#and some great connor moments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

write-tama · 7 months ago

Text

"hank.. what am i feeling right now?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (4k800) x officer!reader

sypnosis ; connor is very interested in an officer who just joined the police force. after being told the news that they would be joining the team, connor just had to make an acquaintance with them. anything to hear their voice.

containing ; use of you/yours and they/them pronouns! connor struggling to process emotions. hank being a proud father.

author’s note ; hihi! havent written for connor in SO long so i thought this was a cute little way of them meeting each other. connor is a

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

A machine built to hunt its prey and to always accomplish his mission.

But now?

A confused man sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface as he ran the fourth diagnostic this morning.

Connor was never really taught how to feel his emotions, considering that he was forced to compress them from the moment he was made. If he were to feel any sort of emotion, it was either to the scrap factory for him or a hard lecture from Amanda.

But Amanda was gone, and androids were free to express any emotion they pleased.

It’s been weeks since Markus hit the headlines for his famous android revolution. He worked with the government extensively to pass bills in order to settle android rights for the country. Connor, on the other hand, continued to work with the DPD as a full-on detective under the supervision of Liutenant Hank Anderson. Hank was more than just a coworker, but a father figure to Connor. And that brought Connor joy, an emotion Connor was well aquainted of.

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

Connor couldn’t get his mind off a certain someone who had joined the team a bit before the revolution. You had joined a week prior, and honestly, you were kind of regretting it. As android and human tensions rose, you were on duty 24/7. Originally, you were supposed to start easy with basic patrol around a part of a city, but because you were so impatient in doing the “big kid stuff” you found yourself frequently in the middle of the android and human discourse. Your shifts nearly lasted twelve hours, and you would be absolutely exhausted.

Things are different now. Sure, there were still some situations between the two sides, but it was definitely peace compared to literal boycotts. You sat at your desk idly scrolling through your past cases, making sure that all the information was correct and accurate. On the other side of your desk was a tablet full of notes you had taken after some cases you had to deal with. What you didn’t notice was the android detective constantly glancing at you, watching your every move to see if maybe, at some point, you would notice him.

A loud groan echoing from the desk in front of Connor made him jump, immediately turning his attention to his lieutenant taking a seat in his chair. “Fucking hell..” Hank sighed. “Fowler does nothing but my bust my balls these days, huh?” Connor stared at his partner with his hands folded in his lap and eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“It’s nothing too serious. Fowler just wants me to take the rookie on our next homicide case. He insisted that they would be a perfect addition to the team or whatever.” Hank groaned. “Now I’m responsible for two of you fucks.”

Connor, admittedly, felt his thirium pump racing. You? As part of the team? It was almost like he could overheat and shutdown momentarily right now. “I think they would be a great addition to the team.” Connor stated, biting back from smiling. “They have an excellent track record of solving cases in an orderly and timely manner, has caught every perpretrator with their undercover skills, and had a reputation back in their training classes as one of the top students.” He explained. Hank looked over as he was slouched in his seat with arms folded across his chest.

“Jesus, Connor, you sound like some creep searching up their name on Google.” Hank scoffed, half smiling. Though this caught Connor a little off— was he being creepy? He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you, especially now that you're about to meet for the first time. His face scrunched up in anxiety, feeling as if he made a mistake. Hank immediately took notice and sat up. “Ah— I was just joking, Connor. I’m sure you have uh.. Good intentions.” Hank reassured, though he never said he was exactly good at it.

Hank looked over to you, seeing that you were preoccupied with work despite the fact you haven’t been on a case in a few days now. Hank looked at Connor. “Well.. Why don’t you introduce yourself to them.” Hank suggested, nodding his head over to you.

Connor immediately jolted his head up, a little wide-eyed to even suggest such. “O-Of course.” Connor stuttered out. Connor never stuttered, and though Hank was in a mood after his exchange with Fowler, he certainly didn’t leave that unnoticed.

“Did you just stutter?” Hank asked, a little amused. “Are you.. Nervous?”

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor replied as steadily as possible. “I am an android.”

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

Connor, to avoid anymore embarassment from the man he deemed his father figure, swiftly got up and started to approach you. Hank watched in pure amusement, not even wanting to stop the boy from probably embarassing himself even further, but at least Hank had some faith in him. He is Detroit’s best god damn detective.

“Hello, Officer (l/n). My name is Connor. It is nice to meet you.” Connor said, putting his hand out for a shake. You looked up from your computer screen only to be met with the most chocolate eyes you’ve ever had the privilege of being in the prescence of. He smiled politely, but behind that smile he thanked Elijah that androids could not sweat, otherwise you would’ve felt the claminess of his palm.

You took his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance. My name is (y/n).” You smiled generously, and wow, did Connor felt like his pump couldn’t get any faster.. He cleared his throat before darting his eyes to the unoccupied chair that sat next to your desk.

“May I?” Connor asked, gesturing towards the seat.

“Of course, I’m not doing much anyway.” You nodded. Connor took a seat, and for some reason, he struggled to even maintain his balance as he sat himself down. He nearly had to think about how to fold his hands before placing them firmly on his laps and looking at you. Thankfully, you barely realized any sort of struggle as you looked away to take a swig of your morning coffee.

“So..” you said, clasping your hands. “Am I in trouble or anything?” you joked. Connor immediately shot his head up, worried he had made the wrong impression.

“Oh, no— I—” Before Connor could sputter out an explanation, you tilted your head a little and started laughing.

“Relax! I was just kidding!” You playfully waved off. Connor’s shoulders immediately relaxed as a breath he didn’t even know he was holding back escaped his lips. You looked at him curiously, a smile still resting on your face.

“I’m sorry. Usually, I am not like this.” He said, shaking his head a little in embarassment. He was always on his A game and constantly prepared. Why were you the reason for this disruption. “I.. Uh..” He couldn’t think of anymore to say. Suddenly, he got a message through his LED.

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

Connor blinked a bit, registering the text message. Hank was at a perfect view watching this unfold. The back of your head was visible but he could see all of Connor’s reactions, who desperately tried to maintain a polite smile.

“I think you’re very pretty, (y/n).” Connor complimented.

“Oh— ah—” A subtle blush began to form on your cheeks as your eyes widen a little, not expecting a compliment from a handsome android such as Connor. “Why thank you, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that as our first conversation.” You chuckled a little. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Thirium was rushing through his circuits and to his cheeks. The faintest color of blue appeared dusted on his face. “Thank you.” He maintained a calm, neutral voice. They stared at each other for a minute, sort of registering the sort of corny first conversation the two of you had.

“Ah.. I almost forgot to mention.” Connor snapped back to reality. “I came here to introduce myself sfter I heard that you were joining our team on our next investigation. It’s good to make an aquaintance with our future team member.” Connor smiled politely.

“Why thank you. I am very excited to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson.” You nodded. “Though I will miss working with Gavin and Chris’ team.”

Ah, that’s right. You used to work with Gavin. It almost left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth knowing that Gavin probably spat some awful opinions about him to you. Though from the looks of it, you were enjoying your conversation with him which eased him.

“I promise we will a provide a welcoming and safe space in our team, and of course, to make sure you don’t come into harms way.” Connor assured. Though he was mainly promising this to you personally. God forbids Connor seeing you get hurt.

“Why thank you, Connor.” You said, tilting your head. Connor was rather intriguing to you— an android acting this way around you. His LED constantly switched between yellow and blue as if he was making sure to process every word you uttered. Yet he was so human— he would scratch the back of his neck, fidget with his fingers, and shuffle a bit in his seat. You would think someone as advanced as him would at least be able to have a composure, but he was different. It was something you admired about him.

“(l/n), in my office!” Captain Fowler called from the balcony of his room. You looked over to Connor before sighing.

“Well, boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you afterwards?” You suggested as you stood from your seat.

“Of course.” Connor replied, shielding his excitement. He stood up from his chair as well. “I’d be happy to talk again, (y/n).”

“Likewise.” You winked. With that, you left your desk and headed straight to Fowler’s office. Connor stood shellshocked. Did you just.. Wink at him?! Connor’s eyes slowly drifted to Hank, who was chuckling heartily. He gave Connor an assuring thumbs up as Connor made his way back to their desks.

“You’d be a shit detective if this is how you acted all the time.” Hank snickered. Connor grinned a little before taking a seat back at his desk.

“I know.” Connor sighed, leaning a little back in his chair. He at you through the glass walls, noticing your upright posture and the way you listened intently to Captain Fowler’s words. He looked over to Hank before thinning his lips.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What am I.. Feeling right now?” Connor asked, a little lost on how to explain it. “I can only think about them— only envision them when I close my eyes. I get nervous and its like my programming has reduced to 0s and 1s.” He sighed, hell, even a little frustrated that you had this affect on him.

Hank with a wide smile, shook his head and looked at Connor with a knowing stare. Connor looked up, both lost while desperate for an answer and maybe even a cure. Hank sat up and made sure to look at Connor right in the yes.

“Connor,” Hank sighed, grinning. “Son, that feeling your experiencing is called love. And your plastic ass better get used to it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

thank you so much for reading towards the end ! im sorry if its a little messy-- i quickly had to post this before hanging out w some friends but i just wanted to get this out of the way rq! reblogs, replies, and even likes are so so appreciated <3

#detroit become human #connor detroit become human #connor x reader #connor x you #connor rk800 #connor dbh x reader #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit become human fanfics #hank anderson #connor anderson #4k800 #connor 4k800 x reader #dbh 4k800 #4k800 x reader

883 notes · View notes

crownofgildedlilies · 7 months ago

Text

my peaceful nights belong to you

in which: a son of poseidon has himself convinced a daughter of athena doesn’t want to listen to him complain.

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of athena!reader

warnings: angst, my poor percy has been through TOO MUCH

tropes: hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers

word count: 2.1k

a/n: friendly reminder that request r open (esp for headcanons) and bc I have a four hour layover tmrw I will be absolutely active on here. plz enjoy. also, this is inspired by a tiktok I saw that said Percy's trauma is so overlooked. so here's me not overlooking it.

All eyes were on the great Percy Jackson.

Yours were, too, don’t be fooled. You had always found him impossible to look away from. But it wasn’t admiration you were studying him with as tales of his quests were told and retold and embellished around the bonfire. Quests you had been on, each and every time.

No, you were watching him with concern.

Because the son of the sea was drowning in all the attention.

It was almost painful for you to watch, but you couldn't look away.

A beautiful train wreck, you supposed, studying Percy's uncomfortable but obliging conversation with one of the newer sons of Ares who hadn't been around for Kronos or Gaea and simply thought fighting in those wars had been fun.

But people had died. Your people, your friends. It was war, and it was painful, and even though you were the daughter of the war goddess, you hated it with every inch of your being.

No amount of planning on your behalf could have saved Beckendorf. There was no stopping Leo from sacrificing himself.

"That's called being a demigod," Percy had told you one day, offhanded, sometime between nearly dying in a volcanic explosion and being stolen from her by Hera.

"That doesn't mean we have to stand idly by and accept it," You had countered, frowning, and Percy must have realized he'd said something that had upset you, because he had pulled you into a hug and muttered an apology you still hadn't worked out was necessary or not.

But what you did know was that he was your best friend, that you had been in love with him since you were both fourteen, and he absolutely did not want to talk about all his past glories like a good little Greek hero.

Seated on a front-row bench with Grover on on side and an assortment of other campers you knew he wasn't close with surrounding him, you knew you had to run a rescue mission.

Especially since Grover was too distracted by eating his marshmallow roasting stick to realize how tense Percy was as the Ares kid went on and on.

"Perce, there you are." You wedged yourself into the not-entirely open spot next to your best friend, smile on your lips and a sly look in your eyes. Percy's own widened in sight relief, his arm wrapping loosely around your shoulders in a casual movement that was entirely too familiar. "Thought you ran off on me."

"Never," He sighed, some of his tension already dissipating. You grinned a little unevenly at him, not wanting to give the others watching any clues that the great Percy Jackson wasn't completely and utterly alright.

"Good," You bumped him with your shoulder, and he squeezed his arm around you for just a brief moment, tugging you close to his side. You had to turn and face the young Ares boy to keep yourself focused. "How are your archery lessons coming?"

The new camper looked slightly put out about the change in conversation, but you pinned your stare on him and didn't back down. For a moment, you thought he would continue to pester Percy with questions about fighting in two wars, even with you sending up very clear signals that neither of you were interested.

But the boy made the right choice, launching into a rant about how long range combat was not his strength.

Halfway through the story about almost shooting Connor Stoll's foot, you felt Percy lean towards you, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he dropped his voice to a whisper, meant only for you.

"Thank you,"

Since you had taken half a seat, your body was pressed firmly against his from your ankles to your shoulders. His touch warmed your skin like a sunny day on the beach, and you weren't sure if it was a son of Poseidon thing or a Percy Jackson thing.

So instead of answering him, you set one of your hands on his leg, just above his knee, and squeezed.

The moon was shining over camp when you gave up on finding sleep and decided to sneak out.

You’d been around long enough to know just how to sweet talk Mr. D into letting you be out past curfew, and Chiron had a soft spot for you, since you helped save the world. Twice. It was the harpies catching you that you were afraid of.

Travis Stoll had almost learned the hard way that Mr. D was not kidding about them eating campers.

But children of Athena had passed on the secret to sneaking out through generations, and you were exploiting that very information for a midnight trip to the lake to stargaze there when you spotted movement on the roof of Cabin Three.

Really, you weren't in control of your own actions as you turned swiftly to change course. Maybe it was Tyche with her luck or Aphrodite with her meddling in the affairs of the heart that had you scaling the side of Poseidon's cabin, a path you had taken more than once.

Or maybe, for once, you couldn't blame the gods. Maybe you were the only one making the choices that had you settling on your back beside Percy on the slanted cabin roof.

He hadn't seemed all too surprised to see you, but all he offered in way of greeting was a nod before he returned to studying the sky above.

You only let the silence last for three minutes, a gnawing feeling in the pits of your stomach unable to let it be.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, voiced simultaneously quiet and startlingly loud in the otherwise silent night. With your head turned to watch his side profile, you watched him tumble from his thoughts and back onto that rooftop, with you.

"What?" He was playing coy, you knew him well enough. What you didn't understand was why he was holding back with you, of all people. You, who had been there with him from the night Grover dragged him over Half-Blood Hill. Who had followed him and Grover and Annabeth across the country to save his mom, who fought Luke and Kronos with him, and mourned the loss of so many friends.

You, who hadn't slept for six months when he disappeared, only to find him in New Rome with the claim that he had forgotten everyone and everything but you.

His tether to his life. His best friend. His something more.

"About whatever is bothering you so much tonight." You shot him a flat look, but his was still doing a good job at avoiding your eye. Frowning, you nudged him with your elbow. "I saw you at the bonfire, Perce. Something is eating at you."

For a moment, it was silent. And then Percy drew in a deep breath, like he was readying himself for something, but he still hadn't looked at you.

"I guess I’ve just been thinking about just… everything." He sighed, but you could hear the apprehension and exhaustion in his voice. He was still keeping things back, but you couldn't understand why. And that killed you, as a child of Athena. "I've been fighting since I—we—were twelve. It's too..."

"Too what?" You prompted when he trailed off, his voice dying in the warm night air. Your hand brushed against his on the rooftop between your bodies, and you considered the risks of just grabbing his hand and squeezing to offer comfort while he sorted through his thoughts.

"Forget it." He shook his head, and your heart sunk. "You don’t want to hear me complain."

You frowned, twisting to face the sky and wracking your Athena blessed mind for some way to prove to him that you did, in fact, want to hear it. You wanted to hear anything, ever, that he had to say.

But when words failed you, actions didn’t, and you finally stopped pretending to accidentally brush your pinky against his and just wrapped your hand around his.

You both stayed like that for a while, quiet and thinking, until you turned your head to face him, unsurprised to find a stormy look on his face while he still studied the stars. Maybe he was thinking of Zoë, of all the others the two of you had lost over the years.

But you were thinking about him, only.

"I’ve been fighting with you since you came to camp," Your words were quiet, little more than a summer’s breeze brushing across Percy’s skin, but you knew he heard you. "But maybe now we’re not fighting monsters anymore. Maybe we’re fighting the memories and scars they left behind. But I’m still fighting with you, Percy."

He turned his head, then, his eyes finding yours like they were always meant to. And, deep down, part of you knew they were.

Every shared glance during combat, or after a stupid joke, or when a battle ended and all either of you could do was search the carnage for a hint of the other—those eyes had found you.

"I’m just so scared I’ll never get to live my life.” Percy confessed, voice hauntingly hollow. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back like a lifeline. “I don’t know if I’m running away from what’s already happened or into the next big mess. And what if next time… what if…"

He trailed off, eyes wide in panic, a bit of desperation. You squeezed his hand again, because you couldn’t give him the words. He needed to find them himself.

Percy screwed his eyes shut and darted forward, slotting his mouth over yours in an unexpected, horribly angled kiss. Teeth clashed together, your bottom lip caught in the mayhem and you gasped at the slight bite of pain.

He jumped back like you had burned him, propped up on one arm as he leaned on his side next to you.

"I, shit, I shouldn’t have—" He fumbled for words, already trying to shuffle further away from you, but you held tight onto his hand to keep him close, sitting up to follow him. "Please, let’s just forget about this, okay? I just, I got caught up in everything and—"

"Tell me you didn’t want to kiss me, then." You promoted, brows knitted together as you studied his face, desperate for a glimpse of how he was feeling revealed to you in the moonlight. "Because if you can’t say it meant nothing to you, you need to tell me, right now."

"I… can’t say it."

And just like that, you were the one kissing him, one hand curving around the back of his neck to keep him close while the other remained threaded through his fingers. His free hand reached up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if he needed confirmation that this was real, that you were real.

When you finally pulled apart to breathe, you didn’t go far. Not from him. Never from him.

"I was worried next time I wouldn’t get the chance to do that." Percy finished his thought from before, a little dazed from the kiss you both had been long awaiting, apparently. You smiled softly and closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against his.

"If you’re running towards the next prophecy, I’ll run with you." You promised, pausing only briefly to shift your position so you and Percy were laying on the roof again, only this time your head was propped on his chest and his arm was wrapped securely around you. "But if you want to sit up here and talk about the monsters you’re running from, I’ll do that, too."

"Thank you." He echoed his words from the earlier bonfire. And you could tell from his voice that he really was thankful. Because as tough as he was, Percy Jackson was still half mortal. "I…" He started, the air thick with tension about what he was going to confess. "I keep having dreams about Tartarus."

You let him talk, devoting your attention and mind to him, tracing shapes and stars and waves against his chest by your head while he spoke.

Time moved quickly that way, with talk of his fears and what weighed heavily on his mind broken up only when his throat would clog with emotion and you would tilt your head up to kiss away the memory long enough for him to regain his composure.

Because no one knew him better than you, and he didn't have to be the great Percy Jackson with you.

He could just be Percy, the boy who was haunted by his past and terrified of his future.

And you would give him all of your peaceful nights for him to have only one.

#percy jackson #pjo #Percy Jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #Percy x you #Percy Jackson x you #rays of sun

582 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 6 months ago

Text

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

371 notes · View notes

kendallroydefender · 6 months ago

Text

Cowboy take me away (Kayce Dutton x Roy!Reader) Chapter 1

Summary: You’re Y/n Roy the youngest daughter of one of the richest men in America but all that money can’t make you happy and you decide to move to Montana for a while. But what happens when you meet the youngest son of another influential man?

A/n: it’s here!!! This is mainly a Yellowstone fanfic and you don’t have to watch Sucession to follow along!

You stepped out of the car. The car you bought a week ago, when you were sure leaving was the right thing to do. The warm weather hitting your skin. Breathing in the fresh air after a long drive.

You were the daughter of one of the most influential men in the country. Your father, Logan Roy, was a media mogul and owned one of the biggest news networks in the world. But that came with a price, you had always been in the public eye and on top of that your father wasn’t an easy person to grow up with. Now you’re siblings still fought over being his favorite, still fought for his love. A few weeks ago, after thanksgiving where he hit your nephew you finally realized that he would never change.

So you’d made the decision to leave New York behind, to take a few months off in the country side. Hopefully your mental health would get better out here. And you’ve always wanted to visit Yellowstone after seeing pictures of the stunning landscape. To no one’s surprise your family wasn’t the biggest fans of your decision to go, especially your father who always wanted his kids close to control them. But you were a grown woman, yes you were still in your twenties but an adult nonetheless.

Your siblings thought the idea was ridiculous except for your oldest brother Connor who loved that you would follow his footsteps (as he said). He had also bought a ranch in New Mexico where he spent most of his days.

Now you weren’t so sure anymore if this decision was the right one. You had never left the city for more than a few weeks, hell you were a city person. And you had never been alone anywhere. Your family and they’re staff or your personal staff were with you. But if you’d never tried you would never know.

You took your suitcases and brought the to the small house you were renting. You had put all your clothes into the closets and your toiletries in the bathroom before you went into the small garden behind the house. It was well kept, a bit whimsical and overgrown in some places but beautiful nonetheless. A set of chairs on the lawn and a swingseat under a tree. Yeah, you could do with this.

You made some food with the groceries you picked up on the way here and ate your dinner on the couch. Everything was nice until the evening arrived.

You should have seen it coming, It was your first night and you were already bored. 'Off to a great start' you thought to yourself.

After a quick google search you made your way to one of the bars in town.

Inside it was quite crowded. A band played country music and some people danced. You went to the counter and ordered a simple drink, nothing too fancy like you would have ordered in New York.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, it were mostly cowboys and cowgirls. You must have stood out quite a bit - not too much though since you’ve left your fancier Roy clothing in New York, taking only sweaters, shirts and jeans with you. It was nice though.

”Hey, Tom have you seen my sister?.“ a voice next to you said. You looked to your right and spotted a quite handsome man. He seemed to be around your age maybe a little older, with longish brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a trucker cap backwards on his head and a dark shirt. He looked rugged in the best way. His eyes landed on you and you quickly averted your eyes even though it was probably too late - he had caught you staring.

You felt his eyes linger on you for a moment and you waited a second before you looked back at him.

”'ve never seen you around here.“ he said

”Just got here today“ you told him with a shrug and a smirk appeared on his face hearing that you didn’t sounded like you were from Montana at all.

”Where’re you’re from?“ He asked

”Uh, New York.“ You said and he let out a low blow

”She’s over there.“ the barkeeper interrupted your conversation, pointing his finger in one direction

”Uh-huh. Thanks Tom.“ the man said before he turned to you again

”I’ll have to go but have fun in Montana.“ he said before he turned to leave. After a few steps he turned his head and your eyes met again, with a small nod he turned around once more.

You would lie if you said you weren’t disappointed by him having to leave so quickly. But it seemed like he was just here to pick his sister up anyway and you didn’t even knew if he was single.

The next few days you spend getting settled into the new house. You went to the grocery store, something you haven’t done in years since your family always had people to do these kind of things. But you liked it. Liked being responsible for yourself and you liked being able to meet and converse with others.

Your family always stayed in their circle, almost every meeting with someone you didn’t knew was business related and talk was always about work.

You took walks around town and enjoyed the scenery.

Today you had planned to go on a hike. You looked up the route beforehand so you wouldn’t end up lost. There were other people on a hike but not too many.

Everything was going well. That is until you must have stepped onto a stone.

You fell and felt a sharp pain shooting through your ankle. Shit, if this wasn’t the biggest city girl hurts herself while hiking was the biggest prejudice.

You started to get up when you heard the sound of a horse walking close to you. You looked up as the animal came into your view and felt yourself getting warm. Of course it was the hot Cowboy from the other night.

”You alright?“ He asked and you shrugged

”Yeah, I just sit in the dirt for fun.“

”Shit no reason to get all fuss .“ He said but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He got down from his horse and tied it on a nearby tree.

”Lemme see.“ his voice had softened as he crouched down next to you, carefully taking your foot in his hands. Twisting it gently and putting some pressure on some spots. At one point you let out an ”Ouch.“

”It’s not broken - just twisted. Come on let me bring you down.“ he offered his hand to you and you gladly took it. He helped you up, looping his arm around your back so you could lean on him.

Once you were sitting on the horse he got up too, sitting in front of you.

”You can hold onto me.“ he told you, voice kinder than you’d expected.

You intertwined your fingers in front of his stomach. You felt warmth spread in your stomach.

He took the reins and the horse started moving. You looked around, taking in the scenery.

”Wow it’s even more beautiful up here.“ you said in a low tone.

Kayce smiled at your words. To be honest he was maybe a little glad about the fact that it was you who he found. You had come to his mind a few times since he’d met you a few days ago.

You had intrigued him, there was an air about you that he liked and felt like he wanted to find out more about you.

”Where are we going by the way? Not that I think you’ll kidnap me on a horse.“

”My fathers Ranch. My cars there, I can drive you home.“

”Oh. Thank you.“ you said

”No need to. Just basic human decency.“ he said and you cold hear the smile in his voice.

”Yeah, I’m not used to that in the city.“ you chuckled in wich he joined in.

”Why’d you come here?“ he asked

”I needed a fresh start. I wasn’t happy in my, uhm, my living situation in New York. I knew I would get depressed if I stayed.“

He hummed

”Are you feeling better now?“

”To be honest I’m not sure. It feels great that I’m away from everything but I don’t know anyone here yet… so it’s kind of lonely.“

He hummed as an answer.

The rest of the ride to the ranch was filled with easy chatting. You found out about that his Dad owned a Ranch where he worked as a horsetrainer. You told him you worked in Media at your fathers company, not telling him who your father was.

The ranch was gorgeous. A big stone house as the main building, some stables and a few smaller houses. You earned a few looks from some of the cowboys leaning against a fence.

He got down and helped you safely get back to the ground.

”I’d show you around but I think your foot wouldn’t be too fond of that.“

”Maybe another time.“ you told him and he studied you for a second

”Yeah, another time.“

He had given the horse to one of the men standing close by, who was called Jimmy. Telling him to bring it back into the stable.

He helped you into his red truck and closed the door after you sat in the vehicle.

You told him where the place you stayed in was and he seemed to know where to go. The conversation was easy between you, he pointed out some places.

”You can get good burgers there.“ he said pointing to a diner

”We could do something if you’d like? I mean because you said you felt kind of lonely.“

”Oh? Yeah that be great.“ you smiled wich caused him to smile too

”Okay.“

He helped you up the front stairs of your place and you waved as he drove away. With a warm feeling and the thought that maybe you had made a friend you went inside.

#kayce dutton fanfic #kayce dutton x reader #kayce dutton fic #kayce dutton imagine #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone imagine

148 notes · View notes

ofmdrecaps · 2 months ago

Text

09/02-03/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Con O'Neill; Kristian Nairn; Nathan Foad; Leslie Jones; Lindsey Cantrell; Connor Barrett; Dominic Burgess; Sept 2: OFMD Marmalade Day; Trends; Articles; TellTaleTV Final Round; WWDITS 10th Anniversary Blurays; FanSpotlight: FanWeeks: OFMD Sequel Week; Stede Whump Week; Never Left Podcast; Love Notes;

== David Jenkins ==

David's out at the US Open with Kinga!

Source: David Jenkins' Instagram Stories

== Rhys Darby ==

Rhys is EVERYWHERE this week, jeez. He really is causing a stir on every single platform, let me tell you. Below he's having a bit of a drink with some friends, out and about with Rosie!

Source: Facebook

Next up-- there's a new Indy Dramedy that just wrapped called "Song Of The Bigfoot" and Deadline has some new info on it!

Source: Rhys' Instagram Stories

Rhys is also looking to help raise some funds for the Kitten Rescue we all remember well from earlier this year! You can bid on this signed OFMD picture of the cast! To bid, visit here.

Source: Rhys' Twitter

Rhys also shared an older video of him discussing wanting to be Earths Ambassador!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 10,000 Dreams x Fraser Grut (@frasergrut)

instagram

Source: Rhys Darby's Instagram

Annnnnd more shots are becoming available from the 100th episode of the Cryptid Factor, Live in London!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Instagram

And finally, Last But CERTAINLY not least, there's a new The Cryptid Factor special episode for the $10 / Tier on Patreon!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Patreon

== Taika Waititi ==

Some more shots of Taika while he was out and about! Also a recipe for the Pispili that he and Andy Hearnden shared on instagram a while back!

Source: Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Andy Cooks (@andyhearnden)

instagram

and lastly a quick little tiktok of the Forever Young Rita & Taika!

Source: Rita Ora's Tiktok

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba's out at Nickelodeon studios doing some voice over work!

Source: Samba's Instagram

== Kristian Nairn / WJW ==

Surprise #WeeJohnWednesday! 9pm BST (4pm EST, 1pm PST) tomorrow-- Sept 4!

Source: Kristian's Twitter

A huge thank you to @adoptourcrew for getting us the Kristian Nairn OFMD blurb from the latest Popverse Article (it is behind a sign up, but here's the article!)

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Con O'Neill ==

Con taking a nap with Cooper now that he's back from Mexico <3 (and David Fane was a sweetheart and popped his head in as well).

Source: Con's Instagram

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan back at the bedroom selfies again!

Source: Nathan's Instagram Stories

== Linds Cantrell ==

Linds Cantrell did an Ask Me Anything on Instagram today while she was waiting for a plane! She answered several questions, including something regarding OFMD BTS which may be completely out, but she'll be going to LA Comic Con in October! I'm planning on making a post with all her answers when I get a moment, but here's a few!

Source: Lindsey Cantrell's Instagram Stories

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie is out here rocking a workout, and looking bad ass <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Leslie Jones (@lesdogggg)

instagram

Source: Leslie Jones Instagram

== Dominic Burgess ==

Our dear Jeffrey Fettering, Dominic, blessed us today with some kitties as well as a shot.. of well him getting a shot!

Source: Dominic's Twitter

== September 2, Marmalade Day ==

Several of our crew members continued the September festivities with Marmalade Day on Sept 2!

Source: HSavernake's Twitter

Source: Astroglide Twitter

== Articles ==

Thank you @adoptourcrew for sharing another article talking about OFMD!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== More Trends ==

Heyyy guess who was trending on Sept 2 on TUMBLR! (I believe it was because of the Sept 1 Dickfuck/Lighthouse day, but could be have been more! let me know if you know something else happened! Thank you to the badass @poison-into-positivity for catching it <3

Source: @poison-into-positivity's Tumblr

== Tell Tale TV Voting Reminders ==

Reminder! Stede and Ed are in the final round of Ship of the Year! Please visit TellTale TV! Thank you @ofmd-ann for the reminder dear!

Source: Ofmd-Ann's Tumblr

== What We Do In The Shadows Bluray ==

Okay so WWDITS is not OFMD but it has Rhys and Taika so gonna send a boost out of this! Thank you to the absolutely spectacular @ jimjim531969 over on twitter for always bringing the latest cool news regarding the cast. You truly are a gem <3

Also per Jim:

Links to pre-order the WWDITS 10th anniversary blu-ray:

Australia & NZ (16 October, 2024)

USA & Canada (November 1st, 2024): Amazon or Barnes & Noble

UK (01/11/2024)

Source: @ jimjim531969 on Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Upcoming Fan Weeks =

* OFMD Sequel Week *

There's a new Fan-Week been announced for Nov 17 - 23, OFMD Sequel Week! Check them out on Twitter and give them a follow to keep up with the latest news!

Source: OFMDSequelWeek Twitter

* Stede Whump Week *

Stede Whump Week will be happening 28 Oct - 3rd Nov, and the bingo cards for that week are now available on Twitter!

Source: Stede Whump Week Twitter

= Never Left Podcast =

There's a new episode of Never Left out, and it's Part 2 of the discussion on Birds! Wanna check it out? Visit their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Podcast Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. Hoping your week is progressing in an upward direction. I hopefully get to finally talk to my dad tomorrow after over a week of everything going on, so I'll be in and out of things again. I know everyone is dealing with their own level of craziness right now, and I want to remind you that you're doing great no matter what you're dealing with. It could be little, it could be huge, it could be life-changing, or could be making you regress further back than you'd like-- whatever it is, you are getting through the best way you can, and you never have to feel bad about that.

I know it can feel like there's never an end to the chaos-- but remember that there are pockets of joy and love there in this life too, and however you need to cope with your daily struggles, don't feel bad in taking solace in that. Enjoy the little things, no matter how small. Rest up lovelies, breathe in, breathe out, drink some water, and keep going. Below is a very appropriate love note (for me personally but for so many others as well), courtesy of the amazing The Latest Kate. Not everything is clear right now, but it'll get there, just stay with us, and don't give up. Sending you so much love, crew <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

80 notes · View notes

anli-rambles · 2 months ago

Text

Idk if the writers intended it or not but the amount of cognitive dissonance between what Haytham says and what he does is so telling of the kind of person he was raised to be. Birch succeeded in making him talk like a Templar, but his actions contradict pretty much everything Haytham claims to stand for. It's as if the brainwashing ran deep enough to make Haytham lack self-awareness but not enough to completely destroy what Edward was able to teach him before he died. Connor points it out verbatim right before they meet up with Washington too. "You've talked a great deal but you've shown me nothing."

Haytham says he wants order but he's just about as chaotic as his father was when he was younger. He says Connor's talks of "freedom" and "free will" are nonsense but literally every time we see him aside from the opening sequences, he's going off on his own, doing God-knows-what without telling any of the other Templars, he drops everything on the spot to go camping with his girlfriend, hell he even murdered a Templar Grandmaster for personal revenge (when revenge has been the driving force between many of the protagonists we've had so far like Ezio, Connor, Arno, Bayek, heck even Kassandra to some degree, while the Templars claim to be above this kind of stuff). He went against Lee's plans to have Connor executed because he felt like it. (The line in his journal is literally "I won't let my son die today.") He says he wants purpose and direction and yet never has a plan for whatever he's doing. He's exactly like Edward on that front, essentially bullshitting his way through everything and hoping it all works out (and it often doesn't). That man has never had purpose or direction in his entire life, and the moment someone tries to tell him what to do, he actively chooses to do the opposite because he doesn't follow orders (and if he does, it's on his own terms).

When Haytham realized he didn't hold the key to the Precursor site, he chose to drop it altogether, because he knew too many would have to die for the cause and it wasn't worth it. Do you mean to tell me people like Vidic, the Borgias, Germain, heck even Torres (who's by far the most reasonable Grandmaster we've encountered in the series besides François de la Serre, maybe) went to impossible lengths to get to the Observatory — do you think any of these men would've just... stopped ? Because more people would have to die ? (The answer is no. William Johnson was willing to commit mass murder just to buy the land the site was on — which by the way Haytham had no idea about (the mass murder part, I mean) until after the fact and he was very angry about it.)

Which is also pretty telling about how involved he is in all of this. He didn't know about what Johnson was planning because he couldn't even be bothered to hold yearly meetings for like 15 years.

In his journal, you can see how he progressively starts to despise every Templar he's working with. He endorses Lee out loud but his thoughts about the guy are that he's "too British to be a good representative for the American people" and he's actually pretty pessimistic about his chances to supplant Washington. He doesn't even believe in what he says about Lee, like, ever (which is why I say it really looks like he's endorsing Lee as an act of sabotage because it really feels like it sometimes.) His Templar kill count is also higher than Connor's — Juan Vedomir, the unnamed mercenary with a West Country accent, Edward Braddock, John Harrison, Reginald Birch, Benjamin Church and Nicholas Biddle (although the game never showed it, the fact that Church and Biddle died only days apart while both in the Caribbean means that Haytham was with Connor on the Aquila when he killed Biddle, so he's at least complicit in his murder.)

Haytham says he's a man with Templar ideals and an Assassin background but to me it feels like the opposite. He's a man with a Templar background and Assassin ideals, but the grooming started so young that even killing Birch couldn't undo the damage that man had done. I think Haytham realized that by the end and that's why he let Connor kill him.

#haytham kenway #ac3 #edward kenway #connor kenway #assassin's creed

107 notes · View notes

reythenerdypisces · 8 months ago

Text

things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 3: The Titan's Curse

The truth was I was kind of disappointed to hear that she liked her new school so much. It was the first time she'd gone to school in New York. I'd been hoping to see her more often.

I tried to concentrate on little things, like the crepe-paper streamers and the punch bowl - anything but that fact that Annabeth was taller than me, and my hands were sweaty and probably gross, and I kept stepping on her toes.

"The General?" I asked. Then I realised I'd said it in a French accent. "I mean... who's the General?" I want this part to be in the show

"Sweet! Let's go! [to CHB]" said Nico. this breaks my heart. he was so excited in this book

Tyson thought Annabeth was just about the coolest thing since peanut butter (and he seriously loved peanut butter).

"How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?" "Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone." "But she was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime." you tell him grover

"That's some serious danger you're facing." Connor Stoll said. (I liked how he said you and not we.) I'm just imagining the rest of the campers not bothering to go on quests cause it's always the same few demigods and they don't care, they're just chilling safe at CHB while Percy and Annabeth do their things

The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!" But I couldn't understand his thoughts. I only speak horse. Percy Jackson speaks two languages: English and Horse

With a shiver, I realised that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half blood long after I was dead but Bianca would still look twelve years old. ouch

"It wants to kill us!" Thalia said. "Of course." Grover said. "It's wild!" "So how is that a blessing?" Bianca asked.

"That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested.

When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. I know everyone talks about this part but I can't help but bring it up again, they are so cute

"Woah, first of all, I never said anything about love. And second, what's up with tragic!" little does he know. also, Percy is so incredibly insightful in this book but he's also so jealous of Annabeth and Luke and so upset about the idea of her joining the hunters yet still can't figure out that he likes her

"Seven hundred feet tall," I said. "Built in the 1930s." "Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said. Grover sighed. "Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. "How do you know all that?" "Annabeth," I said. "She liked architecture." I cannot explain how much this little bit means to me.

The girl I'd just tried to slice in half yelped and dropped her Kleenex. "Oh my god." she shouted. "Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?" Rachel's here!!! I love her

Five minutes later, Zoe had me outfitted in a ragged flannel shirt and jeans three sizes too big, bright red sneakers, and a floppy rainbow hat. someone draw this and tag me. what an outfit

Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us. How could I let that happen to her? he is the most empathetic, wholesome guy, I love Percy

"Can't this go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic." You both sound like my mother." I said. "Shut up!" they said in unison. I kind of wish we got more Thalia and Zoe interactions... they would've made such a great enemies to lovers dynamic, if Zoe didn't die

"Get away from my daughter!" Dr Chase called down, and his machine gun burst to life, peppering the ground with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering. "Dad?" yelled Annabeth in disbelief.

Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.

"No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me." "Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?" It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger." I said. might I remind you this boy is 13/14 and has the whole world on his shoulders (both literally at some point and figuratively)

I feel like these are just getting longer and longer but again, I will be back for part 4!

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo series #pjo disney+#the titans curse #rick riordan #perseus jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #rachel dare #thalia grace #bianca di angelo #nico di angelo

169 notes · View notes

stagefoureddiediaz · 8 months ago

Text

Ok so Buck is getting a meta before I write my 7x03 meta and it’s all because of this still we just got!

We haven’t seen Buck in blue jeans (he’s worn jeans they’ve just always been super black) since season 2x01 - you know when Eddie rocked up at the station and put his shirt on - yeah you’re all thinking what I’m thinking aren’t you!!! The parallels of that jealous Buck and upcoming jealous Buck keep on paralleling. Putting him back in this style of jeans now is so very deliberate and interesting - if you ask me it’s playing not only into jealous Buck, but also into Buck and his hamster wheel - it’s playing on the whole buck 1.0 upgrade to 2.0 etc - there’s something about the fact that Buck essentially stops wearing jeans when he bonds with Eddie - something in the idea that that was the moment he was being both more true to himself, but also hiding a part of himself as well - it’s almost as if the intention is to parallel and revisit some of earlier Buck and explore him opening up the part he hid. Now with the context of Buck in s2 being in a (intense for him) relationship that’s shifted and ended without him knowing/ accepting it and a new guy coming on the scene sparking jealousy before creating a strong bond, and the parallel/juxtaposition of what we’re about to see - new guy sparking jealousy and presenting a threat to his status quo whilst he shares an intense bond with Eddie is a pretty interesting concept - the idea that they may be playing into the beginning of Buck recognising that his relationship with Eddie is changing and different in the same way he slowly figured out Abby had left him - only this time it’s changing in the opposite direction - stronger more unbreakable and allows him to be his true self - well that would be an amazing piece of storytelling in my opinion.

Now obviously alayna and the wardrobe team wouldn’t have known way back in the beginning of s2 that the story was going to head in this direction, but a great designer can make choices that they made in previous seasons work for them in future ones. So to me it feels like this sudden switch back to jeans is deliberate and about tying into the past to move and change things in the present/future. Alayna knows the full arc Buck is on and the fact she’s chosen now to do this when she could’ve done it at any point or not done it at all tells me all I need to know!

Would you like some other things we’ve got going on with this outfit?? I thought you would and I’m here to serve!

We’ve seen Buck in a spotty shirt like this one exactly twice before - 2x14 when he’s at a diner with Maddie talking about Buck finding his own apartment and Maddie going back to hers and going on her second first date with Chim.

Side bar - This is the episode we ‘hear’ of Tommy in the present tense - funnily enough to save Eddie - which in light of Eddie Tommy bestism were about to get is making me chuckle (it’s clever writing and retcon) in technical terms it’s the only reference we have of him as still working for LAFD - all his other appearances are in begins episodes so ‘historical’ rather than in the present!

And then we see a different spotty shirt when he goes to see Chase Mackey in 3x04

There’s also the other dark short sleeved button ups we see him in - not spotty, but striped - the one in 4x14 when Taylor comes back,

The most awkward I love you in the history of television in 5x09 has Buck in dark navy blue with vertical stripes (I don’t have the ref picture handy as I’m on my phone but I’ll come back and add it later 😎🤓)

Then we have 6x10 and the buckley-Han family get together where everyone finds out buck has donated his sperm to Connor and Kameron

All of these scenes are pretty key moments in Bucks arcs and what I find interesting (with the exception of the first one - 2x14 which kind of fits but also doesn’t) is that they are all moments that lead to developmental regression by Buck - under the guise of growth - moments when he thinks he’s moving forward but is in fact either side stepping or going backwards. Suing Bobby and the fire department is obviously the loudest of these moments, but they all fall into this category.

2x14 is perhaps the most interesting and relevant (what with the pattern being almost the same) in reality it’s a scene about Maddie moving forward and getting on with her life - that happens to also include buck getting his own apartment rather than camping out in her dining room. Thing is Maddie talks about going to therapy and putting in the work to feel and find normal in the aftermath of a major traumatic event. In some ways the chase Mackey spotted shirt kind of also falls into this same category - the aftermath of a major (or two) traumatic event for Buck and him trying to get back to his normal (he’s just going about it all wrong)

And here in season 7 we have Buck back in a dark short sleeved spotty shirt in the aftermath of a major traumatic event (Bobby and Athenas Cruise disaster - he couldve lost his dad) trying to get back to normal (something we’ve seen him trying to do for the back half of s6 obviously) and I can’t help but wonder - with Oliver talking about Buck getting off the hamster wheel he’s been stuck on - whatever happens whilst Buck is in this shirt is going to be a major catalyst for him. its going to set him off on his arc for this season and we'll to put in the work his sister did post killing Doug and actually move forward and learn about himself in the process. What that looks like I don’t know but the scene this is from is going to be key to his escape from repeating his past mistakes and actually growing towards his happiness.

The costume department haven’t let me down yet so I’m feeling pretty excited for that scene!

#I’m telling you this scene is the catalyst!!!#mini meta #buck costume meta #kym costume meta #911 stills #911 spoilers #911 abc #evan 'buck' buckley #7x04

166 notes · View notes

treason-and-plot · 6 months ago

Text

Saffron is not in the habit of visiting other people’s houses for dinner, with the exception of her father’s, and the experience feels novel and sophisticated. Tom and Helene are charming hosts, and Helene’s cooking is delicious. Too bad that Connor seems mired in some kind of impenetrable sulk; his parents don’t seem to notice that anything is awry, however, and continue to chat merrily between themselves and to Saffron.

“This is quite a momentous occasion, Connor bringing a young lady home to meet us,” says Tom, resting his elbows on the table and turning the full force of his attention on her. “Isn’t that right, Helene?”

“Yes, it is,” smiles Helene. “You must be very special, Saffron.”

“Of course she is,” scowls Connor.

“Saffron, Connor tells us that you are blessed with brains as well as beauty and have been tutoring him in Economics,” says Tom. “In fact, he credits you as being the reason he actually managed to pass this term. Would you agree?”

“Not entirely,” says Saffron with a modest wave of her hand. “Connor’s a great student.”

“Oh, come on now,” says Tom with an indulgent smile. Connor's fork hovers in mid-air, as if he is undecided what to do with it; continue using it as an eating utensil, or use it to stab his father in the head? “Everyone at this table knows that’s not true.”

#saffron #back to Bridgeport #5 years later #connor #helene #Tom Brownlee #sims 3 #sims 3 story

119 notes · View notes

dixons-sunshine · 3 months ago

Text

Make A Move | Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Summary: Murphy had liked you for years. However, he was always scared to make a move, too afraid that he’d damage his friendship with you if he made a move. Thankfully, a small push from his brother made him brave his fear, making for an unforgettable moment for the man.

Genre: Fluff.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 2.1k.

A/N: This was meant to be a drabble. I didn’t intend for it to be this long. However, my muse took this idea and bolted with it, and I let her do it because it rarely happens anymore. My first story in a while that’s longer than 500 words, and I’m proud of myself for it. Let’s hope the muse stays for a while so I can power through some requests. Anyways, happy Murphy Monday, my loves!

“If ya stare at ‘er any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole straight through her skull.”

Murphy jumped at the sudden, unexpected sound of his brother’s voice close to his ear. Some of his beer spilled out of his glass, trickling down his shirt and onto his jeans, making Murphy glare daggers at his cackling brother. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, but it is!” Connor laughed and shook his head, slapping his knee just for the dramatics—and to piss his brother off even more, because he found it rather amusing. “You’re so lovestruck, starin’ at her, you haven’t even heard a single word I’ve said these last fifteen minutes.”

“Of course I’ve been listening,” Murphy tried to defend himself while placing his beer glass on the bar’s counter, trying to dry the wetness on his shirt.

Connor snorted in amusement. “Yeah? Then what was I busy sayin’?”

Fuck. “Somethin’ ‘bout...” Murphy trailed off, trying to hone in on his ‘twin power’ to see if he could read Connor’s mind.

“About Y/N...” Connor began, waiting to see if Murphy would catch on to his ruse. However, much to Connor’s great amusement, he didn’t catch on at all. This is going to be great, Connor mused silently.

“Yeah, about Y/N! ‘Bout how she...”

“She looks...”

“Yeah, she looks...”

“Real cute in that dress.”

“Real cute in that dress!” Murphy finished as if knowing exactly what Connor had been talking about. However, Murphy quickly realized that Connor had set him up, and he punched his brother’s shoulder in a weak attempt at retaliation. “You’re a real dick, y’know that?” he grumbled in annoyance.

Connor doubled over with laughter, nearly spilling his own beer. “You’re just so gullible sometimes, brother.”

“I hate you,” Murphy retorted, picking up his beer and taking a big swig from it. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Murph, you can’t say that about your brother.”

The sound of your beautiful, angelic voice reached Murphy’s ears, and he almost spilled his beer again due to being startled—again. He looked up and locked eyes with you, his cheeks flushing at the radiant smile you sent his way as you wiped the countertop in front of him.

“Aye, tell him, las,” Connor laughed, wrapping an arm around Murphy’s shoulder and lightly shaking him. “Tell him he’s bein’ mean to his dear brother. Tell him he needs to quit or otherwise he’s gonna hurt his brother’s feelings.”

You rolled your eyes at Connor’s words, a small, light laugh escaping you. “Yeah, what he said,” you ‘agreed’, placing the rag down behind the counter and leaning on top the wooden surface. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

“Nah, I’m alright. Pretty sure Rocco already ordered me somethin’. I’m about to wipe the floor with him once I beat him at that.” Connor motioned over to the pool table. He took the final swig of his beer, placed the glass down on the countertop and sent you one final smile, before looking back at Murphy with a look that the other twin knew clearly meant “this is your chance. Don’t fuck it up.” With that, Connor walked away, leaving Murphy alone with you.

Murphy shook his head and toyed with the rim of his beer glass. It was no secret to anyone—except you—that the MacManus brother seated at the bar was head over heels for you. However, as flirtatious a man as Murphy was, this was different. You were different. You weren’t just some random lady he wanted to charm to get her number or something along those lines. He had known you for three years at that point in time. You had become one of the most important people in his life, and he greatly valued your friendship. If he were to ask you out and you happened to say no, would your friendship be irrevocably damaged? Would you cast him out of your life? Would he ever be permitted to even breathe the same air as you?

“You’re thinking really hard, Murph. Penny for your thoughts?”

Your voice reached Murphy’s ears, and he wished that you would never stop talking. He could listen to you ramble on forever. Your voice was so addictive to listen to. However, he quickly snapped himself out of his thoughts, reminding himself that you had asked him a question. “I’m alright, las. Just thinking.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” you giggled, unknowingly making Murphy’s heart leap at the beautiful sound. “What are you thinking about?”

Murphy shrugged and looked down. “Nothin’.”

“You know, people can’t usually think of nothing, because the human brain, according to what I know, is incapable of comprehending nothing. When you think of nothing, you see black, a void, right? Therefore you aren’t technically thinking of nothing, because a void is still something.” You let out a small laugh at the confused frown that spread across Murphy’s face. “Sorry. I just had to. It’s my favourite response for when people say they’re thinking of nothing. It confuses the hell out of people.”

Murphy chuckled and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Is that true? That whole thing you just said?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I’m not a scientist,” you replied with a small smile.

Murphy chuckled again. “Could’ve fooled me. That sounds like something straight out of those science articles in the magazines.”

“Why, thank you. I am pleased to know that I am able to sound intelligent enough in the presence of true intelligence,” you stated in an over exaggerated posh voice.

Murphy frowned at that. “Me? Intelligent? Where’d ya get that from, las?”

You raised your eyebrows at that. “You’re kidding,” you laughed in a disbelieving tone. “You speak, like, two thousand languages fluently. How the hell’s that not intelligent?”

Murphy shrugged nonchalantly. “It isn’t that hard. You just gotta keep practicin’ ‘em consistently. It also helps that I’ve been exposed to those languages from an early age. Anyone could do it, though. Even you.”

“Yeah? Literally all I can say in another language is “bon appetite”, and the only reason I know what that means is because I took one semester of French back in high school.”

“That’s still impressive, though.”

You scoffed and shook your head with a smile. “No need to try and make me feel better about myself, Murph. I’m not trying to seek pity. I’m sure there’s something I can do that you can’t.”

Murphy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, there’s probably plenty of things you’re better at than me. Hell, I can think of one right now.” Murphy leaned back and stretched, his shirt riding up slightly to expose the skin beneath the fabric, and the man missed the way your eyes trailed over it, and the way you quickly averted your gaze when you realized what you had been doing. “You crochet, right? I’ve tried that before. All I managed to do was somehow poke myself in the eye.”

You giggled at that. “One point for me, I guess, and a hundred points for you, still.” Before Murphy could protest and reassure you that you were indeed talented and that you could do things he couldn’t, you moved on. “But enough about that. What were you and Connor talking about before I came over? I heard my name being mentioned.”

Murphy’s eyes widened at your question. What the hell was he supposed to say? Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? Should he make up an excuse and hightail it out of there? However, Connor’s look from before, the ‘don’t fuck it up’ look, appeared in Murphy’s mind, and he sighed. There was no time like the present, he supposed. Might as well test the waters and see where he stood with you.

“Connor was teasin’ me, las, ‘cause I was busy starin’ at ya,” he admitted quietly, his cerulean eyes staring into yours, anxiously awaiting your reaction.

To say you were shock would be the understatement of the century. Your eyes widened at his admission, your heart beginning to pound out of your chest. However, you tried to school your expression to a more neutral one, attempting to hide your nerves—and excitement. “You were staring at me?” When Murphy nodded, you inhaled once, scraping together the confidence for what you were about to say. “You like what you saw?”

Be cool, be cool, Murphy thought to himself, trying not to expose how nervous he actually was. “Oh, I love what I see.”

See. He had used the present tense. It could’ve meant nothing, but you clung to the hope that it meant something. You locked eyes with him, a small, flirtatious—well, you hoped it was flirtatious—smile spreading across your face. “Yeah?”

“Aye,” Murphy nodded. You weren’t repulsed by his ‘advances’. He took that as a good sign. “I always love what I see when it comes to you, las. You’re a beautiful lady. I could stare at ya for hours.” You giggled shyly and ducked your head, making Murphy smile affectionately. “And that’s the truth. You know I hate lyin’.”

Your heart was pounding against your ribcage. With each compliment he gave you, your confidence grew immensely. “You’re not too harsh on the eyes either, Murph,” you replied jokingly. That was an understatement. He was damn pleasing to look at. You could stare at him for hours.

Murphy chuckled at that. “That’s good to know, otherwise this would’ve been embarrassin’, me makin’ a move on a beautiful lady while lookin’ like a dried out pickle.”

Your heart both simultaneously sped up and stopped. Making a move. So it wasn’t just playful, flirtatious banter? You were immensely pleased to hear that. “You’re making a move on me?”

Murphy readapted his earlier shy demeanour. “Um, no. I don’t—” He cut himself off by taking a deep breath, before exhaling and continuing. He was already in too deep. There was no backing out now. “I mean, yeah. I am. I jus’... I’ve been wantin’ to ask you out for a while now, but I was too afraid. I’m sorry if that’s weird or anythin’, las. I didn’t mean to make ya uncomfortable. I can leave if ya—”

Murphy never got to finish his sentence. He was effectively shut up from his nervous rambling by your hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket, tugging him up from his seat to lean over the counter, your lips crashing against his for a kiss. This first kiss exchanged between the two of you wasn’t like the ones he’d seen in those cheesy romance movies Connor would sometimes force him to watch. It was sloppy and messy, yet tender and gentle, too. It was perfect.

Whoops and cheers filled the air around you, making you and Murphy pull apart. The two of you looked towards the pool table where everyone had gathered to watch Rocco and Connor compete, and saw that everyone’s attention rested on the two of you, and you quickly became aware that everyone had witnessed the kiss happen. The cheers and clapping proceeded, making Murphy duck his head as his cheeks became ablaze in embarrassment. You simply waved the men at the pool table off, rolling your eyes at them to mask the embarrassment you felt as well.

Game forgotten, Connor made his way over to the two of you and wrapped his arm around Murphy’s shoulder, lightly shaking him a few times, a huge, satisfied grin on his face. “Atta boy, Murph! I knew ya could do it.” His blue eyes trailed over to you, his grin now directed towards you. “Proud of you, too, las. I’ve known ‘bout your little crush on ol’ Murphy here for a while now.”

Rocco, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, hoisted himself up onto the counter and sent you a teasing smirk. “I’m surprised either of ‘em made a move. Thought we were gonna be stuck in an endless loop of lovestruck staring.”

As Connor and Rocco continued on with their teasing, your eyes drifted over to meet Murphy’s. He sent you a small, shy smile, his cheeks tinted with a crimson colour. You sent him a smile back, your heart fluttering in your chest. Let Connor and Rocco tease you for all you care. Your moment with Murphy was perfect, and it was an amazing turning point in your relationship with the MacManus brother.

Now all you had to do was wait for another minute alone, and then you’d definitely repeat your actions, albeit this time, away from prying eyes.

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#murphy the boondock saints #murphy macmanus x female reader #murphy x reader #murphy macmanus x reader #murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus x fem!reader #the boondock saints #boondock saints #norman reedus

141 notes · View notes

huggybearluvr · 10 months ago

Note

A fantilli sister (yes ik this has been done a million times) sitting in the arena before the draft and spotting Connor across the arena and waving at him and that being the first time your brothers find out about you and Connor

beyond proud | cb98

pairing: connor bedard x fantilli!reader

summary: You attended the Draft with your brothers, however you were more than excited to also be able to see your boyfriend on his draft day as well! Your brothers finally found out about your relationship as they watched you and Connor at the draft.

Masterlist

You sat in between Luca and Adam a smile on your face as Adam grabbed you hand squeezing it. The Chicago Black Hawks made their way to the podium.

You looked over at your brother smiling, knowing he would be the second or third pick. It was well known that your boyfriend Connor would be the first pick. However it was not well known that you were seeing Connor.

"The Chicago Blackhawks are excited to be selecting Connor Bedard as our first overall pick!" They spoke enthousiatically into the mic.

You smiled removing your hand from your brother's, clapping as you watched your boyfriend make his way to the stage.

He walked over shaking a few hands and taking some pictures before sending a wave you way a huge smile plastered onto his face. You smiled waving back leading your brothers to send each other a knowing look.

You smiled even harder as the Columbus Blue Jets announced they had selected you brother. You stood up hugging your brother, "I am so proud of you Adam," You smiled against his shoulder.

He sent a smile down your way before hugging the rest of your family and heading down to the stage.

As the draft ended you saw Connor had texted you asking you to meet him in the lobby. You smiled, "I'll meet you guys at the car," You spoke turning to your family before making your way to the lobby.

As you saw Connor a huge smile plastered across your face, you practically ran into his arms, as his wrapped around you picked you up slightly. You placed a kiss to his cheek ,"I am so beyond proud of you con."

You pulled away from the hug leaning up to kiss him properly.

You heard a pair of throats cleaning behind you seeing your older brothers.

"Connor would you and your family like to come to dinner with us?" Adam asked, placing a pat onto his back, you took Connor's hand smiling at your brothers.

"That'd be great," Connor smiled.

You looked between your boyfriend and brothers realizing that this moment would be one you never forgot.

#connor bedard #connor bedard x reader #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard fic #nhl hockey #connor bedard x oc #hockey #nhl #nhl x reader

238 notes · View notes

laurenkmyers · 4 months ago

Text

one thing i won't be able to stop thinking about any time soon is mut's 'can i walk to you?' line.

because as much as mut toes the line of rak's temperament sometimes, he's the softest, most respectful boy who only wants the best for rak.

what people don't seem to understand is that rak is like a skittish, wounded animal, the man has trauma up to his eyeballs and he clearly doesn't have any idea how to deal with his emotions when they get this heightened.

mut understands this.

but what's so great about their dynamic is that despite rak's spiky attitude, mut challenges him every step of the way, not only in the bedroom, but by picking him apart piece by piece and exposing all the scary, vulnerable parts of himself that rak has shoved so far into the back of his mind, and when he is suddenly forced to deal with those emotions he snaps. despite having all the money in the world rak's life is a mess. he barely eats, lives on alcohol, snacks, and fumes his way through novel after novel, because he needs to escape his own reality.

mut brings him back to that reality, and it scares the living shit out of him. he's never been this exposed before. so rak tries to justify his decision to bring the man he very much (but pretends not to) care for by 'buying him' because that gives him all the power. or so he thinks. because this power dynamic isn't as black and white as some people think it is. just because rak has the money and the contract doesn't mean he has the power.

mut knows exactly what he's signed up for. and on the surface it may look like an easy buck and several fucks, but that boy has been in love with rak from the moment connor sent him those pictures. and after meeting rak and seeing in person how much the man is struggling to stay together, mut's caring nature has kicked in and he just wants to love and take care of rak the way anyone would want to take care of their loved ones.

their dynamic is going to get worse before it gets better. because rak still hasn't yet realised that what he's feeling is deeper than just sex. and when he gets full blown smacked in the face with his feelings he's likely going to go nuclear and the consequences of that is going to absolutely destroy mut in the process. but it's going to be a really important part of rak's journey to accepting himself and allowing someone else in.

mut's journey is going to be a lot different. he's already very in tune with his own thoughts and feelings and morals, and yet he's still letting rak treat him this way, because despite the fact he claims not to care what people think about him, or that they look down on him, he does care what rak thinks, and so far rak has been pushing and pulling at him in every direction that mut doesn't really know where he stands. he's hot and cold and mut is very clearly in this for the long haul, but i don't think he realises the danger he put himself in when he suggested rak 'buy' his love. because it might just be a way in to rak's heart for him, but to rak it's a whole trauma storm of family shit that needs addressing sooner rather than later.

it's going to bite them both so hard in the arse, and it's going to tear me to fucking smithereens, but i still have high hopes that the issues so blatantly being laid in front of us will be dealt with in the right way and we'll all be able to heal our broken hearts together with some beautiful, tender, sexy, rakmut happily ever after.

#love sea the series #love sea #fortpeat #rakmut #i'm all up in my feels today #i have so much more to say about this show #and this ship #but i'll stop for now

117 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 5 months ago

Text

-> CH. 4: WITHOUT TORTURE, THERE IS NO CAMARADERIE

synopsis: you try to get connor and hank to bond. it goes wrong. but connor is nothing if not persistent.

word count: 3.5k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: raises eyebrow.. looking forward to next chapterrrr 😏😏 not because it's smut like the emoji implies it's because that's when hank tries to kill himself. goodnight sleep tight

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

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

When you exit the break room with Connor in tow, Hank’s just arriving at his desk. You immediately make a beeline over – you’d take any excuse to be in any work area besides your own because, despite being a hard worker, you don’t really want to work when Hank is so much more entertaining.

You sidle up onto his desk, hot coffee in your hands. When he sees Connor behind you, he turns away and crosses his arms.

“Come now, Hank.” You lean forward. “Don’t act like a child.”

He purses his lips and doesn’t respond. Just stares straight ahead at his second monitor.

“I get the impression my presence causes you some… inconvenience, Lieutenant.” Connor leans over your shoulder, but not intrusively. “I’d like you to know I’m very sorry about that.”

You glance sideways at him, then look at Hank. He’s still looking forward.

“In any case, I’d like you to know I’m very happy to be working with you,” Connor tries. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team – all three of us! And now that we’re partners, it’d be great to get to know each other better.”

Hank huffs and scratches his nose, but stays stubbornly silent.

“Is there a desk anywhere I could use?” Connor asks.

Hank looks over at you, then glances at Connor. He nods at the desk across from him. “No one’s using that one.”

Connor sits at the empty desk. He’s stiff and straight-backed – the opposite of Hank, who is hunched over as he types.

You lean further forward, your hands on your knees. Your voice is low as you speak. “Hank, you know you can’t ignore him forever.”

Hank doesn’t turn to look at you. “I can ignore it as long as I like.”

“Listen, Hank,” you say. “You don’t have to like Connor. You don’t have to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. It would just go a hell of a lot smoother if you were civil.”

Hank grunts in response.

“Just try.” You look over at Connor. “Connor, make conversation.”

Connor thinks for a moment, then looks over at Hank. “You have a dog, right?”

Hank’s head immediately snaps up. “How do you know that?”

“The dog hairs on your chair.” Connor’s eyes flick to the back of Hank’s chair. “I like dogs. What’s your dog’s name?”

You bite back a smile. Of course he would like dogs – he practically looks like one. Especially with those soft, brown doe-eyes.

Hank looks at Connor like he just smacked him in the face. “What’s it to you?”

You lightly kick Hank’s chair. “Hank, just humor him.”

Hank purses his lips, then sighs. “Sumo. I call him Sumo.”

You turn to Connor and give an encouraging nod, silently telling him to continue. He might be making progress.

“Do you listen to Knights of the Black Death?” Connor asks. “I really like that music. It’s full of… energy.”

Hank looks over at Connor, again with a disbelieving look on his face. “You listen to heavy metal?”

You smile and huff out a quiet laugh. “Are you not listening to heavy metal each time you hear Connor talk?”

“I’m actually primarily made of a lightweight plastic,” Connor chimes. “I weigh a little less than two hundred pounds.”

You draw your lips into a thin line and nod. “Noted.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Connor turns to Hank and speaks. “If you have any files on deviants, I’d like to take a look at them.”

Hank gestures at you. “Jack into the wires.”

Connor looks at you, confused. You hold up your left hand, the one adorned with your polymer glove.

“Oh.”

You hop off Hank’s desk and move over to Connor’s, leaving your coffee on his desk. You hold out your left hand, and once the star on your palm retracts, the wires from your glove slither out. They move towards Connor, as if they can sense him.

Connor pulls his blazer sleeve and the cuff of his shirt sleeve up, then holds out his hand in kind. He turns his hand palm-up and touches the inside of his wrist, just over his artificial, painted-on veins. With a small hiss, his skin opens and reveals a six-hole port.

You take his wrist in a way so that your palm is resting right over the port. You hear the wires click as they jack into their respective places, then Connor’s fingers tense around your wrist.

You look up and meet his eyes. His LED flickers yellow and his eyelids flutter as he connects with your artificial cyber-system. A request pops up in the corner of your eye:

> Android “Connor” (model RK800) requesting folder: DPD Deviant Case Files (243 items).

You nod. Now, a confirmation:

> Confirm transfer of folder: DPD Deviant Case Files (243 items)? Y/N

You look at the Y to confirm the transfer. A small circle slowly encompasses it, then another pop-up:

> Transfer started to android “Connor” (model RK800). 17%...

“Give it a few seconds,” you mumble. “It’s a lot of data.”

As you watch the progress meter crawl along, it faintly registers in your mind that this is kind of an intimate gesture. Connor’s holding your wrist and you’re holding his, each of you just… standing there. Well, Connor’s sitting down, but still.

(And it’s not like you can disconnect! Connor needs these files, and you know he’ll hound you if you cut the transfer short.)

> Transfer to android “Connor” (model RK800): 62%...

“Yeah, sorry.” You huff out a nervous laugh. “There’s an update out for some software for my augmentations…”

“It’s okay,” Connor says.

> Transfer to android “Connor” (model RK800): 85%...

You swallow your anxious thoughts and needless apologies and just stand there, hyper-aware of Connor’s cool skin on yours.

> Transfer to android “Connor” (model RK800): 99%...

> Transfer to android “Connor” (model RK800): 100%! Please disconnect.

You try to retract your hand, but Connor’s still got a strong grip on your wrist. With a light shake, he lets go, and you bring your hand away. The wires disconnect and hide back away behind the star.

“I also gave you permissions to access files as soon as they come in,” you say. “So you don’t have to keep requesting them from me.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Connor nods and turns back to his terminal. “An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.”

Hank turns away like a petulant child.

“Well. Don’t have too much fun without me.” You step back, then pick up your coffee from Hank’s desk. “I’ve gotta go back to the android autopsy room – I still need to process the Ortiz android. I’m making progress, but it’s slow going.”

As you walk away, you can hear Connor get out of his chair. “I understand you’re facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them, and –”

“Hey!” Hank snaps. “Don’t talk to me like you know me. I’m not your friend and I don’t need your advice, okay?”

You turn back. Connor is close to Hank’s personal space – too close. You desperately try to get Connor’s attention and make gestures telling him to stop. He glances at you, then pointedly ignores you.

You curse under your breath as Connor leans closer to Hank. “I’ve been assigned this mission, Lieutenant. Your other partner may be used to it, but I didn’t come here to wait until you feel like working.”

And Lord was that the wrong thing to say. Hank immediately takes Connor’s blazer in his fists and slams him against the plexiglass wall that barricades his desk.

“Hank!” You hurry over. “Hank, think about this.”

He, too, pointedly ignores you. “Listen, asshole. If it was up to me, I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off.”

You lay a hand on Hank’s shoulder, causing him to drop Connor. He looks at you, anger still clear on his face.

“Hank, you know what’s on the line,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “I need this job. No one else will have me – not with what’s going on right now. I’m a Soviet working in American cybersecurity, for fuck’s sake. Now go talk to Chris. He’s probably got information on that AX400.”

He huffs and turns, quickly walking away. You turn to Connor, then put a hand on his shoulder and shake him gently. “You okay?”

He glances down at his blazer and smooths it out, then his eyes turn to where Hank is walking away. He looks at you, his face still fallen. “Don’t worry about me, Officer.”

“Just don’t push him too hard, yes?” You pat his chest and turn away.

“I won’t.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “You promise?”

Connor nods. “I promise.”

As Chris turns a sharp corner, you yelp and grip the grab handle tighter. “Ты спятил?!”

He doesn’t respond, just presses the pedal harder. You hope and pray that the airbags are in alright condition – not perfect, just functioning.

Chris comes to a squealing stop just outside a motel. “Get out! We’re hot on its tail!”

You hop out and slam the door behind you, immediately breaking for the nearest officer and barking “Where did they go?”

He points. “Down the alley!”

You look to your right and see Connor booking it after an android and a child. You run after him – at a considerably slower pace. You hear a second set of footsteps behind you.

You look over your shoulder and see Hank running along with the other officer. You point at the officer. “Whatever you do, don’t shoot! We need them alive!”

When you turn back, the deviant has jumped the chain-link fence after helping her child. Connor comes to a halt when he reaches the fence, grasping at the metal.

You can just barely see the sign reading AUTOMATED CAR TRACK / VERY HIGH SPEEDS / NO PEDESTRIAN CROSSING! Connor lifts his foot to find a foothold, and –

“Connor!” You snap. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

He glances back at you, then continues climbing. “I can’t let them get away.”

You reach him and grasp at his arm, pulling at him. “Connor!”

Hank joins your efforts and successfully pulls Connor down. “They won’t!” He pants. “They’ll never make it to the other side.”

“I can’t take that chance!” Connor steadies his grip on the fence and starts to climb again.

You cling to Connor’s shoulder firmly and give him a harsh tug. “Hey – you’ll get yourself killed!”

Hank pulls at him as well, causing Connor’s foot to slip from its hold, then land on the concrete. “Do not go after ‘em, Connor. That’s an order!”

Connor sets his jaw, still staring through the fence. He thinks for a moment before letting go of the metal, letting Hank yank his hand away. You can see the corner of his lips twitch in something like annoyance or frustration.

You step back from the fence and sigh. “Why was I even called here…?”

You lean your head back against the headrest of Hank’s passenger seat, then glance outside your window at the food truck across the street. “Would it kill you to eat some borscht or cabbage rolls instead of this shit?”

Hank scoffs as he turns off the ignition. “Hell, maybe.”

He gets out of the car and slams the door shut. You huff out a laugh as he’s nearly hit by a car while crossing the street.

You lean forward and pop Hank’s glove box open. Sure enough, you find a small, half-full flask behind a box of .44 bullets. Anderson is engraved on the front in neat Courier New. It’s a gift you remember giving Hank before… all this. You pull it out, uncap it, and smell.

“Eugh.” You wrinkle your nose. “Whiskey.”

“Do you not like whiskey, Officer?” Connor asks from the backseat.

“Not my favorite, but I was taught not to complain about my liquor.” You take a sip. “Yeah… more nutty than I’d like.”

Connor shifts so that he’s leaning over the console. “It’s currently 3:03 PM. Do you make a habit out of day drinking?”

You laugh as you look over at him. “You say that like there wasn’t just an alcoholic in the driver’s seat.”

Connor nods. “Fair enough.”

“C’mon.” You tuck the flask into your inner jacket pocket and pop open the door. “Let’s join the Lieutenant.”

You hop out of the car and Connor follows. You cross the street safely and stand beside Hank, watching as he forks over money to Pedro.

“Hey, Pedro.” You nod. “What’ve you got on the block today?”

“Horse racin’,” he says. “You in?”

“нет,” you say. “Not my style.”

“Alright, alright.” He backs away, holding his hands up. “I’ll come back with somethin’ that suits your tastes, russki. Count on it!”

You smile at him and nod. When you turn, you point at a sign on the back wall of the food truck. “Order me a lemonade?”

“Goddamn communist,” Hank grumbles. But he’s smiling, so you know he doesn’t mean it. “Always expectin’ handouts.”

“Hank, you always get your food for free.” You smile at him. “I don’t want to be out of a whole two dollars.”

Hank scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’… whatever. Gary! Add a lemonade.”

Gary doesn’t turn to acknowledge Hank. He just grunts as he continues to work on the grill.

You glance back as Connor’s footsteps sound behind you. You sidestep so that Connor can stand next to Hank. “Nice of you to join us.”

“What is your problem?” Hank sighs. “Don’t you ever do as you’re told? Look, you don’t need to follow us around like a… a poodle!”

Connor leans in slightly. “I’m sorry for my behavior back at the police station. I didn’t mean to be unpleasant.”

“Oh, wow…” Hank laughs. “You’ve even got a brown-nosing apology program! Guys at CyberLife thought of everything, huh?”

Gary turns around, two drinks in hand. He sets them down, then fetches Hank’s burger. You take your lemonade as Hank accepts his burger and soda.

“Thanks Gary, I’m starvin’.” Hank turns and walks away with you trailing after him.

Gary gestures at Connor. “Hey, don’t leave that thing here!”

“Hah! Not a chance,” Hank says. “Follows us everywhere.”

And just like he said, Connor walks after you. He leans against the standing table you and Hank have stationed yourselves at.

“I don’t want to alarm you both,” Connor says. “But I think your friends are engaged in illegal activities.”

You snort, leaning on your elbows onto the table. “You think so?”

“I do,” Connor insists, worry evident in his voice.

“Well, everybody does what they have to to get by. As long as they’re not hurtin’ anybody…” Hank shrugs. “I don’t bother ‘em.”

Hank takes a bite and chews as Connor thinks about that. You take a sip of your lemonade – citrusy and sweet. Just the way you like.

“This morning, when we were chasing those deviants…” Connor says. “Why didn’t you want me to cross the highway?”

“‘Cause you could’ve been killed!” Hank says, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest when you realize that Hank maybe, possibly, you-really-hope-he-does care about Connor (if only a little bit).

“And I don’t like filling out paperwork for damaged equipment,” Hank quickly corrects. But the fuzzy feeling that comes from possibly connecting two friends doesn’t go away.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me?” Connor asks.

Before you can answer, Hank says: “Hell no!” He holds up a hand. “Well, yeah. Why’d they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?”

You giggle quietly as you bring the straw of your drink to your lips.

“CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans,” Connor says. “Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration.”

You hum and take a sip of lemonade, but immediately choke and spit it out when Hank says “Well, they fucked up.”

You turn away and continue to cough, tears welling in your eyes. “Боже правый! That’s the second fucking time!”

Hank pats your back as you continue to recover. You inhale sharply and clear your throat before taking another sip of lemonade to quell the burn.

“Shit, you good?” Hank asks.

“Stop being funny.” You try to sound stern, but you can’t fight the smile on your face. “You’re actively hurting me.”

Hank laughs and puts a hand up. “I’ll try, I’ll try.”

“Let’s return to our sheep.” You clear your throat one last time. “Connor, did you get the document I sent you? The one outlining the autopsy.”

“Yes.” Connor’s LED flickers yellow and his eyelids flutter as he retrieves it. “The current theory is that a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating human emotions. This could be brought on by distressing situations, like being the victim of or witnessing extraordinary physical violence.”

Hank cuts in. “In English, please.”

“They don’t really… feel emotions,” Connor says. “They just get overwhelmed by irrational instructions, which can lead to unpredictable behavior. It could be triggered by being in a stressful situation, like being the victim of or in the presence of violent behavior.”

“Emotions always screw everything up.” Hank’s eyes flit to you. “Maybe androids aren’t as different from us as we thought.”

You purse your lips and look down at the table. “может быть…” You mumble.

Hank turns back to Connor. “You ever dealt with deviants before?”

Connor’s face falls as he looks to the side. His eyebrows furrow a little, like he’s remembering something terrible.

“A few months back,” he eventually says. “A deviant was threatening to jump off the roof with a little girl. I managed to save her.”

“Was it a PL600?” You ask. “Back in August?”

“Yes,” Connor says, a little surprised. “How do you know that?”

“I did the autopsy.” You take a sip of your drink. “It was before I was officially put on the case. It was a frustrating one, at best. The snipers used bullets of a much higher caliber than needed.”

Connor hums, looking down at the table. For a moment, the only sounds are the patter of the onslaught of rain and the music from Gary’s truck.

“So I guess you’ve done all your homework, right?” Hank asks. “Know everything there is to know about us?”

Connor tilts his head towards you. “They were actually rather forthcoming with information about themselves. But it was harder to find information about you, Lieutenant.”

“You sound like a stalker,” you mutter under your breath and smile.

“I know you graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself in several cases, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit.” Connor pauses. “I also know you’ve received several disciplinary warnings in recent years, and…” His voice drops in volume. “You spend a lot of time in bars.”

Hank hums. “So, what’s your conclusion on the alcoholic and the russki?”

“I think that working with officers with issues, both personal and political, is an added challenge, but… adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features.” He smirks and gives Hank a sly wink.

You inhale sharply and avert your eyes. Just like this morning, you can feel your face start to warm. (And it’s not even like it was a flirtatious wink! It was friendly – you think. You hope. You really, really hope he sent Hank a friendly wink.)

Connor’s eyes twitch and his LED flickers yellow. His eyes become unfocused and stare into the distance before he comes back.

“I just got a report of a suspected deviant. It’s a few blocks away.” He tilts his head to the side. “We should go have a look.”

Connor pulls away from the table and gives it a pat. “I’ll let you both finish. I’ll be in the car if you need me.”

You watch Connor as he crosses the street and gets back into the car. You sigh and lean on the table – you’ve got a lot on your mind.

“You’re thinking,” Hank says. “That’s dangerous.”

“Да.” You sigh. “It’s Connor.”

Hank scoffs. “Never pegged you as some boy-crazy teenager.”

“I’m not!” You can feel your face flush. “He’s… I don’t know how to put it. Intriguing, I guess? Earlier, when I was talking to him in the autopsy room, he showed signs of embarrassment. He didn’t blush or anything, but he looked away and pretended like it didn’t happen.”

“Pretended like what didn’t happen?” Hank asks.

“I…” You huff and look to the side. “We were talking and the Maya Plisetskaya Theater just came up in conversation. I was hesitant to tell him that the ballerina robots… also operate for other pleasures besides dance. But I did, and he was embarrassed about pressing me for information.”

Hank looks at you. His expression is unreadable. “You think he’s turning deviant?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” You glance across the street at where Connor’s still waiting in the car. “There’s just something about him.”

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

103 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 1 month ago

Text

Sharing is Caring

(Murph Connors x F!Reader; Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW: Mild angst. Smut (Cuckholding as a kink; open relationships; mention of threesome; mention of foot fetish; brief oral, m! receiving; less brief oral, f! receiving; PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 8434

AN: This was originally requested for Kinktober 2023 (oops) by an anonymous person!

Of all the guys, Murph Connors has always been the least forthcoming about his romantic life. Big Nick, Henderson, Z…they all lay their love lives out for the scrutiny of the others. Their divorces, their conquests, their ball-and-chain back home giving them grief, their sweet new thing just a phone call away. The baby mamas and the ones that got away.

Murph is something of a mystery with most of his personal life anyway. Stakeouts and hotel parties alike, he’s always more likely to sit and smoke and listen thoughtfully than he is to open up about his time away from Major Crimes.

Which is all to say: Benny is never clear on when Murph started dating you. The big hulking asshole just brought you around one evening—a low-key night at a dive bar.

It was jarring, the first time the guys met you. You knew a lot about them, and they knew nothing about you. By the end of the night… they still don’t know much about you. Which may be why you and Murph became a couple: you had a slickness to how you answer their questions, a cool way of turning their queries back around on them.

You ended up leaving them that first night early. You leaned over and brushed a kiss over Murph’s stubbled face, and you waved at the guys and said it’s been a pleasure, and then you were gone.

“Nice girl,” Big Nick offered, a touch sardonic. “Playing your cards close to the vest, huh?”

Benny lifted his glass of beer towards Murph and added, more nicely, “good for you, Connors. She seems great.”

Murph chuckled and shook his head a bit. “You have no idea, man.”

-----

If you’re like a case file, Benny only builds you up little by little. One tiny gleaned fact at a time.

When Murph puts in for some PTO because he’s taking you back east for a long weekend. “She’s had a rough fucking month with work,” he says, and that’s how Benny learns that you work in the family courts system in some capacity.

When Murph comes in on a Monday stiff and limping. “She took me fucking paddle boarding. You ever do that shit? Fuck, every part of me hurts.”

When you show up unannounced one morning, in a sharp wool suit and heels that click on the floor. You smile at Murph and hand him his lunch. “You forgot this,” you tell him, and you strain on your toes to kiss him lightly.

And that same moment, Big Nick comes out of his office and asks Connors if his mommy brought him his bologna sandwich. You are quick to flip him off and retort that you just came from his mom’s place, Momma Big Nick sends her regards and says he should call more often, which makes the guys laugh.

When Murph hooks up with one of the hired girls at a hotel party. Benny is no angel, but he goes out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, and he feels a sting of something. Disappointment in Murph? Pity for you?

When, days later, Benny brings it up to Murph. “Kinda shitty, man,” he says, even though none of them are saints by any stretch, and both Z and Big Nick are serial cheaters. Benny supposes he thought better of Murph and his whole strong-and-silent routine, mistook his reticence for a version of virtue.

When, a beat later, Murph looks at him in surprise and says, “it’s all aboveboard, bubba. We’re in an open thing.”

When Benny can’t come up with a reply fast enough, Murph takes in his expression and adds, “oh, yeah, didn’t you know? She’s way chill with a lot more than you’d think.”

-----

When Murph brings you around for Z’s birthday party. You and Benny end up in the kitchen together, restocking a cooler of beer together. Benny clears his throat, and you glance at him. Your lips are curved in a bemused smile, and before he can even voice his question, you preempt him and say, “you’ve got questions, huh?”

Benny nods.

“It’s only complicated when you think of it through the framework of antiquated social mores.”

What can he say to that? When has Benny ever really sat and considered the framework of antiquated social mores?

You touch his forearm softly. “What I mean is, Murph and I are never going to get married and have kids and a house in the suburbs. Murph isn’t built for that and neither am I. So why not do our own thing, recognizing that it will end eventually? Why not have a little fun?”

“Not about that wife and mom life, then?” he asks with a smile, though he’s still out of his depths. Every woman he’s known has wanted those things—or at least he thought they did. He’s been married twice himself, one small son from the second one. His mother, his sisters, his cousins, every woman he’s dated… they all seemed to be marching towards the same template, right?

“Marriage is just a legal contract that almost never benefits the woman. And children?” You laugh with a tinge of bitterness. “In this world? Maybe I love my children so much that I’ve decided to never foist them into this existence.”

“Grim.”

You cock your head at him. Appraise him. “Did Murph ever tell you what I do for a living?”

“You work in family courts, right?”

“I’m a minor’s attorney for the Juvenile Court.”

“Oh. Shit.” Benny’s work sometimes touches on juvenile cases, abuse of children. Neglect. But only sometimes, and he can’t imagine dealing with it exclusively.

“Oh shit is right.” You don’t say more. You finish dumping the ice into the cooler, then say in a brighter tone, “you’re up, Borracho. Carry the cooler out, will you? I’d hate for all that work at the gym to go to waste.”

If Benny perhaps preens at the unintended compliment, and if he perhaps flexes more than necessary as he carries the cooler, no one mentions it.

-----

The other guys must have a passing interest in you too, and Murph feeds them breadcrumbs of information over months and months.

The fact that yes, you’re pretty chill about things, but also pretty adventuresome.

The fact that you have a nice little bungalow in Little Armenia, and in a fact that both shocks Benny and kinda, sorta turns him on, you have a hidden sex room in that nice little bungalow.

“What the fuck is a sex room?” Henderson asks, and Murph actually blushes at the question. His face turns florid, but he answers with a cryptic, “look it up yourself, man.”

Which Benny does later that night on incognito mode.

Other things that come out, over time and usually by accident with Murph is just a touch too loose with the booze sometimes at their parties. He spills the salacious stuff and the sweet stuff, both.

You have a secret OnlyFans where you deal exclusively in foot stuff. You never show your face, and you have a small but dedicated clientele who pay outrageous sums for you to do weird shit with your admittedly very lovely feet. One guy pays for you to step on elaborate desserts, to get frosting between your toes. Another guy pays you to flex and contort your feet around various sex toys. Another pays to watch you paint your toenails in colors he chooses.

“It pays really well,” Murph says as the guys laugh and rib him. “How the hell do you think she afforded the down payment for that house?”

You are trying to learn Japanese (why asks Big Nick, and Murph shrugs and says why not? Then adds, “she loves Japanese cinema, man, and she doesn’t trust that the subtitles get it right.”)

You set up a threesome for Murph’s birthday last year, you and a woman you had carefully vetted. Afterwards, the three of you had sat in the kitchen and ate leftover apple cake from the Armenian bakery down the street.

You live across the street from a widow who has no family, so you routinely check on her, make double recipes when you cook, and make sure she’s good.

Once, at a hotel party (one that Benny wasn’t at because he had his son that weekend), Murph hooked up with a hired girl and had you on Facetime for the entire exchange. At your request. And that it tapped into some unrealized jealous streak, so when Murph dropped by your place afterwards, you fucked him senseless.

“Best sex of my life,” he mumbles around the mouth of his beer bottle.

And how the experience has opened up a new avenue of exploration. How you’re on the lookout for a willing candidate to fuck so Murph can be jealous. So Murph can be cuckolded.

Big Nick lifts his hand at that revelation. “I volunteer. Shit, man. Sign me up.”

Murph snorts and shakes his head, and he changes the subject as elegantly as a drunk person can, but his eyes slide over to Benny and linger there a beat too long for it to mean nothing.

-----

“She likes you, you know,” Murph tells him weeks later.

They’re on a stakeout, and when Benny turns to look at his partner, Murph is just gazing straight ahead out of the windshield. Benny lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She does. Better than you think, bubba.”

“We had half of a conversation once.” Benny reaches back through his memory and finds nothing else. No meaningful glances, even. No lingering touches.

Murph reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his pack of smokes. He shakes one loose and offers the pack to Benny, who waves him off.

“You interested?” Murph asks as he pulls out a lighter, sparks up. He takes a deep drag, breathes out plumes of smoke.

Benny hesitates to answer. Of course he’s interested. You’ve been pinging on his internal radar since you turned up on the scene, but how the fuck does he tell Murph that? You may be chill and Murph may be chill, but it feels precarious, fucking with his partner’s woman.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Murph offers helpfully. “You don’t have to answer. Just know that she’s interested in you.”

“It’d be a dicey thing to fuck with your woman, Connors.”

Murph snorts. “It’s up to you, but maybe you aren’t getting it. She isn’t my woman. If she heard you call her that, she’d lay into you.”

“Then who the fuck does she belong to if not you?”

Another snort, and Murph shoots him a scathing look. “Man, it’s the twentieth century. She belongs to herself, you fucking caveman.”

Benny chuckles, shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. You’re a regular Gloria Steinem.”

“I’m a pretty enlightened kind of guy.”

“But it’s the twenty-first century.”

“Close enough.”

-----

The next time Benny sees you, it’s at Murph’s place. For once, the stingy bastard is opening up his own wallet and hosting an evening. There’s a fight on pay-per-view, and Murph lays out a surprisingly robust spread of pizza, wings, and booze. Big Nick invites a few of his regular girls.

Your contribution to the evening is your presence and the spoils from your visit to a dispensary. You settle on the couch beside Murph, cross-legged and leaning forward as you roll a joint. Murph’s big paw rests idly on your back, steadying you, and Benny watches from the corner of his eye.

When you light one up, you take a deep inhale, blow it out slowly. You pass it to Murph, who declines, who passes it to Z, who takes a hit, who passes it to Benny.

He usually doesn’t bother with pot, but when he glances over and sees you watching him, he lifts it to his lips and takes a hit as well. It’s smooth, tastes faintly of something citrus, and when he exhales, he can see you smiling at him through the plume of smoke.

-----

The shit you’ve brought is strong, and by the time the party settles in, Benny’s head is swimming. Everything has a halo to it, bright and golden, and he knows he has a goofy grin on his face but he can’t quite care.

“That must hurt,” you tell him. Everyone has shifted around, drifted. Henderson and Z are the only two watching the fight in earnest. Big Nick is off with one or more of the hired girls, and Murph is stretched out on the couch and drowsing despite the TV noise and music.

Benny is outside on the patio, looking up at the sky and wishing he didn’t live in a place with so much smog. Then you’re standing over him, smiling, and you gesture at the bit of free step beside him. He nods, and you join him.

“What hurts?” he asks.

You gesture at his face. “You’re smiling a lot. Pretty stoned, huh?”

“Why would it hurt?”

“You’re not exactly a smiley sort of guy.”

He laughs, and you giggle along with him. “Yeah, Connors said you know me pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pauses, blinks against his dry eyes. “What do you know, then?”

“You’re probably too stoned for this conversation.”

“Nope. I’m good. Lay it on me. What’s my favorite color?”

You shake your head. “No idea.”

“Favorite food?”

Another shake, paired with a smile. “Also no idea.”

Benny snorts. “You don’t know me at all.”

You draw your legs up to your chest and hug your knees closer to you. You bend your head, rest your cheek on your knees, and fix your gaze on him.

“Funny that you think your favorite color and food is what defines you,” you say.

The pot has left him dry-mouthed and loose-limbed, so he fumbles as he reaches for his half-empty bottle of beer. You watch him as he takes a sip, then fumbles to set it back down.

“What defines me then, huh?”

“Murph never told you?”

“Told me what?” Told him that you were interested? Told him you might want to fuck him in one of your sexual games, and told him that you were free to do that because you belonged to yourself and no one else? Benny thinks it all, rapid-fire, but he says none of it.

You turn your head away from him and stare straight ahead, where Murph’s built out a sad-looking fire pit of scavenged bricks and concrete blocks. “There was a case a while ago. Couple cooking meth in their house. South Central. You and Murph were on it.”

Benny remembers. He has to dig past the pot and past the other cases since then, and then he remembers: the scrawny dude, the scrawnier woman. A shitty little house, one of those places where people kept adding on lean-to additions without permits, little more than shacks. They had a surprisingly sophisticated meth lab, and they also dealt in other unsavory activities: guns, fenced goods, occasional assault.

The meth makers had a kid. Benny remembers that.

Benny wishes he didn’t remember that.

“You and Murph were on the case, but you were the lead. By the time their kid came through the system to me, you were off the case. I guess you got moved onto other things, so when I needed testimony, that’s how I met Murph.

“I didn’t know.”

“So I do know you, kinda. I thought it had been Murph, so when I read through the case notes, I told him how impressed I was. How thorough it was. How…I don’t know. There was a barely contained rage in the notes about the conditions that kid was found in. Murph told me right away they weren’t his notes. ‘That’s my partner, Borracho,’ he said.”

“What does that tell you about me?” Benny asks, curious.

You turn your head and look at him again. “It tells me that I work off of police case notes all the fucking time, and half the time, they barely note the kids caught in the cross-fire. I read a note from an officer that says ‘child seems small for his age,’ and then I see the kid and it’s obvious they’ve been starved their entire life. I talk to a detective; he says, ‘yeah, kid had some bruises but kids are always getting dinged up.’ Then I see the x-rays from the medical exam and the kid’s broken more bones in five years of living than you or I will break in our combined lifetimes.”

He doesn’t have a reply for that. He knows the profession he’s in. He knows the type of people that it attracts. He knows that even the well-intentioned get jaded, get burnt out or exhausted by the parade of misery each day.

“You saw that kid. You didn’t downplay any of it. You witnessed and documented it, and because you did all that, I was able to terminate his parents’ rights. He’s been adopted by a cousin. She’s a nice lady, out in Lubbock. Kid has a backyard and a family dog and his own room. I got a card from them last Christmas.”

Benny breathes out a heavy exhale. He didn’t realize that’s how you and Murph met, and he never realized you’d known about him all along.

“Well, shit,” he finally says.

“You’re a good guy,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. The way you say it, like you’re capitalizing the “G” in “good.” He likes to think he is good-ish, but he often feels like he skews more on the bad side of things. Not evil, but more towards the less admirable traits a man shouldn’t have. He doesn’t see his son enough. He doesn’t speak up when Big Nick is behaving badly. He should go home more, help his mom around the house, spend more time with his nieces and nephews. He drifts towards inaction, and if he’s learned anything in his career as a cop, doing nothing is often as bad as… doing something bad.

The pot loosens his tongue more than he’d like, and he blurts out, “so I took good case notes and that’s why you want to fuck me?”

You inhale sharply, then burst into gales of laughter. You release your hold on your knees and stretch your legs out in front of you, plant your palms on the step beside you and laugh.

“Goddamnit, Benny,” you manage to get out between peals of laughter. “When did you get so blunt?”

He laughs along with you. “You brought super-pot. I’m a fucking lightweight.”

“Oh, god.” You swipe at your eyes, then stand up. You turn to go back inside, but you pause and look down at where he’s still settled on the patio step.

“For the record, you took good case notes and that’s why I think well of you.” A beat, and you add, “I only want to fuck you because you’re hot.”

Hearing you admit it from your own mouth and not secondhand and obliquely from Murph makes Benny’s go all fuzzy in the head, a wave of lust so strong that he has to stay out on the patio for a while until he calms.

-----

“Just curious,” Benny asks Murph a few weeks later. “How would it work?”

They are on another stakeout on the same miserable case, and Murph grunts from the driver’s seat. “How would what work?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Jesus, c’mon.” Benny runs a hand over his jaw. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“You can’t be so squeamish if you’re considering it, bubba.”

“Fine.” He huffs out a breath through his nostrils, then turns to look out his window. “How would hooking up with her work?”

He can see Murph turn and look at him; his reflection is a ghost in his window. He can just make out a wide grin.

“How does it work?” he teases. “Well, when a guy likes a girl a whole lot, he takes off her clothes—”

“Fuck off. You know what I mean.”

Benny catches Murph’s shrug in the reflection of the window. “How would it work if I wasn’t in the picture?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Yeah. I can give you her number.”

Benny pauses, considers how out of his depth he is. “And you’d be fine with it?”

Murph chuckles and turns to face forward, his eyes fixed on the house across the street they are scoping out. “Dude, that time I hooked up at the hotel party and she watched on Facetime? Then I went home to her? I thought I was gonna die. She was like a damned wildcat, and it was amazing. So yeah, I’d be fine with it. It’s a fun thing to explore. You have your fun, I’ll see if I get all jealous like she did. If I do, then I’ll go fuck her brains out too. If I don’t, then she got to have fun with a guy she’s got a thing for.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s fun to explore. Fun to play around with. Win-win-win all the way around.”

“Sharing is caring,” Benny adds.

Murph laughs. “Exactly, dude.”

-----

Murph gives him your contact information when they clock out, and he puts a heavy hand on Benny’s shoulder.

“Treat her good, though, yeah? She’s chill and fun but she’s also kind of a softy, so be nice to her.”

Benny nods. “I will.” He takes a beat, then adds in a lighter tone, “any tips?”

Murph laughs and drops his hand from Benny’s shoulder. “You’re on your own there, bubba.”

-----

Benny probably asks Murph at least ten more times if it’s okay.

At the same time, he asks you probably fifty times if it’s okay.

“You seem uncertain,” you tell him over the phone one night as you try to hash out plans. “You know you don’t have to do anything. Hell, if you want to just go and grab a beer, I’m down.”

Benny chuckles at that—like he’d be content with just sharing a drink after living with you in the forefront of his thoughts for months.

“Maybe it’s just difficult because I live in a framework of antiquated social mores.”

“That framework starting to feel like a cage yet?”

“You planning a jailbreak for me?”

“Yup. Operation Free Magalon.”

He glances around his apartment: spartan, utilitarian. The latest in a long string of places. He’s bounced between apartments and homes, marriage to divorce to marriage to divorce, and now he’s back here alone. It’d be nice, he thinks, to let loose like this. To explore something different.

“When works for you?” he asks, and by the end of the call you have a date and time for him to go over to your place and hang out.

“Still no pressure though, Benny,” you remind him gently. “We can hang out and see what happens. If nothing happens, we’ll have had a nice evening of good company.”

-----

It turns out to be a nice evening of good company after all.

Benny goes to your place and brings a bottle of wine, because he has no idea the etiquette of this sort of thing. He’s never actually seen you drink wine, and you take it from him with thanks, but then set it aside and tell him that dinner is about ready.

Because you cook for him. Because of course you fucking do.

He relaxes little by little. You eat, and you make a pitcher of margaritas light on the tequila so neither of you get wasted. You chat, stilted at first, then more comfortably. After dinner, you shift to the living room and the conversation continues. You ask if he wants to spark up, then joke and tell him you have a milder strain, so the two of you share a joint, passing it back and forth, loosening up even more.

It probably helps, knowing that you want him. Benny has always been secure in himself, but never as blustery confident as Big Nick or even Henderson. There’s always been a thread of submissiveness in the beginning of his relationships, a subtle feeling-out before making a move. He’s always wanted to know it was a close-to-sure thing before putting himself out there.

The tequila and pot relaxes him enough that he unclenches his shoulders, his arms. He unclenches his jaw. When you move towards him, he’s able to meet you halfway in a smooth motion. He’s able to get an arm around your waist and maneuver you into his lap right out of the gate. You settle there, your weight so close to where his cock twitches at the change to the evening. Then you cup his head in your hands and lean in to kiss him.

It's soft, at first. It surprises him how softly you kiss him. He’s way out of his depths, and he supposes he has a lot of preconceived notions. Part of him thought you’d open your door in some dominatrix getup, all patent leather and metal hardware, and Benny realizes that he doesn’t have much of a handle on any kinks beyond the tamest ones. Because you answered the door in a simple dress, and now you’re kissing him gently, almost shyly, your hands soft against his face as you settle more of your weight on him.

It progresses in slow movements. You kiss. You deepen the kiss. Your hands touch him in widening arcs: his face, then his neck, then his shoulders. His chest, his arms. Lower, down his belly, and your palm slips under the hem of his shirt to touch him low, right where the waist of his jeans cut into him.

Lower still, as you kiss him, as you sweep your tongue against his, as you taste him and breathe against him and make little moans that make him grow harder. You feel him there; you rock against him, and he swears he can feel the wet heat of you through your panties and through his own clothing. Your hand fumbles at his belt, his button, his zipper, and he’s about to reach down to help you but you succeed. A beat later, he feels your hand on him, grasping him lightly through his boxers.

He can’t help the moan that tears out of his throat. He hasn’t been touched since his ex-wife, the second one, left him.

He slides his hands from where they rest on your hips. He slides them back and grips the fat of your ass, kneads and grasps you. He pulls you closer to him, and you pull your hand away from where you’re grasping him. You steady yourself, hands on his shoulders, and now he definitely can feel the wet heat of you: the head of his cock has slipped the bounds of his boxers, and he bumps against the damp cotton of your panties.

“Benny,” you breathe against his mouth. “Can we move this somewhere else?”

In a less-than-smooth move, he shuffles forward with you still in his lap, then staggers into a standing position. He keeps his hands under your ass, hauls you up, and you wrap your legs around him.

“Tell me where to go, baby.”

-----

Benny’s incognito searches made him think your sex room would be something wild: padded walls with shelves of dildos, perhaps, or red satin sheets. A piece of weird leather furniture, maybe, like he saw on one site. Chains hanging from the ceiling like a meat locker.

Murph oversold it a little. It’s just a separate bedroom, done up nicer than the average guest room. There’s dark, soft-looking bedding on the king-sized bed. The frame is wrought iron, and sure, there’s handcuffs dangling from either side of the headboard. The lighting is soft and low, and there’s a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed that Benny will one day learn is full of sex toys, neatly organized by type.

He takes it all in in a split second and no longer, because you’re in his arms as he carries you to the bed. He moves to lay you down, but you keep your legs wrapped around him. He follows you then, an awkward drop but you tug his full weight onto you and kiss him fiercely.

The pot keeps it from being too frenetic. The eagerness keeps the pot from making it too lazy. It’s the perfect balance, an ebb and flow of energy and speed. You strip him quickly, and when he goes too slow in stripping you, you push him away, kneel above him, and tug your dress over your head.

Benny lays back on the bank of pillows and watches in awe: your arms lifted up lifts your breasts, and you’re wearing one of those bras that barely covers anything. Lacy black cups only cover the rounded fullness at the bottom, and he can see where your nipples peek out. He takes in the rest of you: the softness of your belly and the curve of your hips, the equally skimpy panties.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mumbles. He reacts automatically, grips himself and gives his cock a few pumps with his hand at the sight of you half-naked and kneeling over him. Backlit by the soft lighting. Gazing back at him with half-lidded eyes, lips parted. The pink tip of your tongue skating over your lower lip as you watch him touch himself.

“You do this before?” you ask. Your voice has a husky quality, either from the tequila or the pot or the moment, or all three.

“Do what?”

“Touch yourself thinking about me.”

No sense in lying. He’s done it more than once. He nods at you.

You rock back on your heels and smile at him. “I’ve thought about you too.”

The admission makes a fresh pulse of desire rocket through him, makes his cock twitch in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“How’d it go?”

“Hmm.” You move to all fours and crawl towards him, and he releases his hold on himself. You work your way up from the bottom of him, teasing him.

“I thought about you the night I finally met you.” You say it right near his erection, your warm breath skating over him, making him shiver.

“And the night that Murph fucked that blonde girl? I imagined you here, fucking me at the same time.” Your tongue darts out and licks against him, teasing, lapping up the precum that’s leaked out of him. Benny groans, and his hips judder upward, but you’re already moving away. Pressing a kiss on his belly, right below his navel. Then above it. Up his sternum, his chest, his collarbones, and your lower body is hovering over his now.

“How would I have fucked you that night?” Benny manages, but it comes out strained. You lower your weight on him, and he feels how wet you are, your panties drenched as you slide against his erection. Back and forth, teasing him. Torturing him.

“On all fours,” you reply. You suck a line of wet kisses along the side of his neck, mouthing at his tattoo there. He feels your teeth, your tongue. Feels your words sink into him when you add, “your hand on the back of my neck, holding me down against the mattress.”

“Fuck, baby—”

“So deep that I can feel you in my throat. So deep I can taste you.” You bite the tendon between his neck and shoulder, and he groans, reaches up. Slides his hand against the back of your skull and holds you there. You continue rocking against him, sliding against his cock, and he’s glad for the pot because it always keeping him from coming too soon.

The pot also makes it difficult for him to focus completely. The word taste lodges in his mind, and his thoughts drift in that direction and settle there. He holds your hips for a moment, but then he reaches up to gently untangle you from where you’re kissing him, and he sits up underneath you. You smile at him, your lips swollen, and ask what he wants.

“Wanna taste you.” He reverses it back on you—he bends his head and kisses your neck, sets his teeth against the soft skin of your throat and makes you whine. “Can I?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Lie down then.”

You do as you’re told, and Benny detours to your tits, has you arch off the bed enough to undo your bra and toss it aside. He puts his mouth to you, thinks of it as a preview for you. He lowers his head and nuzzles against your soft skin. He drags his tongue over the curves of you, breathes against the wet line of spit, and smiles when you whine again. He blows against one nipple, then the other, then wraps his lip against one. Rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, pinches lightly until you hiss. Switches to the other: his mouth on one, his hand pinching the other, and you making the sweetest goddamned noises he’s ever heard.

He makes his way lower. He nuzzles here too, feels the delicious damp of your panties. Takes a deep, blatant inhale of you, and it sets you squirming underneath him. Eager.

Benny hooks his hands under the waistband and draws them down your legs, and you lift your hips to help. Completely bare now, he rocks back on his heels to look his fill, and his earlier assessment was correct.

“Perfect,” he mutters, and the praise makes you squirm, makes you fix him with a heavy gaze.

Makes you part your legs as he stares down at you, drawing his eyes to where you’re already a mess just from fooling around with him. You’re so fucking wet, your arousal slick on your inner thighs, and Benny is too stoned to finesse it: he just dives in, clumsy and impatient, his facial hair rasping over your sensitive folds.

“God, Ben,” you moan. He feels your hands on his head, and you tug against his hair. Pull him firmer against your hot flesh. He doesn’t need any convincing.

Eating pussy is generally one of his favorite moves in the bedroom. Men who get squeamish about it mystify Benny; to him, there’s nothing hotter than literally tasting a partner. To putting one’s mouth to a person. When he was much younger, he could get off just by eating a partner out, and it never bothered him when he did.

It helps when his partner is so damned into it too. Benny’s been with partners who didn’t like it, too traumatized by previous boyfriends who gave them shit about it. You? You’re all in. You steer his head bossily, and he’s happily led. You moan and swear in equal message; you groan out his name and praise and gentle instructions on what to do more of.

He works the flat of his tongue over your seam, and he reaches with a hand to part your folds to reveal the slick inner core of you. He laps at your hole, then draws his tongue upward to swirl around your clit.

“So good, Benny,” you sigh. “Oh, just like that. Please. Don’t…fuck, don’t stop.”

He sets that rhythm, over and over. He adds a thick finger, slips it into your clenching heat, and he groans at the feel of you, of being inside you. It makes your hips press upwards, makes you breathe out his name, so he adds a second finger, lazily slides them in and out of you as he laps up and down your slit. He wraps his lips around the firm bud of your clit and suckles. You lift your hips again, chasing the sensation, and he chuckles.

“Good?” he growls against your core, and you whine out yes, so good, so fucking good.

“Better than Murph?”

His words don’t give you pause—you go with it. “Yes,” you whisper. You sound wrecked, halfway fucked-out, and he hasn’t even gotten his cock in you yet. “Y-you’re better.”

“Fuck yeah I am.” He pushes his two fingers deep inside you and feels the answering clench of your cunt. He crooks them, rubs his fingertips against you from the inside, tests different spots. Finds it a moment later when a fresh pulse of cum coats his fingers, enough to slick into his palm.

“Murph ever find this?” he asks as he presses against your g-spot.

“N-never.”

“But I did.”

Another press of your hips, seeking more, needing more. “You did. Feels so good, Ben.”

“Gonna come like this?” He peers up at you from between your thighs and takes in your wrecked expression.

“I’m close,” you warn him.

“Then let me have it,” he replies. “Wanna taste you coming in my mouth.”

It only takes another moment, and you do what he says here too: you tighten your grip on his hair, almost to the point of pain. You moan his name, and then you come. Your thighs clamp shut around his head, and there’s a moment where he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he sees sparks in his peripherals. He grins at the thought of passing out between your legs. Your orgasm sends a fresh pulse of arousal, and he laps it up as you tremble above him.

Benny makes his way back up to you, and your hands tug him down. You kiss him deeply, and you must taste yourself on his tongue because you moan against his mouth.

You break the kiss and smile up at him as he catches his breath. Your hands stroke his shoulders, and your fingertips scratch against his head. It’s been so long since he’s been touched, he practically purrs under your attention.

“Still good?” you ask.

“You know it.”

“There’s condoms in the nightstand if you want more.”

Yes, Benny wants more.

-----

He gets you on all fours, just as you said you imagined. He rolls a condom onto himself, gives himself a few experimental pumps with his fist as you shuffle backwards towards him.

“Now, like you said.” Benny lays a palm along the back of your neck and pushes you down gently until your head is turned and your cheek is pressed against the mattress. “Like that.”

He can hear how turned on you are when you echo, you’re voice heavy with desire, “just like that.”

“Good?”

“Perfect.” You wriggle your ass at him, tempting him, and it doesn’t take much. He grips his cock with his other hand, swipes the tip through your slick. He teases it a bit, teasing the broad head of his cock along your plump lips, pushes the barest bit into you but then pulls out. Does it until you whine, and there’s a threatening tone underneath the simpering. Like there’s only so far he can tease you.

He enters you as slowly as he can. He wants to feel every inch of you, and he stares down at where he splits you open, where he disappears into your body. He can feel you try to push back and rush it; the only thing stopping you is his hand on the back of your neck holding you firm.

“Benny…” It’s a drawn out whine. A pleading tone.

“Patience, baby.” Benny grits his teeth and slides the last inch home, his cock buried to the root, his hips flush against you. “There we are.”

He feels how tight you are against him, the little twitches against him as you mold to the shape of his cock. If the analogy is a cliché, so be it: it’s a perfect fit, a key made for a lock. He releases his hold on your neck and skates his fingertips down the bumps of your spine. You shiver against the sensation, and he smacks your ass lightly a beat later.

“Benny, c’mon.” Another whine. “Please.”

“Please what?” He smacks you again, not hard, and then he sinks his fingertips into the swell of your hips. Holds you tight against him but only to stop you from moving.

“Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He draws out an inch, thrusts back into you. “Like that?”

It makes you groan, the sound coming from deep inside you, deep in your belly. “Just like that. Just like that, please.”

He does it again: pulls out a fraction, slides back in, hard and firm. “Feel good?”

“Fuck yes.”

Again. Hard enough to jar you forward a bit, and his hands on your hips pull you back. “You ever been fucked like this?”

“N-no.”

Again, and he pulls out halfway and pauses. Looks down at where his cock glistens with your arousal, where your cunt twitches and spasms against him. Struggling to push him out or pull him in, he can’t say for sure. He pushes forward and pulls you back in one motion, and it knocks the wind out of you, pushes out a guttural moan.

“Murph never fuck you like this?” He repeats it, a hard thrust that makes you keen this time, then he holds it, buried as far inside you as he can go. He pulses forward, feels where the base of him grinds against your clit, where his heavy balls press against you.

“Never. Never!” Your voice is higher, reedy. Breathless. “God, Ben—”

“He’s gonna fuck you after I leave, isn’t he?” There’s a filament of jealous burning in him. He doesn’t understand this cuckolding kink from the other side of things. If you were his, he’d fucking make you his. He wouldn’t fool around at hotel parties like Murph did; he’d be right here with you, keeping you stuffed full of him, satiated.

He also doesn’t understand the possession side of things, why it’s such a bad thing. Of course you belong to yourself. When he says you’re mine, Benny means a hundred nuanced things. He means that he’s also yours, that you belong to each other not in an ownership way but in a way he can’t quite express without sounding like some antiquated asshole. That you’re his to keep safe, to love, to take care of, just as he’d be yours to keep safe and love and care for.

Of course, you aren’t his anyway, and he’s not yours. This is a borrowed moment, so he deals you a handful of deep, slow thrusts, his cock hitting the end of you and making you whimper each time.

“He’s coming over after this, right?” Benny asks it again. He wants you to say it.

“Yes.”

“He gonna fuck you this good?”

You shake your head against the bedding. “Nuh-uh.”

Benny pulls you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you, pushes every fraction of himself into your clenching heat. You’re so fucking wet that it goes a brush easier, but he can’t know that he’s deeper than any man’s ever been, that he’s nudging against the mouth of your womb, and that you’re thinking no, Murph’s never fucked me this good because he’s never been so deep inside me, and it’s just like I imagined that time—I can feel Benny in my chest, in my throat.

Benny knows none of what you’re thinking. Instead, he reaches down and grasps you under your arms. He hauls you off your hands and up to where he is. He wraps his arms around your torso, holds you—your back to his chest—and he whispers in your ear, “good. No one will ever fuck you as good as this.”

You turn your head. He can see the fucked-out look on your face, the dazed expression, the teary eyes. Your lips parted as you pant, breathless, then agree with him. Echo his words, tell him, “no one will ever fuck me as good as you, Ben.”

It ends too quickly after that. Even with the pot delaying his pleasure, Benny can’t put it off forever. He feels you as your second orgasm approaches, the way you tighten up against where he’s bouncing you against his cock. Then, a beat later, you come, and the walls of your cunt ripple against him like you’re trying to pull him into you. Like you’re trying to consume him, and Benny thinks he wouldn’t mind being consumed by you.

His own orgasm is quick to follow yours. He feels the telltale heaviness in his gut, the taut tightening of his balls. In the split second before it breaks around him, he wishes he hadn’t worn a condom. He wishes he could come inside you, fill you up with himself, leave you a mess for when Murph visits you later.

He wishes the other man could see you looking blissed-out and satisfied, then could look down and see Benny’s cum trickling out of you.

The mental image—you filled with his spend, the mess of it as it drips from your body—is what pushes him over the edge. The tension in him snaps, and he pushes in as deeply as he can as he come harmlessly in the latex.

-----

If Murph is due at any point afterwards, Benny can’t tell what the timeline is. You don’t rush him out. You don’t harry him along so your real boyfriend can come and take his turn.

In fact, it’s a lazy post-coital scene. He helps you clean up. He spends a long moment in your bathroom, sobering up and gazing at his own reflection. This was a bad idea, he thinks now that his orgasm is behind him.

There’s too much jealousy but not with the people he’d assume. He’s the one that burns with jealousy. It's a cuckolding kink that has somehow boomeranged around to hit him, not Murph.

But back in the bedroom, you’re stretched out and sated, a lazy smile on your lips. You pat the empty space beside you, and Benny takes it. He puts an arm out and you curl up against his side, then he wraps his arm around you.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Mmm-hmm. You?”

“Oh yeah.” You turn your head and kiss him above his collarbone. “You’re great, you know.”

Benny hums at that but says nothing. You must read something in it, because you ask, “is this going to be a problem?”

What’s the point in lying? There’s a hot ball of jealousy sitting like lead in his gut, and it’s not what it was supposed to be. He was supposed to have a fun little interlude, then go home. So why’s he the one feeling like he’s being cuckholded?

“I don’t want it to be a problem,” he answers honestly.

You hear the unspoken “but” in his reply, and you urge him to explain.

“Maybe I wasn’t the best guy for this sort of game.”

“Why not?”

How should he put it? He's got two divorces under his belt. It should be obvious.

“Because I fall pretty easily, I guess,” he replies.

You twist in his hold and settle your chin on his chest so you can gaze up at him. “This wasn’t a game, you know.”

Benny snorts. “No?”

“Murph and I have an open thing.”

“And you wanted a guy to fuck you so he could play around with being jealous about it.”

You shake your head faintly. “You’re missing the point, Benny. I wanted to be with you. The cuckholding was secondary. It’s not the other way around. I wasn’t looking for a guy for the sake of cuckholding Murph. I was looking to be with you first and foremost.”

It gives him the barest bit of comfort, but you still sense his confusion. You sigh and push away from him, and you leave the room for a moment. When you return, you have your phone in your hand, and you’re typing as you walk back to the bed.

“There,” you say. You set the phone down on the nightstand, then crawl back in to lie down beside him.

“There what?”

“There…I texted Murph. Told him not to come over.”

“But—”

“He sent back a thumbs up.” You strain to brush a kiss onto his frowning mouth. “It’s all good, Benny.”

He furrows his brow because he can’t quite believe you, and he tells you so, which makes you sigh again but smile.

“It’s an open thing. It’s not serious. He messes around with other women, I mess around with other men, and sometimes our outside stuff overlaps, but usually it doesn’t.”

“You sure?”

You nod, and you kiss him again. Softly. Lingering. “I promise,” you assure him when you break away.

“I’m sorry to mess it up.” Benny had been prepared to slink home and lick his wounds, but it turned into a massive non-issue. He feels a sting of guilt all the same.

“Oh, you didn’t.” You snuggle closer to him, the softness of your breasts pressing against his arm. “But now that there’s no time limit on your exit, we could go again.”

Benny’s cock twitches at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You kiss him again, then run the tip of your tongue over his collarbone. “But maybe this time, you don’t mention Murph at all while we’re fucking.”

“Deal.” Benny reaches his hand and cups your breast, tests the weight of it in his palm. Runs the pad of his thumb over your hardening peak.

The second time that night, it goes slower. It’s softer: gentle movements against each other, and without the specter of Murph in the room—glowering from the corner, the cuckold—it’s an entirely different experience. It’s quieter but deeper, more intimate, and when he comes a second time, Benny doesn’t think of the other man at all.

He falls asleep, though he doesn’t mean to. He means to go home either way that night, but he falls asleep with you in his arms, with your arms around him, and the thought that he falls asleep to is this: maybe he’s old-fashioned and maybe he falls too easily, but you could be his, and he could be yours, and it might be amazing if he could convince you to consider it.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #murph connors #murph connors x reader #murph connors imagine #den of thieves

37 notes · View notes