" Cheered Otto, in which his apprentice whined through his grin.

“Ihi-I just wasn’t ehehexpecting this!!”

"How is it?"

"Ihihit-" a snort erupted from Peter, "-TIHIHickles!!"

"Good, I'm doing my job, then." The doctor chuckled. At this point Peter 2 realized no matter how much he wriggled, he wasn't escaping this. So he did what had to be done: rested his head on Otto's chest and let himself giggle his heart out. Just the sight of it warmed his mentor's heart.

Otto couldn't help himself. He wanted to be a part of the fun too. "Moe? Flo?"

The pair of metal arms perked up. All they needed was a look from their owner to know to stop.

"Wha-?"

"Are you up yet, Peter?" Doc Ock's free hand snuck under the oversized shirt and gently scribbled on his bare stomach.

A stream of light laughter bubbled out of Peter 2, surprised by the new type of tickly feeling compared to the metal claws. He leaned into Otto. "NAAHahahaoo! DOhoc I'm up!! I'm uhUHUP! You can stahahap!"

"You slept a whole eight hours, so theoretically you should be up and off the couch right now." Sneered Octavius. "But lo and behold, you aren't. Still brilliant but lazy, Parker."

Peter snatched Otto's hand with both of his, giggling nervously. "Ihihif you let me go, I'll get up!!" 

"Hmmm...no." Otto broke out of the man's grasp and gave a squeeze to his lower ribs. Peter threw his head back as he wheezed. "NAHAHOO!! COMEON!" The man shook his head. "NAHAT FAIR!!"

"Peter 1 was right; you all have bad ribs!" The doctor laughed. "Oh, this is too fun!"

"NOHOHO MOHohore!" Peter 2 whined.

The playful scientist hummed. He didn't want to overdo the whole wake-up-tickle method, right? In all honesty, he just wanted to see his Peter's smile, and he sure as hell got that. And it looked just like it did years ago, curled up at the corners of the mouth and his nose scrunched up whenever he laughed. Some things don't change, do they? 

"Alright, I'm done." His hand rested on Peter's stomach, motionless. "You feel awake?"

The older Peter lightly panted, arms wrapped around his midsection as a few more small giggles wheezed out. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to be tickling him still. "Mahahan...yeah, yeah I'm awake. Wooo..."

"I knew I had to tickle you. It feels good to hear you laugh, dear boy." Otto exchanged a gentle look to him, making his Peter blush.

"Uhugh...you're the worst."

"How are you, physical-wise?" The doctor turned the page.

Peter sat up on Otto's lap and groaned as he stretched. "I'm better. I, uh, feel rested." He shrugged.

"Good, that's good to hear," he nodded. "I was worried about you."

"Yeah." Peter looked away. "Thank you again for...for last night. I probably needed to hear it. I can't really care for my brothers if I don't care for myself, heheh." 

"That indeed, Peter." Doc Ock ruffled his hair. He pursed his lips after a thought flew through his head. "How about I help you with those web shooters today?"

The oldest brother blinked. "Really?"

The scientist shook his head yes. "I'm sure we can figure out what troubles you're having if we work together," he stated, "the real question is: do you want my help?"

Peter 2's youthful smile curled up. "Yeah...I'd like that."

Otto thought he was going to cry happy tears at the sight of that face. "Then let's get you something to eat, first," he said as he freed Peter from the cuddle.

Oh, how he loved this boy.

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover, and the Bastard Son - Part 4

Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (he'll be in the next part)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (You are here) | Part 5

Summary: Your past comes back to haunt you in more ways than you thought possible.

Contents: Major spoilers for RE6, canon typical violence/swearing, mentions of blood being drawn, improper use of a syringe as an improvised weapon, angsty Jake content, angsty plot content, descriptions of blood and violence, dialogue heavy chapter. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: Hey peeps. It's me ya boi. I regret nothing for the events that are about to unfold. Thanks for reading :)

w/c: 10.8k+

There is no feasible way out of the cell that you’re confined in. After an indiscernible amount of time being unconscious from the gas released in the specimen room, you woke up here. As far as prisons go, it’s not half bad; a spacious white chamber with a basic cot with white sheets in the middle of the room. In the corner across from it is a security camera with a red light. What makes this room different from your handful of previous kidnapping quarters, are the metal shutters to the right of the entrance to the room that takes up the entirety of the wall. Given the room you were in reminded you of chambers for infected test subjects, there was a likely chance you were being observed through the camera on the other side of the wall.

There’s a second difference as well. You woke up with the crook of your arm wrapped in gauze and a cotton swab. These people had drawn blood from you while you were knocked out. Probably to test if you were compatible for the new virus you’re sure they’re making.

All you can do is wait and see if you’re right.

You aren’t too worried about your involuntary confinement. Not yet anyway. These people evidently want you alive and in one piece. You’re not too sure if Jake would be given the same courtesy though. If he was as skilled as he said he was, you would be willing to bet he was already long gone. If that boy had any sense, he would be trying to find a radio right now to signal for help.

You don’t have to wait too long with your thoughts. A short time after, you hear white noise hum from the speaker and the familiar higher pitched male voice echoes around the chamber.

“Good day, Dr. Wesker.” The voice is the same one you heard from the thin silhouetted man when you first arrived. He speaks in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Hello.” You answer back looking directly into the camera, keeping your tone neutral.

“I understand you had a little -detour- on the way to your room.”

“I did.”

“I would encourage you not to indulge in your wanderlust again, but you strike me as the type to take that as a challenge.”

You narrow your eyes at the camera and purse your lips. You don’t want to give anything away that would confirm the man’s assumption is correct. When you continue to be silent, the man speaks again.

“Forgive me, we haven’t made a proper introduction. I am Youju, one of the head researchers for Neo Umbrella. Welcome to my facility.”

You can’t find it in you to even care who he is. It doesn’t matter in the grand scope of things. As far as you’re concerned, Umbrella (or Neo Umbrella) was still just a terrorist organization that made bioorganic weapons. You don’t care about the specifics of what that means unless it’s relevant to preventing an outbreak.

“Will you just cut to the chase?”

There’s a pause from the speaker. “Pardon?”

You sigh and cross your arms, still looking into the camera. “I’ve done this song and dance multiple times and I have no patience for the dramatics anymore. What do you want?”

Silence from the speaker. You let out an annoyed huff.

“Do you have a new virus you want to test out on me? An old one you revamped? I’ve been proposed with job offers before but I’m letting you know right now-”

“No, no miss. Your purpose here today is much more… personal.”

That can’t be good.

“So I’m here for revenge? You’re going to have to specify. Albert had a lot of enemies, and I couldn’t be bothered to keep up with them.”

“You misunderstand what I mean when I say personal.” You can hear an underlying tone of deviousness in that statement. Youju continues.

“Tell me doctor, how have I gone all these years without knowing Albert Wesker had a son?”

You stand in stunned silence. Wesker? A father? The thought makes you want to laugh in disbelief. The only thing that stops you from doing so is the confidence in Youju’s voice.

What kind of ploy is this?

Is he trying to get you to admit a secret you don’t even have? You spend the next few moments thinking over what the man had just said, when you hear him tap the mic, which results in your ears being assaulted with high pitched feedback and you reflexively covering your ears.

“I’m not a patient man, doctor. Answer me.” Youju’s words are drawn out with a mocking, sing-song voice.

You lower your hands and stare directly into the camera, making a conscious effort to keep your tone even. “We never had any kids.”

Silence falls over the chamber again. Long enough that you think Youju must have left. However, you hear his voice again, but this time you hear a smile in his words.

“… well this is quite an interesting development. I have someone I want to introduce you to. Mrs. Wesker.”

The tone in his voice clearly indicates he doesn’t believe you.

A deep metallic click sounds through the chamber before the metal shutters next to you begin to raise themselves up, groaning their whole journey to the ceiling. As they ascend, the shutters reveal a window to another room. Although surprisingly, there aren’t any Neo Umbrella personnel behind the glass. Instead, the panels reveal an identical chamber to yours, except it’s Jake on the other side of the glass sitting on the bed and leaning on his knees. The bottoms of his pants are covered in dark mud, a part of his sleeve looks scorched, and there’s a sizeable gash on his temple that had scabbed over next to his buzzed ginger hair. Blood that has long since dried had trickled down next to the large diagonal scar on the left side of his face. In other words, he’s much worse for wear than the last time you saw him. Whoever came into the room to investigate the alarm really did a number on him.

You see a discarded bundle of gauze with a slightly bloody cotton ball in Jake’s room. These people took blood from him too.

That grating voice over the loudspeaker interrupts your thoughts.

“Mr. Muller! I hope you’re finding your accommodations acceptable.”

Acceptable was a stretch, but at least your rooms had the bare necessities. You can’t say the same for your past accommodations with other organizations.

Jake shrugs and leans back, taking a look around the room. You hear his voice come from a hidden speaker near the window.

“Not bad, asshole. Feels like I’m shacking up at the Shitz Carlton.”

You would have smiled at that if that nagging sense of familiarity from earlier wasn’t still wracking your brain.

Where have I seen him before?

Youju quips back with that knowing tone over the speaker. “Even when cornered in the lion’s den, you still have something witty to bite back with. Just like your father so I’m told.”

Jake’s carefree demeanor grows more rigid; shoulders squared, clenched jaw and sharpened expression. The man’s family is a sensitive subject.

“Where are my manners? Dr. Wesker have you had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Muller?”

It was hard to tell, but you could have sworn you saw Jake perk up at hearing your dreaded last name. You stare at him a moment longer.

“Can’t say I have before today.”

“Really? Are you certain?” The way Youju says that makes it seems like he’s trying to make you doubt an obvious answer to a trivia question. You stare at Jake, and he stares back, unblinking.

You turn back towards the camera.

“I would remember the scar. I haven’t met this man.”

“Interesting. Why don’t you look closer?”

The man from the speaker obviously wants to get some sort of point across to you, so you humor him. Sighing and shifting your weight, you turn to Jake. You look past the grime, the evidence of fights lost, and modern clothes.

You look at his face, his eyes…

You stop breathing.

You thought about what Youju had said before. Albert Wesker had a son.

Your mind races with a cacophony of scrambled thoughts over the next few seconds.

How did these people figure out Wesker had a son before you did? He looks like him. How did he go this long without being discovered? It’s likely Jake’s blood is special like Albert’s, so they’d want a promising candidate for virus injections. Who is his mother?

You don’t know where it comes from in the moment, but all you can picture is a displeased Albert holding a ginger headed baby, with his nice work shirt covered in spit up while another woman takes a picture and laughs.

It starts as a giggle, but the longer you think about this scenario, the more ridiculous the thought becomes and the harder it becomes to keep your shoulders still.

“So tell me doctor, what are your thoughts?” Youju replies smugly, waiting for your response.

You can’t help it. You start laughing like an insane woman. Jake’s existence was the cherry on top of an already stressful situation. Your body is exhausted from the journey here, you’re still processing the emotional whiplash from seeing and destroying the Uroboros sample, you’re mentally and emotionally done with everything that could possibly relate to Wesker and now you find out he has a son that isn’t yours? You just find the whole situation so absurd that you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

It's clear that Youju doesn’t find your reaction amusing. His tone is cold and controlled when he speaks next. “Enlighten me Wesker, what could possibly be so funny?”

When you finally catch your breath, you look at the camera again with tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.

“This… establishment is really scraping the bottom of the barrel for bright and promising imbeciles, aren’t they?”

Silence, then the sound of a throat being cleared.

“Oh really? And why is that?”

Youju’s voice is flat. Controlled. You had struck something sensitive, and you intend to use it to your advantage to get a moment alone with Jake.

“Because this is ridiculous! Albert Wesker? A father- his father? Are we talking about the same Wesker?”

“His blood sample suggests otherwise-”

“And how do you know that exactly?”

Silence.

You let out a deranged cackle.

“I think I understand now. You found this stranger helping me in the middle of your ocean getaway, you thought he looked like Wesker, and your only plausible conclusion was that he has to be my son. So you’re comparing his DNA to mine because Wesker’s genome is impossible to find. Is that it?”

Youju struggles to stay composed under a guise of false confidence.

“Well we… any reputable institution would confirm hypotheses by… conducting their own independent tests and gathering their samples directly from the source.”

You hum and step a little closer to the camera.

“You know, Umbrella used to check their homework before going through the trouble of kidnapping persons of interest. Just goes to show that the copy is always going to be a letdown from the original.” You made sure to look straight into the camera when you say that, and it has the desired effect.

“You…I-I’ll know you’re lying one way or another soon Wesker!” Unlike before, there was no trace of confident humor. Instead, the voice spits out the words with prideful fury.

“Then by all means, do it. Waste everyone’s time. Hell, I’ll even volunteer for another blood sample when it comes back negative.”

It’s silent for a long time until the white noise from the speaker cuts out and all you can hear is the fluorescent lights above you.

You hear a muffled voice on the other side of the glass. “Hey Wesker!” Youju must have switched off the window speaker.

You let out a sharp breath through your nose. You turn to the window. Jake stands there, forearm resting on the glass above his head and observing you like a slide under a microscope. “Like I told you before, just Doc is fine.” You respond, annoyed.

You look up at the camera and see its beady red light still trained on you. You look between the camera and Jake. No use being stealthy. You walk over to the window with a determined look on your face, already in problem solving mode.

“We both know that test is going to come back negative.”

“Uh huh… and?” Jake responds, unimpressed.

“Personnel are going to come back eventually for another sample. Make it count and make it hurt although based on your current state-” You gesture to Jakes muddy and burnt clothes. “-your technique needs some work.”

Jake scowls. “My ‘technique’ is just fine.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

It doesn’t take too long for your assumption to come true. After a long stretch of time that you try to fill by pacing your room, you hear several sets of footsteps outside the room. A moment later, you see two men in lab coats accompanied by one guard armed with an electric baton and one armed with a pistol enter Jake’s room on the other side of the glass. 

Jake deals with them in a similar quick and efficient fashion to what you saw before when you first met him, except his moves are much more violent and incensed. Nothing like the cool and confident rescuer you first thought him to be.

The men in lab coats gesture for Jake to roll up his sleeve. Jake complies and one of the men puts a band on his upper arm to cut off blood flow. When the other man goes to do the blood draw, Jake grabs the syringe and plunges it into the man’s eye, causing to scream in pain and stumble back. The other scientist is frozen in fear as the two guards spring into action. The guard with the baton reaches Jake first, but he’s prepared to duck under the guard’s wide swing and he easily kicks the guard’s feet out from under him in one graceful move. As soon as the guard’s body hits the floor, Jake wastes no time grabbing the back of his head and chin and forcing his neck to an unnatural angle, immediately making the guard go limp.

The other guard is yelling something in that unfamiliar language while pointing his gun at Jake, but Jake doesn’t even acknowledge it as he charges at him with full speed. The guard is only able to shoot once, barely missing his shot, before Jake unleashes a flurry of blows, his skill in hand-to-hand combat evident in the way he dodges all the guard’s attempts at defense with ease.

While Jake is busy with the other guard, the remaining scientist finally comes to his senses and begins to run out of the room. But by the time he makes it to the door of Jake’s chamber, Jake has already disarmed and shot the other guard in the head. By the time the scientist opens the door, Jake has already lined his shot up perfectly and shoots the scientist dead in his tracks, blood leaking from the bullet wound on the back of his head.

The sight in the other room is grisly, but nothing you’re not already used to from the lifestyle you’ve lived. Once the last scientist is taken care of, you knock on the window to get Jake’s attention. He turns to you, breathing heavily and ripping off the rubber armband from earlier.

“Grab all their keycards! Can’t hurt to have them just in case.”

Jake nods and grabs the keycards from all the bodies, then exits the room. Shortly after, there’s a ping from your door and it opens to reveal Jake on the other side of it.

“Let me see?” You request, briskly walking outside the room and holding out your hand for the keycards. Jake plops them in your hand, looking at you closely. You ignore it and flip through the keycards, trying to discern security level but failing because the only difference between the two are the colors; red for the scientists and black for the guards. You halve them and give one of each back to Jake, which he pockets. He’s still holding the pistol he got from the guard at his side.

“Guess we’ll find out which have higher clearance when the time comes.”

Jake is still looking at you with that analyzing expression. “So you-” Jake is interrupted by an ear piercing alarm and the room is bathed in a foreboding red light.

“Time to move!” Jake grabs your upper arm before you can protest and runs out a door and down the hallway, half dragging you behind him while you struggle to keep up with his pace. You don’t know where you’re running to and Jake doesn’t appear to know either. You both keep running until you reach a four-way hallway where the alarm isn’t as loud and the lights are normal. Jake pauses, taking a moment before deciding where to run. You take the opportunity to yank your arm back, rubbing away the sting of Jake’s harsh grip.

“Wait, why aren’t there any guards? Or people?” You say, not quite sure where to go. Maybe it’s residual memories from working at Umbrella, but seeing the nearly identical hallways so empty is setting off alarm bells in your head.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Jake replies, irritated, taking a few steps to look down one of the hallways trying to decide where to go while he holds his pistol defensively, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“There’s no people! You don’t find that weird?”

“We’ve got bigger problems right now!” Jake snaps, looking at you with a cold stare. Not a second later, the ear-piercing alarm cries overhead and the lights flick to red.

“We’re going left.” Jake says, running down the left hallway with you tailing right behind him. As you’re running, you notice the grating on the floor.

You realize it’s like the flooring in the specimen room, and suddenly more details about this place make sense.

There’re no people around because they use the knockout gas as a security measure.

The guards wear gas masks so they don’t lose consciousness during breaches.

The alarms and lights warn employees to get to a safe place or avoid the area.

Unfortunately, you put all of this together in the middle of the hallway when the security doors at both ends light up red, rise up from the floor, and close with loud metallic clicks. You hear loud hissing from below you, and you realize with dreaded clarity that the hallway is starting to fill up with gas.

You quickly scan the hallway and see a door with a red marking on it like the one on the scientist keycard.

“Red door on your right! Move it!” You command, already running to the door, keycard in hand.

You don’t need to tell Jake twice. Jake wastes no time dashing into the suggested room once you scan the card. You follow Jake into the room right on his heels. The second you’re through the threshold of the door, you scan the keycard to close the door and engage the emergency lock, emergency protocols drilled into your head from your time at Umbrella taking over. The door beeps and hisses shut just in time to cut off the gas from invading the room you and Jake just entered. The room appears to be some kind of office with several desks around the room. The alarm on the other side of the door is barely heard in this room. You’re safe. For now.

You take a shaky and labored breath while leaning against the door, trying to get your bearings.

Too close.

Your break is quickly interrupted by an accusatory comment from Jake. “You knew him well, huh?”

You stay silent and finally look at Jake. His expression is a cocktail of anger and frustration, even as he’s trying to catch his breath. You glance at Jake’s hand by his side; he’s gripping his pistol tightly and his face is grim and cold. It doesn’t help that you’re looking at Jake with an exasperated and annoyed look.

“You of all people should know why I don’t freely give out my last name.”

You give Jake a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ look and Jake tightens his grip on his pistol as he lifts it a few inches like he’s thinking about aiming it. A few seconds pass and Jake takes a deep breath as he sheathes the pistol.

“Fair enough. But I have questions.”

You let out a crazed laugh and start to feverishly pace the room, still in disbelief at the sudden appearance of your husband’s bastard child. “I’m sure you do! I’ve sure as hell got some!” Your tone comes off as angry, but in reality you’re frustrated.

“I’m not too happy he’s my dad either lady!”

“That’s not- ugh. I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just-” You take a breath and try to relax your shoulders, so you don’t snap at Jake again. “The B.S.A.A. and I have a deal. I tell them everything I know, and I help their scientists deal with bioterrorism. In exchange, I’m supposed to get protection and they keep me in the loop. Simple right? But then-” You stop pacing and gesture to Jake. “-I get kidnapped, again, and I find out my dead husband has a whole ass… grown… child! In their organization! That’s a pretty major development if you ask me!”

You stop pacing the room and plop down in a chair and put your head in your hands, then run your hands through your hair. What else aren’t the B.S.A.A telling you? What isn’t Chris telling you? Did he know about this? He has to. You haven’t done anything to your knowledge to warrant them keeping something this big from you. Did they think you’d not take the news well? Take it out on Jake? Leak the information out of misplaced anger for Albert being with another woman?

“I don’t care what kind of bullshit deal you’ve got with the Bioterrorism Boy Scouts. I’ve got questions and I think considering everything, I deserve some fucking answers.” Jake’s steely look from the chamber is trained directly on you.

“You-” You stop. You’re about to tell him now isn’t the time and that you both need to prioritize finding a radio to call for help and come up with an exit plan, but you don’t. You can’t deny that you want to know more about Jake. He’s rightfully demanding answers about a father he presumably never knew. You know the B.S.A.A hasn’t been forthcoming about new information to you, so they probably haven’t disclosed much to Jake. You also know they won’t be too pleased about you spilling top secret intel about Albert to his son.

“You’re right. He’s your dad, you deserve to know. You didn’t hear this from me, okay? I don’t need more reasons for B.S.A.A.’s finest to dislike me.”

Jake silently looks at you, then nods his head. “Deal.”

You nod back. “Alright. You first.”

Jake leans against the wall, looking at you with a serious expression. “What kind of man was Albert Wesker?”

You look at him, confused. “I’m assuming you already know what kind of man he was.”

“I do. I’ve heard a hell of a lot about my old man, but not from the woman who knew him best. What kind of man was he?”

“An intelligent psychopath with a god complex.” You pause. “Well... the god complex came later. But still.”

“Intelligent? That’s not what I heard.”

“What did you hear then?”

“That he was crazy and he tried to destroy the world.” Jakes voice drips with disdain.

“Crazy and intelligent aren’t mutually exclusive traits. Are you positive that these people didn’t know who you were before they tested your blood?”

Even with everything that had just happened, you still couldn’t wrap your head around why you were brought here. To your knowledge, Neo Umbrella didn’t know Jake existed before an hour ago, let alone know that he was Albert’s son. How they knew he was Albert’s son is still unclear to you since his genome is highly classified information. The man on the speaker said your purpose here was personal but didn’t give any indication that it was related to revenge. What did he mean by that? How does this all connect?

“Hundred percent. If he was like that, why’d you marry him then?” Jake’s tone is accusatory, and a scowl that eerily reminds you of Albert adorns his face.

You’re annoyed with the one-word answer and his tone, but you keep your feelings to yourself. You know Jake has complicated feelings when it comes to his father, and he’s dead. You’re the next best thing when it comes to closure. After a moment you calmly and neutrally respond to Jakes question.

“When I first met him, I thought he was a very different man. Sure, he was stoic, cold and all business at the Umbrella Labs, but with me he was romantic, charismatic, and thoughtful." You feel like Jake’s gaze is piercing into your soul, so you look away and stare at the ground instead. “Three years I thought that. Then the mansion incident happened, and everything changed for the worse.”

“Romantic? Hmph. Yeah sure…”

You frown and let out a resigned sigh, shoulders slumping in the process, and you respond in a tired tone. “Has there ever been anyone in your life that you trusted with your whole being and they ended up being someone you didn’t even recognize?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jake cross his arms and scowl become more prominent. Another sensitive subject. You move on.

“He was unfathomably good at making you believe he was someone else. He did it with me. He did it with his S.T.A.R.S. squad at R.P.D. He even did it to Umbrella. In the end, he was just a power-starved monster.”

“R.P.D? He was a cop too?”

You turn your head back towards Jake in surprise. You would have thought that Albert’s previous jobs were easy pieces of information to get ahold of, but then again, Jake may have not cared enough to know. Jake’s expression is still unreadable apart from his voice dripping with contempt as he asked that question. You keep your answer clinical and to the point. “Yeah. He was a scientific prodigy and worked at Umbrella as a researcher really young. Then one of his projects stalled and he became an Umbrella spy and worked in the U.S. Army and then became the captain of the Rescue Service at the police station. After that: bioterrorist.”

You stop and wait for any follow up questions. When Jake only continues to stare you down, you ask your next question.

“Who knows that he’s your father?”

“Couple of guys in the B.S.A.A. and a handful of government agents. Everyone else who knew is dead. What happened after the Mansion Incident? Between you two? There has to be more to that story.” Jakes expression grows darker and more serious.

The thought crosses your mind that you should lie about how you felt, but you have a feeling that you needed to be open with Jake. He deserves the truth, no matter how unpleasant the answer will be.

“I was devastated. When what was left of his team returned from that mansion, I simply didn't want to believe it. I didn't even know he worked for the R.P.D. before that day, and they’re telling me he led his team to die at a mansion in the mountains with a secret Umbrella lab I didn’t know existed? The whole thing sounded crazy." You stop and choose your next words delicately before continuing.

"You have to understand that I loved him at the time. I was in denial. I was mourning. I didn't know he survived the mansion until the Racoon City incident. He could have let me die in Racoon when everything went to shit but he didn't. Instead, he sent a mercenary after me to rescue me and kept me with him until he was killed."

Jake gives you a long look when you finish, his eyes fixed and unblinking. You can tell he’s digesting your every word as his jaw tenses and his knuckles whiten from the force of his fists clenching with his arms are still crossed.

“… so he saved you?”

His voice is icy, and there’s a dangerous edge to his tone that you’ve never heard before. Each word sounds like it’s taking great effort to force out. “Why?”

A pang of fear goes through you at his change of tone. You hit something sensitive, and you don’t even know what it is, which only makes you more nervous. “I don’t have a good answer for that.” Your voice comes out softer than you intend, but you do a good job of masking how intimidated you are by Jake in the moment. Logically, you know he’s probably not going to fly off the handle and do anything to you, but his eyes and expressions are so similar to Albert’s that it’s instinctively putting you on edge.

Unless Albert told you directly, knowing the inner workings of his mind was a challenging task even for you. You’d asked yourself that question and reflected on a possible answer countless times over the years, and each time you came to a slightly different conclusion. On the occasional day where you really missed your marriage before the Mansion Incident, you thought he may have been fond of you in some way. On days like this, your theories were a bit more realistic. You were a means to an end.

Either way, Jake’s eyes are boring into your soul as he’s waiting for you to answer his question.

“At the time, I thought it was because he loved me. But now-” You pause for a moment, desperately trying to gather your thoughts to present them in a way that won’t upset Jake further. “-I have two theories. Either he saw me as an asset with my virology knowledge and kept me close just in case, or he just saw me as something that was his. He almost always used possessives when he addressed me. My darling, my dear, my love. That kind of thing.”

Jake remains silent and his body language still has that edge to it like a cord dangerously close to snapping. You opt to ask a more neutral question.

“How long have you known about Wesker?”

“A year. So he saw you as an asset? You helped him with his plans?”

“No! Fuck no. He definitely wanted me to, but I refused every single time. I still looked at all the lab results and things the he left laying out to stay up to date on what he was planning, but I never gave him feedback.”

“If you refused, why the hell did he keep you around?” Another accusatory, but valid question. Albert wasn’t exactly the forgiving type if he didn’t get what he wanted.

“I think he thought he could wear me down or change my mind eventually. I work fast. I’m good at seeing patterns and remembering small details. My guess is that he didn’t want to get rid of me if there was the possibility of me being useful.” You catch yourself becoming slightly defensive, so you make a conscious effort to reel your emotions in before you ask Jake your question. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Edonia. If you were so against helping him, then why did you stay, huh?”

You’re starting to feel anger boil up in you.

“I was just happy to have my husband back at first! I tried leaving when I realized what he wanted to do. I really did. But by the time I took off the rose colored glasses, I’d seen too much and I was either locked up or he had someone babysitting me so I couldn’t run off. And Edonia? Really? That’s a long way from the U.S. Is that where your mom’s from?”

“Why do you care, huh?” Jake snaps at you, fire in his eyes and nostrils flaring.

You’re slightly taken aback with Jake’s combative response. “Because if anyone finds out she’s associated with Wesker in any way, she’s going to be in danger and needs protection.”

“Don’t need it. She’s dead.” Jake’s face holds no traces of relaxed cockiness like earlier. His expression has morphed into an explosive combination of wrath and pain. “And you know why? Because daddy dearest wasn’t there to pay for her medical bills. He walked out and didn’t fucking look back, yet she still acted like he was this exceptional man who could do no wrong.”

The atmosphere of the room is thick with tension. Even through Jake is a few feet away still leaning on the desk, you feel small and defenseless sitting in your office chair. You feel like the energy in the room could snap at any moment, so you keep your tone sympathetic, but firm.

“I’m sorry about your mom. But you need to believe me when I tell you that you are lucky he was never in your lives-“

“Lucky? That psychopath sent someone to a city that was tearing itself apart to save you but couldn’t send a damn check to save my mom?”

You’ve been patient throughout this whole exchange, and you were resigned to be Jake’s verbal punching bag. But suggesting Albert would have helped Jake’s mother without consequences? That’s the final straw that inevitably makes you lose your composure.

“Did you grow up feeling loved?” The question is sudden. Blurted without thinking of what could come after.

Jake’s angered expression morphs into confusion. “What?”

You know you’re playing with fire with this line of questioning, but you don’t see any other option that will be as effective. “Did your mother… tell you she loved you, make sure you had your coat before leaving the house? Hug you goodbye? Tell you bedtime stories?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Did she?” You don’t back down. You need to make him understand.

“Yeah! She did!”

You nodded. “Good! You wouldn’t have gotten that with Albert. Far from it!”

“Oh yeah? And why do you think that Doc?”

“Is that your question?”

“Answer it.” Jake spits, anger boiling to the surface.

“Do you know anything about Project W?”

You take the silence as a no and continue.

“Albert was a product of one of Oswald Spencer’s projects, founder of Umbrella, headed by Dr. William Wesker. It was a eugenics-based plan to create a race of more intelligent, more fit more whatever superhumans. Your father was essentially raised in a lab.”

You pause to make sure Jake is following your words and keep going.

“There were hundreds of kids in this program. When they were adults, Spencer weeded out a group of thirteen including your father. All of them were given the progenitor virus whether willingly or unknowingly, and only Albert and another woman I’ve never met survived. Albert was the only one who gained superhuman abilities.”

Jake is silent for a moment, then responds, “When you say willingly or unknowingly-”

“Some of these kids didn’t know they were in the program.”

Silence.

“That is where your father came from. You want to know what kind of man he was? He was opportunistic and manipulative. I have no doubt that he would have used you as a guinea pig just like he was. He would have framed it in a way that made it look like he was doing what was best for you too. If he had stayed in your life, you would have been living in a lab waiting for him to shove a needle in your vein as a bonding activity.”

More silence. Jake’s expression is unreadable, but he doesn’t appear angry like before. His eyebrows are scrunched together and he looks at the floor, deep in thought. 

“Jake?” You say, gently. He doesn’t respond.

“Jake. Please look at me.” You try again a little louder, and he turns his head to look at you, Albert’s - Jake’s - pale blue eyes look more understanding.

“Do you understand everything I just told you?”

“Yeah. I just-” Jake pauses. “I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that.”

You nod and give him a sympathetic look. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but I don’t think he knew you existed. He would have seen you as an asset and tried to find you otherwise.”

Jake doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head to let you know he heard you.

“Loving him came at a price. Be thankful for the anonymity you have.”

“What was your price?”

Everything.

“My future.” Jake looks at you with an eyebrow raised, so you continue. “Because of the relationship I had with him, it’s impossible to live a normal life. I’ve tried, but there will always be people trying to find me to recruit me or kill me because of that.” You say this off-handedly. You’ve become used to this kind of life to the point where happenings like this feel routine.

You and Jake sit in silence. Jake’s presence doesn’t emit that aura of anger anymore.

“That’s not fair to you.”

You give Jake a wry smile.

“It’s not fair that he’s your father. We can’t change the past. But we can try to make the future a bit less shitty.” You quip.

Jake chuckles a little at that comment, and his smirk finally returns.

“You’re not-” Jake stops, and you wait for him to finish, “-how I expected you to be.”

“…thanks?” You reply, not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

Jake snorts at your comment. “And uh… sorry I got heated for a minute there.”

You give Jake a dismissive wave. “Hey, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten my ass chewed out because of Wesker, and it’s not going to be the last. At least yours was warranted. You love your mom. I can’t fault you for that.”

“Appreciate it.” Jake replies, his smirk disappearing after a moment.

“I’ve got one more… personal question.” Jake looks at you, a dark intensity to his gaze.

You nod. ”Go for it. You deserve to know.”

“Do you have any children?” After a long, silent pause, Jake’s eyes lose their intensity and he gives you a small, sympathetic look.

You give Jake a sad smile. “No. No we… everything I said before about bonding activities? That’s not anecdotal. Just conjecture. Just-“ You gesture to Jake. “You.”

That I know of.

You clear your throat. “How old are you, by the way? I’m just curious-”

“You don’t need to finish that, I get it. Twenty.”

“You look older.”

“Mercenary work and a civil war will do that to ya.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.”

You shift in your seat from the awkward turn of events and say your thoughts out loud. “Let’s see…” You do the math in your head. “That would’ve been ’92. I met him in ’95. We got married in ’97...”

“And everything with Umbrella went to shit in ’98.” Jake finishes.

You feel the side of your mouth curl into a half smile. “You’ve done your homework.”

The alarm outside the room suddenly stops, and you hear a hissing noise from the hallway outside. You look to the door, then back at Jake. “I’ll tell you more later. We gotta get moving.”

You stand up from your chair and check the panel on the door. Still red. It’s going to take a minute or two for the gas to filter out of the hallway. You look over your shoulder at Jake.

“Did you end up finding that sample by the way? Or a way to contact the Tokyo base?”

Jake frowns and checks his pistol. “No, but I have a better idea of where those things could be.”

 You sigh and shake your head. “Better than nothing, I guess. Any theories?”

Jake shrugs. “Half this place used to be a military base and the other half an Umbrella lab that’s had some renovations. The old lab holds the old samples-”

“So the newer part of the lab should have the new samples and the military part should have a radio?”

Jake smirks and points at you. “If everything goes right, we’ll be outta here by sunset.”

The office door panel beeps and lights up green. You smile and slide the red card and the door swooshes open. You look back to Jake. “I like the sound of that. Let’s go.”

As you both walk back out into the hallway, you notice it’s still eerily empty. However, the security doors are still engaged at both ends of the hallway. You and Jake walk over to the door you were heading through before the lockdown. You scan the red keycard and it declines. You huff and scan the black keycard, and you hear the lock disengage and the security doors split open and return their respectful halves to the floor and ceiling. You look at the black keycard with a stern look as Jake walks though.

“Only guards can open security doors? That sounds like a shitshow waiting to happen.”

“You an expert on security now too? C’mon we’ve got a schedule to-”

Jake is cut off by a loud buzzer, followed by the security doors slamming shut so you and Jake are on opposite sides. Jake hurries up to the doors and looks at you through one of the small windows in the middle.

“What the hell? Try the card again maybe it’s a timer thing.”

You scan the black card again, but it returns an error message. You shake your head in annoyance, but then it turns into concern when you hear shouting and footsteps from the direction of the observation rooms you were held in.

“It’s giving me an error message. Try yours on that side!” You shout at Jake through the door.

You see Jake’s face as he scans the panel on his side but based on how Jake grits his teeth in frustration he’s probably not having any better luck than you. You hear shouting and footsteps growing louder. Jake notices and tries to pry open the security doors with his hands. You scan the red card again, but it also returns an error message.

“Shit! Jake, they know which cards we took and deactivated them. They’re no good!”

You throw down the cards and take a few steps back to get a better look at the hallway to find an alternate route or some structural weakness in the door arch, but you notice nothing. The sounds of guards shouting and running are getting even closer. Your only chance of getting out of here is Jake. He can’t be here when you’re ultimately discovered.

You hurry back up to one of the windows on the security door to shout at Jake. “You need to go, now!”

Jake ignores you and keeps looking for purchase on the door, but it’s too smooth to get a decent grip to pull it open.

“Jake!” You scold.

Jake pauses to look at you, scowling.

“They obviously want me alive I’ll be fine. You find that sample and radio for help. I’ll stall for as long as I can.”

Jake’s scowl on his face deepens as he tries to open the mechanical door again, but his efforts are fruitless. He finally slams a hand on the door and lets out an annoyed huff and looks back at you through the window.

“You’re sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

More yelling and bangs echo down the hall.

“More than likely, yes. Just be quick about it. I’d rather not be a lab rat if I can help it.”

Jake takes one more analyzing look at the door and gives you a curt nod, clearly not happy with the new set of circumstances.

“Don’t say anything that’ll piss em’ off more.”

“No promises, now go!”

You turn around at the sound of the opposite security door opening, and you hear Jake’s footsteps grow further and further before they disappear and are replaced with the stomping of a battalion of gas masked soldiers. A group of eight quickly block off your only exit and train their semi-automatic TMP’s on you. Seeing as you’re heavily outnumbered, you put your hands up in surrender.

As you do, a wiry man a little taller than you walks leisurely through the intimidating crowd of masked faces. He wears a suit under a pristine white lab coat and looks at you with cold eyes through a pair of square glasses.

“Where is Muller, Doctor?”

You recognize the lilting voice immediately. This is Youju. Your immediate impression is that he’s much too young to be the director of this facility. But then again, Umbrella is chock full of young prodigies. Time to buy Jake some time.

“I could care less about where he went. As I told you before, he’s not my son.”

“I see.” Youju walks a few steps past the line of guards towards you and looks at the mechanical door behind you, skeptical.

“Why stop here Dr. Wesker? Why this door?”

“Because your security system needs some work. It closed and it can’t be opened.” You reply, curtly.

“Then why didn’t you run?”

“I’ve been in enough scrapes to know when I’ve been backed into a corner.” It’s not a lie. Even though your main goal is to distract these people, you know when you’re beat. Especially when you have an overwhelming handful of guns trained on you.

Youju frowns. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where. Is. Muller?”

“I. Don’t. Know. We went our separate ways when it became convenient.” You reply condescendingly, already tired of answering Youju’s questions.

Youju narrows his eyes at you, calculating his response. “Very well then. Since you’re so keen on seeing what amenities this facility has to offer, allow me to give you a guided tour.”

“I’d rather go back to my room. I’ve had enough cardio for today.”

Youju waves his hand and the guards put their guns down, save for one who quickly positions himself behind you with his gun still aimed at your back. Youju gives you a chilling smile. “I must insist, Doctor.”

As Youju walks back through the crowd of guards, he announces one more command to the crowd of guards.

“Find the other one. Alive. Maim him if you must, but ensure he is brought to me in one piece.”

Not ten minutes later, Youju and his guard lead you deeper into the facility, seemingly with one destination in mind for your guided tour. Youju leads the way in front of you, while the soldier trails behind never once lowering his weapon. He seems to be leading you into the newly renovated parts of the lab. There are no windows into the many rooms you pass so you have no inkling of what could be going on behind closed doors, but Youju ignores all of them in favor of the main lab at the center of the facility.

He scans a white key card and a large lock disengages from the mechanism in the middle of the door, spinning until it’s completely free before the doors finally open to reveal another set of sliding doors. Youju scans the card again and enters with you and the soldier right behind him.

It's a room with several scientists checking over miscellaneous machines and monitors, as well as fridges with multiple different colored chemical substances. All of them periodically glance over their respective stations and into the observation chamber below through the window that takes up the entire expanse of the wall opposite the door. A handful of soldiers line the wall in the back of the room. Youju saunters in and stands by a monitor that flickers to show a different part of the facility every fifteen seconds or so. A microphone stands idly next to it. Youju trains his dark eyes on you, a barely noticeable sly smile on his face.

“Welcome to the inner sanctum, Doctor. I would like your thoughts on my latest and greatest project.”

You cross your arms defiantly and shift your weight with a bored expression on your face. “As I said before, I have no interest in any job you have to offer me.”

“I didn’t offer you employment. I only ask that you take a cursory look. I assure you, he will be of great interest to you.” Youju speaks in that same, know-it-all tone from when you were stuck in your quarters. Like he wants you to figure out his point.

Better yet, who’s ‘he?’

You roll your eyes and humor him.

You look over the consoles and into the chamber below. There are illuminated chambers filled with substances you don’t recognize and over a dozen machines tracking something you can’t discern from this distance. The cylindrical tank in the middle of the room is the focal point of the observation chamber. It glows with a foreboding orange light, illuminating the space in between itself and you. At first, you can’t tell what the tank holds with the light emanating from it shining in your eyes. When your eyes adjust to the light, one by one you notice features of the creature inside; you see the outline of a man. Then notice one of its arms is much longer and darker than the other. The scar tissue across its chest. Then, most devastatingly, disheveled, slicked back blonde hair.

Your heart drops and your annoyed expression shifts into something much more terrified.

“Where… that’s not…”

But it was. Behind the glass in the chamber below was the body of a mutated Albert Wesker floating in a liquid filled chamber. His chest and legs are overtaken by burnt scar tissue, but otherwise look about the same as the last time you saw him; although you don’t like to think about that series of events.

The bomber. The volcano. The helicopter that he almost pulled down into the lava with him. Any one of those scenarios could have easily ended with your death, the world ending or Uroboros in your arm. Not that the three were that different regarding the death part.

 The last time you saw Wesker, he had mutated into the monster he had become on the inside. His snake eyes glowed red, black Uroboros burst from beneath his skin around his eyes, worms of Uroboros completely overtook his chest and arms, which he could stretch to great lengths, and he was altogether consumed by rage. Rage against Chris for besting him once again, rage against himself for underestimating him, and you were certain rage against you for betraying him.

You stare blankly into the chamber as the reality of the situation sets in: Youju went to great lengths to find Albert. You didn’t know how he could have found him after so long, but you knew this man had to mine through volcanic rock at best and perform an underwater excavation of a volcano at worst to exhume him. Whatever he has planned, it can only spell doom for whatever unfortunate soul falls in Albert’s wake. Your body can’t bring itself to move, so you stand frozen by the console of the observation room overlooking the chamber Albert is in.

“The union of Wesker and Uroboros is truly a remarkable miracle of nature,” Youju says smugly, relishing in your shock.

All you can do in the moment is gape at your husband in horror.

“There’s nothing natural about this.” Your voice comes out small. Rattled. Nothing like how you planned when you stepped into this room.

“Natural? That’s a matter of perspective, Doctor. We are seeing evolution in real time.” Youju is enjoying your torment, but there is a pit forming in your stomach that is screaming for you to talk sense into him. You know in your bones that this is a bad idea, but you can’t articulate it into words that will break through to the Director. You knew men like him. He won’t listen until it’s too late, but you try anyway.

“Whatever you’re planning is not worth the consequences you’re going to reap from playing God.” You still stare at Wesker’s peaceful, mutated face.

“I assure you it will be. Your husband is an incredible case study. He was medically dead when we found him, but you know as well as I do that the dead don’t tend to stay that way for long in our profession. Uroboros preserved his brain and nervous system better than any modern medical instrument you or I could have hoped to have at our disposal.” Youju explains with pride.

“Weapon, DNA, or emotional blackmail?” You reply cooly, still staring at Wesker in the chamber below.

“Whichever has the highest bidder. Although I think the value of a subject like him transcends material wealth, so I’ll hold off on an auction for now. I have more pressing plans first.”

You break your gaze from Wesker’s body in the chamber and look at Youju with a cautious expression, curious as to what he means.

“We know his brain is showing activity, but he hasn’t woken up you see. All the regular avenues for breaking comatose states have been exhausted.”

Youju turns to the chamber and puts his hand on the window thoughtfully as he speaks.

“Sure, we could harvest his DNA and easily make our investment in excavating him a drop in the bucket. As you’ve said, his DNA is one in a trillion. But it’s not just his DNA that makes him unique, it’s his mind as well. He was- is- the greatest mind manufactured by man. By Oswald Spencer himself. What I would give to speak with him! To know his thoughts on my research. To continue where Spencer was forced to stop.”

The Director looks away from Wesker and back to you, with a giddy look you know all too well. It’s a dissecting look of a scientist attempting to peel away the mystery of an unsolved problem.

“But then one of my researchers had an interesting hypothesis. This is not a regular subject so normal avenues are more than likely going to prove fruitless. Perhaps Wesker needs a familiar face as an extra incentive to chat with us. Someone who knew him much more personally than anyone else. Someone like you. We’ve already tried recordings of your voice, and they’ve yielded positive results, but not the one’s we’re looking for.”

“The saying ‘you should never meet your heroes,’ definitely applies in this case. You need to quit while you’re ahead. You’re inviting nothing but trouble by indulging this fantasy.” You warn, unable to wipe the look of barely contained terror on your face.

Youju tilts his head and gives you a mocking pout.

“Awww… what’s wrong Dr. Wesker? I thought this would be a happy reunion for you. After all, you survived him. He respected your intellect. It’s not every day that a genius offers his lover a place beside him in a new world. And don’t deny it. I’ve seen the footage of him offering you Uroboros on multiple occasions. I’m not a betting man, but I’d say those weren’t the only times he tried to convince you.”  

“Director, you need to stop-”

“Not until I get what I want.” Youju’s gaze turns cold and he flips a switch on the console in front of you both. A red light above it switches to green. The guard behind you raises his gun to your head. Youju turns his face towards the microphone but keeps his eyes on you.

“Albert Wesker, you have a visitor. A personal visitor. Go ahead and say hello my dear.”

You avoid looking into the chamber and keep your mouth shut while staring down Youju. You would rather die than awaken that monster.

“Your wife is here to see you Dr. Wesker. Mrs. Doctor Wesker, if you know what’s good for you, please speak into the microphone.” The tone the Director uses reminds you of a car salesman; sleazy and said with a gritted smile. Attempting to get you to bend to his will no matter the cost if it gets you to sign the metaphorical dotted line.

When you keep your mouth shut, Youju motions to the guard behind you and you feel the cold steel of the muzzle of the gun on the back of your head. Your breath becomes unsteady, but you stay silent. He needs you. He wouldn’t kill you so quickly when he needs you. You’re sure of it.

“You know I’m not a patient man dear. Speak, or I will make you.” Youju spits out the warning, his patience already wearing thin.

You clench your jaw and stay silent. You fully intend to stay quiet, even though the urge to call Youju a dumb motherfucker is strong. You see a flicker on one of the cameras on Youju’s monitor. A figure. You weren’t going to pay it any mind, but even out of the corner of your eye you recognize the large scar on the side of Jake’s face.

Youju lets out an annoyed huff at your continued silence, currently unaware of Jake’s presence. “I wanted to avoid making this messy, but it seems you’ve left me with no other option.”

Youju turns around and starts to bend down towards a drawer below the monitor. You panic. Jake is your only hope in getting the B.S.A.A. here. You can’t let his stealth go to waste.

“Albert!” You spit out the name without thinking. You already feel sick to your stomach at your choice of action, but it has its intended effect immediately. Youju snaps his attention away from the monitor’s direction and back to you, then back to the chamber, then to a monitor off to the side that you now realize is displaying brainwave activity. His brainwave activity. You hadn’t noticed it before because the brainwaves were barely perceptible, only small mole hills on a nearly straight line. Now, like a rising tide, the red wave on the monitor grows in intensity along with your heartbeat.

Youju stares at the monitor with you in awe, then turns his attention to the chamber while speaking to you. “Go on. Tell him to wake up.”

“Albert dear?” You pause to take a shallow breath of air. The red wave rises higher on the monitor. “I need you to wake up.”

The more the red wave rises, the more animated the other scientists in the room become. Youju most of all. Everyone buzzes with excitement over their machines and data displaying on the screens, but all you can do is stare at Wesker in the chamber with a lump in your throat.

You have an idea on how to get the upper hand. It’s stupid, suicidal, and against everything your brain is telling you not to do, but if it works it’s an almost guaranteed way for these people to lock you in your room again until the B.S.A.A. can get here with proper reinforcements.

“Albert help me they have a gun to my head!”

Almost immediately, beeping sounds emanate from each and every machine in the room. One by one, every piece of machinery has warning lights on their displays and nervous chattering erupts from the scientists. The red wave on the brainwave monitor devolves into jittery valleys and peaks. You see Wesker in his water chamber twitching, and his peaceful face morph into an angered scowl that you know all too well.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Youju scolds as he switches off the microphone. He grabs your shoulder in a tight grip and walks you back closer to the door away from the window seemingly the only one not concerned with the sudden uptick in activity on the monitors and more peeved at your little stunt.

“That’s enough from you for now Doctor.” He turns his attention to the guard behind you. “Take her back to-”

Youju’s command is interrupted by the sound of glass cracking, a rush of water and metal screeching in the chamber below. Youju’s eyes grow wide and he immediately rushes back over to the window. He turns his head to say something, but before he’s able to, a pipe breaks through the glass of the observation chamber and into Youju’s skull with so much force that blood splatters on you from across the room and you stumble to the floor in your shock.

All hell breaks loose. Some scientists scream, others duck and cover, a handful try and fail to open the door to the hallway, the soldier leaves your side and open fires on Wesker in the chamber along with the other ones in the room.

You can’t seem to escape from the bloodshed. No matter where you turn, more blood splashes across your clothes but you manage to keep your escape in mind: grab Youju’s white keycard to get out of the room. You do your best to block out the grisly sight of Youju’s head as you army crawl across the floor. The white keycard, now stained crimson in some places, hangs precariously from his belt. A black and blonde blur dives into the room from the chamber and the screams grow louder and more frightened. You grab the keycard and you crawl behind a large cabinet that got overturned in the chaos in the corner of the room and make yourself as small as possible by hugging your knees to your chest. You clutch the keycard for dear life.

Meanwhile, in the background, you hear Wesker spewing insults as he tears through the room.

“Ignorant cretins! Worthless, self-righteous chaff! Inferior good for nothing fools!”

Something in Wesker’s voice puts you on edge, and it has nothing to do with the fact he’s seething with rage or leaving a trail of blood and viscera and broken machinery in his wake. You can’t quite describe it, other than that it sounds wrong. The voice is Wesker’s, but the tone and intonation are just… off. Your Wesker spoke in a much sharper and eloquent manner. This voice is direct and garbled in some places.

In the moment, you don’t know which voice you’d prefer. You don’t have time to think on it when you feel a presence behind you. It’s only now that you realize the screams and cries of pain have gone silent. Your blood runs cold when you hear a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice in your ear that makes the hairs on your neck stand up.

“My dear? Oh, how I’ve missed you my sweet…”    

You freeze. His tone is uncannily gentle. He’s so close, you can feel Wesker’s breath on your ear and neck. Everything in your body is screaming at you to run, but it’s like Wesker’s words have you under a paralytic spell.            

“How dare they touch what’s not theirs…”

A wet, slimy and black tendril slowly makes its way into the corner of your vision and gingerly tucks a flyaway hair behind your ear. You can’t bring yourself to move and you heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest it's beating so fast.

You sense Wesker move his head closer to yours until you can feel the damp heat of him over your shoulder. Glass breaks on the other side of the room and he whips his head towards the sound. There’s one last scientist left. She’s trying to climb into the observation chamber, but she stepped on a piece of glass and now she’s gaping at Wesker in fear.

Wesker attacks her with the bloodlust of a wild animal, plunging his Uroboros arm into her chest and not stopping his assault until it reveals itself again when it pokes out through her mouth. She doesn’t even have a chance to scream. Only gurgle sounds of pain.

The grisly sight finally breaks the spell, and you bolt to the sliding doors and run the second the door registers Youju’s keycard.

You don’t stop when you hear Albert calling your name behind you.

You don’t stop when you see other guards and scientists coming out into the hallway to observe what caused such deafening, monstrous noises.  

You don’t stop when you hear more screaming and gunfire erupting behind you.

You have no destination in mind when the hallways become unrecognizable.

The only thing consuming your thoughts is the fact that your psychopathic husband is alive, and that you’ve doomed the world because you destroyed the only Uroboros sample in existence to stop him in a misguided attempt to save it.

a/n 2: How's that for angst? More juiciness in the next part :)

If you've made it this far THANK YOU and sorry for this part being long I thought it would ruin the flow to split it up into two parts.

Tag List: @killerwendigo

AO3 Link for this part.