#Making gifs of images that have been in my folder for months

[oscarwetnwilde]

Immaculate Conception, 1992: Alistair and a baby.

[regiawrites]

And There Will Be No Tenderness - S.R

Warning(s): Sub!Spencer, Fem!Dom!Reader, Brief Overstimulation, Riding, General Idiocy Word Count: 6134 Summary: Y/N and Reid never see eye-to-eye, but one kiss changes everything.

Garcia hustled into the conference room as quickly as she could with the height of her hot pink pumps, fiddling with the remote as she moved. "Good morning, my lovelies," She greeted the team. "Sorry for the hurry, but this one's a bad one."

"When are they good ones?" Rossi asked dryly as he flipped open the manilla folder in his hands.

"An excellent point," she granted, "but this one is particularly bad." 

She clicked the remote and a series of gruesome images appeared on the screen, so gruesome, in fact, that even Hotch's face twitched. Four women, clearly dead, were covered in blood, bruises, and an array of other injuries, although no two seemed similar.

"These unfortunate four are Kerry Whittingham, Jasmyn Willis, Carly Smythe and Louise Fresca," Garcia said, gesturing to each of the women as she did so. "All of these women have been missing for between 6 and 11 months, all reported missing by their families within a week of them vanishing."

"How have they been linked together?" Morgan asked. "They all have different causes of death." 

"Yeah," Y/N agreed. "Kerry Whittingham was evisceration, but it says here that Carly Smythe's cause of death was drowning. What's the connection?" 

"That is where things get really bad," Garcia said with a grimace before clicking the remote again. 

Four images of matching symbols appeared, each woman having the same mark burned into their wrists.

"Are those brands?" Y/N asked, horrified, making brief eye contact with JJ who mirrored her expression. 

"Human trafficking, maybe?" Emily suggested and Garcia nodded. 

"The local police department thinks so, yeah." 

"So, they're being sold-" Y/N started, but was cut off by Reid scoffing 'Obviously'. She shot him a glare but spared him no response as she continued. "-and showing up dead. Are there any signs of sexual abuse?" 

"Only on Jasmyn Willis," Garcia answered.

"So, they're not being sold to be sex slaves," Y/N guessed. "They're being sold to be killed."

"Or they're just being sold to whoever's interested," Reid contradicted, as he always did. "I doubt a human trafficker cares." 

"But they WOULD," Y/N argued with a roll of her eyes. "If they were being traded for sex, the trafficker would be more concerned with keeping them alive." 

"Y/L/N's right," Hotch said, and Y/N shot Reid a smug smile that he ignored. "A trafficker would want to keep the women alive so they could continue to bring in money. They're likely being kidnapped and traded with the sole purpose of being tortured and killed." 

"What like some kind of sick eBay for serial killers?" Rossi asked, face twisted in disgust.

"That's one way of looking at it," Hotch sighed as he stood. "Wheels up in 20."

As the team filed out of the room, Y/N glared at Reid as they walked towards the bullpen. "Stop contradicting me at every chance you get, asshole!" she snapped at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You know," he started, "research suggests that those who frequently use curse words are less intelligent than those that don't."

"Oh, shut up, Reid."

"Most likely due to a lack of adequate vocabulary," he continued.

"Shut up, Reid."

"I'm just saying, maybe you'd be less insecure about me 'contradicting' you if you-"

"If you're about to imply I'm an idiot, I will hit you," she told him, glaring up at him as they reached their desks. She leaned down to grab her go-bag from beneath her desk.

"You're also very quick to resort to threats of physical violence, which further suggests you have a lack of trust in your own intellect," he said, grabbing his own go-bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Don't profile me, Reid," she said, voice flat and unamused, before she turned and headed out. 

Trailing after her, Reid said, "I'm not profiling you; I'm making an observation about a coworker." 

"And your observation is that I'm stupid?" 

"I don't think you're stupid," he said with a shrug, and Y/N narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"You don't?"

"You're a qualified profiler, you can't be stupid," he said. "I do, however, think you're reckless, untrusting of yourself and quick to jump to conclusions." 

"I'm not untrusting of myself," she argued, though she couldn't say she wasn't reckless. She was notorious for thinking with her heart and acting on impulse.

"If you weren't, my contradictions wouldn't bother you." 

"That is so not how that works!" she snapped. "How would you feel if every time you said anything, someone was like 'uhm, actually'?" As she said 'uhm, actually', her voice slipped into a high-pitched, nasally lilt, and she mimed pushing glasses up the bridge of her nose.

They reached the elevator, and continued to bicker as they stepped inside.

And for the whole elevator ride down. 

And for the whole walk to the jet. 

Mercifully, the pair sat at opposite ends of the jet, and didn't talk to each other for the flight, so the team had some peace.

 ***

Within a few hours, the team was set up in the conference room of a police station in Pasadena, Captain Ray Jenkins sitting among them. He was a tall, portly man with a thick moustache and a heavy brow.

"So, the suspect you have in custody had DNA matching two of the victims in the back of his van?" Y/N asked Jenkins.

"Yes, and he also had Carly Smythe's engagement ring in his glove box," he told them, showing them a picture of a diamond ring. "He's remaining silent, though." 

"I'd like to talk to him," she said, and Jenkins nodded. From somewhere beside her, Reid snorted, and she turned to glare at him. "What?" 

"I'm shocked you want to talk to him, is all," he commented with a tight-lipped smile. 

"Why would I not want to talk to a suspect?" she demanded, and he shrugged. 

"Talking involves patience. And tact."

"Oh, 'tact' says the most awkward person I've ever met," Y/N snapped. "I've had to watch you talk to women before, you don't have much tact then." 

Reid turned to face her straight on and level her with a glare, but Hotch held a hand up. "Don't start," was his only warning, effectively shutting them both up. "Y/L/N, you talk to the suspect." 

***

Kyle Hannigan was skinny.

That was the first thing Y/N had noticed about him as he sat across from her in the interrogation room. 

Skinny and short.

There was no way this man kidnapped those women, at least not on his own. 

"You didn't kill those women, Kyle," Y/N said, leaning on the desk between them, flipping through the pictures. 

"That's what I've been saying all this time," he huffed back, testy. As irritated as he sounded, he looked unnerved as his eyes flicked to-and-from the photographs of the mutilated women.

"You don't even know who killed them, do you, Kyle?" she pushed.

"No!" 

"I don't even think you touched them," she said, fighting back a smile when he raised a questioning brow at her. "I mean look at you-" she gestured to him, "-you're short, you're skinny. Jasmyn Willis was 5'9 and a weightlifter, she could have fought you off blindfolded." Kyle's jaw ticked at the insult, but he remained silent. "You're just the delivery driver." 

He stared at her, dark eyes looking up through his brows.

"So, if you're just the delivery driver, who got those women into the van, Kyle?" she asked. "And more importantly, who's running the operation?" 

He continued to stare at her, silent. 

"You know, whoever's above you in the food chain is absolutely going to let you go to prison for this," she told him. "Hell, they probably want you to take the fall. You gain nothing by protecting these people." 

"It'll be my word against his, and no one will believe me over him," he said, low and slow, leaning towards her with a glare. "So, what's the point?" She, too, leaned forward and matched his fiery glare with a cool, flat stare.

"Your word against who's, Kyle?" 

His eyes flicked towards the one-way mirror behind her, then back down to her, and she didn't miss the desperation in his eyes. 

He wanted to tell her.

He looked up at the CCTV camera positioned in the corner of the room.

"Who?" 

He continued to stare at her before raising his right hand, forming it into a claw shape and tapping it to his shoulder.

"That's all you're getting out of me," he said, before folding his arms over his chest.

***

"A claw shape that he tapped to his shoulder?" JJ asked. "What does that mean?" 

"It's ASL," Reid said matter-of-factly, pulling out his phone. 

"And what's it ASL for?" Jenkins asked him, and Reid shrugged. "I thought you were a genius."

"That doesn't mean I'm all-knowing," Reid said, simply. He began typing something into his phone.

"Great load of good that is, then," Jenkins grunted. "What do we do now?" 

"Our tech analyst is looking through his cell phone history to see if there's any suspicious activity that could be an accomplice," Hotch informed him, but Y/N didn't pay much attention to Jenkin's reply as her phone vibrated. 

She unlocked it and, surprised to see a text from Reid, she looked up to give him a questioning look, but he was pointedly not looking at her. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she tapped on the notification and had to force her face to remain neutral.

Reid: It's ASL for Captain.

And that was how Reid and Y/N found themselves snooping around Jenkin's office, looking for incriminating evidence. After forwarding Reid's text to Hotch and Garcia, she slipped into his office, followed by Reid.

"This is not how we're supposed to do this!" Reid hissed at her as she rifled through one of his drawers while he kept watch. "Nothing you find like this will be admissible in court."

"Yeah, yeah," she grunted, closing the drawer as quietly as she could before opening the next one down. 

"We're going to get caught." 

"Not if you do a good job keeping watch, we won't," she said, reaching for a drawer with a lock on it. She pulled and it didn't budge. "Shit, it's locked," she mumbled, looking around the desk for a paperclip, which she found in a small plastic cup, and bent it into an L-shape. 

"What are you doing?" Reid whispered, panicked and stepped away from the door.

"Keep watch!" she hissed back, wiggling the paperclip around and managing to twist the mechanism, unlocking the drawer. "Aha!"

"Why am I not surprised you can do that?" Reid asked, not looking at her. She glared at the back of his head.

"Because I'm a cornucopia runneth over of useful skills," she snarked as she started digging through the drawer. 

"Sure, that's why," he said, but she paid no mind as she started flicking through a folder she found. 

"Holy shit, Reid, I got something," she said, and he spun around to look at her.

"What, really?" he asked, walking over to her and she tilted the folder so he could see it. "Is that-?"

"Carly Smythe, yeah." 

From Y/N's hands, Carly Smythe's bruised, but very alive, face stared back at them from in front of a dirty wall. She was only wearing a white tank top in the picture, and her hair was flat and greasy, eyes hardened as she glared at the camera.

This picture wasn't a part of the investigation.

The picture was stapled to another sheet of paper, one with messy writing scrawled over it. 

Carly

24

140lbs

5'6

Brown eyes

Brown hair

No Tattoos

Limited known sexual history

Sweet voice

$10k min

$33k to Poseidon

"Oh my God," Reid muttered. 

"She isn't the only one either," Y/N said, flipping through the rest of the pages, through profiles of several women, including the four known victims. "We have to get this to Hotch." 

Before Reid could say anything, they heard Jenkins' voice coming from somewhere outside. Y/N's heart dropped.

"You were supposed to keep watch!" she whispered accusatorily at Reid, who sputtered out a response she didn't listen to as she lifted her shirt and shoved the folder into her pants, covering it when her shirt fell back down.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, eye flicking Wilding between her and the door as Jenkins' voice got closer. 

"Smuggling this out of here," she said, like it should have been obvious.

"And what excuse are you going to give him for us being in here?" he demanded, holding his hands up in distress.

"Kiss me," she commanded, and he choked.

"Excuse me?"

"Kiss me!"

And he did.

As the door handle turned, he surged forward and their mouths connected, lips crashing together. 

Reid grabbed Y/N's hips, pulling her body towards his as his tongue glided over hers, taking her by surprise as he took complete control of the kiss. She slid her hands into his hair, tugging it at the roots.

He whined into her mouth, and all higher thought ceased in Y/N's mind.

Pulling his hair harder, she kissed back with a punishing harshness, vaguely registering her ass hitting the desk as Reid pushed her against it, sliding his hands from her hips up to her waist, around her back and pulling her back against him. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged on it, making him whimper in a way that had her whole body heating up in response. 

"Ahem." 

Gasping, they tore away from each other and spun towards the door to see Jenkins smirking at them. "I don't think that's an appropriate workplace activity, Agents," he commented, and Y/N grinned in faux sheepishness. 

"Sorry, it’s all new," she said, pushing Reid away from her less harshly that she ordinarily would. "We can't keep our hands off of each other." 

"I won't tell your Captain, don't worry, sweetheart," he said, a look in his eye as he turned his gaze to her that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Both Y/N and Reid managed to get out of the room, and the folder shoved into the front of Y/N's pants felt like it weighed a tonne.

It took less than 24 hours before Jenkins was on the other side of police custody, coughing up information about his clientele.

Six days later, four other men had been arrested for the murders of the women, and had several other murders linked to them.

Three weeks later, the Team had busted a huge ring of human trafficking. 

One month later, Y/N was still thinking about that kiss. 

Each member of The BAU had been rewarded (read: forced to take) a two-week period of leave after the events of the bust. Morgan had been shot, Rossi had a joint dislocated and, all-in-all, it was an incredibly stressful time.

Five days in and Y/N was going stir-crazy from both the boredom and the haunting thoughts of Reid’s mouth on hers. Every so often her mind would wonder to the plush look of his lips, or the intense furrow of his brow, or- when she was particularly out of control- the whine he’d made against her lips when she pulled his hair.

By day seven, she’d exhausted her Netflix subscription and had purchased Disney plus.

By day nine she’d nearly finished The Golden Girls and was out-of-her-mind bored.

As Dorothy made a snide comment, Y/N’s phone notification went off, and she practically jumped on it in all her enthusiasm. Her enthusiasm promptly dissipated when she realised the text was from Reid, and she rolled her eyes.

Reid: Are you busy?

You: No why?

Reid: I’m bored.

You: Okay and?

Reid: Are you telling me you’re not?

You: Well obviously but I didn’t text you to complain about it

Reid: Can I come over? Everyone else is busy. I’ll buy you pizza.

You: I can buy my own pizza

Reid: It tastes better when it’s free, no?

You: Fine you can come but if you don’t have the pizza I’m not letting you in

Reid: Deal. I’ll be there in an hour.

Oh, God, Reid was coming over.

She tidied up her living area, even rearranging the throw pillows on her couch before looking down at the ratty T-shirt she was wearing and had been wearing for a least three days. She debated leaving it on, but your skin tingled unpleasantly at the thought of Reid seeing it and she reluctantly decided to change.

But she couldn’t change into clean clothes without showering.

And if she was showering anyway, she may as well shave.

But if she shaves without exfoliating, she gets ingrown hairs.

That dangerous train of logic is what compelled her to take an ‘everything shower’, listening to music while she pampered her skin and ridded herself of all body hair. For Reid of all people too, to add insult to injury. He probably wouldn’t even appreciate it, not that she’d give him the chance to appreciate your silky-smooth legs, but still. Some acknowledgements of her immense efforts wouldn’t go amiss.

She stepped out of the shower and slathered herself in vanilla-scented lotion, before dressing into a simple pyjama set consisting of loose (but very short), plaid shorts and a black tank top. The doorbell rang just as she slid her feet into her slippers. Checking the clock, she rolled her eyes when she realised it had been almost exactly one hour since his last text, the punctual motherfucker.

She shuffled to the door and looked through the peephole to make sure it was actually Reid, snorting at the way the lens disfigured his face in a bizarre perspective, before letting him in. “Reid,” she greeted, as neutrally as she could when she wanted to tear into the pizza box that he was holding. It wasn’t lost on her that it was from her favourite local place.

“Y/L/N,” he responded in much the same tone, stepping in and slipping his shoes off and revealing a mismatched pair of truly bizarre socks, setting them on the shoe-rack beside the door. He’d known her for long enough to know she absolutely did not tolerate shoes inside her home, and she tried not to feel fond.

“That pepperoni?” she asked, jerking her head towards the pizza box.

“Obviously,” he said, shooting her a distinct look of irritation, like she’d asked a stupid question. “Hey, I don’t know your life,” she snapped. “You could be one of those freaks that like Hawaiian.”

“You know, it’s widely considered fact that the components of balanced flavour are ‘salt, acid and sugar’, so by that logic, a Hawaiian Pizza would-“

“Oh my God, you’ve been here less than five minutes and you’re already doing the thing,” she groaned, taking the pizza box from him and walking to the living area.

“What thing?” he asked, following behind her.

“The ‘uhm, actually’ thing!” she says, plopping down onto the couch and setting the box on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes again and sat down next to you, not deigning to respond.

Silence settled over the two of them.

Dying for anything to relieve the awkwardness, Y/N leaned over to grab a slice of pizza, aware of Reid’s eyes on her. She turned to shoot him a questioning look, but he didn’t meet her gaze and pointedly stared at the TV.

Fuck, his jaw was sharp, and his neck was an elegant arch.

An echo of his desperate whine ricocheted in her head for a moment as she stared at him.

Such a sweet noise from such sweet lips, pillowy and plush against hers. If a kiss was all it took to wring noises like that from him, she couldn’t help but be curious what noises he’d make if she put her hands places that weren’t his hair...

When he swallowed and cleared his throat, she snapped out of her stupor and chewed on her slice, turning back to the TV.

Half an hour later, neither of them had said anything. At some point, Y/N had taken the half-eaten pizza into the kitchen, and bought back a bottle of water for Spencer, who nodded in gratitude, but the awkward silence remained.

They snuck glances at each other, but it became apparent they didn’t know how to be civil with one another.

“So,” Y/N started clumsily. “You done anything interesting on your leave? “I- uh-“ he cleared his throat “-Re-read some of my favourite works in their original languages, I wanted to see if they held any nuances that got lost in their translation.” “Interesting,” Y/N said. “I imagine that killed time for about a day.”

“Yeah, it didn’t take long,” Reid laughed quietly. “I’ve spent the rest of the time writing to my mother and watching Doctor Who.” “It’s a good show. Tennant is the superior Doctor.” “Naturally,” Reid agreed, shockingly enough. “Although I’m partial to Eccleston for nostalgic reasons.”

“Who’s your favourite sidekick?” “Donna Noble,” he replied. “I think she had the most character, and her personality complimented The Doctor well.” “I thought Martha was cool, too,” Y/N said. “Even though she was obviously just a rebound for The Doctor to try to get over Rose.” “Some of my favourite episodes are from when Martha was on the show,” he told her and she smiled, smally at him.

“Really?” “Yeah! ‘The Waters of Mars’ was incredible!” Y/N felt her heart flutter at the way his eyes lit up and his mouth broke into a wide grin, deciding to ignore it. “Oh, God, that’s the one where the water’s poisoned and makes the people at the station into- like- zombies, right?” Y/N asked, twisting around in her seat to face him properly. “That freaked me out. Like the one in the library.”

“Where River Song is first introduced?”

The conversation flowed with an ease that was unfamiliar to them after that, and it turned out they had a lot more in common than either of them thought.

It wasn’t long before they were sifting through Y/N’s streaming service subscription, settling on a horror movie they were both fond of.

The Fly.

“You know, even with the clunky visual effects, this movie is still incredible,” Reid commented quietly, not looking away from the screen.

“Probably because it’s a romantic tragedy more than a horror movie,” Y/N said. “It doesn’t need to rely on visuals, the story-telling does most of the heavy lifting.” She turned to him. “Although the ‘clunky visual effects’ are better than some CGI I’ve seen recently.” Reid laughed at that and nodded. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that,” he said.

This was too weird, and it was making Y/N itch. It was making Y/N come closer to giving in to the urge to press her mouth to his.

“Shocking,” she said, drily, trying to shift their dynamic to what it normally was. “You usually contradict me every chance you get.” Reid stopped laughing and cast her a side-ways glance.

“I’m simply correcting you,” he said.

“My asshole you are,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “And don’t start with the whole ‘people who curse are less intelligent’ shit, or I will throw you out, pizza and all.” “And to think we managed to have several civil conversations,” he groaned, taking a sip of his water and rolling his eyes. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” “I’m being perfectly civil,” Y/N said, knowing full-well that she wasn’t. “Just admit that you get off on proving to everyone that you’re smarter than them.” “You have no idea what I get off on,” he snapped, turning to her. When their eyes met, time stilled for a moment.

She’d never noticed before how his deep, brown eyes flashed gold in the light.

“What do you get off on then?”

The question had escaped her lips without her permission, and she abruptly snapped it closed as they looked at each other with wide eyes.

“What?” he asked wearing a look of pure shock, like he didn’t even believe he’d heard her correctly.

“Nothing!” she practically squawked, looking away from him and ignoring the feeling of her cheeks heating up.

“Did you just ask me what I get off on?” he choked out, looking incredulously at you as you awkwardly looked at him, looking away again immediately.

“Pfffft, no,” you lied, stupid as he’d clearly heard her.

“You totally did!”

“Okay, so maybe I did,” she admitted. “It kinda just slipped out, I don’t actually wanna know.” “Don’t you?” he asked, voice dropping into a husky tone she didn’t know he was capable of.

She gaped at him, not even knowing what to say. “I-“

“I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me since we kissed,” he told her, leaning forward. “Your eyes keeping dropping to my lips, and your pupils dilate when they do.” He leaned in closer to her. “You also keep absentmindedly biting, licking and playing with your lower lip when you look at me.” “…So?” she asked, not denying it. They both know he was too good a profiler to lie to, especially about something he’d observed himself.

“So, you can’t stop thinking about it,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “And you want to do it again.” When she didn’t say anything, he moved closer to her, so close, in fact, that they could feel each other’s breath puffing onto their faces.

“Do you want to know why I really asked you if I could come over tonight?” he asked, lips so close to hers it was agony.

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because I want that, too.” She gave in.

With both of her hands on his cheeks, she dragged him the extra inch forward and slotted her mouth against his, swallowing down a keen that threatened to bubble out at the contact. His long, deft fingers gripped her waist and pulled her closer to him, and she followed his pull as elegantly as she could to land in his lap.

Immediately, and like she’d been wishing she could do for a long month, she sunk her fingers back into those brown curls and tugged. The soft noise he made against her lips was hardly the high-pitched whine that had haunted her, but it was enough to make her double her efforts, pressing her body against his and kissing him with poorly hidden aggression. He matched her sudden ferocity, sliding his hands around to her ass and squeezing hard enough to have her breath stuttering out of her chest. When he chuckled against her mouth, she bit down on his lower lip, just a quick tug in between her teeth, but it was enough to make him gasp, and she took that as her opportunity to pull his head back by his hair and look down at him.

Eyes blown out, cheeks flushed pink and his lower lip already kiss-swollen, he already looked like a mess.

“God, I want to fucking ruin you,” she hissed, grinding down over his hips and grinning wickedly at the firmness she felt against her. He whined, his eyes flicking upwards momentarily before he refocused on her face. “Please do,” he gasped, rocking his hips up against her, gripping her ass again.

“Already begging?” she teased. He glared at her, but it was hollow, before he reached up to grab the back of her neck and drag her to his lips again.

When their lips crushed against each other’s, Y/N’s hands immediately started to rip at Reid’s shirt, almost ripping the buttons off in her haste to get it off him. He whined into her mouth at her aggression, reluctantly taking his hands off her to slide the sleeves of his button up off his arms, leaving his chest bare to her. She raked her nails down his chest, trails of pink following her fingertips, and he arched into her with a sweet keen. She pinched his nipple with one hand, and he gasped. Taking his surprise as an opportunity, she slid her mouth across his jaw to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, pausing to bite and suck at the sensitive juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Oh!” Reid moaned, thrusting his hips against her particularly hard at the overwhelming sensation. “Oh, God, Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” she taunted, continuing to leave marks on his neck, and continuing to tease his chest. She ground her hips against him far more firmly, speeding up her steady rhythm. “I don’t- I- Oh!” he struggled, breaking off into a whimper before he could get the words out.

“If I knew that this was all it took to get you to shut up, I’d have done it sooner,” she said, laughing cruelly when he glared at her. Still choking out a chain of whimpers and whines, he slid his hands up her tank top, cupping her breasts, long, deft fingers pinching her nipples harshly in retaliation. She squeaked, shocked, turning to him with her own glare. He gave her a paradoxically shy little smirk, proud of himself, and it infuriated her.

When she pushed herself backwards, down his legs and away from the bulge in his pants, he whined in protest. She pulled his zipper open, shoving the soft fabric of his boxers to pull his cock out, hot and heavy in her palm; it was bigger that she thought it would be, definitely bigger than average, and delightfully thick.  “Oh, God, what are you going to do with me?” he asked, voice breathless and desperate as he tried to buck into her hand, whining when her weight on his lap meant he couldn’t drive up enough to get any real friction.

“I’m gonna use you,” she told him, stroking his cock deliberately slow, squeezing around his sensitive head.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Until you can’t even think anymore.”

Nodding enthusiastically and gripping her hips, he tried to drag her back towards him, but she tsk’d. She placed a hand on his chest to push him onto the couch and used the leverage to stand up. Slowly, she began to push the waistband of her shorts down, the way he stared at the movement as though hypnotised flooded her brain with a heady feeling of power. “Reid?” she cooed, and it looked like it took a tremendous amount of effort for him to drag his eyes from her hips to her face.

“Ye-yeah?” he stuttered out, almost absentmindedly reaching for his cock and fisting himself in a loose grip. She bit her lip as she watched the tentative movement. “Do you have any condoms?” she asked, hoping to God he said yes. The hope was foiled when he looked at her with an expression of panic.

“No, shit, no, I don’t,” he huffed, and she could see him calling himself an idiot in his own head.

“Fuck it, I’m clean and on birth control,” she said. “Are you-?”

“Yes, I’m clean, Y/N,” he said, a pleading look on his face. “God, I’ve been thinking about this for a whole month, please don’t make me wait.” Ordinarily, she’d tease him, but seeing as she had felt exactly the same way, she finished sliding her shorts down her legs, leaving them on the floor as she straddled him once again. She pushed her hips down on his, grinding her wet pussy over the throbbing heat of his cock and they both gasped. “Please, don’t tease,” he begged, looking up at her with the saddest puppy dog eyes. “Just fuck me, oh my God, please.”

“Eager,” she teased and slapped her ass in retaliation, making her yelp and jolt forward, making her wetness slide over his cock once again. She started grinding down deliberately hard to get back at him.

He threw his head back and gasped, and she took that as a chance to start sucking and nibbling on the column of his throat.

It didn’t take long before he was whining in that sweet, sweet way that made her head spin. “Please!” he whimpered desperately, pushing his hips up to meet her movements, and she relented. Pulling away from his neck, she lifted herself up before sinking down on his cock.

“Fuck!” “Oh, God!”

He was fully inside of her, stretching her out in a dull ache as her adjusted to him. “Fuck, you’re so big,” she mumble, gently starting to rock as the ache lessened. He didn’t respond, and the glazed look in his eyes made her question if he’d even heard her. He grabbed her ass, kneading the firm flesh in a way she thoroughly appreciated.

Slowly, she started bouncing, and he screwed his eyes shut, whimpering quietly at the almost overwhelming feeling of her hot, wet pussy squeezing him. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, jaw going slack as she started moving faster.

It didn’t take long before they we both panting, flushed and desperate as the moved against each other. At some point, Reid had wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck, licking and sucking and biting wherever he could reach.

Y/N sunk her hands into his hair, gripping it tightly to keep him there as the brutal pace she had set brought her closer to the edge. The way he was practically sobbing into her neck told her he was close, too.

“Reid,” she panted, pulling his head away from her neck by his hair. He looked up at her, flushed cheeks and mouth hanging open, eyebrows hitched and eyes watery. He looked so fucked out she couldn’t help the pride that rushed through her. “Are you close, baby?” she asked him with a cruel smirk, and he nodded pathetically, crying out when she gripped his hair tighter to cease the movement.

“Please,” he begged. “I’m so close!” “Don’t you dare cum before I do,” she hissed, leaning back a little so the hand that wasn’t in his hair could rub her clit.

“I’m trying, I’m trying, but you feel so good! Ah, ah, please cum, please cum, please cum!”

His begging, desperate and needy, pushed her over the edge, her fingers on her clit and his cock filling her up as she toppled over the precipice of her orgasm. She cried out his name as her walls shuddered around him, dragging him over too. He cried out, louder than he had before as his orgasm wreaked havoc on his body, his legs shaking and tears finally dropping onto his cheeks. He babbled an incoherent stream of pleas as oversensitivity kicked in, crying that it was too much as she rode her own orgasm.

Her bouncing slowed to a still and she fell against him, both breathing heavily and flushed.

It took several minutes for both to catch their breath, and for coherent thought to be functional again.

Y/N hurried into the bathroom to clean herself up and tried to not spiral into panic; not only had she has sex with a coworker and totally violated the fraternisation policies at the bureau she’d had sex with Reid. Worse, she realised she didn’t regret it. She should, but she doesn’t, and she has never believed in being guilty about things that don’t warrant guilt.

She supposed it was harmless, really. Honestly, if they had this new way of working out their animosity towards each other, they’d probably be more pleasant to be around.

So, really, fucking him was for the good of the team.

Yeah, I’m totally doing it for the team, she told herself as she finished cleaning herself up.

When she left the bathroom and returned to the living room, his shirt was back on his body and his cock was tucked back into his pants. He was sitting there looking so awkward it was painful, and he didn’t look at her when she sat beside him.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, and she sighed. “No, we shouldn’t have,” she agreed. He nodded, eyes not moving from his hands where they were folded in his lap. “So, what now?” he asked.

“I have condoms in my dresser,” she offered, laughing when his head shot up and he looked at her so incredulous it would have been offensive if it wasn’t so funny. “You don’t want to do it again?” “No, no, I do,” he rushed out with pinkening cheeks. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to! “Well, I do,” she said matter-of-factly before standing up and walking towards the bedroom. When he didn’t immediately follow, she turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming or not?” she asked.

Reid had quite possibly never moved so fast in his life as he followed her giggles to her bedroom.

[sleepy-grav3]

Coping Mechanisms

A/n: This was sitting in my oneshots folder for a while, unfinished. I finally finished it so uh, here you go. Enjoy.

Backstory: After taken by the GIW, Danny's core was shattered. The bats found him and took him in. However, he's severely mentally damaged and is starting to stall his healing process.

TW: Mentions of vivisection, mention of organs in jars, mention of Jason's death, flashbacks, hallucinations, mention of injuries

Danny's obsession is Space and Protection; Danny is the Ghost King; Never mentioned what happened to the rest of the Fentons, that's up to speculations; Assumed that the Drs. Fenton had been experimenting on Danny long-term before fully locking him up in the basement; Bruce/Lady Gotham; Alfred is dead or dead-adjacent, making him immortal; child/baby ghosts are referred to as wisps

This is for sign language because there isn't a way to underline the words, which is my preferred style

He didn’t know how long he spent there. All he knew was that the damage done had left scars, something he wasn’t able to gain ever since the accident. He remembered words, cut off sentences from people, that told him why that wasn’t possible.

“Injuries to your emotional state are dangerous”

“You can heal physical wounds, but not those from the heart”

“You can regenerate limbs”

“Your human form is weaker”

“You’re stronger than most ghosts”

“Halfas have extra healing abilities”

“Your core can regenerate as long as your heart keeps beating”

“The subject’s heart is slowing down”

“The subject can live without a heartbeat”

“The Subject can regenerate vital organs”

“Like a human, the spine controls it’s movements, and shuts down the subject similarly to when its brain is removed”

Danny gasped, trembling as he pulled at his hair. No tears came, not even fake green ones to make up for it. His body was still trying to heal the damage done to it, working against his broken core for his sake.

His chest hurt differently. Each time he moved or felt something, his core would cry out in pain. He thought he’d let out a pseudo-wail if it wasn’t broken. If he weren’t broken.

Danny remembered all the jars around him, choking out another gasp as he dragged his hands down his face. He could feel stings from his temples down to his chin before he felt the bandages around his neck.

He couldn’t understand where the stinging came from, only seeing an empty lab with him sitting on a metal table, chains on his wrists and ankles. He blinked a couple times before he saw images of the dark room he was in, but the lab wouldn’t go away.

He stood up, ignoring his body that screamed in protest, and ran out of the room into fake white hallways.

-

The bats were at the table, only Jason, Duke, Damian, and Danny being missing.

Jason was taking advantage of the fact that he had a flexible schedule to work day and night.

Duke was out on patrol, now having an extra job of helping the dead that resided in the city (only recently he became able to see them, though with some practice).

Damian, however, had only left recently, rushing to get to Danny who was having another episode.

They had saved him a month ago, but it took about 3 weeks for him to wake up. Ever since he woke up, he’s been having episodes. The only way to snap him out of it was to have certain family members shake him out of it, the rest being attacked or avoided outright.

Jason and Alfred were the exception, as Danny would try to save them. They avoided having them get Danny to snap out of it as much as possible, as it would lengthen the time it takes to calm him down.

It hurt them each time an episode came around. It hurt to see Danny’s bandaged and practically mummified figure each time he left his room during an episode or to get some fresh air. And even when the latter happened, he would dissociate or end up breaking down with no tears.

It was only a little over a week into the start of the episodes and they were seeing signs of new injuries. They had to do something, but what could they do? They've filed down his nails, removed sharp objects from his vicinity and locked up the ones that belongs to others, they've safety proofed sharp corners of furniture!

But it wasn't enough.

They had to resort to putting visible cameras in his room. It at least made him hesitate or stop when he was fully there.

-

Ding-Dong

Alfred shivered. Of course their only proper visitor was a ghost. They never can have a normal one, can they?

Alfred walked over to the front door, opening it without hesitation. There, he was met with a gray skinned woman with a long black dress with a slit by her left thigh and a V neck. She also wore gold hoop earrings, a black sun hat, held a black and gold smoke pipe, and had black sunglasses to cover her near-black purple eyes.

“Lady Gotham, I was not expecting you. Come in.”

Alfred stepped aside, allowing her into his haunt. She smiled at him, waltzing into the manor as she had long bypassed the gates. Alfred led her to one of the living rooms. The one they’d use for interviews. Alfred started to prepare some tea as she took a seat at the edge of a sofa, taking a breath from her smoke pipe and letting out a purple haze.

Alfred didn’t mind it, as what she was smoking wasn’t harmful. It was for the sake of refueling at least part of her strength. Her eyes glowed a lighter purple, black nail becoming a little lighter. It was hard to see her so corrupted by the curses that resided in her haunt.

“Phantom is beginning to stall his healing process.”

Alfred froze for a moment before picking up the tea pot and pouring the tea.

“It’s already difficult to calm him down when he’s in his episodes. He’s barely able to hold down anything he eats and can’t sleep well. We’ve given him multiple shots and used healing magic from the local witch shop. We don’t know what else to do.”

He served the drinks and sat down. Lady gotham picked up her cup and plate, taking a sip from it. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, remaining silent for a while so the 2 could at least finish their drinks before acting on plans.

“I was thinking about having another rogue run about.”

“Isn’t it difficult enough with the ones we have? And how would another help Master Danny?”

Lady Gotham smiled, looking at the tea left in her cup.

“Obsessions have a tight hold on those like us. Perhaps, if Phantom gives in a little to them, he’d stop trying to punish himself.”

“His obsession is protection. How would he even be a rogue?”

Lady Gotham’s smile widened, showing her sharp teeth behind gold-dusted, violet lips. Alfred hasn’t seen that smile since she elected to make Bruce her official knight through a spirit contract.

“Don’t you know? He absolutely adores space. Wouldn’t it be quite the process to rid this city of its polluted and cursed smog to view it?”

“His core is cracked and small pieces are missing. Not to mention his severe injuries. How would he be able to work? Ancients- how would he be able to avoid fighting your knights?”

“Mm, I’m sure he’d figure something out. Being powerless never stopped any of our other rogues. He might even get inspired by that politician. Lewis, was it?”

“Lex Luthor. At least you got the L right this time.”

“Ah, no matter. He’s not relevant.”

“You brought him up.”

“Oh shush. We have work to do. Finish your tea, let us speak with the wisp of a king.”

Alfred drank the last of his tea and stood up, leading Lady Gotham to Danny’s room. Once there, he found Danny completing a space puzzle on the desk of his room. From the new bandages on his face and hands, Alfred could tell the episode from that morning had resulted in further injury.

“King Phantom,” That title made Danny perk up, turning to them with brighter blue eyes. “Lady Gotham and I wish to speak with you.”

Danny adjusted his chair and body to face them without trouble. Alfred summoned a small table and 2 chairs, allowing the spirits to sit down.

“Phantom, I’ve noticed that you are stalling your healing process.” Danny flinched at Lady Gotham’s words. “My little wisp… you must know that this dimension and those that branch with it will cease to exist if your End comes to be.”

Danny’s eyes widened. Panic seeped into him as he tried to push his healing to go faster, ignoring the strain of his core. Alfred cleared his throat, making Danny jump and stop forcing the healing out of surprise.

“Master Danny, straining your core isn’t necessary. In fact, it may make things worse. Might we suggest another method.”

Danny hesitantly nodded.

“Lady Gotham offered that you indulge in your obsession. And yes, the sky is covered in smog. That’s where our suggestion comes into play.” Alfred smiled at him. “Why not become a rogue?”

Danny’s eyes widened once more as he quickly shook his head. Lady Gotham gave him the stare, making him freeze up.

“Now, now. A wisp like you should be allowed to indulge in their obsessions in peace. Really, it wouldn’t be a problem with how you’ll work. Attack those causing the air pollution, get rid of some curses, free the sky. Maybe steal some space themed objects here and there. I’m not quite sure how you’d move about or what your alias will be, but it’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to hurt people to be a criminal. And fulfilling your obsession will recharge your power.”

Danny was slow to process. And soon, the way he thought through it transitioned to plans. He pursed his lips as he thought of it all, but eventually shook his head.

“Bats”

“We could speak with them.” Alfred insisted. “Go over plans and ideas. Your health is still a concern, but I highly insist that you go through with this. We are all worried for you, Master Danny. It hurts to see you suffer. Please think more about it.”

Danny remained silent. Lady Gotham stood up and the 3 pieces of furniture disappeared, Alfred starting to clean. She went up to Danny and held out her hand. Danny looked at it before reaching out his own and placing it on hers.

“You’re safe here, my wisp. Trust in my knights. You needn’t fight any longer. Only exist. Do not End yourself. You’re worth more than you believe.”

-

Bruce and Damian perked up when they came back to the cave to see Danny sitting by the computer. He was watching clips of Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian fighting. It was a nice change of pace compared to other times they interacted. It was peaceful.

“Daniel, I did not think you were interested in the cave.” Damian hummed as he walked over, taking off his mask.

Danny turned his chair and looked over at them.

“My healing is being stalled.”

They froze. Damian’s breathing had stopped before the boy convinced himself to do the breathing practices taught to him. Bruce, on the other hand, felt his heart drop. His hands trembled. The sight of Jason’s dead body flashing through his mind.

Bruce almost asked for a ‘report’. That tended to be something that calmed him and his children down enough for them to talk. But that wouldn’t work for Danny. That shouldn’t work. He hoped Danny was willing to talk more. He hoped that there was something to fix this.

“Is there anything we could do?” Bruce asked.

Danny pursed his lips, averting his eyes. Damian narrowed his eyes.

“Daniel. If there is something we could do, speak. It is troublesome as long as it is related to you.”

“Damian is right, Danny. Please. Tell us what to do.”

They got closer, practically at arms length. Damian didn’t have his domino mask on, but Bruce kept his cowl. He needed Batman. He wouldn’t be able to stay together as Bruce right now.

Danny looked up at Bruce and over at Damian before sighing.

“Lady Gotham said that I need to indulge in my obsession more. But when ghosts don’t pull back… it gets extreme. It appears unhealthy. I would…” Danny hesitated once more. “Lady Gotham and Alfred thought becoming a rogue would be the best way.”

The vigilante stood silent for a moment, Bruce processing what was told while Damian thought it through.

“Would going to the Watchtower not be enough?” Batman asked.

“He’d only crave more from there.” Damian mentioned. “What he needs is something long-term. We cannot safely allow him to go to other planets as he is now. However, if he steals and tries enough to get rid of the smog, the amount of time should be sufficient, assuming that’s how obsessions could work.”

Danny’s shoulders let go of some tension.

“The harder it is, the more it satisfies the ghost. I was thinking of targeting companies that cause air pollution. But there’s also curses, so I’ll need to work through them with magic practice.”

Bruce and Damian grimaced at the mention of magic.

“You should talk with Tim about this. He’d be able to plan out how you’d go about. Just don’t overdo it. We don’t want you to get hurt. But know that we will try to stop you.” Bruce said, taking off his cowl, smiling at his new son. “Go and design your suit. I’ll have it made. But make sure your identity is hidden, alright?”

Danny nodded and got up, leaving the 2 to clean themselves up before heading off to bed.

————————————————

Everyone in the batfam got into the vigilante business. It was just a thing. Danny broke that trend, but not the way any of them expected him to.

One day, Danny will retire. No capes, no masks. Just a civilian.

But that day will only come when his healing is finished. With how difficult it was to mend a broken core, not to mention the organs his body had put off regenerating, it would be a long time until then. Years, decades maybe.

The backstory was simple.

It was publicly known that he was a lab rat. Though they thought it was his parents had begun it from young like they had with Jazz (which was the reason why she was smart enough to skip a few classes in college, an excuse really). He’ll play into that. I want to see the sky. And he’ll be a crazy brat about it.

Commissioner Gordon had already shared with him that he had legal immunity until the acts and the GIW were fully taken down. Otherwise, he’d have to be executed under the law. In other words, any and all crimes he committed until then was permitted. He was going to use that to his advantage.

The suit was hard to come up with. He had to make it look shaggy and like normal clothing. He needed an easy to follow theme. He visited Selina and Nygma for it all. Jason came around and gave him some pointers. Tim had made him swear that he had to be on his game to not be caught early or at all. He couldn’t ask any of the bats to help, not unless his life was in danger.

Red Hood could help him.

Signal could hang out with him.

Red Robin could banter on a personal level with him.

It was difficult to get there, but the process helped feed his obsession. He was ready. He wanted to get better. He had to. He had people who care about him. He couldn’t hurt them by allowing himself to waste away, no matter how draining and painful it was to continue to heal.

He was going to get better. For them.

[lovelytsunoda]

does he take care of you? // george russell

does he take care of you? or could i easily fill his shoes, but you say 'no'. yeah you said 'no'... and i'm not trying to stop you love, if we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck

summary: they had always been walking a fragile, tender line between friends and lovers. they were bound to cross it at some point.

pairing: george russell x bonnington!reader

warnings: an attempt is made at angst, people can't properly deal with their feelings. minor drug use, insinuations and non detailed sex (but bestie bonnington can’t deal with her feelings properly so she bails when things get serious-) one small little insinuation that someone might jump off a building. loosely inspired by the song 'sex' by the 1975

it was dark outside, nearing ten pm at the track when peter bonnington came to find george. george was in his drivers room, looking over printouts of race data, trying desperately to figure out where he could improve the following weekend.

“I hate to bother you, mate.” peter started, “do you have a moment?”

thankful for the reprieve from straight line speed and throttle graphs, george folded the printouts back into their legal folder and turned to look at the engineer. “what do you need?”

there were lines furrowed on bonnos brow. the man looked stressed, and george had a feeling that it wasn’t due to the cars subpar performance.

“I need you to talk to y/n. she hasn’t been doing well these past few months and I’m starting to get really worried. she won’t talk to me and she won’t talk to her mum. toto tried to ask her about it and she threw her drink in his face. something is wrong with my little girl and she’s shutting me out.”

george frowned (although he had to admit that the mental image of babe bonnington throwing the icy remainder of her pink starbucks refresher onto the great toto wolff made him laugh). “when did all this start?”

“when she came back from wales a few months ago, that big work trip. I think it has something to do with that wanker matthew she was dating, he hasn’t been around the house since before she left.”

“do you know where she is?”

“the roof, I think.”

at the look george gave him, bono sighed, shaking his head. “she’s not gonna jump. she just wants peace and quiet. I think the inside of her head is too loud. besides, the motor home isn’t high enough off the ground for anything serious to happen if she falls.”

“still, why would you let her be on her own right now?”

“she didn’t give me a choice.”

after a bit of floundering (and a trip back down the stairs after he realized he’d forgotten a coat), george found his way to the roof. from here, he couldn’t quite see the track, but he could see the lights and hear the sounds of the paddock, watching the last few stragglers exit their team homes and head for the front gates.

y/n sat at the edge, feet pulled up under her and a halo of smoke around her messy hair. her clothes were baggier than normal, darker than usual. when she turned to face him, the driver could see that her eyeliner was smudged, a single mascara tear running down her cheek. in her hand, she shakily clutched a lit joint, the embers at the end glowing orange in the night.

“I thought you quit that?” george asked, concern evident in his tone as he moved to sit next to her.

“fucking mattys fault.” she grumbled, taking a long drag of the fragrant plant. “he’s set my anxiety issues back about five years, figured it was time to go get my cbd prescription refilled.” she stopped, taking another drag before exhaling the smoke and offering it up to george. “it won’t get you high, but if we share it, it will make this look less sad.”

george frowned, taking the joint from her hand and taking a shaky drag, choking in the smoke as it filed his lungs. “what did he do? did he touch you?”

she laughed sadly, defeat in her eyes as she looked over the paddock. “nope. what he did hurt a whole lot more. when I got back from wales I went over to his apartment to surprise him, since my flight had gotten in a few hours early. he was in bed with another woman. and this wasn’t the first time, either. he’s been seeing her almost as long as he’s been seeing me. apparently she didn’t know I existed, and he was thinking about marrying her. I was fucking humiliated, george.”

“I’m so sorry.” he didn’t know what to say as he passed the joint back. she took a long drag, refusing to meet his eyes until he had reached over to shake her gently by the shoulder. “you did nothing wrong. you are pretty and funny and smart and most of all worthy of love. if matty couldn’t see that, then he didn’t deserve you in the first place, y/n.”

it happened so suddenly it almost knocked the driver on his backside. they were just talking, sitting comfortably in the marijuana smoke and then suddenly the engineers daughter is kissing him. soft, guava lips pressed to his, pillowy from all the tropical lip balms she can’t seem to put down. her hands are hungry, extinguishing the joint against the metal motor home roof before pawing at george’s broad frame.

they had been friends for years, yn considered him one of her closest. it must have been the part of her that needed reassurance that said ‘it’s okay, cross the line’ because soon enough, he was kissing her back, tongue exploring her mouth with reverence, hands gripping her waist through her mom jeans, then slipping into her back pockets to cop a feel.

“is there anyone left inside?” she panted, resting her forehead against george’s, hand splayed against his clothed chest.

the driver shook his head.

“good. I want you.”

and then they were in his drivers room, everything happening so fast that it felt like a fever dream. and then it happened, her jeans and panties on the floor, stripped down the lacy camisole she’d had on under her sweater, back on the massage table as she wrapped her bare legs around george’s hips, his hands gripping thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into her, sweat dripping off the tips of his brown hair.

“god, fuck, george, please!” none of the words leaving her mouth were coherent. it didn’t matter. this was about avoidance, a mere distraction, if you will.

she needed to be fucked so hard she couldn’t think about all the bullshit matty was putting her through.

when all was said and done, her mind blissfully clear as she lay prone on the massage table, feeling the sweat dry on her flushed skin as she watched george tuck his cock back into his jeans, all she could find it in her to say was “god I needed that.”

and from there, it was all too easy to fall into a dangerous pattern that didn’t help anybody. one that tord a line so fragile it might as well have been made of salt, intended to keep the deeper feelings out.

the night in george’s drivers room turned into a quickie the next morning in the airport bathroom, bent over the vanity in front of a mirror, panties around her ankles and a massive hickey tucked into her turtleneck as they sat across from each other on the private jet, sharing a glance and smiling at the secret they shared,

eventuakly, back on home soil, the driver became her coping mechanism. when she wanted to go out but her friends were busy, george was the first person she called, pulling up to his house in her toyota corolla, synth-heavy music that was popular on tumblr in 2014 shaking the frame of the car. she turned it down as george opened the passenger door, giving her an odd look as the guitar solo played quieter in the background.

“how can you think when it’s that loud?”

“that’s the point. I can’t. it keeps the thoughts at bay.”

that night had ended in the back of an empty parking garage, movie theater popcorn and a takeout box left abandoned on the passenger seat, y/n on her knees with george’s rock hard length in her mouth. hearing him moan her name was its own kind of drug, and hearing him call her ‘good girl’ was enough to have her clenching around air.

or when george would come over, and they would make a new recipe together, criminal minds playing in the background. how many nights did the dinner end up burning while george had y/n's legs spread wide on the dining room table?

and while the act itself brought him nothing but pleasure, it was the aftermath that left him feeling like shit. he knew this was never going to go any further, that y/n was just looking for a rebound. something to take her mind off just how fucked her last relationship had been.

george would never be anything more than a friend, someone she could fuck when she needed it and be platonic with when she didn't.

she deserved better, someone who could take care of her in teh way that her heart ached for.

someone like george william russell, he thought.

but who was he to decide what was best for her? maybe he could show her, treat her right and change her mind somehow. but he wasn’t sure how to do it.

it was a night like any other, over a game of uno and a bottle of white wine, reruns of coronation street playing in the background, the smooth jazz of the intro and outro music only adding to the atmosphere.

and of course, as nights like these do, the cards ended up discarded on george’s living room floor, bodies mushed together in a heap in front of the soft blue glow of the tv. he picked her up bridal style, deftly lifting her weight as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the master bedroom.

the bedroom. a place so intimate and so forbidden. their relationship had subsisted on having sex anywhere but a bed, for a bed would make it too real. there would be too many feelings involved.

and yet here he was, taking a massive leap into the unknown, uncharted waters as he laid her down against the linens, caging her body in with his as he kissed her.

a kiss so different from all the others that they shared, this one soft and tender. no teeth and no tongue, just the soft caress of a man’s chapped lips, done with reverence, as if her body was a treasure.

he trailed his soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck, no words exchanged between the two as his hands began to slide up her black t-shirt, over her belly-button piercing and then coming to rest over the padding of her bra as his lips traced her collarbone. he was in tune to her every movement, every whine and gasp.

he kissed down her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with her every breath. listening to the way that her breath caught as he popped open the button in her skinny jeans, dragging them down her legs and watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“george,” she hummed as he kissed and nibbled at her inner thigh, so close yet so far from what she needed.

“george!” it was a shout this time, paired with her small hands aggressively pushing him away. “I can’t do this. what are we doing here?”

“what?” george was wide eyed an confused “I’m treating you like a decent fucking boyfriend would! I like you yn, and you mean a lot to me. you deserve more than some cheap fuck in the backseat. you deserve to be treated like a treasure.”

she shook her head, standing up from the bed and pulling her jeans back on, refusing to meet georges eyes as she faced the firestorm of thoughts in her head, each one telling her that she had made a horrible mistake.

“we can’t. there was a line, and we crossed it.” her voice was shaky, bottom lip quivering. she was doing the right thing, or so she kept telling herself. putting that boundary back.

because they were friends. nothing more, nothing less.

george laughed. an awful, grating sound in this context. “you weren’t worried about crossing lines when you let me fuck you on my massage table. or when you had my cock down your throat.”

“please don’t take that tone with me!”

“I know matty hurt you. and I know you needed a rebound, but I want all of you, yn. I want your good days and your bad. I want to take care of you.” he was getting desperate. they both knew that there was no such thing as ‘just friends’ after this.

“I can’t be what you need, and I can take care of myself.” she tucked her hair behind her ear before storming last george and back into the living room.

george would always regret letting her leave. somehow, as he watched her grab her purse and her leather jacket and the keys to her fucking toyota, that this would be the last time he saw y/n bonnington.

and he was right.

he didn’t see her start to cry when she got into her car, driving to an empty space of road so she could pull over into the shoulder and let it all out, the radio tuned so loud that she swore it was shaking the frame of the car. and that’s when she decided it was time to reevaluate her life.

george didnt see her again for months. he heard from bonno that she quit her job, moved out to the coast. somewhere on the water. brighton or blackpool or bournemouth. a new group of friends, a new job, a fresh start.

she sold the toyota, bought herself a mini cooper countryman, a car she’d wanted since she was a little girl. she stopped wearing tight, dark clothes and starting seeking out florals, pastels even. flowier clothes that made her feel good.

and she was happy. from time to time, she still thought about that night at george’s. in a way, she was thankful. it had forced her to change, to become a better person. a healthier one. but she hated that she had hurt him. played with his feelings and then stomped on his heart. but deep down, she knew she had done the right thing. she could never have been the girlfriend that george needed. she was too broken.

george saw her again a year later, in the paddock at silverstone. he hardly recognized her: new hair, wide smile. mom jeans and a floral crop top that looked straight out of the seventies. she looked good. happy. healthy.

but there was something else he saw that hit him like a knife to the kidney.

it was the man on her arm. he was conventionally attractive, if you liked surfers. his dark hair flopped around his face the same way hugh grants did in ‘notting hill’ and his sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his striped resort shirt, left open for the top few buttons of course. she looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and he held her like she was the most important thing in his life, always having an arm around her shoulders, tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

his name was colin. of course his name was fucking colin. like he was a character in fucking love actually, and not the man dating the woman george had so vulnerably bared his heart to.

he’d pulled out his phone, open to her number even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d delete it but he never did.

the text was right there in the message box, waiting to be sent.

does he take care of you?

but when he looked over at them again, his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder as she was pointing out different things on her dad computer monitor, george knew the answer.

colin took incredible care of her, and he seemed to be exactly what she needed.

and how could george fault the other man for doing exactly what he would if y/n had been his?

he deleted the message without sending it, quietly slipping out of the garage, with the intention of working out until he couldn’t feel the pain any more.

TAGS:

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[dellalyra]

Hi love I’m back for a bit anyways I was going through my notes and I saw your folder with request ideas that I had and didn’t request yet and since you finally hit 2k i can still do it so yay!

You remember that scene in the manga where they had to train gojos infinity by basically throwing things at him? Yeah so what I was thinking is that moment and also just to make it funnier I just know they were throwing things at him at the speed of light just to make sure something hits him and they moved up to heavier massive objects just for fun so something like that please. :)

ᴜɴᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ - ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

Pixie Says: this was so fun soraya you are my queen I stg I loved writing this

“Did it hit?” You shout across the field.

“No! Do it again?” Satoru’s voice echoes back.

Shoko hands Geto another tennis ball, and he proceeds to fire it across the field - towards an unperturbed Gojo.

“What about that one?” Shoko asks.

“Nope! Do something bigger! Geto - where’s our basketball?” The white haired man says, with all the excitement of a puppy.

Geto rolls his eyes, but smiles slightly - a rare sight these days - as he wanders toward the dorms to grab his ball.

“Think fast!” Shoko shouts, throwing an apple at Gojo’s head.

The apple splits in half and falls to the floor as you and Shoko cheer with Gojo at yet another object infinity can reflect.

Geto jogs towards them, and tosses the orange basketball at his best friend - it bounces straight off and back toward Geto who grabs it in one large hand.

“Okay - we gotta think bigger.” You say, hands on your hips and looking around the courtyard.

Shoko strolls off, only to come back a second later with a chair from one of the classrooms.

“Jesus Koko - I meant like - a pillow.” You try to take the chair but Gojo interrupts by shouting ‘throw the chair!’.

Ever the dutiful girlfriend, you allow Geto to swing the chair toward your man who is gleefully jumping at the prospect of having a chair flung in his direction.

The wood splits in half and falls with a clunk to the ground. Geto claps and whoops at the mess left, all four of you cheering, a mutual love of chaos being the thing that bonded you all three years ago.

“Okay but these are all like, blunt things. Can it stop weapons? Y/N, throw a knife at him.” Shoko says, patting down your thigh to find the holster you keep under your uniform skirt.

“Get your morguey hands outta my girl’s skirt, Ieiri!” Satoru shouts, tossing a tennis ball back at her.

“What about a knife, ‘toru?” You say, fully confident in your love’s abilities to not get stabbed (again).

You had been witness to his crazed intent to become stronger, and almost invincible, over the past few months since the incident. Marks left on everyone, a slight scar on Gojo’s pale throat, crisscrossed scars spanning the width of Geto’s broad chest - the scar of the sound of a gunshot penetrating a sweet girl’s head haunting every dream, hands stained with the blood of her best friends and the memory of shaking hands as she sewed their wounds shut for Shoko and the image of your soulmate bleeding out in your lap and the slash of scar across your thigh from the blow he landed as you tried to deflect him from Satoru.

If one good thing had come from it, it was the fact that it contributed toward the push you and Satoru both needed for getting your heads out of your asses and finally confessing just how much you loved each other that day after the mission in the abandoned hospital.

So you didn’t worry.

Shaking the thoughts from your head you whip your dagger out and spin it between your fingers.

“Ready, ‘toru.” You ask, smiling.

“Always, princess.” He smirks back.

You fling the knife with eerie precision toward him and see it clatter to the ground below an unscathed Gojo.

Another chorus of cheers erupts.

“We need to think even bigger.” Shoko says, deep in thought.

“I’ve got exactly the thing.” Geto says, smirk gracing his features as he looks straight toward you, and in one fast swoop you find yourself in his arms as he prepares to launch you across the field.

“Geto Suguru don’t you dare throw me! I swear to god I will fucking - AGHHHHHH.” Your words of warning are interrupted as you feel yourself fly through the air and then as soon as it started it stops with a jolt and a pair of strong arms wrapping around you, a sheen of sweat sticking to your skin.

You open your eyes, laughing at the turn of events, and see a pair of ice blue eyes, the colour which has been your favourite since you were 16, staring back at you with a wide smile.

“You caught me!” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck and realising that he’s switched his infinity off to hold you.

“Only a fool would drop a girl like you.” He says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as you smile.

“I can’t believe you just quoted scooby-doo and kissed me.” You say, burying your head into his neck.

“You love me.” He says, shrugging.

“That’s exactly why I love you.” You giggle as he gently returns you to solid ground.

“I love you more, but now, I believe you have revenge to enact.” He pats your head, and fixes your shirt.

“I do, thank you, ‘toru.” A peck on the cheek as you stand on the tips of your toes. You smile at him, and turn around.

“GETO SUGURU! YOU BASTARD, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” You sprint toward the man who is laughing and beginning to back away slowly - away from the wrath of the future Mrs.Gojo.

[bullet-prooflove]

Heyy how are you? Could write prompt 5)     “Kiss you in a crowded room” from the midnights prompt list for Tim Bradford? Thank you :)

Part One: Monster

Part Two: The Gaslight (NSFW)

Part Three: Stalemate

Tim wants to marry you. He’s thought about it so many times since the two of you got together, he always assumed it was inevitable. Now as he sits at the front desk during the night shift, sifting through the most ridiculous shit the public has to offer, he realises that that possibility is getting further and further away because Captain Ashmore is never going to let you go.

It's been over a month since his Captain pulled him into his office, demanding that he disclose your location. His refusal had left him relegated to desk duty for the first week, his punishments steadily getting worse the longer the stalemate continues.

Ashmore can’t outwardly fire him. There are procedures in place, the union to contend with, appeals if he tries but he can make Tim’s life miserable, he can stall his career, destroy his future prospects.

Tim’s willing to risk all of it to keep you safe, because that look in the other man’s eyes when he showed Tim that picture, he knows he’s going to kill you. Tim’s worked enough DV cases to see the signs.

The others have tried to talk to him about his predicament, but he’s kept his mouth shut, told them to mind their own business. He doesn’t want the Captain coming down on any of them, assuming that their co-conspirators so he keeps his distance. He hasn’t seen you since the night before Ashmore pulled him into his office. He’d managed to swipe Chen’s phone to send you a text.

“He knows.”

There had been no contact since.

It’s Angela that breaks his silence.

It’s 3am in the breakroom when she corners him. He’s sipping a coffee and flicking through your old Instagram images, ones before you abandoned the account. There’s one of the two of you from Angela’s wedding, him in a tuxedo and you in that silk, cornflower blue dress. He remembers undressing you that night, the fabric fluttering to the floor in his bedroom, your lipstick marks leaving a trail down his body.

“I need to talk to you.” Angela says interrupting his thoughts as she sits down across from him. She has a brown manilla folder in her hands and already the dread is climbing in his chest. “Captain Ashworth has asked me to look into something.”

When she flicks open the folder he sees your picture, the one from the academy and his heart just stops.

“Noones heard from her since she took that leave of absence. There’s been no posts on her socials, her phone’s switched off, her house is locked up. No movement on any of her accounts. He suspects foul play.” He leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “I thought she just needed some space after what happened with that kid. I didn’t think…”

Angela trails off and Tim can see that guilt, how much it weighs on her. The two of you were partners before you took off. You’d told her, you needed a break, that the Chapman case was too much. Finding out what that little girl’s father had done had almost broken you, but it wasn’t the reason you left.

It’s a devious move, one that even Tim didn’t see coming. Angela is an excellent detective, she’s tenacious and loyal, leading her to think that her friend is in danger is only going to add fuel that fire. That woman won’t stop until she tracks you down.

“The two of you were close, did she say anything...”

Tim swallows hard against the anguish in his chest, his jaw clenches because all of this… It’s just too much to carry on his shoulders, he can’t keep going it alone, not when Ashmore is pulling shit like this.

“Angela, she isn’t missing.” Tim says reaching over the table and closing the file. “She’s on the run.”

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[imabeautifulbutterfly]

The Gym Membership - Part 54 (Crosshair)

Summary: Layla and Crosshair finally take a step forward

A/N: Hello Lovelies,

I am beyond sorry for going silent for almost a month. Things have been beyond crazy both at work and just in general and then during my vacation I was sick the entire time. thankfully, I'm all better and ready to get back to it. And it's official only three more chapters and Crosshair's section will be done.

Thank you everyone for sticking around.

Love oo

Warnings: Anxiety, flirting, feelings of guilt, nervousness, mentions of alcohol. If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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I’d been on the phone for a good hour with Sofie, going over my conversation with Crosshair wanting to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood what tonight was, hoping this would be the first of many moments with him. 

However, now as I stood at his door, it made me question if I was even doing the right thing. This was Avery’s husband. My brother-in-law, that was weird. I shook my head and focused on the fact Crosshair and I weren’t really in-laws. 

Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell. 

Crosshair stood on the other side of the door, hearing the doorbell suddenly made everything seem so real. Made his nerves skyrocket. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow exhale, doing his best to calm his own nerves and pushing aside the awkward sensation he felt in his stomach. Maker, what the hell is wrong with me! Snap out of it, jackass! He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“Hey” he smirked, unconsciously leaning away, his hand gently resting in his pocket, his thumb and pinkie sticking out, “glad you made it.”

It took me a minute to respond, he looked amazing as my eyes slowly took in his outfit, the light lilac coloured shirt with its open collar accentuating his neck muscles, the rolled up sleeves were simply doing God’s work, his forearms looked incredible, that’s for sure. My eyes shifted to the grey dress pants that were tight around his thighs, and that belt that highlighted his toned waist. I took a quick overview before looking him in the eyes, doing my best to calm my heart and let out a controlled breath.

I cleared my throat, my eyes drifting to the object in my hand, “Thanks, me too. Um … I know you said just to bring my gorgeous smile,” my vision slowly focused on Crosshair’s face. There was a very smug smile on his lips, I knew at that moment he’d seen me eyeing him. A suppressed smile danced along my lips, causing him to chuckle while he leaned against the door frame, the scent of his oak and whiskey cologne wafting over, “… however, I also brought some wine.”

Crosshair’s smile widened as he shifted away from the entrance, inviting her in, “Then you brought more than was necessary, come in.” He held open the door, admiring her yellow one shouldered dress, it fit her to a T and it certainly accentuated all her curves perfectly. He felt nervous, it had been so long since he actually dated, not just one night stands or a quick weekend fling. In fact, it was the first time since Avery, and it just happened to be her sister. A dreaded feeling settled under the nervousness.

‘Allow yourself to be happy.’

Mel’s words came back with a vengeance ringing in his head. He quieted the nerves and the uneasiness that kept swirling around him as much as he could, replaying her words again. 

I looked around the apartment, it was nice and cozy, very relaxed. Which surprised me greatly, I always imagined him to have a sparse living space. Maybe a folder chair, for sitting; more specifically one folded chair to encourage no visitors. But there was a beautiful sectional that decorated his living room, his TV was relatively big, and the bookshelves that seemed to be overflowing with novels, tactical books, history books, and … I leaned a little closer to see some comic books as well. It was so different from the image he usually portrayed. Especially the soft gold blanket against the dark blue love seat in front of me. 

“Nice place” I turned smiling at him.

He nodded his thanks as they walked further in,  “Want a tour of the place?”

“Sure, umm … where should I leave this?” I motioned the bottle in my hand.

“Oh, right. I’ll take it” 

I followed him into the dining room, my breath caught in my chest as I saw the table setting. There were fresh cut tulips on the table, and candles providing the right ambience for a romantic evening. It looked right out of a romcom movie. 

My eyes caught his as I slowly turned to face him, “You … you did this?”

Crosshair felt nervous, maybe he had gone too far. Maybe she just thought it was a normal dinner, not a date-date. “Oh … uh … well I thought it would look nice, saw it in a magazine.”

“It does” I smiled softly, biting my bottom lip while Crosshair placed the bottle on the table. As I stood there my stomach started twisting again, somehow it felt right and wrong at the same time, “I wasn’t sure if you had meant a date, when you asked me over.” 

He didn’t say anything, simply kept his eyes on her trying to read and decipher her expression as best as possible. His hand fidgeted by his side, “And now?”

“I’m glad I came dressed for a date.” I felt my face heat as he kept his eyes on me, a smile full of relief broke across his lips. 

“Me too. Well dinner’s ready if you wanna eat now …” An involuntary giggle came out, stopping Cross mid sentence, he just tilted his head looking at me, “I’m sorry, did I say something funny?”

“No …” I closed my eyes trying to stop myself from laughing a lot harder than I probably should, “I’m sorry, it’s not you. It’s the situation.” I opened my eyes, and looked at him, “Why don’t we eat dinner and just go from there.”

He simply nodded, the confidence that he had managed to build was starting to shake, where was the smooth man who was able to convince two people to go home with him. What was wrong with him! “Great, then have a seat, and I’ll bring out dinner.” He pulled back her chair, motioning for her to take a seat.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I took my seat, his firm hand giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before he headed towards the kitchen. I took in a very deep calming breath as I tried to steady my nerves. I couldn’t believe I was here - - on a date - - with Crosshair of all people. My eyes drifted over the pictures on the wall, falling on one of him and Avery laughing as he looked at her with love. My heart ached as I felt it and the picture accusing me.

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[hopeamarsu]

See You

Joel Miller x gn!reader (sort of, maybe)

Word count 1,3k

Warnings: Death, life in the QZ, funeral pyre, general gloominess

A/N: I do not know what this is, but I knew I had to get it out. It's also been months since I last touched anything in my writing folder, so I'm a little rusty. So there will be mistakes, and there will probably be inconsistencies but I don't mind.

You see enough death at your job, so you really shouldn’t be here. But you can’t help yourself; the image of the dead girl - no more than ten years of age - sitting tied up in the chair hasn’t left you since the body left the FEDRA reception center.

Execution center, your traitorous mind hisses, but you shake it off quickly. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there and people do what they can to ensure survival. Life in the QZ zone is harsh and oftentimes brutal, but it’s sometimes necessary to be cruel. It’s done for the people still fighting and alive. 

At least that’s what FEDRA tells you and you’d never question it or their harsh, unjust actions out loud. You value your own life more. And in some twisted way, you do understand the theory behind all this, your own need for survival thrumming in your veins.  

These are the days though when you hate your job and the nightmares it gives you, even if the extra ration cards you take home will ensure you can at least eat well most nights. It’s almost not worth it, shifting through a dead person’s belongings and making sure they are transported to the burning pits. 

Seeing their final moments, smelling their decay and desperation, and having to touch their clammy skin in order to be thorough in the search for any valuables left behind takes a chunk out of your own fractured soul every time it happens. 

If you even have any soul left to fracture that is. 

The scent and sight of death linger on you, in you even after you leave the premises. You can never get rid of it, no matter how hard you try. You can try to drink it away, but it lingers and wraps around your throat at night. 

On the hardest of days, those extra ration cards and the dinners remain unused and uneaten.  

It falls to you to strip the dead of their humanity, your final task of placing the bag over their heads to preserve anonymity and it weighs you down. With the FEDRA people hovering nervously around you, ready to attack like rabid dogs at the first sign of the dead not being dead enough, doesn’t allow you much time to grieve or show mercy, but you do what you can. 

You close their eyes gently and smooth out any hair tangled on sweaty foreheads and you send a silent wish to the deities still out there to allow for the poor souls some rest before slipping the cloth over their features. It’s what you can do before you are more or less pushed aside for the transport guys to take over. Your work done, a slim stack of ration cards in your pockets, you are dismissed unceremoniously. 

You don’t normally walk home this way, but today your feet carry you over to the edge of the pits. Your face is shrouded by a cloth to avoid smoke inhalation but your eyes remain open and alert. You watch the people shovel the dirt and ash around the flames, feeling the heat even from a distance away. This is gruesome work and while you hate your own job, it’s at least somewhat clean and silent. Small mercy that. 

The tires of the truck crunch on the gravel and you see two people walk toward it. A screech of metal pierces the air as the back is wrenched open and you feel your knuckles tighten. 

This is it, this is her next. The poor little girl born into a world too cruel and lost her life when it should’ve only been at the beginning. You have to fight to keep your eyes open, the tears burning you from the inside, but you cannot let a moment slip by. You’ve come this far, you have to watch it until the bitter end. 

The woman next to the man backs away from the truck and you know exactly why she does it. The size of the sneakers is devastating. She disappears somewhere but you don’t follow her movements, too focused on the truck and the body laying in the bed. The man turns and you see him carry the dead girl in his arms. Your knees buckle at the lonely sight of the one-man funeral team.  

His face doesn’t change, he doesn’t twitch or show any remorse when he drops the body unceremoniously into the flames. He looks past the fire, resigned to his fate. The vacant look on his face signals he’s done this too many times to count and has lost any hope in humanity. It’s both chilling and sad to witness. 

It takes you far longer than it should to recognize the set of shoulders and large frame trimming down to a narrow waist. But then it clicks in your head and his expression makes perfect sense. 

Joel Miller. 

There are numerous whispers of him, hushed and hurried words spoken in the darkest corners of the QZ. The whispers have fear, awe, and lust in them, depending on the person speaking, but they all hold the same information.

They tell the story that he is more a machine than a man, void of emotions and immune to everything. Nothing phases him, nothing touches him. Every bad deed aimed in his direction rolls off him like water on stone. He can make things appear and disappear in places they shouldn’t. His name is respected and feared at the same time, spoken alone or together with another name that garners the same reaction. But he’s alone now, the woman known only as Tess not with him. 

He’s a mystery, an enigma of the highest level, and in some way you itch to unravel the mystery. The aura Joel carries with him calls to you in a way you’ve never felt before and suddenly when his dark eyes lock into your gaze from across the fire, everything stops. All sound falls away and your spine straightens instantly. A gasp is lodged in your throat, unable to escape. He is an apex predator, determining whether you are the same or his prey. 

You hold his gaze nervously, watching him in silence and seeing him commit every detail into memory. It should make you itch, knowing someone knows you are here, but for some reason, it doesn’t. His gaze holds you captive and you let it happen willingly. You let him see you, the weight you carry and the sorrow you feel for that girl he just buried by funeral pyre. 

It only takes a second or two but feels like a lifetime of being under his thrall before his brown eyes flash again and Joel reaches a conclusion of some kind. He tips his head, clearly now more curious than worried about you.

He moves a little, giving you a tantalizing view of a jawline covered in dark and grey hair and dry lips. You lick your own lips at the sight, glad that the movement is hidden by the smoke and the cloth over your face. He is gorgeous, a beautiful man forged in the living hell on earth, and some of the husky whispers of Joel Miller and his talents make more sense now. 

Find me later, the lips in question form the order slowly and you can practically feel the commanding tone rumble from his wide chest to yours. You give a jerky nod, unable to deny him. Joel holds your gaze for a beat longer before you have to close your eyes to rid the burning the smoke has caused.

When you open your eyes again, he’s gone from his spot. There is only fire and smoke and the scent of death around you. But you don’t worry about his disappearance as you slink back into the shadows of the building yourself. 

You know deep in your gut that if you don’t find him first, Joel Miller will find you.  

[littleragondin]

SHIPPER TAG GAME

I was tagged by @lurkingshan, thank you very much (´꒳`)♡ My memory is not the best so some of these are going to be a little challenging lol but let’s try!

1. What ship were you completely obsessed with when you were a teenager, but now you don't care anymore?

I don’t know how to “not care” about things I once loved I’m afraid lol. But ships that consumed my life that I now don’t think about very often and am more “what a good surprise to see you here, I still like you" than "oh you are back to consume my life for the next two to fifteen months" are most of the things I watched when I was younger: Logan/Max from Dark Angel, Sam/Jack and Daniel/Jack from Stargate:SG1, Jim/Blair from The Sentinel, Piper/Leo from Charmed, Tim/Tony and Gibbs/Tony from NCIS, etc...

2. Which ship would you consider your first one?

Hmmm… I think the first time I felt emotionally invested in two characters ending up together – in a “watching religiously and asking my mom to tape the wedding episode because we would be traveling on the day it was to be diffused” kind of way – is Fran Fine and Maxwell Sheffield from The Nanny.

We knew they were end game, but STILL!

3. Your first fanfic belonged to which couple?

Oh, good question… I came into fandom via manga and while they were not the ones I shipped the hardest (I was a hardcore Gaara/Lee fan ♡♡♡), I think the first fics I read were NaruSasu and/or Kakashi/Iruka – on personal fan websites.

The first shipping fic I wrote hmmm… I think it actually was some Kakashi/Iruka? I tumbled into fandom really fast once I found it so it’s a bit of a blur lol but yeah, pretty sure it was something Naruto related.

4. Do you remember the first couple you saw a fanart over?

… Not really, but probably either something from One Piece (Zorro/Luffy or Zorro/Sanji) or Neon Genesis Evangelion – those two were the very first manga I read (circa 2002), and I vaguely remember checking them on Google Image for my favorite hobby: “collecting images from the internet that I would then organize carefully in the computer’s little folders” so I must have found some cute stuffs that I didn’t even realize were shipping…

5. Did you ever get into ship discourse?

No. While I generally have strong opinions about stuff, I am pretty non confrontational and I’m here for a good time, not to fight with people, so I avoid it. I’ve seen stuffs that I’m glad I didn’t poke with a ten feet pole. On top of that, I am a huge believer and practitioner of “shipping one character with more than one person (in a polycule or not)” so ship wars have never made much sense to me. Even in qL, even when I really adore the endgame couple(s), I often like thinking of the options, the what-if, etc. so fighting about that does not sound appealing lol

6. Did you used to have any no-otp or have it currently?

Talking about my very first fandoms, I never wanted Sakura with either Naruto nor Sasuke lol I loved her, but hated the idea of either options. Still not sold on it tbh. I also really hated the idea of Hermione with either of the other two lsdfj same reason, I loved her so much, and I loved that they were friends!

I have ships I am uninterested in but I always feel like notp is a little stronger than that, so I don’t think I have any currently.

7. Who were the couple in the last fanfic you read?

Oof, okay, life does come back full circle lol I binged the One Piece Live Action at the start of the month, so the last fics I’ve read since were all Zorro/Luffy.

8. Currently, do you have any OTPs?

DO I EVER?? I have OTP that have been in my heart since I’m 10. And, I mean, by virtue of watching so much QL I have an OTP in every couple I watch get together for 8 to 12 episodes, I’m a big, mushy romantic. Also I will daydream about ships from about anything I watch so…But! My current OTP, the one that owns my heart, that gets me to literally squeal in delight, makes me gasp and cry and twirl my hair while kicking my feet is Nomoto and Kasuga from She loves to cook and she loves to eat!

I love them sooooo much it’d be ridiculous if I had any sort of dignity about that kind of things (I don’t) (*´▽`*)

9. Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting together?

Ok you know what? I rewatched some episodes with my mom over my christmas break so I will say yes, Jack O’Neil and Samantha Carter in Stargate:SG1. Yeah, yeah I don’t care that he is her commanding officer and blablabla.

After all this teasing, damn, we could have gotten a little something something when the team finally breaks alright?

10. Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they are kind of interesting?

I can’t really think of anything right now to be honest… I feel like anything I’d feel strongly enough to remember I would still dislike now, though, to be frank.

11. Do you have any ship that, in the past, was considered normal but now you would be canceled over?

I guess? I mean, I came to fandom and to QL via yaoi – wich I started reading around 2005, so you can imagine the amount of “problematic” content I enjoyed. Age gaps (I was a HUGE fan of Naono Bohra who like those a lot), power imbalance, dub-con (one of the first yaoi translated in France was Gravitation), and so on and so forth.

12. What was your favorite crack ship?

I can’t answer that one, mainly because I used to have so many of them (I still do, don’t look at me). I got into superheros comics when I was something like 18 and I did RP with a friend where looking back, it seems like our main game was to pair everyone no matter how silly it might have been. I guess in those, I still have a fondness for everything we did that crossed the DC/Marvel divide. We also played a lot with those random ship generators? They gave you two characters and you tried to find a way to make it work. I still like those!

13. Who is the couple you read more fanfics of?

Across all of time?? I… have no idea… like really none. Recently, it’s probably any variations of 3zuns from The Untamed, but for the early years I could not say.

14. What most of your ships usually have in common?

The love I have for them (*¯︶¯*)

Joke aside, I’m not sure? I’m a simple creature, I’m easily swayed, if there is something compelling in the dynamic, I will be interested. I like them sweet but I also have pretty toxic ships, so I think the main thing for me is that there is something interesting going on that makes me want to root for them and/or think about them and how they work together.

15. What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

I need to believe there is a way for them to genuinely love each other. But sometimes, ~the vibes~ just feel rancid to me and I can’t get into it, I can’t explain more than that ^^”

I'll tag, if you feel so inclined: @benkaaoi @troubled-mind @bengiyo @gillianthecat @iguessitsjustme and @heretherebedork

[chiclet-go-boom]

... for those of you not paying attention at home, I have been deep in the weeds these last few months resurrecting old websites I used to run or co-run back in the day. in this brave new world of corporate takeover and the tiny little cries of the oppressed going "where are all the little webpages now? the carefully curated lists of things that only three people actually care about? what if i want to hear all the dialogue lines from Gambit as voiced in the now defunct Marvel Heroes mmo?!" --- I have risen like cream.

I have three quarters of the webcode for about four different fansites from wayyyy back in the day when I was absolutely feral about building websites for whatever my current obsession was, and right now i'm currently putting Bird Go back together - a fansite for Gatchaman/Battle of the Planets specific to Joe/Ken yaoi but we were equal opportunity smut purveyors and pretty much entertained all comers.

For the most part I have left the old code intact and surprisingly most of it still functions, although its laughably bad if you consider 'best practices' of the here and now. But - it serves webpages on desktop monitors which is what it was originally meant for so I am content. Some stuff has been lost over the intervening years, old folders of images or pages not copied forward through hard drive crashes and the like, so there's been evenings of hacking through the Wayback Machines to try and restore at least some of what's gone missing.

Today though I have just finished re-creating 105 webpages for the individual episodes of the first series and can now attach the 40 folders of screencaps that I carefully put together back in the day because, yes, I do have the entire first series on CD and did spend quality time like the fan I was/am to crib all the really good shots (and all the really horrific ones) for posterity.

so please, in my carpal tunnel pain - see also my little drawing and painting attempts below that were lovingly drawn at the same time as this very old website, because there's nothing like a strong love for a particular anime to inspire a gal to want to make pictures for it.

Science Ninja Team Gatchaman! I will love you forever.

[mccarthawrites]

Tony’s Final Request

Relationship: James “Rhodey” Rhodes & Tony Stark

Rated: General Audiences

Summary: Unbeknownst to Rhodey, the night Tony recorded the message for Pepper and Morgan, he also recorded one for his best friend. Asking for one more favor from beyond the grave.

Author’s Note: I have had this sitting in my WIPs folder for months.

Words: 476

Marvel Masterlist

As soon as Rhodey got home, he made his way straight for the liquor cabinet. The past few days had been the most exhausting of his life. Trying to put on a brave face for Pepper and Morgan was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Tony wasn’t the first person he lost, but losing Tony was different. Tony wasn’t just his best friend. He was his brother. Pouring a drink, the War Machine helmet that sat on the table, turned on, grabbing his attention.

“Colonel Rhodes, you have a message from Mr. Stark.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s familiar voice informed him.

“What- what message? What are you talking about?” He was confused. From the eyes of the helmet, an image of Tony projected. Assuming it to be the same projection shown at the funeral, Rhodey took a swig of the dark liquid in his glass. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., I’ve seen this already.”

“Hey, this is a break in case of an emergency type deal. If I don’t come back you send this to Rhodey, alright?” Tony asked. It wasn’t the same projection. It was something else. “If you’re watching this, I hope that means you made it back and we were successful.” It was like he was standing there. But he wasn’t. Rhodey didn’t bother fighting the tears, letting his guard down finally. “I am hoping that is true. I’m hoping we won and everything is back to normal. I hope- I recorded one of these for Pepper and Morgan, but I wanted- I wanted to touch all my bases. If you’re seeing this it means I-” Tony sighed. “It means I didn’t make it back. And- if I’m not there to celebrate all of Morgan’s big moments, I’m going to need you to step up for me. I know Pepper’s going to be okay. But I need you and Happy to look out for my kid if I’m not there. She still needs to learn how to ride a bike. All the birthdays and-” Tony cleared his throat. “I’m going to need you to threaten any guy she brings home when she’s fifteen. Be as annoying as I would be. She’s going to need you. Look at me, still asking for a request from beyond the grave.” Tony scoffed. “I hope that if I’m dead, you’re absolutely devastated. But that’s not- everything is going to be find and you may never see this video. I think I’ll see you in the morning, so goodnight, I guess.” The projection ended. Rhodey took a deep breath, holding his glass against his chest.

“Would you like me to replay it?” F.R.I.D.A.Y asked.

“Yeah.” Rhodey lost count of how many times he replayed Tony’s final request, but he knew that he would fulfill it.

[brainwormsnotgummyworms]

Did I Lose a Piece of Myself or Has She Been There All Along?

How to retrieve blocked messages! 

How to see blocked messages when their number is blocked. ✨

I had blocked his phone number on my phone, I just got a new laptop and all of his texts he sent me while he was blocked just loaded.

When I open my laptop and it shows the last message they sent me after I blocked them. 

How to find blocked messages on iPhone. 

I caved. It started with one TikTok: a video of a teenage girl with her hand over her mouth, her perfectly manicured acrylic nails shining under the white light of her screen, and her bulky rimmed glasses glinted with a reflection of an image of the young girl recording herself. Her slicked back bun and golden chunky hooped earrings were covered with a black-and-white rounded text stating how she found her “blocked messages folder” on her iPhone–unveiling the thousands upon thousands of text messages she received from her ex. All of which consisted of the, “Take me back” pleas.  I don’t know this girl and I don’t know her ex, but I do know myself and what happened between my ex and I–the seemingly heart wrenching story which truly was just a break-up that was waiting to happen at least eight months prior. As I begged and sobbed in the stairwell of my summer dorm, he averted my eyes and laid back upon the concrete wall. “Why am I not enough for you?” I asked between stifled tears. 

Why am I not enough for you? The desperate question danced mournfully in the empty hall–its forlorn message dripped with deplorable pity and anguish as it bounced from wall to wall. 

I never received an answer, but maybe it's better that way. 

The day of the break-up, he had unfollowed and unadded me on all platforms about fifteen minutes after everything happened. To retaliate, I blocked him on every app that I could–except his phone number, of course, because how else would I send desperate texts asking to stay friends!? Eventually, when I finally accepted he would never come back or return my drunken calls, I blocked his number on my birthday; it helped to never know whether or not he would’ve sent that sneaky “birthday text” some of us wish to receive after the breakup. 

Over the past year or so, I have changed into the new and improved woman I like to think of myself as. A new degree; a new home; a new career; a new haircut; a new wardrobe; a new circle of friends; a new piercing or two; a new flourishing girl he will never know nor touch. Even with everything that has changed, I cannot help, but remember how I felt that day in the stairwell–that, in itself, was a new feeling I had never felt before. 

I have moved-on (or at least that’s what I tell myself). I go on dates, I chat with new guys and girls, I fantasize, I flirt, I bat my eyes and purse my lips, and, worst of all, I still think of him. I think of him in the same way you stress about having to pay off your credit card when you spent a little too much that month or when you go to the doctor’s office hoping that your symptoms are not as serious as the internet makes it out to be when you search them up on Google. He clouds my thoughts like an oil spill in a fresh green lake; the thick, black liquid shines rainbow on the baby duck’s yellow feathers as it tries to escape the woods. It’s just a dark storm which always looms at the back of my mind no matter how many sunny days I have. 

Today, I found myself getting sucked back into the haunted forest of lost memories–my normally yellow feathers now slicked back in gleaming black goo. I watched the tutorials and did as they said: 1) Opened my Phone app. 2) Clicked on my voicemails. 3) Scrolled alllllll the way down. 4) Found the tab that said, “Blocked Messages.” My heart began to race and my head was pounding. I couldn’t believe it was so easy to access this “hidden secret” that was seemingly right in my face for the entirety of this past year. As I readied myself to open up the forbidden chambers of Blocked Messages, I envisioned the waterfall of voicemails from my ex just as the girl in the TikTok did. I imagined his voice creeping through the phone and finally asking me through broken tears, “Why am I not enough for you?” I finally clicked on the tab after what felt like an eternity, my hands trembling, just to find…

Spam calls. 

It was all the spam numbers I had blocked throughout the year–nothing else. Taken aback, I listened to nearly every voicemail trying to convince myself it was him. Maybe in this voicemail I’ll hear him on the other side explaining it was a fake number because I blocked him on everything else, but he regrets everything that he did and he’s so, so, so, sorry, I thought. But it never was. It was always an automated voice message telling me to press 2 if I wanted to continue the call, then, click, silence. 

Something happened that I wasn’t expecting to happen. My heart dropped in disappointment, my throat tightened, my face felt warm, and I could feel the tears pool in my eyes. I was sad; I was sad he never tried to reach out once. It finally hit me a year later that he didn’t care like I thought he did. Selfishly, I always pictured him crying in his room in heartbroken angst in front of an ex-girlfriend shrine realizing that leaving me was the biggest mistake of his life. Now I know that never happened. In fact, I was the one crying in heartbroken angst–not him. 

As I let the sadness settle, like a baby bird taking cover beneath its mother’s wing, I swiped out of the Blocked Messages tab just to find another tab right above it titled “Deleted Messages.” My curiosity got the best of me and I sheepishly opened this second tab too–finding something I didn’t necessarily want to see. I saw all the voicemails he had left me during the relationship; I forgot I never fully erased them. I clicked on the latest one back in October many moons ago, but I couldn’t get myself to listen to it and hear his voice echoing in my cobwebbed mind like nails on a chalkboard. 

I read the transcript. I remembered this day. It was near Halloween. As we stood in front of the bar, he yelled at me in front of his friends. He had never yelled at me like that before. We weren’t even fighting, but he yelled at me. Shocked at his actions, I ran back into the bar as he waited outside, “Please call me back. I don’t want to end the night like this,” he sighed, “I love you.” The transcript ended. 

I

love 

you… 

I read those words, but I didn’t remember feeling loved then. 

What I did remember was how horrible I felt that night after he screamed in my face to back off.  I remember when he told me he hated being around my family. I remember when he hung out with his “girl best friend” late at night and turned off his location for hours.  I remember when he told me how in love he was with another girl and it wasn’t fair she didn’t want him back.  I remember when I told him I didn’t want to have sex, but he still did it anyway.  I remember when my roommate told me he was hitting on her.  I remember when he lived at my apartment and refused to help me with the bills. I remember when he would have outbursts when I wouldn’t use my money to buy him weed.  I remember downplaying my own success because he would get jealous of my achievements.  I remember when he told me I was never supposed to be long-term.  I remember when he knew that one of his friends sexually assaulted me, but we never spoke of it.  I remember when he would talk about the future and he would always leave me out of it. 

I remember, I remember, I remember. Suddenly, it clicked–the biggest thing I needed to remember. This was not someone I loved or missed, but someone who hurt me so deeply that a bandaid was never going to be enough to fix the broken bones he had left behind. 

For a long time, his leaving made me feel as if I had lost a part of myself, but it has occurred to me that I never did. While he may have tried to take the best parts of me away, destroying them like bullets through glass soda bottles, I have since grown, changed, and transformed. My heart may have bruises, but it’s still intact–capable of being loved and loving others once again. It’s not that a part of me is gone. Instead, roses and daisies have finally sprouted between the cracks in the sidewalk. I was the biggest stranger to myself when I was with him, but now I know myself like no other. A wave of peace, serenity, and glee washed over me and waves hit the sand upon my mind: he will never be the forest fire devouring the flowers, trees, and wildlife in my dearest meadow. 

I stared at the screen as my finger found its way from the bright blue “Clear All” header. As I clicked it, my iPhone asked, “Permanently clear deleted voicemails?” 

Clear All. 

Despite erasing the little bit of history I had left, I had never felt so much more complete. 

[lanaroff]

Into the unknown.- Part 10

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Parent!Wanda Maximoff x Parent!Reader

Summary: what happens when a baby boy is found in a hydra facility? what would you do when you find that is yours and wanda’s?

Warning: angst, swearing, unplanned parenthood, fighting, sad reader, sad wanda.

A/N: part 10 here! enjoy <3 -lana

*not my gif*

You were good at pretending. You were trained to be an incredibly good liar who could pretend to be someone you were not. You were good a pretending not to have feelings that you were sure you had. In the end, you had spent most of your life pretending. So it was not supposed to be difficult you thought. But you started to think that you were wrong.

You were currently pretending that you were fine. Sure, your face didn’t look like it between the bleeding nose and eyes full of bruises, but you put on a mask that showed a cocky smile. So everything was fine on the outside. To them, you were just a stubborn but strong agent that they couldn’t break. But inside you were dying. You were dying to know if they were fine. You were dying because it hurt that you couldn’t feel your son or Wanda. You were dying because for the first time you were scared that something out of your reach may happen. However, even if it hurt like hell, you had to be strong for those who needed you most. So when the same tall man came into your cell to drag you to the same old room, you didn’t complain.

You had lost track of time. You no longer knew if it was daytime or nighttime if you had been there for 2 days or 5 months. All you knew is that every day was the same thing. They would torture you physically for some time, then they would ask you some questions, the same old ones. And then they would beat you up to then throw you back into the cell.

But, as you were being dragged through the halls you noticed that they didn’t stop where they always did. Instead, they took you to the end of the large hall, where you were met by an unknown room.

The unknown room seemed to be a sort of operating room that hadn’t been used in a long time. It was empty and the only visible thing was a chair with chains and an old tv. You were forced to sit in the middle of the room with the old tv placed in front of you, and immediately chains were set on your wrist and ankles. It was weird, they hadn’t beat you up yet, and it seem like you were not going to. As you were about to ask what was all of that about, a familiar face entered the room holding a cassette and a folder.

“After we lost the Maximoff twins we realized that there was so much yet to be discovered. Sure, they were a great loss, but we realized they were far from being the perfect and loyal subject.” Hoffmann said as he walked the room with steady steps. “So we spend years trying to figure out how to create the perfect specimen. A subject that had no feelings about the outside world, one that showed no remorse, but also one that was more powerful than the strongest avenger.”

You carefully looked at every action that he made. You didn’t trust the way that he walked as he simply told you a story, he was up to something, and the fact that you didn’t know what was making you nervous.

He slowly made his way to the old tv and he placed the cassette. Images started to appear on the screen. At first, they were random scientists, but then the images became more specific.

“965 times we attempted to create the perfect subject. 10 specimens were convicted, however only just one survived. And you took him away from me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked disgusted and confused. You felt sick by thinking how someone could treat innocent lives as simple test subjects. But you also felt sick thinking about him putting a hand on your baby boy.

“Because I know that I may never break you physically. But I will break you here.” Hoffmann said tapping the side of your head. “And once I do, I’m going to make you retrieve your ‘Pietro’, and I’m going to make you watch me turning him into a weapon.”

“Fuck you! You better kill me now, because there’s no way you are touching my son while I’m alive.” You said as you tried to break the chains that had you stuck at the chair.

As you effortlessly moved back and forth another scientist entered the room with a machine connected to a bunch of wires in hand. He immediately made his way next to you and stabbed you with a syringe. As the liquid entered your body, you realized that it was harder for you to move. With your body paralyzed, you watched him place the wires in your head and chest. You couldn’t control your body but you were conscious of your surroundings.

The moment the scientist turned on the machine you felt waves of electricity running through your body. It was unbearably painful but it was different than the other physical tortures. This one felt as it was also messing with your head not only your body.

Screaming the pain out you felt as if your head was about to explode, you started feeling weaker than ever before. You felt as if they were burning you alive from the inside. Definitely being drowned and beaten all day didn’t feel as bad as that machine made you feel.

Exhaustion hit your body as you battled with your foggy vision and aching body. You tried as hard as you could to stay awake, but it started to feel as it was impossible. Just as you were about to give up a loud explosion was heard and suddenly the machine stopped.

You couldn’t hear what was being said around you. Your mind was too tired to comprehend a word. All you felt was your body hitting the ground as another explosion took place right in front of you. Lying on the floor, you saw a familiar silhouette quickly approaching your way, but you were far too tired to keep your eyes open to see who it was.

You slowly opened your eyes adjusting them to the burning feeling of the light. You were confused as you found yourself laying on a hospital bed. The last memory you had was you dropping unconscious still tied to a chair. However, every negative feeling and thought was put aside the moment you saw one of your friends sitting next to you.

“Sam? Where am I?” You asked as you started to remove the wires connected to your body.

“You are awake!” He said as he jumped to hug you. “God, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Where’s Wanda?” You asked again.

“Oh, she went to put baby Pietro down for his nap.” He said helping you to sit in the bed. “She was really worried, and mad”

“I need to see her.” You said growing impatient by the whole being in bed situation.

You needed to get the hell out of that bed and see if your family was fine. So despite having a really annoying Sam telling you not to, you slowly and painfully limped your way out of the medical bay.

After a couple of suppressed whimpers and small stops to catch your breath, you finally were outside Pietro’s room. The second you entered you saw a sleeping baby laying on Wanda’s chest as she sat at the rocking chair. It was adorable, you wanted that frame that scene. They both looked so peaceful in their sleep, but most important, they looked safe. As you slowly grabbed your son and placed him on his crib. Upon not feeling her son, you felt how the redhead quickly woke from her small nap.

“Y/N?” She asked you whispering so she wouldn’t wake up the baby.

After kissing the baby’s head you grabbed Wanda by the hand and pulled her out of the nursery.

The second you two were back at the hall she removed her hand from your grip and started walking towards her bedroom. Sam had warned you that she was mad, but you thought that she at least would be happy to see you.

“Wanda talk to me” You said limping your way to her room.

“You should be in bed.” Wanda said without looking at you.

“I know, but I needed to see you.” You said reaching for her hand again.

“You needed?” She scoffed walking away from you. “Where were you when I needed you?”

This time she looked at you straight in the eye. Her eyes were full of tears, and you could see that she was biting the inside of her cheek.

“You were in Italy playing hero! Guess what Y/N, you are not invincible. You were reckless, arrogant, and stupid, and you almost got yourself killed!” Wanda screamed at you. “What were you thinking? Do you even realize how stupid your actions were? You almost die, and you almost left your son without a mother. You promised me we were going to do this together and you almost left me!”

You didn’t utter a word. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, you just stood there, frozen. Wanda was expecting you to give her one of your lame excuses, she was expecting you to argue back, but you didn’t say a word. Without saying anything you just walked toward her and hugged her as tight as you could. You hugged her as if she would vanish from your embrace.

Wanda was shocked by your reaction. You were crying on her chest as your arms were around her body. She felt her heart twisting hearing your sobs. It was the first time she saw you being vulnerable, it was the first time she saw you broken.

“I’m sorry, I was so scared.” That was what Wanda heard between your sobs and sniffles.

Reaching for your face, she pulled away from your embrace to cup your face so she could look you in the eye.

“What matters is that you are alive and okay.” She said and watched as your eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I just wanted to protect you and Pietro, I don’t want to lose you.” You said fighting the urge to cry. However, it was impossible and tears started pouring out of your eyes again.

“Oh Y/N, you are not going to lose us.” She said hugging you tightly, this time Wanda being the one pulling you closest to her.

And you stayed like that, Wanda hugging you as you allowed yourself to cry as much as you needed. It wasn’t after you stopped crying that you realized that her shirt was wet from your crying.

“I’m sorry.” You said slightly laughing to yourself as you tried to clean her shirt.

“It’s okay.” Wanda smiled. “You should get some rest. You can use my bed.”

You smiled back at her and slowly laid your head back on her pillow. You were exhausted, both emotionally and physically drained from all the fighting. So you allowed yourself to relax as you started drifting to sleep.

Wanda slowly and quietly stood up and turned to the door walking so you could have some rest. She wished she could stay and hug you while you slept, but she knew that she couldn’t do it. However, before she could go any further, you grabbed her wrist making her stop to look at you.

“Please stay.” You mumbled with pleading eyes. “Don’t go, Wands”

And that was all she needed to hear before laying in bed next to you with her arms around your body. She didn’t care if she was crossing any boundaries, all she cared was that you needed her as much as she needed you.

taglist:  @siriuslydestiny​ @blinkmuch​ @chickennugget468​ @wandanatfan​ @genzwomensimp @youre-a-wanker-number-9​ @romanoffomixam​ @kacka84​ @unexpected-character @immathinkerg​ @scqrlettwtch​ @nicolesangel​  @infrunamix​ @lordesolddepression​  @diasnohibng​ @wandzsstuff​ @lorsstar1st​ @how-to-disappearrr​ @super-lena​ @marrymemcgrath @iminlovewitha @nosfera1  @swiftdazer

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,��� you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

[warcriminalcommie]

Hey guys welcome back to another episode of Ay ruining your day because HAAAA.

Felt like we needed some depressing shit here that isn't depressing in the "What did you do you to him? Wh-Why? I'm gonna go vomit now what the fuck did I just read—" way so have angst. :bbg_emoji:

Also if you feel like you've seen this before, that's because you probably have. I yoinked this from my Wattpad because I'm (not) cool.

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Blue Or Brown, Can't Remember

It's been a few months since Deimos had passed. Almost more than half a year. Specific period. But that's because that event kept haunting you, replaying in your head. Hah, replay. Even thinking of that word reminds you of his stupid song that he'd bug you with. Funny how you'd describe it as him annoying you back then when now you'd do anything for him to just come back and pester you with his stupidity just once more.

You really couldn't get your mind off of him. Everything would remind you of him and the stuff you'd do together as friends. As friends. Nothing but friends. That's what it was, what it was and what it always will be due to you taking him for granted. You thought he'd always be there. That one day, you'll eventually get the courage to confess to him. Or hell, maybe he'd confess to you! I mean, he did seem to take an interest in you. But that'll remain unknown for the rest of eternity, or at least the rest of your life, because he's gone. Gone forever.

You didn't even get to say goodbye. You weren't even there when it happened. Every day you keep thinking about it. All the 'what if's and 'if only's filling your brain. Just like how it's filling it right now, as you sit here and ponder your now meaningless life.

"What if I was there?"

"What if I took the bullet instead of him?"

"If only I saved him."

"If only it could've been me."

These thoughts kept harassing you. You couldn't take it anymore. It was all you could think of. You could barely experience any form of happiness without you being pulled back into this state of constant, unhealthy grief.

"If only, if only, IF ONLY!!" You screamed out, tears in your eyes. You didn't even care if Hank or Sanford heard you from their rooms. You just couldn't take this anymore. It was literal hell on earth. 

Hell on earth...

Huh.

Makes you wonder where your beloved little chain-smoker is right now. The thought had just popped into your head. Now instead of regret, you felt fear. Fear, worry, and concern. You hoped that he was somewhere safe, his soul resting in peace from this hell you all called Nevada. 

You shook your head, trying to get these thoughts away. But you couldn't. God, how much you missed him. His dumb jokes, his stupid personality, his voice, his scent of tobacco, his eyes... His...eyes... Huh. Now that you think of it, you can't even remember his facial features, or any of his features for that matter. You had a hint in your head that his eyes might have been either blue or brown, but you can't seem to remember.

That thought made you get up from your bed to go and look for a photo of him, or anything similar to that. You looked and looked until it hit you that you haven't kept any sort of archive of him. That thought made you freeze in your place. Tears started stinging your eyes, the sour feeling setting in. The fact that you don't even have anything to remember Deimos with broke you.

You immediately and frantically opened your phone. You scrolled and scrolled on every app that you had, back and forth and went through every single piece of data there. And... Nothing. No chat logs, no conversations, no images, nothing. It can't be possible... Can it?? Oh, wait...

It can.

And that's because in a fit of pure anguish, you decided to erase what little you had of Deimos left on your device so you can forget about him. So you can heal faster. It all moved to your "Recently deleted" folder, but you had forgotten to move the files back where they belonged. As for the chat logs... They never had any hope of being restored easily after you deleted them. Only someone with complicated tech knowledge could do that job so easily.

Someone like him.

And there you go... Remembering him again... Gosh, you really were dependent on him, huh? You started to think about life before him. It was... Bad. To say the least. It might just be because of the fact you lived in this pathetic excuse of a state, but who knows? You certainly don't since your view of the past, yourself, everyone and the whole fucking world has been contorted after this little incident 

It's all just so absolutely meaningless now. So worthless and nugatory. It all felt so dull without him. He was the spark of joy in your life that you didn't know you needed. That you didn't appreciate enough. That you took for granted.

You sighed, laying on your bed again, staring at the ceiling. You felt the tears dry but then you just burst out, again. You took a shaky breath, trying to regain composure. You felt so hopeless. It just hurt so much to cry over and over again. You couldn't take it anymore. To make it all even somehow worse, your nose had started burning thanks to all the tissues. You tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself by at least a bit, but you simply kept breaking down mid-breath.

Choking on your own breath and panting heavily, you sighed, tears falling down your face. You were so damn exhausted from crying. It felt like shit, but you couldn't stop. Your heart was pounding like crazy, and your lungs felt like they were beating. It started to physically hurt you. Is this how Deimos felt?

...

Why?

Why?

Just why?

Why did you have to remember him again? And why did it have to be that memory out of everything?

Why couldn't he leave your mind? Why couldn't he let you be? Why can't you just let this thought disappear? Why can't you repress it like all the horrible things you've repressed?

Was he haunting you? I mean, in your current state, you'd probably be delusional enough to believe that he does still live on as some sort of undead entity. Thankfully, that thought didn't cross your mind. Yet.

Trying to clear your mind out of all these thoughts just made you feel worse. Again. All you did was remember how you could have treated Deimos better. All the insults you'd throw at him, all the hits, punches, kicks, all the mean comments. You meant it in a joking, friendly, light-hearted manner. But it still made you feel like shit.

What if he didn't catch the hint?

What if he took it as genuine?

What if he hated you all the time?

What if you hurt his feelings?

You just broke down again at these thoughts. Something that made it all worse is that you actively denied these comments and actions to be jokes. Deimos seemed to take it well, but would seem hurt from time to time. You couldn't tell if he was being sad as a sort of joke of his, or if he was genuine. It still hurt to know that.

Fuck. What if he did actually have feelings for you and never confessed because of these comments? What if he felt the same way? You couldn't tell which thought hurt more. The one about him hating you in silence, or loving you in silence.

It hurt. It hurt so much. You just wanted your consciousness to be taken away. You couldn't even dream about any more happy moments with Deimos.

What if you were nicer to him?

What if you actually confessed?

What if you were there for him?

What if you didn't let him split and leave you?

What if you took his place?

What if?

What if?

What if?

What if.

What if.

What if.

What if.

What if.

WHAT IF?!

...

But it doest matter.

Because he's gone.

Gone forever.

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lmao loser.

Still nervous about posting shit onto this hellhole woo.

[bullet-prooflove]

WorkofArt Series! - Part Two: Starry Night

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @words-and-seeds @darqchilddaydreamz @id1ehands

WorkofArt! Series:

Part One: Storm In A Teacup - Bobby decodes the letters you left him.

Once a month Bobby receives a postcard of a semi-famous painting to his pigeonhole at the precinct. The only thing that is written upon it is the address of where he works, nothing else, and it makes him smile every damn time.

“I feel like I’m the best friend in a 1940s romcom.” Eames remarks as she shuffles the paperwork on her desk back into the manilla folder, before frowning at the image in Bobby's hand. “Huh, it’s different from the other ones.”

Bobby hands it over to her and she studies the painting on the front of the postcard. It’s garish and uncomfortable, a woman staring into the distance while she holds a kitten by the throat. It’s far from the usual images you send him which are usually complex interesting pieces with rich vivid hues. She turns over the postcard and notes the question mark on the back.

“She doesn’t understand why I like the painting.” Bobby explains as Eames hands it back to him. “She must have crossed paths with it when she was looking at one of the ones on her list.”

“I’m with her, it’s horrible.” She tells him, pulling a face. “Not the kind of thing I want hanging in my living room.”

“I don’t want it in my living room, I just like to think about it.” He tells her before he unlocks the top drawer of his desk and places it along with the others. There’s five of them. That’s how long it’s been since he last laid eyes on you.

He misses you. The sound of your voice, the way you laugh when something ensnares you. He adores the look in your eyes when you give him that smile, the one that tells him exactly what you’re thinking because Bobby can always tell what you’re thinking. He wishes that he was less restrained with his affection, that he had told you how he felt when he’d had you for the first time after your brother’s engagement party. He wishes he had told you every single other time after that too.

I love you, he had said when he had sat down next to you on that bench in Ithica.

It’s the first time he’s uttered those words and he hopes it won’t be the last.

You’re clever, much cleverer that Nicole Wallace has given you credit for, and he knows that that will be her downfall. Despite the fact you’re wounded, that you’re still recovering from the damage caused by the neurotoxin you’ve outsmarted her at every turn. You are the only two people in the world that know about the list.

It had started on the day you had taken him to see the Freud exhibition at the Met, the day he realised that he was in love with you. The two of you had been standing side by side in front of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ when he’d felt the shift.

It’s when you press your fingertips to your lips that he realises that you’re crying. He nudges you gently with his shoulder and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Sorry, it’s just…”

He knows because the magnitude of the painting, he feels it too. The madness of the creative, the isolation of a genius. It was the first painting Van Gogh had painted after his break down and you can feel the threads of darkness searing through the brush strokes. There’s an ache in his chest because he knows that this is the real reason you invited him to the Met. You brought him here to see this painting, to show him that you understand his plight, that you know where it may lead.

“It’s not going to happen to me.” He assures you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, his thumb trailing over the nape of your neck. “Not when I’ve got you in my corner.”

You tilt your head up and that’s when it happens, that rush of emotion. That feeling, it starts deep in the very depths of his soul, and it surges through every single one of his nerve endings. He kisses you then, in front of a painting that reflects his future, the one he faces if he didn’t have you in his life.

In the aftermath the two of you sit in the café and you make a list of the paintings you each want to see. You plan to do it together. Your pen drifting down the paper and leaving tiny stars near the ones that reside within the state.

Now it seems that you’re taking the trip without him. Each postcard you’ve sent is a painting off that list, your way of telling him that you’re safe. It hurts in a way he can't explain, because Nicole is stealing away his time with you, running down the clock. He thinks that’s the real cruelty in what's she's doing. Even though she hasn’t killed you, she‘s still removed you from his life, stripped you of your own. She's found a way to prolong the pain for the both of you. Each time he receives a postcard is a reminder of another moment that's been snatched away, another time he doesn’t get to share the experience. He wonders how you felt looking at each and every one of those paintings, what you saw, what you thought and it wounds him.

His thumb smooths over the stack of postcards, flicking through them once more. He wants to know what happens when the list runs out, he wants to know what happens when you get tired of playing this game.

Love Bobby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee