#and that sucks cause every time i say that i can hear the fuckin wails of people who are trapped in a tar pit medical system

[twerkyvulture]

ok last adhd thing in this tangent and then i'll. Go to sleep at my regular 6:30am bedtime fr. but, ok. like.

i feel like i'll get drawn & quartered for saying this on this fuckin website lol but at least when it comes to ADHD i am so firmly anti-self-diagnosis. if you have ADHD and it's severe enough to be affecting your everyday life, you likely need careful administration of drugs that are controlled substances because they make non-ADHD brains go kookoo-bananas-insane.

btw regardless if you DO or DON'T have The Pedigree Diagnosis Doctor's Seal of Approval ADHD Or Whatever... uh... where was i?

oh yeah, please for the love of god don't get into the habit of self-medicating with caffeine. guy i knew in high school died when his heart gave out from a combination of drugs & strenuous activity. it was fucked up. just... fucked up.

[frnchgirls]

warnings: nsfw!! filth with plot! danny is possessive! and has a dirty mouth! slight aftercare :]

you're a vandal being interviewed by danny in your apartment when he asks you about your love life. all the other guys are settling down and getting married and having kids, so it only makes sense to know if you're seeing somebody too, right?

you tell him you're not and that it's been bleak cause every man you've been with has had beliefs that didn't align with yours or was in the middle of a messy divorce or couldn't make you cum and more often than not it was a combination of the three. he almost swallows his fucking cigarette cause surely you didn't just say what he thinks you said, and you sink down in the couch a little from the embarrassment.

"you've gotta be kiddin' me." he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief, "so what, like, a guy's never made ya cum before?" he asks for clarification and his hand falters a little as he brings the microphone closer to your face. he’s only recording this for personal use, but you want to smack it out of his grip when you answer, "i dunno, maybe. you makin' fun of me, danny? am i the only woman ya know who hasn't finished during sex?"

he shakes his head, and he feels bad that it's making you feel bad cause the only reason he's so surprised is that you're the prettiest girl he's ever laid eyes on, is all. it's offensive that a man hasn't been able to please such a sweet thing like you, really. "i think it's normal. hell, i'm sure kathy or betty could tell ya the same. girls i've been with, too." he explains with a nod as he takes a drag and puffs out the smoke. "it's just that, i've personally never had any complaints."

you can only sit there in silence cause you're not sure if danny's actually flirting with you right now or if you just never woke up from your dream this morning. thankfully you don't have to wonder for long, cause he stubs out his cigarette and speaks up again with a smirk, "you mind if i have a go?" deep down, he already knows your answer.

it's hard to resist the urge to ask him what the hell he's talking about. you want to hear him say it but even more than that, you want him to show you. so, you humor him, shaking your head and biting your lip and then he's ordering you to throw your legs over the arm of the loveseat and what did you get yourself into?

he pulls your bottoms down your thighs, just enough for him to get his face between them, and when he sees the state of you, he gets so fuckin' smug. "this wet just from talkin' t'me, baby? you got a crush on me or somethin'?" danny asks, and just as you're about to tell him to shut the fuck up and eat your pussy, he's yanking your panties down and doing exactly that.

his hands spread you apart while his tongue dips inside your cunt, and oh he wasn't bluffing cause his nose is bumping into your clit and his mustache is brushing against your folds with each flick and it feels too good. one of your hands is threaded through his hair while the other is clamped over your mouth cause he's practically pulling the moans right out of you, and you have neighbors for god’s sake.

danny tries not to grin as he licks into you, but how can he not when you’re whining like that because of him? when you notice, you’re not sure if it pisses you off or turns you on so you tug his hair harder, nails scratching at his scalp. and fuck, he likes that a lot so he’s sucking your clit and adding a finger in no time at all.

it's pathetic how fast his movements you there, but really, it's the filthy things he says that bring you over the edge. "c'mon baby, you gonna cum for me? that's it, gimme my fuckin' cum. y’know i need it. forget those losers who couldn’t handle ya. you should be mine. atta girl, just like that." danny groans against you and you're shaking like a leaf, wailing "thank you, thank you, thank you" as you release.

you might have given him a little too much confidence, cause after he cleans you both up and fixes your clothes and fetches you some water like the sweetheart he is, he’s smiling from ear to ear and asking you if you'd like to be his girlfriend.

he really meant it when he said you should be his.

[notmuchtoconceal]

( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

nah, we’re not together or anythin like that, he’s just a friend, bro. he’s a butcher, and a damn good one. get all my meat from him now, it’s quality shit. you should see him with a knife when he gets to choppin, bro, it’s downright mesmerizin. i could watch him for hours, just lay back and watch the steak, the liver, whatever he’s got fall apart into nice even cuts, listenin to the knife hit the block

he hung me up, bro. yeah. yeah. in the freezer, with all the other meat. there were chains around my wrists, slung around this hook on the ceilin. nah, none a that leatherface shit, bro, he cares about me. cares about my safety. i know he seems a lil weird, but he’s a nice guy. smart, too. real good with words. sorta relaxes me when he starts talkin, you know? but yeah, the chains were in my mouth, too, and over my eyes. i was sittin there in the dark, for six hours, shiverin my ass off, tastin the cold steel. every once in awhile, he’d come in with a pot a hot water, throw it on me to sorta shock my nerves and laugh

nah, wasn’t boilin or nuthin, more like a hot shower that’s a lil too hot. it’s nice at first. warm. then it gets to dryin. my nips were rock fuckin hard, bro. i could hear the steam pourin off me, like it was sizzlin. like a wooshy kinda sizzlin, like a gas stove, you know? then it got colder. colder than it was before. so, you know, naturally to keep me warm, he’d need to keep doin it, but, ya see, this’s where it gets tricky, cause eventually, you know, he wouldn’t do it as much. he’d start slippin a straw in through the chains in my mouth, tellin me to suck. at first, i thought, hey this is great, i mean, i hadn’t had a drink in what seemed like hours. then he kept doin it. kept makin me drink. after awhile, you know, i had to take a piss real fuckin bad, and it was so fuckin cold, i’d almost be dancin there, chained up while he watched me flex, listenin to me beg and moan all helpless, cause i was, haha

well, that pan a hot water. he set it down between my legs. empty, a course, he hadn’t gotten more in awhile, haha. aw, bro. you can see where this’s goin, right? yeah. yeah, i see the gears startin to turn in your head, bro. this whole time the only thing i’m wearin’s my jock, same one i wore here, i just came from practice, and i’m so turned on, i’m beadin through the mesh with pre, like bro. the whole pouch was soaked. i could feel it dribblin down my leg, felt like i had puddin on my dick, it was gettin so thick from the cold. anyway, you know, i guess i felt pretty stupid for thinkin my strap was wet before–thighs too, come to think of it–and that empty pan, it didn’t stay empty too long after that, haha. least it was nice and warm, bro. you know, fresh from the tap, haha. hey, you think that’s bad, you remember that chain i was tellin you i was hangin by? well, get this. it had a winch and lever. couple more repetitions a this, the straw and the pot, i’m about three feet off the ground, still blind, still cold, and i’m swingin back and forth, tryin to hold it in, cause i’m thinkin ‘fuck, i miss this, what’s gonna happen? he gonna let me freeze?‘ 

haha, dude, i know it sounds sick. it sounds real fuckin sick, but he always hoses me down afterwards. meat’s gotta get clean, he says. dunno what to say, bro, i like spendin time with him. i like bein meat. i like how he fondles and punches me, just wails on me for hours while i bite down on my bit like an animal. and he’s nice to me. wraps me up in a towel afterward. massages me. talks to me. tells me i did a real good job bein just a piece a meat. he makes me feel good about it, like not just how he talks to me, but how he looks at me and touches me. then he sucks my dick and lets me suck his, haha. i can’t wait to go back there, bro. i like to hang around. sorta like bein the meat’s my natural state a bein. like i was put on this earth to get tenderized, packaged up and sold. like any animal magnetism i got’s a mistake a birth and i shoulda just been born an inanimate hunk a protein

yeah, not a lot a people get it, bro. i guess it is pretty weird when you say it out loud. not a lotta people listen to me this long, either

ya know, what’s real weird is how many people around here are into eatin brain. yeah, actual brain. pig, sheep, cows, people eat that stuff. my new bro gets orders for it all the time, and i don’t think any a his customers are zombies, haha. yeah, almost every night, bro. takes the brain, the whole brain, wrapped up in like this skin, and he peels it off. haha, i sorta like it, bro. it’s squishy, it’s interestin, and the way he touches it, well you ever hear the sound it makes when a guy kneads his fingers in meat? it’s real peaceful, bro, like the sound you’d used to get goin through styroafoam packin peanuts, really takes me back, bro. feels real good. and right before he cuts the brain, he tells me to picture all the thoughts that woulda been in it, really picture the thoughts, of what it musta been like to be a bull, or a horse, or whatever, and it’s just sooo relaxin bro, you wouldn’t believe it. it’s sorta like i’m in the brain, like the brain’s my thoughts, and when he brings the cleaver down, it all goes away

hey, you free tonight, bro? gets sorta lonely bein a piece a meat, i could always use some company. nother big guy to help me reinforce what i am. lookin at ya right now, wouldn’t be outta place in the freezer yourself. whaddya say, bro? wanna join me? how bout we two slabs a meat start hangin around together?

[kkysolo]

Lifejacket

A/N: I was supposed to be taking a posting break, but I wrote this piece while feeling really, really down as a comfort. If I see anyone I follow struggling, I like to make them feel better - but I guess I won’t always know when you are, because silent battles can be the hardest ones. So, I thought, maybe, it might help someone else, too. 

Pairing: Modern!Ben Solo/Reader Warnings: Depression, I guess? Nothing else, though. Pure fluff. Soft boy Ben Solo is my only Ben Solo. Word count: 766 Summary: Ben comforts you through a spell of self-doubt. 

You’re at your desk when it happens. 

Your fingers fall away from the keyboard, your elbows coming to rest either side of the laptop as your face drops forward into your hands. You don’t even feel the tears when they come, or the sobs that spill from your mouth, half choked. You’re balancing on the precipice of not quite feeling numb, but not feeling much of anything. 

Except for that gaping hole, that endless canyon that cracks across your chest - splitting further and further with each cry that tears from your core. You don’t know what caused it, what caused those tectonic plates to pull apart and leave you half empty, half shattered, split right at your seams. All you know is that it’s there, and it’s moving. The shores of your soul are eroding, the once-shallow waters now engulfing every last fleck of spirit you have left. 

Your throat aches with the force of it, the rough assault of your wails scratching at soft tissue. You almost think, for a moment, that you’ll faint. That this spiral, this abyss of endless grey and black will consume you, take you for all you’re worth, sucking you down to it’s ocean floor. 

But it doesn’t. 

Ben’s arms are around you before you even realise he’s there, before you even realise he’s home. You can feel his breath on your cheeks as he speaks, but you can’t hear him. All you can hear is that rush of blood through your ears - the kind that sounds like tempestuous waves, the kind that has you feeling like you’re drowning. He pulls you closer to him, turning you around in your seat as he lifts you from the chair, taking you in his arms. 

“Sssh,” he hushes, and you can hear him now, as the waves begin to subside. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he moves you to the bed, sitting you in his lap as he rubs soothing circles into your back. “I’m here.” 

You fight to calm your breathing, which only accelerates every time you think of speaking. 

“I s-should have it together,” you sob, rubbing harshly at your eyes. “Why can’t I just k-keep it together?” 

“You don’t have to have it together,” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss to your hairline. “You never have to have it together all the time.”

“I-I’m failing,” the words spill from your mouth with a howl. “I’m not g-good enough for any of this, I never will be, I don’t know why I’m even trying.” 

“You’re not failing, you’re talking yourself into thinking that you are.” 

“But I am, and I-I’m falling apart right in front of everyone.” 

“It’s okay to come apart sometimes. And I’ll be here, every time you do.” 

He strokes your hair, kisses your cheeks, your nose. He finds your tears with his lips and allows the salt of them to fizzle into his mouth. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” you shake your head, allowing your breathing to begin it’s slow descent to normality. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“I signed up for you,” he brings you impossibly closer, molding you to his body. “This is a part of you, the same way my…” he trails off, breaking into a laugh. “Fuckin’ calamity of a life is part of me. You take on enough of that,” he brings a finger to your jaw, tilting your chin up to face him. “You take care of me enough. Let me take care of you. Can you do that for me?”

You nod softly, sniffling as you nuzzle into his shoulder. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says, letting you curl up into him. “You’re gonna rest, that’s what’s most important. You’re burning yourself out. Then,” he kisses the shell of your ear, smiling softly as your fingers find the curls of his hair. “We’re gonna order some food, and we’re gonna watch a movie, and you’re gonna forget about work until tomorrow morning. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you murmur, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. Your head begins to throb against your skull, as it often does after a hefty onslaught of your own torment. 

Ben watches as your eyes fight to stay open, rocking you slightly, back and forth, back and forth, as the last your tears taper off. 

And you stay like that, and he holds you, until the hurricane has calmed and the storm turns to drizzle, the waves lulling you to sleep. And he’ll keep you here, settled and calm, and he’ll hold your hand through every coming downpour. He’ll be your lifejacket. 

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

That Puta

A/N: y’all, this hurt but it was so sweet.

WARNINGS: SMUT, fights, mention of blood, angst(always a little with me)

TAGLIST: @ifoundmyhappythought @woahitslucyylu @gemini0410 @angelreyesgirl89 @angelreyesgirl @fvckthisbxtchup @claytoncardenasbabymama @vicmackeybullshxt @choppedgalaxynerd-blog-blog @cind-in-real-life @starrynite7114 @phoenixhalliwell @dazzledamazon @whyisgmora

“Did you hear that Angel Reyes’ mom was killed? Good riddance, she was so mean. One time when I went to that carne-whatever she totally tried to—“ You didn’t let her finish. As she chonked on her pink bubblegum and told some story, you grabbed that bitch by the hair and dragged her out into the gravel. She claws at your arms, chest, anything to get a hold of you.

“Shit! Grab her!” Bishop shouts. You let the background screams and shouts dissipate as that little bitch looks at you and scoffs, fist connecting with your eye and effectively pissing you off.

“Are you serious? You think cause Angel doesn’t wanna bang you, that you have the right to-“ You throw her into the gravel, hearing the crunch under your boots as Coco holds Gilly and Creeper back. The brunette with blonde ends stands up, bloodied knees and palms. “Oh baby, he told me he’d never dick you down because you’re too ugly. He told me you weren’t his type, too manly. I guess I see it-“ You toss her aside, grabbing her hair and plowing her through the crowd of screaming girls to the trunk of a car, where you proceed to slam her face into the flat surface of the trunk.

“You don’t talk bad about a dead lady, dumb bitch.” You snarl, teeth grinding as Bishop grabs your arms and tries to pull you away. Yanking your arms away, you pile drive her and hear her sputter. Just as you finally get to her face, your nails clawing at her exposed arms and chest, the sirens wailing in the distance get closer.

“Shit!” Bishop shouts, skittering to you hide you. Hauling you to your feet, he hands you off to Coco and your eyes meet his brown ones.

“Did Angel really tell some dick warmer that I wasn’t good enough?” You whisper, chewing on your lip and looking over your knuckles.

“Miel-“

“Tell me, Coco.” You huff, looking into his sad eyes. He nods.

“Yeah, he was just drunk though, he didn’t mean— oh shit. You’re in love with him.” He deadpans, his jaw hitting the gravel as he stares at you.

“That obvious, huh?” As the cops pull in, one calls for an ambulance and Coco makes every attempt to shove you into the clubhouse.

“Who’s responsible for the damage?” A cop shouts, and you rush through the door waving your hand.

“Me officer!” You shout, holding your hands up. At first he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You grin as you reach down and slam her groggy head into the gravel once more, knocking her out. Strutting towards the cop, his jaw slack, you turn and place your hands behind your back. The cuffs are slammed on and he gently puts you in the car.

As Angel finishes filling out his release form, he sees what looks like you being walked to a cell in an orange jumpsuit, hands behind your back.

“Y/N?” He shouts, watching you look over your shoulder at the sound of his voice. Angel feels the anger swell in his heart as he jerks against the cuffs on his hands. “Y/N!” He yells, his eyes falling on the black eye you donned and the cuts on your lip and your arms.

“Mister Reyes, finish the paperwork.” Nips the officer, tapping the table with an annoyingly fast pace.

“Why’s she here?” He asks, looking over his shoulder just in time to see you put in a cell and the door shut in your face.

“I don’t know. You won’t finish this paperwork so I can find out.” She groans, waving to the paper. Angel scribbles as fast as he can and then stands.

“Tell me, I gotta know.” He barks, nodding to the computer. She quickly does some clicking and looks at Angel with a shocked expression.

“She got into a physical altercation and the woman was sent to the hospital.” She informs, looking at him expecting him to react.

“A physical—a fight? Like a fist fight?” He asks, eyes wide. The woman nods, looking at him. “Does she have bail?” He asks.

“Doesn’t look like—hmm that’s weird. It says refused bail posting.” She shrugs, clicking a couple more things. “She doesn’t want bail posted for a two days.” She states, eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

“Can I just talk to her?” He asks, wringing his hands together. He knew something was really wrong if you didn’t want bail. She nods, grabbing her keys and heading back to the cells. As he gets to your cell, he finds you lying on the cot, staring at the ceiling. “Amarillo isn’t exactly you color, Y/N.” He chuckles, resting a hand on the bars. You don’t even sit up to talk to him, ignoring him. “Y/N?” He asks, his hands now gripping the bars as he gets concerned. “Christ miel, it’s Angel!” He shouts, causing you to jump and sit up. Scowl on your face, arms crossed over your chest, you stare at him.

“I can fucking hear you. I’d prefer not to.” You nip, starting to lay back down.

“What did you do?” He asks, and you scoff. Standing, you stand just out of his reach and lock your jaw, clenching your teeth together.

“What did I do? Stuck up for you! Only to find out that I’m a fucking joke to you!” You shout, throwing a hand at him. Stepping back, he looks at you, confused.

“You’re not a fuckin’ joke,” he shakes his head and you start to laugh.

“To you? Oh yeah I am! That’s the only reason I can figure! You told some crow eating, dick sucking whore that you’d never ‘dick me down’ because I was too ugly. Boy, I’m glad you fantasize about fucking me, Angel Reyes, because it’s as close as you’ll ever be to me again!” You shriek, feeling the tears fall down your face. Sniffling, you swipe away the tears and flop onto the cot, back to the cell door.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. She kept asking me why I was watching you. I just—“

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

“You wouldn’t! You were just dying to clock that puta because she got some dick and you didn’t! Ya know, miel, I never took you for a jealous type.” Angel scoffs dryly, feeling uncomfortable being on the outside of a cell.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know what love was if it jumped out and slapped you.” You call, letting him walk away. Tears fall down your cheeks as you curl up on the cold flat cot.

As Angel slinks into the clubhouse, Bishop’s angry gaze bares holes into Angel’s already annoyed demeanor.

“Glad you’re here.” He ruffs, tongue jaw crooked as his tongue swipes across his lips in attempt to control his tongue. “You didn’t bail out Y/N?” He asks, looking out the slowly shutting door.

“No, Bish. I didn’t.” He huffs, sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

“Why the fuck not?” He growls.

“She didn’t fuckin’ want it.” He retorts sharply, eyes dark and dangerous.

“Why is that?”

“Cause she didn’t fuckin’ want bail. I don’t know.” He shrugs, heading to the bar a drink when Bishop’s hand reaches out and grabs Angel’s shoulder.

“What’d you do?” He barks.

“Me? Of course. Always me. I wasn’t the one who cracked out and sent some chick to the ER and it’s still Angel’s fault! Fucking blame Angel!” He shouts, tapping his chest and nodding. “She’s the one who beat up another chick because I didn’t want her pussy!” Angel laughs dryly, swinging his hand. Creeper’s fist flies at him before he can even react. Stumbling back and grabbing his face, he looks at him incredulously. “What the fuck?” Angel shouts, storming towards Creeper, whose chest is heaving.

“That what you think happened?” Coco asks, eyes boring into Angel’s soul.

“Yeah! She fucking asked me if I said I didn’t wanna ‘dick her down’.”

“Because she dragged that puta outside for badmouthing your dead mom, bro.” Coco points to the photo on the wall of Angel’s mother that he kept off to the side near the bar.

“She what?” He asks, his heart dropping to his soles.

“Leah was badmouthing your mom, and Y/N dragged her out by her hair. When Leah couldn’t win physically she used some old drunk shit to fuel her. She’s in the ER because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.” Coco barks, pointing to Angel as he heads for door.

“Is that really what she did?” He stares at Coco, licking his lips and chewing on his bottom lip, concerned.

“Yeah, bro. She said some shit to hurt Y/N.” He shrugs as he heads outside leaving Angel there hurt. He’d said some bad shit to you. He was currently kicking himself. He hadn’t meant it, not the way that puta made it sound.

Almost a week went by, Angel not hearing from you was painful. He couldn’t seem to function right. He lost his charm.

“Hey, Angel. What do you say we head to my place-“

“Nah, ‘m good.” He shrugs off the sweet Hispanic woman and heads to the bar for another beer.

“Yo Angel! Coco’s got a hundred-dollar bet you can’t beat him in a game of pool.” Gilly shouts from the pool table. Angel shrugs, waving them off and drinking his beer in silence.

“Angel! Wanna hit the cage?” Riz calls, waving to the door.

“Maybe next time.” He calls back, tipping his beer back again.

“Reyes, wanna fuck around and get arrested?” You call, standing at the door.

“Nah, ‘m goo—“ he spins so fast the bar stool falls from under him and he faces you. “No fuckin’ way.” He murmurs, closing the distance between you in almost three strides, grabbing you and holding you tight against him. He squeezes so hard you start to tap his back, signaling he’s crushing you. “I’m so sorry. Coco told me what really happened. He told me what she did. That she’s deserved to tossed out. I’m really sorry, miel. Tell me how to make it better.” He whispers, letting you pull him outside. The cool night air swirls around the two of you as he looks into your eyes for a moment. He finds a lust and longing he’s not sure how he’d never seen it before.

“Angel, I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about that shit.” You whisper, shaking your head. “This was a fuckin’ mistake. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” You start towards your Harley, but Angel grabs you and you tumble back to his chest. He leans down and presses a warm kiss to your lips. His hand caressing the curve of your body as he slides down and grips your ass.

Gasping, you grab his neck as he hoists you up. Wrapping your legs around him, he walks the two of you backwards towards the weigh shed. Sitting you on the counter, he grabs the squeaky old swivel chair, dusting it off and pulling down his jeans boxers, his cock hitting his stomach.

“Angel-“

“Take off your shorts, miel. I want you sit on my dick.” He demands, his husky voice washing over you. Stammering, you yank off your shorts and draw your shirt over your head.

“You’re so fucking hot.” You whisper in his ear, the tip of your tongue tracing the outer edge of his ear as he positions himself at your core,, stimulating your swollen clit. Gasping again, you give a soft moan and sink down on his thick, huge cock. “Christ, bet this is just like you dreamed.” You hush, teasing him as you slowly slide up and down.

“It doesn’t even compare, babygirl.” He husks, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs as you ride him, your hair tossed over your shoulder. “Shit, kiss me again, baby. I fuckin’ love you.” He murmurs, pulling you in for another kiss. Slowly you feel the heat pooling in your stomach and you grip his shoulders tightly. “Yes baby, come for me. Come on. Yes, oh fuck.” Your walls pulsate against his throbbing cock as he thrusts up to meet your rolling hips. “I’m close.”

“Cum for me, Angelito. Please. Please come, baby.” You moan in his ear, pushing him over the edge, hot cum filling you and dripping down your thighs.

“Christ, Y/N. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I should’ve just told you how I felt. Fuck, that was amazing.” He whispers, pulling you down to rest against his bare chest, shivering as a cool breeze rustles around you.

“Angel, I really do love you. A lot. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know. I don’t want you beating up any more hookers without me there to cheer you on, babes.” He chuckles, pulling your shirt on and wrapping his plaid around your shoulders.

“Shut up. You should’ve seen me, Angel. I dragged that bitch out by her hair, slammed her into a trunk. Broke her fuckin’ nose. It was badass.” You mockingly swing at his nose, but he sends you into a fit of giggles and blushing as he presses warm sweet kisses to lightly scarred knuckles, holding your fist in his hand as he does so.

“I love you so much, miel.”

“Oh yeah? Mister ‘you’re jealous I dicked boobs for brains and not you’?” You mock, pinching his cheeks as the two of you walk towards the clubhouse, Angel’s arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“I promise you, I definitely fantasized about you doing a lot more than that.” He chuckles, holding the door for you.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Bad Dream  -  Five

Pairing: Dark!Steve X Reader

Summary: A year after wiping your memory and keeping you for himself, Steve Rogers is happy. Happier than he’s ever been. With you and your daughter, life couldn’t be any better. The only problem? You’re starting to remember things.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, The plot Thickensssss

Word Count: 2K

A/n: WAYYY OVERDUE IM SORRY I SUCK. I’m lacking motivation for writing lately and it’s irritating me. Love y’all so much

!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!!

MADNESS MASTERLIST EDITED POORLY! BAD DREAM MASTERLIST

~*~

“Good Morning, sweetheart.” Steve kisses your cheek. You smile, confusion filling you at your body’s natural response to him.

Your stomach twists and flips and you push yourself into a seated position in bed.

“What’s wrong?” You shake your head at his faux concern, holding onto your stomach tightly.

“I... I need some air,” you rasp, stumbling out of bed and towards the doors leading to the balcony. You throw them open and take deep breaths, leaning your forehead down against the railing.

Steve’s footsteps follow you and you feel tears well up in your eyes, fear making your body tremble.

“What’s wrong?” He repeats, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You flinch out from under it and let out a shaky breath. “I-I don’t know,” you whisper, trying to sound convincing. “I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t know...” He smoothes your hair back then sighs.

“Did you eat something bad?” You shake your head. His fingers still on your back as a thought enters his mind. “When was the last time you got your period?” Horror fills you and you take a few deep breaths. “It’s been about two months. I thought... nothing of it. I’ve heard of women having irregular periods after birth but...” Your mind goes back to all the times he’s fucked you in the past seven months since you had Sarah and you nearly gag.

“I... I need...” everything blurs as you try to stand back up and you fall into Steve, head spinning.

“Woah! Hey, you’re okay.” He holds you steady, brows furrowed with worry as he sees the glazed-over look in your eyes.

“Can you hear me?” You can’t answer, trying to crawl out of your skin as he helps you to the bed so you can lie down.

Tears well up in your eyes and Steve can’t help but panic, thinking he triggered the wrong thing last night.

“Honey. I need you to relax, okay?” You try to take deep breaths, if not for him then simply so you can figure out what the Hell is going on.

“What’s wrong?” You shake your head and take a few deep breaths. “I... I...” A knock on the front door cuts you off and you exhale deeply. “That’s Buck. He’s got Sarah. I’m gonna go get her and then we’re gonna see what’s wrong, okay?” You nod, watching as he gets up and walks out of the room.

Silent sobs wrack your frame as you realize what's happening to you, what he’s caused. The man who kidnapped you, wiped your memory, and raped you is going to get your daughter. The man who’s controlled you for nearly two years is holding you here against your will and there’s not a single person on the planet who’ll believe you.

~*~

“Mommy missed you so much,” you whisper, kissing Sarah on the head. She hugs you tightly, babbling nonsense into your ear while you pack your bag.

“What’s going on here?” Steve asks, frowning when he sees your stuff packed away.

“I feel homesick, I think. I want to see a doctor, find out what’s wrong.” He narrows his eyes at the shake in your voice then steps closer to you. “We’ve hardly been here. We’re going to enjoy our stay, alright? Then we’ll go home and see a doctor. But until then, I want to have fun.” He nips at your neck and you struggle to fight back tears.

Sarah chooses that exact moment to start wailing and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“She’s hungry and needs a nap,” you explain, pulling away from Steve and walking to the guest bedroom to feed her in privacy. “Where are you going?” Anger is seeping into his voice and you whimper softly.

“I-I just wanted a change of scenery. I’m sorry.” His features soften and he nods, kissing your forehead.

“I thought you were running from me.” You shake your head almost too quickly and he smiles. “Feed my daughter then put her for a nap. And... if you’re not already pregnant, I’m gonna get you full and growing my child by the end of the night.”

He leaves the room and you break down in tears, crying quietly into your hand as you sit down on the bed.

Sarah ceases her crying as soon as she latches onto your breast, but the same can’t be said for you.

How are you supposed to live knowing you’re being held captive?

Your mind goes to your father, Chief of police, and an idea starts to blossom.

~*~

“Dad? I need you to look into the reports that the Avengers put out about me. Something’s not right.” You can hear your dad moving around on the other line. “What exactly am I looking for?” He’s in business mode now.

“Anything that doesn’t seem right.” He exhales deeply. “I’ll try, kid. You safe over there?” “Yeah... for now. I need to get away from him, get out of here.” You glance over to the bathroom door, hoping that the fan, shower, and faucet are loud enough to mask the sound of you talking.

“I have to go now though. I’ll call you again soon.” You can hear him sigh again.

“Alright. I love you, kiddo. And I believe you. Please stay safe.” You sniffle, nodding to yourself. “I love you too. Talk to you soon.” You hang up and then strip until you’re naked and get into the shower.

You let the hot water run over your face, washing your salty tears away almost as fast as they appear.

It’s about ten minutes later when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart? You’ve been in here for a while.” He pops his head in and you avoid looking at him through the fogged-up glass shower doors.

“I-I just got the temperature right. I’m still not feeling the greatest.” He walks into the room and closes the door behind himself, taking his shirt off. Your heart thunders in your chest and he smiles. “You’re always so responsive.” Little does he know, your heart is racing for a very different reason than he thinks.

He rids himself of the rest of his clothes and gets into the shower behind you.

“Jesus, you always like the water so hot.” He doesn’t flinch away from the water though, instead, he steps further under it until his body is flushed against yours, hardening cock pressed against the small of your back.

An involuntary whimper of fear leaves your lips and he sighs, his mouth ghosting over your neck.

“The things you do to me...” His arms wrap around your midsection and you feel your body's reaction to him. Warmth builds in your core and you shift backwards, leaning into his embrace with little reluctance.

“I’m gonna fuck that tight pussy of yours. Make sure you’re pregnant. And you’re gonna take it, aren't you?” Your head jerks up and down, new tears filling your eyes as your body yearns for something that your mind wants to get away from. One of his hands comes up to hold your throat while the other trails down between your legs, sliding through the slick that’s gathered there.

You feel ashamed of the way you want him, the way your body’s been programmed to want him, but you can’t do anything to stop the soft moan of pleasure that leaves your lips when he slides two thick fingers inside of you.

“You like that? You like it when I fuck your greedy cunt with my fingers?” You make no move to answer and he squeezes your throat in warning. “You’d better fucking answer me when I ask you a question. Tell me how much you like it when I finger your pussy.” You choke on a moan as he curls his fingers and hits your g-spot, water stinging your eyes.

“I-I love it so much when you f-fuck my pussy with your fingers.” The words taste like acid and you feel absolute mortification fill you as you say them.

“Yeah, you love it. My good girl likes it when I fuck her little pussy. I’m gonna fucking destroy your cunt with my cock and you’re gonna like every second of it, aren’t you?” You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes you against the shower wall.

“Yeah, you are. Cause you’re daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?” You fight the urge to cringe as you nod again, biting your bottom lip when he pulls his fingers out of you.

He pulls his hands away from you for a moment, just to spin you around and face him. You look up at him with fear in your eyes and he feels himself harden.

In an instant, your legs are hiked up on his arms and you can’t help the squeak the leaves you at the quick movement.

He holds you against the wall, arms keeping your legs up as he backs up a couple of inches, eyes trailing over your body. You’re completely at his mercy (which you know he won’t grant) and he inspects the way you’re opened up to him, utterly vulnerable. He stands dominant as ever, eyes dark with lust as he steps back to you, hard cock sliding through your folds and bumping your clit.

You moan and grasp his shoulders, eyelids fluttering shut at the intense feeling.

“Look at you. Already a desperate mess for my cock. Pathetic.” You don’t want to open your eyes. Don't want to look at his face. So instead, you throw your head back a bit more, letting the hot water rush over your face.

“Don’t worry, I wanna be inside you.” He slides through your folds once more then pushes inside of you, groaning as your walls flutter to accommodate his size.

He stills inside of you for a moment, leaning forward to press kisses to your neck. You take a few deep breaths, water getting into your mouth as you moan softly.

“You always feel so good around my cock. Always so tight.”

You arch your back subconsciously, walls squeezing his cock in a silent plea for movement.

“You want me to fuck your pussy good, huh? Want me to fuck another baby into that tight cunt?” You nod breathlessly, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, leaving bright red crescent moons that are so so close to drawing blood.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me, your cunt was made to be fuckin’ wrecked by my cock.”

You bring your fist to your mouth, trying desperately to muffle your moans as he starts thrusting inside of you, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that would come with knowing he’s so close to making you come.

“Come on baby, you know you can’t hide your pleasure from me. You know I’ll fuck the moans out of your pretty little mouth.” He starts thrusting harder, each time hitting the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You can’t hold back, and a loud moan leaves your lips as his thrusts slam you into the wall.

The pain brings you so much closer to the edge and you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth grinding as you try to focus on the coil tightening in your belly and not the man causing it.

“You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum all over my cock?” He’s huffing hot pants of air onto your neck while he fucks you hard.

“Do it. Cum all over my dick.” Hot tears drip down your cheeks and you cum hard on his cock, muscles spasming as intense waves of pleasure roll through your body.

He fucks into you even harder, the tightening of your cunt around him sending him over the edge. His cum fills you and he grunts softly in your ear, body pressed tight against yours.

Silent tears stream down your cheeks and you have to hold back sobs as Steve stays glued to your body.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. So perfect for me, sweetheart. You’re mine, you know that, right? Mine forever. Nothing can change that.” You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hopelessness sinking into your bones.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Nate Vandrum’s Nightmare

(for the @whumptober2019 prompt Hallucination - and for @pinkcupboardwitch and @muffinworry who I’m sure are totally fine with this)

There’s a weight on him, and Nate can’t breathe.

He tries, but it’s caught somewhere in the pressure pushing slowly, inexorably, onto his chest. The exhale is easy and simple enough - it’s on the inhale that the weight is worse, and worse, and he can’t quite replace the oxygen he’s lost.

Each breath is a little more difficult than the one before.

There’s no real panic, only the sense that he should panic, he should be scared that he can’t quite breathe, but he’s not scared… not yet.

He’s dizzy but still mostly asleep, caught in a formless uneasy dream where he’s been given some task to do by Bram but he can’t quite manage it, and every time he fails he sees Danny’s wrists and remembers what will happen if he can’t pull it together before Bram’s cell phone timer goes off, before he starts taking pictures, before Danny starts to scream.

But he can’t remember what the task is, and he can’t possibly finish it in time.

Danny, what did he tell me to do? You have to tell me, please, I want to help you.

In his dreams he never stammers - every word comes out crisp and clear and smooth, just like when he was a professor, just like before. Sometimes he wonders how long it will be before he stammers in his sleep, too, before his mind stops remembering there was ever a time he didn’t.

Nate tries to shift, to roll over and pull the fuzzy soft blanket up higher, but the weight won’t let him, keeps him flat on his back. 

“I don’t think so, Nate,” Ashley says, tsking softly, clicking her tongue against her teeth. 

Cold fingertips with fingernails so long they scratch against his skin find his chin and turn his head towards the ceiling, hold him there with the most delicate touch. The cold pressure feels like someone has laid a block of ice against his chest, soaking into his skin, freezing around his heart.

He can feel the brush of her hair now, the slightly wavy white-blonde of it against his cheek.

Hitch in a breath; not quite enough air.

Exhale.

Again.

“Y-you’re dead,” Nate slurs, without much worry or concern, not yet. He’s still half-lost in himself, in his attempt to remember what chore Bram gave him to do, what task he must finish. He can still see Danny’s pleading eyes, begging him to save him from the next cruelty, and the next, and the next. “Kill… K-K-Killed y-you m’self.”

Breath in - never enough, not enough.

Exhale.

Again.

The cold weight on his chest shifts a little, and he can see now that she’s sitting on him, settled right over his breastbone, wearing the blue jeans and hooded sweatshirt she’d had on when he killed her,.

The great big bloodstain is still spread across the front where he had stabbed her, just kept stabbing until he couldn’t do it any longer, until all his rage at his agony and his misery had been spent. He could still see the tears in the fabric - how many stab wounds, he doesn’t even remember any longer. The bloodstains are brownish and dried and cracking off in flakes that flutter down to his collarbone and neck. Through the rips in the cloth the knife had made, he can see a flash of her skin - no wounds there, just pale white and unmarked.

The ripple of the shadows of her ribs, pale stomach, a suggestion of a curve. 

He manages a single deep breath, fighting against the weight, forcing in all the oxygen his starving brain needs, and then exhales in a rush.

Should’ve held onto that air.

Oh well; he’d just have to fight harder.

Her eyes, when he looks up at her, are still the same focused, cold ice-blue, but her cheekbones are more pronounced. Her teeth, when she smiles, are pointed and the gums have pulled back from them, turning every tooth into a fang. Her skin is grayish-blue, not white, and he can see the thin blue veins underneath skin so thin it’s gone not-quite-transparent. 

She smells like soil, and blood, and death.

And ice.

“So you did,” She admits, shifting a little bit, her right knee along the left side of his ribcage, left knee along his right. Her hands move up his chest, palms pressing slowly, inexorably, until she’s holding him down by his shoulders, curling over so she’s bent nearly in half, so close they could kiss, brushing the end of her nose against his. “I did not appreciate that, by the way.”

“I d-d-didn’t ap-appreciate the c-crowbar,” Nate manages, his voice thin as he strains to get enough breath to speak at all. “Or th-the needles under m-my fingernails. Or th-the collar. Or the wh-wh-whip. Or, or the-”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” She says smoothly, putting a finger on his lips to stop the flow of words. “You called us psychopaths.”

“C-Call you w-w-worse than th, that,” Nate says, and bites down on the ice-cold finger as hard as he can.

It’s like biting onto a sculpture made entirely of bone, as if there isn’t any skin to give under his teeth at all, and she tastes like nothing.

She jerks her hand back with a hiss and Nate feels a spike of triumph at causing even this slight bit of pain, even though she is dead - has been dead for years, and the dead don’t come back. If the dead came back, Bram would never be able to stop running from the cascade of corpses he and Ashley left everywhere they went.

“You little shit,” She snaps, shaking out her hand, eyes narrowed to angry slits as she stares down at him. 

Nate swallows hard, forces another long breath, his fingers clawing into the sheets beneath the covers, trying to remind himself that this has to be a dream, too. She’s dead. 

Inhale - just enough air this time.

Exhale - as carefully and slowly as he can.

Again.

He remembers each and every time the knife went into and came out of her skin, every moment he buried it nearly to the handle and then yanked it back out, the way she had looked so genuinely, truly surprised, her eyes open wide right through her death and beyond it.

Now those eyes are narrowed and thoughtful, and she is so, so cold.

“You’ve lost all your manners since you left us,” She growls, sucking on the finger he bit like a little kid, sitting back, one hand still pushing his shoulder down and trapping him where he is. “It’s because of that puppy you killed my brother over, isn’t it?”

“T-T-Tried to k-kill,” Nate says - even now, years after her death, he can’t let Ashley be wrong. He gives her a smile that is nearly a snarl. He is fiercely proud of himself - and Bram is proud of him, too, he’d said as much in the courtroom. The last words they’d exchanged as they led Bram away the final time after the sentencing was finished.

Bram had been led past the prosecution’s table and he’d paused looked right into Nate’s eyes, and said simply, I love you, baby, and I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.

Nate hadn’t said anything - but the part of him that had never left Bram had shivered in helpless joy at the words. 

It doesn’t matter if Bram is proud of him or not. 

It doesn’t matter.

He tells himself that, and sometimes he even believes it for a while. Right now, though, he knows that isn’t fully true. Stronger than the urge to please Bram, to earn his love and his pride, though, is his desire to protect and defend and care for…

“Danny,” Nate breathes out, turning his head to the side, catching only a glimpse of mussed-up red hair and his wrists pressed together up in front of his frightened sleeping face before Ashley grabs his chin again and turns his face back to her, shaking her head. Now he can hear Danny’s breathing, hitched and stutter-skipping. “D-Don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Ashley murmurs. “Don’t get into his head? Don’t give him pretty dreams? Too late for that. Oh, Nate, you broke so many rules when you took him away from my Brammie.” She rolls her hips over his chest, the feeling of paralyzing ice making its way up into his shoulders and down his arms.

As she pushes herself slowly down, moving down his stomach grinding a little into his pelvis, finally coming to a stop with her hips on the tops of his thighs, she lays herself along him until her chest rests on his.

Her hipbones jut hard into his legs until he thinks he will bruise.

It’s all so very, very cold.

“Do you want to know what your darling dreams about, baby?” Ashley asks idly, gnawing on one fingernail with her pointed teeth. 

“No,” He answers, but he can’t look away from her eyes - the way he could never look away from Bram’s, either. They hold you - they mesmerize you - you’re spellbound with them. He had managed to escape Bram only because he fell so hard for Danny that he could break the spell again. 

For all that he keeps his voice calm, his heart pounds in his chest, and she’s dead, he knows she’s dead but part of him is wailing inside his mind don’t let her take you away again, they will never stop, you will never escape.

“He loves you so, so much,” Ashley says, leaning down to press a kiss to Nate’s cheek. Where her lips brush, he freezes over. She kisses him, cold lips to his, and when he breathes out next he sees a cloud of air in front of his face.

He can’t move his mouth.

“He was made for you,” Ashley says, gentle and soothing and syrupy-sweet. “My Brammie took a pretty young man and broke him, shattered him like a coffee mug on the floor, ground little Red’s face into it until there was no face left and then glued him back together… but there are some pieces missing, aren’t there? Everything he is, everything he has, everything he will ever be is because Brammie made him for you. There is no Daniel Michaelson left. There is only your little Red, your sweet little whore, who loves you so, so much.”

Nate swallows, trying to shake his head, to protest - Danny is his own person, he doesn’t belong to me, he isn’t mine, more of him comes back every single day, yesterday he dropped something and just cursed at it instead of asking me to forgive him - but he can’t move his mouth and no sound comes out, only a shaking exhale, a fight to inhale again, through a mouth he can’t quite open.

“He dreams,” Ashley murmurs, kissing his forehead, and he feels the ice traveling up to his hairline and along his scalp. A nip to one earlobe and his ears feel like he’s been standing out in the winter in the woods for hours. The end of his nose is next, frozen after her lips have left it. “He dreams of the woods. He dreams of the ways in which he was broken for you. He dreams of barbed wire cutting into his wrists and that beautiful wire grid over his mouth, the blood at his jaw, at his nose, in his mouth. He tastes blood in his sleep.” She smiles, flashing her pointed monster teeth at him. “He dreams of everything my Brammie did to make him perfect, just for you. Just for you, Nate. You’re just like us. You want him all to yourself.”

Nate tries to shake his head, desperately fighting her words, the way she echoes his deepest fears, his worst thoughts - that they kept him too long, that within him is the potential to become like them, that maybe he already is becoming like them.

That maybe every time he takes Danny’s hand, holds him in his sleep, kisses him, it’s something he only does because Bram would want him to. That he wants to be here to protect him not because Danny needs protecting but because Nate doesn’t want to let him go.

Because over seven years, maybe they infected him.

Maybe it’s only a matter of time.

She leans in to whisper in his ear. “In his best dreams, Nate, he dreams that he belongs to you. That’s how fucking broken my brother made him. That’s how perfect he is for you. That’s your perfect little Red.”

Through gritted teeth and an immobile mouth, Nate spits out, “D-D-D-Dan-ny.”

She pulls back, frowning down at him, momentarily confused. “What?”

“N-Name… is… D-D-Dan-ny.”

I tried to kill for him once and I can do it again.

I could kill you again.

Nate takes the deepest breath he can manage, closes his eyes, and jerks himself upright with every ounce of strength he has, hands out to grab her by the throat.

His fingers close around thin air.

Nate sits up in bed, and it’s just him and Danny in the room, in the bed. He can hear Danny’s little brother’s low breathing from down the hall through the door cracked open (hadn’t he closed it before they went to sleep? He’s almost certain he did), but no one is here.

He turns to look down at Danny, who sleeps peacefully, and his arms are splayed apart, not forced together like before. His face is peaceful, serene and young in sleep, and he shifts around, rolling over to face Nate without opening his eyes, mumbling something soft and loving in his sleep.

Had that just been a dream? Some kind of hallucination?

Nate slowly turns back to stare around the dark room.

He slowly lays back down in the bed covers himself up to the chin with the blankets, and slides his arms around Danny as tightly as he can, pulling the redhead closer to him, Danny’s head tucked under his chin like they slept sometimes at the cabin, when they needed each other more than they feared Bram’s wrath when he found them like that.

Just a dream.

Just seeing things.

But when he exhales, Nate can see his breath - and his ears and the end of his nose still feel frozen solid.

As he tries to slow his breathing, he can still feel a pressure on his chest, still hear her low voice whispering, you’re just like us.

Or you will be.

[lovemecharlie]

Private Dancer

Because my sisterwives deserve to get down. Kimora × Erik. Happy Valentine's Day.

Kimora Fire danced like her feet and ass were on fire in her private dance studio. Skin tight black latex hugged her sickening curves as she swung around the glowing red pole like a hula hoop around dancing hips. Her legs kicked and bounced, her tall black stilettos bending and scratching the air.

As a top ranking Atlanta stripper turned choreographer, instructor, and mogul, she had moves for days. Her zest was unmatched and words like basic, tired, and simple?.. were not in her vocabulary.

Heavy drums swallowing the room in vibration signified the transition to a new song in the playlist as Kimora's body moved on its own, possessed by rhythm.

...And I've been drifting off on knowledge. Cat-calls on cat-walks, man these women getting solemn. I could sing a song for a Solomon or Salamander. We took a flight at midnight and now my mind can't help but wander.

Her heels stepped authoritatively across the wooden floor, as she swung her hips melodically. Hands gripping the pole, her body waved like an S and then a Z. She strutted, leaping onto the pole in a spin where one leg was extended in pointe position while her other wrapped the pole to support her weight. Upside down, she split her legs grasping tightly to the pole with her hands. She felt a familiar weighted smack against her pussy and dollars scattered down around her head and all over the floor. She hadn't seen Erik come in but from her inverted view of him, she could see his thick dark locs wild and free, dangling in front of his dark, smoldering eyes. His thick neck adorned with three gold chains, layered to fall over his bare scarred chest. His v line was exposed, black joggers slung low with no visible draws to speak of. She could make out small tufts of pubic hair over the fabric and a Godzilla sized bulge. He'd been watching for a while.

She shook her heels causing her thighs to shake before crossing and uncrossing her legs. Once on the ground, her back flattened and her ass rose high into the air, her legs dancing, controlled over her head. She tumbled over and planted her coffin-nailed, ringed fingers onto the hardwood floor, arching her back to twerk. Her eyes held Erik in place as her cheeks bounced isolated. Another stack fell over her as she kicked her leg out and forward bouncing into a split.

Erik pulled out a hundred dollar bill squatting to wave it in her face, teasing it back when she leaned in. "I'll give you ten of these if you can do that on this dick."

It didn't take words for a seasoned pro. Kimora climbed to her feet slowly, her back to him. Clawing the black latex that clung to her legs and thighs like a second skin, her long fingernails dragged to her ass, clawing and gripping before she slapped it, turning to face Erik's hungry eyes. She peeled the cups of the onepeice suit down exposing silver colored nipple pasties. Waving her hips, she wiggled out of the suit, turning her back to him again to pull it down past her bubbled ass and to her ankles. Removing her stripper heels, she kicked out of the suit completely, kicking it off to the side. She was left in her silver thong and pasties.

Took her to the room make her bust it wide open. Killed that pussy, died with his eyes open. Killed that pussy, died with his eyes open. Killed that pussy, died with his eyes open.

Kimora straddled Erik on the hardwood floor, balancing over his lap before dropping and brushing his erection with her panty-clad mound. Standing, she gripped his locs tightly in her hands, pulling his face to her building furnace. Her pussy was simmering in the silver panties and his nose pressed into the indentation between her lips allowing her to ride it until she snatched his head back. He looked up at her licking thick lips. "This dick, Kimora. Sit on it." His voice was so low compared to the music, she had to strain to hear. She turned sinking with her knees to the floor and her back against his chest. Skin to skin. Leaning forward, she arched with her hands on the wood again and twerked, her ass like jello in his lap. He pulled down the back of her thong, sweeping his fingers down her crack, over her asshole and to her pussy causing her to moan as his thick finger slipped in, exploring. A second finger quickly followed and to Kimora it felt like he was throwing gang signs in the pussy. "This where my dick should be. I got thirty seconds of patience left and then I'm taking it." His fingers pulled out and went into his mouth before clapping onto her asscheek in a heavy slap. "Fuck me," he commanded as she hissed. The thong came off. She stood to take it off, tossing it in the direction of the latex suit. Moving her thigh over his, she dropped into a split, holding herself up long enough to pull his dick from his joggers and position it at her slick entrance. Slipping down, she impaled herself slowly, squeezing involuntarily. She felt overfull from his girthiness. With a hiss, she cursed under her breath, finding the strength to bounce. She was stuffed, stretching herself willingly.

"Don't stop. Bounce that fuckin ass," Erik sneered watching her eyes search the ceiling and the room as though trying to dissociate. He slapped her ass causing her motion to stutter. "Hello?.. Focus on the task at hand, getting this dick to buss. Split that wet pussy on my dick."

Moaning, she bounced harder, swallowing and squeezing him in her heat. Taking the pounding, she slammed her body onto him with a loud clapping impact until she had him breathing just as hard as she was, biting his lower lip. He gripped her hip to change positions and she pushed his hand away knocking him on his back to ride him, her leg over his chest. "I'm not done. You paid for a Kimora Fire show, you're gonna get one."

Gimme the paw, gimme the ball, take a top shift. Call my girls and put 'em all on a spaceship. Hang one night with 'Yoncé, I'll make you famous. Have you ever seen the crowd goin' apeshit? Rah!

Raw sex, bodies hitting hard against one another, wet abs, thighs, and stomachs. Kimora finally planted her feet on either side of his body in a squat, her hands on the floor and titties hanging. Riding his dick, sliding up and down on his thick pole, her ass bounced up in down, cheeks splitting and clapping with the impact. Erik's hand reached over her waist, grasping her left asscheek in a strong grip that egged her on as she bounced, pussy sucking up his 10 thick inches and drooling cream.

"Shit! That's how you fuck daddy, bitch..," Erik mumbled, lost in the sauce with his head tossed back. "That's how you ride a dick.. That's how you fuck daddy.. Wet my dick up.. Wet my got damn dick up, yes.. Shit.. Got that shit creamin.. Cream on my dick.. thick ass.."

Her walls clenched. She was close as he held her up by her titties giving her more leverage to bounce. She moaned when he snatched off her pasties one by one, her nipples now brushing against the rough skin of his palms. Throwing his hips, he thrusted up into her increasing the pressure. She dropped to her knees without losing her rhythm still bouncing her ass up and down on his shaft. She whimpered on the edge, but willed herself to press on. She wasn't the bitch to tap-out.

"Oh you gone fuckin cum for daddy," his heavy hand landed a slap on her ass that felt like a punch. "Finna come get that nut. Beast-mode, baby," he smirked, driving harder into her with a firm grip on her hips so could no longer move. He was in control, moaning with her as he hammered into her. She couldn't stop making sound. She could feel her asscheeks clapping his balls, her legs reduced to jelly in that short time. "Cum on my dick," he commanded and she came with a yell as he fucked her faster, liquid shooting in various directions landing on his skin. Mid-orgasm, he flipped her onto her back and pushed her thighs apart, holding her wrists over her head to do push-ups in her pussy.

"Fuck, daddy," Kimora panted, her mouth forming an O whenever he dug his log into her. He started grinding in and out of her slowly, slow-dicking her and her eyes crossed. He was deliberately hitting a spot every time he moved.

"Talk to me, Mora. Tell me you like taking this thick dick in that fatass pussy."

"I love this f-uh.... fuck.. fuckin dick in my tightass, fatass pu-ssssy, Erik," her voice trembled as her toes curled.

"Mm? Cum on this dick again if you love it so much," he whispered into her ear. "Daddy not gone stop fuckin his pussy. You gone cum and cum again, don't hold it."

She wailed, digging her nails into her palms as she let it hit her, an electric wave. Kissing her deeply, his pillows smashed against her lips, his tongue dipping into her mouth aggressively. Pulling her arms around his thick neck, he planted his fists near her sides while his arms kept her legs pinned back. He increased his speed to fuck her faster, her entire body shaking from the force of his heavy body and his dick pushing and pulling. "Fuck mee, fuck meee," Kimora croaked on a loop until her voice was hoarse, his dick in her guts stealing her words. "OH GOD, OH GOD," she gasped eyes wide as electricity shocked her again. Her legs trembled, spasming and quaking before her entire body shook, her titties bouncing as he looked on. "Tell daddy you love this dick," Erik swallowed pushing her thighs further back and apart before digging in again. Kimora's body never got the chance to stop shaking. "What I just say?"

"I lo- love thisss.. dick, daddy," her voice shook.

He gripped her ankles like handlebars and she whined, checking the behaviour before he could comment. She wasn't no bitch, she was THE KIMORA FIRE. "Fuck," she croaked breathless as she trembled.

"Mhm.. Big pretty titties, pretty eyes, pretty lips. You a pretty bitch, Mora," he grunted looking down over her honey-colored body before marking it with stinging bites. Her knees were in her armpits. Every time she squealed, he had a soft "Mhm" or a low "Yeah" for a response as though he were her personal interpreter. She held her legs wide grabbing her own ankles letting him get to the exact spot he needed to get.

"Hoooo shit! Right there, right there, right there daddy," she rushed dropping her head as he hit the spot dead-on. She came instantly and pushed hard against his stomach when he still wouldn't slow down through her layered orgasm. "You got it, shit," she complained breathlessly, her pussy sensitive. She knew he still had to cum. He gripped her wrist, holding it as he continued pounding brutishly into her.

"Here he come," Erik finally grunted, exploding into her warmth, not wanting to leave it. He closed his eyes as his dick pulsed along with his heartbeat. "Don't move," he whispered, catching his breath. He layed over her, resting his chin in the crook of her neck with a contented groan. His pants were still dangling around his ankle.

"About that thousand," Kimora sighed concealing her smile. Erik's body bounced.

"You would.."

"Did I not deliver," she challenged, her voice going in and out, still strained.

"Hell yeah. How bout this. We go again, I'll give you 2,000. This time you gotta ride my face just like you rode my dick.."

@poosypoosy @bastioncarterstevens-udaku @hennessystevens-udaku @itsangeludaku @alyshastevens-udaku @itskimorafireudaku @allhailnjadaka @bidibidibombaclaat @blackpinup22 @destinio1 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @leahnicole1219 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @trevantesbrat

[localteaaddict]

Save Us From The Time Of Trial (Deliverance Not Necessary)

Pairing: RK900 (Nines) x Female!Reader (Vigilante AU), implied HankCon

Warnings: None besides the reader being foul-mouthed (’cause I myself swear like a sailor)

A/N: I mentioned the idea of Nines who is an android Batman during the night but pretends to be a pure Machine during the day while secretly crushing on Reader (which is mutual btw) to my good friend @bears-shitty-art and thus this self-indulgent AU was born. This is all your fault so I’m also hurling this fic at you @bears-shitty-art.

We both share a weakness for a thicc!Nines and I love me some hunk of manmeat so enjoy. 

-

You felt it the moment you saw the black coat billowing in the winter wind: this was IT.

The infamous White Wolf, as they called him, had the gang member trapped under him, right foot mercilessly digging into the man’s spine to keep him from moving. The suspect’s right arm was twisted behind his back at an awkward angle that you could tell was definitely not natural.

As the man tried to reach for his fallen gun, the White Wolf crashed his other foot over the man’s left forearm. The suspect screamed and you winced in sympathy―you could hear the crack of an ulna even from where you were hiding.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” the White Wolf drawled, the pale mask muffling and deepening his voice at the same time. You shivered despite yourself. “That wasn’t enough to snap the bone. Not completely, at least.”

“You’re a dead man,” the criminal croaked, although even you could see the threat had a dwindling effect. The vigilante didn’t move either. “You hear me? You’re a dead man, you piece of shit. All the gangs in the city want your head. For what you’ve done to them. To us. For interfering in our business.”

“I’ve broken up illegal red ice tradings,” the White Wolf deadpanned, “I’ve stopped you and other anti-android sympathizers from lynching people who’ve done no harm. If you can’t see what you are doing wrong, so be it; you couldn’t get me then, and you’re certainly in no position to make empty threats.”

The man let out an ugly laugh. He struggled against the feet holding him down, to no avail. “Fancy words. You don’t understand, do ya?” he jeered. “Good. Good. Means when you get what’s coming to you, it’ll just hit you harder. Even now you’re―”

You heard a shriek cut short, followed by a dull thud. “I’m not holding my breath for it,” the White Wolf muttered darkly.

You didn’t waste another second; you took out your trusty standard-issue pistol. You held it tightly in your hands. You knew this was going to be difficult; dealing with the notorious vigilante always was. How many times had he led you in a merry chase (which was anything but), playing cats-and-mice around the city, nearing catching him but losing the infuriating lawbreaker at the last moment? This was it. You were not letting him go this time.

“Freeze!” you shouted, adrenaline shredding your voice into something shrill as you whirled out of the flimsy roof access that was your hiding spot. You pointed the gun squarely at your archenemy; you refused to be intimidated. You’d faced him numerous times now and every time, he’d slipped through your fingers. Not this time. You could do this. “Don’t you fucking move, hands where I can see ‘em!”

The White Wolf froze. Slowly, he lifted his head. You could feel his piercing gaze on you.

He didn’t move.

“I said hands up, fucker! Don’t make me say it again!” You gestured at his still hands, the gun wildly jerking.

His black coat whipped about dramatically in the wind. He appeared as he usually did: long coat with a raised collar and a hood obscuring nearly half his face in shadow, turtleneck shirt, matching pants and boots. Not a speck of skin showed, which made sense. He was Night Incarnate, right down to the bone-white mask that obscured his entire face.

Finally, the White Wolf slowly raised his gloved hands. A giddy, triumphant smile played on your lips but then the motherfucker just had to ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Detective (Y/N).” Damn, but was his voice nice. No matter how much you hated him for making your life difficult, you had to give it to him: he was one smooth criminal. “What a pleasant surprise. Unexpected, but pleasant nonetheless.”

"Ooh no, you don’t get to say that kind of shit, not after all the trouble you put me through,” you growled at him, approaching cautiously. He was tall, taller than most of the men you’d known. You could see how tightly his shirt clung to his body this close, how just built he was. You sucked in a breath. Now was not the time to be ogling at the wanted vigilante. The Lord is testing me...

You glanced at the criminal that was now serving as the White Wolf’s pedestal; he was knocked out cold. Good. That meant you could concentrate fully on your rival. Wordlessly, you motioned for him to turn around so you could handcuff him.

“You have the right to remain silent,” you gritted out through your teeth, taking hold of his bicep. Holy shit, he was thick. Oddly cool to touch, but even through layers of clothes you could feel the outline of his firm muscles, how corded and hard they were. “Anything you say can be and will be held against you in a court of law―”

“If I said ‘you’, does it mean I get to have you closer?” he mused, looking back at you. You hated yourself for blushing up a storm. You pulled his arms harder, jerking his shoulders back.

“Motherfucker you did not just say that,” you hissed. “I should punch your stupid face for that smartassery. You’re lucky I’m an officer of law, not some lowlife thug who’d actually do it.”

He hummed. “Indeed.”

You were about to click the handcuffs shut and lead him away, but he suddenly whirled around, batting the gun away from your hand before grasping your wrist to simultaneously hold you in a headlock. His hand held your right wrist in an iron grip, the arm locking you in place, flat against his body. You attempted to hit him with your left elbow, but he also took hold of your left hand, twisting the arm behind your back. It didn’t hurt painfully, but try anything and you were sure he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the limb out of its socket.

“Really?” You grunted irritably, tugging to no use. “Now you want to be difficult? Great timing, fantastic―”

“I think you misunderstand, Detective,” he was eerily calm, and the iron note in his voice stopped you from pulling any further. The tone of his voice reminded you of something, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. “We’ve had the same argument over and over again as you continued to pursue me, and I will say it again: I am not looking to fight you. I’m merely trying to administer justice where the law would prefer to overlook.”

Yeah, you’d had the same conversation (or more like battlefield banters, which you’d exchanged with the vigilante as you’d chased him street from street, time and again) with him before, and your answer did not change. You glared at him.

“You don’t get to decide on what’s right and wrong, dickhead. You aren’t the judge, jury and executioner. Especially the last part. There’s a reason why all this legal system’s in place.”

“Which is dysfunctional and virtually non-existent when it comes to androids,” the White Wolf countered. His voice tickled your ear and you flinched. “You know what they face on daily basis. You’ve seen what happens to them when some humans decide to act on their hatred.”

You hesitated at that. You did remember some of the crime scenes left by the humans who weren’t too keen on the idea of equality. Only a few days ago you’d witnessed the aftermath of a lynching, the fresh pool of blue blood still drenching the ground and the wails of the found-family who’d lost their loved one.

You’d only just realized that the man now lying on the ground, out and cold, was one of the prime suspects of that case: Jeremy Brown, age 33. You swallowed thickly before turning on the White Wolf again. He was trying to get a rise out of you, to make a gap so he could disarm you completely and make a run for it. You knew it and you still fell for it, feeling the hot anger starting to boil.

“So what, you decide to take the matters into your own hands? ‘Cause you think you’re better? More impartial? More righteous?” You turned your head to glare at his impassive mask.

“No, Detective,” his voice was calm, composed. Yet you couldn’t stifle a shiver that crept down your spine. Every time he took a shallow breath, you could feel his chest rising and deflating against your back. “Because no one else will.”

You were about to open your mouth when the White Wolf suddenly pulled you flush against him, using his hold on your body against you. You were crushed to his chest, two large hands grabbing you tight.

“Wha―” you didn’t know how to react, or decide what to react at first, for that matter; the wide, firm but surprisingly soft chest that was practically bear-hugging you, or the clean smell of breeze and petrichor that flooded your nostril, or the fact that you were effectively in the arms of the wanted vigilante. Whom you’d just been chasing and was supposed to bring in for the countless times he’d eluded you, if for nothing else. He’d made a complete ass of yourself and the entire force, for fuck’s sake. Get a hold of yourself!

“You fuckin’ jackass, what the hell are you—” You heard the shot loud and clear; it zoomed just past your head, leaving a few stray hair fluttering in the air while droplets of blue splattered across your ear and temple.

You blinked. The White Wolf, bleeding from the shoulder and still holding you tight, immediately jumped from the edge of the roof and onto the closest fire escape. You could hear the gunshots hitting the rooftop and you huddled instinctively, face stuck against a very well-developed, muscled, yet terribly snug b—

“What,” you managed to breath out, “the actual fuck.”

The White Wolf’s eyes, shadowed and unrecognizable, met yours. You blinked when fresh thirium fell on your cheekbone like a teardrop. “You’re an android?”

Come to think of it, it should have been fucking obvious; of course the White Wolf was an android—it had been an acknowledged possibility at the precinct, since no human would stick their neck out for the machines to this degree, not at this point at least. Surely it made sense, but somehow your brain just refused to admit it. Perhaps because he was so different from the androids you’d already met and knew. Those you were close enough to, at least. He’s nothing like Connor, and certainly nothing like N—

You didn’t let your thought wander down that particular lane; instead, you decided to focus on the unwanted epiphany that you probably should have realized the fact when you’d lost him on the third chase when he outran you by half a block. For a police officer, you are such a dumbass. The voice inside your head supplied unhelpfully.

“Keep your head down,” he said as he risked a look over the edge of the roof, “unless you want to lose it.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, you—you criminal!” you retorted indignantly. You then realized that you were still in his arms. You struggled, in vain. “You’d better let me go this instance, or I’ll—”

“As much as I am flattered,” the White Wolf’s tone was flat. “Please note that we are in a delicate situation, Detective; I’m sure even you can see that.”

You huffed indignantly. He plowed on regardless. “Also, they want me, not you. If we split up, you should be able to safely return to the station.”

“Like hell I am!” You growled in his face; the mask had remained miraculously unblemished and clean even now. A sudden reminder that you should have pulled it off of his face first thing interrupted your thoughts, and you didn’t waste a second in reaching for his mask.

You were fast, but he was faster. His hand took your hand in a vice grip, not enough to hurt but hard enough to freeze you in place. The White Wolf didn’t budge.

“I’d appreciate it,” he gritted out darkly, finally something other than cool amusement lacing his voice, “if you didn’t touch it.”

“I am obligated to do so, so you better suck it up.” But he still didn’t let you go; your eyes burned in fury, but you hesitated when you heard footsteps from the roof. The sound wasn’t too far away from where you two were hiding in the fire exit.

“Then it seems I am left with little choice,” the White Wolf said tersely. You saw a dark glint in his eyes. “I apologize in advance, Detective.”

“For what?”

“For this,” and before you could stop - or even evade - the underside of his hand met the back of your neck. A hard impact, blunt pain, and the world blacked out.

The last thing you saw before you completely lost consciousness was the white mask, and hands reaching out to take hold of you gently.

-

“So, Detective (Y/N). How did your little chase go?”

“Shut up and leave me alone, Reed,” you muttered, at which Gavin looked even more gleeful. You seriously started to consider slapping the coffee out of his hand for the spite of it. He would deserve it too, the bastard, for rubbing it into your face this early in the morning. “Or I’ll kick you in the balls.”

“Ooh, big talk from someone who couldn’t keep up with her words,” Gavin continued to mock you, which was...what he did every day, technically, ever since the day one when you were first introduced. It’d become part of the daily routine where you and he would tease and fuck with each other just for the kicks of it, and most of the time it was a welcome relief from the stresses and pressure from work.

On some days, however, it was the exact opposite. Today was such day, and you were this close to actually delivering your promise. It didn’t help that for being an actually decent detective, Gavin was incredibly slow at taking signs. Like how you’d turned away from him now in an obvious I don’t want to talk about it gesture; yet he kept on going.

“But really, how did you lose him? I thought you’d planned this out extensively,” Gavin sounded genuinely bemused, which made it worse. “Y’know, figuring out the routes. Researching where he’d strike next and all that shit. So how did he—”

“I screwed up, okay?!” You exploded, whirling around and turning on him so suddenly he nearly dropped his coffee. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Reed? I know I did my homework, I nearly got him too, but I got cocky. I let my guard down, things went FUBAR, he knocked me out cold and when I woke up, I was lying in front of the station. There, I admit it. I failed spec-fucking-tacularly. Happy now?”

Gavin looked stunned, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should shout back at you or retreat slowly. You didn’t care; you seethed, fists clenched at your sides without realizing. A little harder and your nails would dig in, draw blood - although right now you wouldn’t be too adverse to seeing some.

What you didn’t expect was your eyes growing hot and your vision starting to blur, your breaths coming in short bursts. Oh no. Not now, tears. You just hated being an angry crier, as if the fiasco with the White Wolf wasn’t enough, now you were about embarrass yourself in front of Gavin fucking Reed by bawling like a child—

“Detective (Y/N),” came a voice behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to see who it belonged to, that cool monotone always, always managing to calm you, bringing your blood down from the boiling point. “I detected an elevated stress pattern in your voice. Are you alright?”

Gavin seemed even more bewildered when you sniffed, anger slowly receding. You sighed, turning to face Nines; his LED flicked briefly to yellow, then back to blue. You gave him a small, reassuring smile that you hoped looked strong enough.

“Everything is fine, Nines, I just need coffee,” you threw a flat look at Gavin, quickly swiping your hand across your eyes. “And to get away from Gavin.”

“Hey!”

Ignoring Gavin, you flashed Nines a watery but bright grin instead. “Do you wanna come?”

“Of course, Detective,” Nines conceded gracefully, falling to measured steps beside you.

You wondered if Nines could really empathize with your emotions. Sure, he could read body languages, physical signs and elevated stress pattern in your voice, but did he understand them? What they meant?

Like your increased heart rate as you sneaked glances at Nines walking next to you. It didn’t help that the android was ridiculously attractive; he was everything you’d hoped for in a man but never dared to voice it out loud because you knew it wouldn’t exist. Until now. Long legs, dark hair, bright eyes, looking so deliciously stoic in that black-and-white getup of his—not many people could pull off that collared shirt, but RK900 did, and he did so delectably. Your eyes strayed to his well-muscled chest for a second before returning to his face. Despite the layers of clothes, his build showed.

Part of you felt guilty for eyeing him like this, for thinking of him as more than just a good colleague; Nines was a deviant but only in name. He had yet to display the more sophisticated signs of deviancy, despite the turn and reset in his programming. Most of the time you weren’t even sure if he felt anything, his face always being the same mask of cold unfeelingness.

A Mask…

“Is something wrong, Detective?” Nines was leaning over you slightly in question. You jumped before giving him an exaggerated wide grin.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nines. Why?”

“You’ve stopped,” he explained, and you turned red. “I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“Ah,” you sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, avoiding his eyes, which was why you missed another turn of yellow in his LED.

“’s nothing. I was just thinking about last night. Dammit, I was this close to getting him,” you raised a hand, your thumb and forefinger with an inch between them to emphasize just how close you’d been, squinting at Nines’s impassive face. You sighed, dropping your arm. “But I guess it’ll be for another day.”

“You’d attempted to apprehend the vigilante on your own, correct?” asked Nines.

“Emphasis on the attempted, but yeah, I guess,” you shrugged, and he continued.

“While I should point out that you had put yourself at a significant risk pursuing the suspect without a partner or a backup—“ you grimaced, “—I am also compelled to acknowledge that you have……made substantial progress on the case with the leads you’ve found yesterday. It wasn’t all for naught. You shouldn’t reproach yourself too harshly, Detective.”

You froze. You stared at him.

Nines stared back.

Then you noticed his LED cycling like crazy, the color still blue but blinking all the same, and you broke out a huge smile.

“You know you’re too sweet for your own good?” you even laughed a little, giving a friendly smack on his right shoulder. “Thanks, Nines. You’re the best.”

“I do not understand what you mean by ‘sweet’, Detective—”

“Detective (Y/N)!”

You jumped at the sudden call, hand jerking off Nines’s shoulder and completely missing the brief red blink of LED at his temple. Connor had just come from around the corner, looking oddly out of breath despite him not needing any.

You shrugged it off though. It was Connor; if there was ever a special android snowflake, it would be him. “What’s up, Connor?”

“Captain Fowler wishes to speak with you,” he said, an apologetic look on his face making you wince. “I assume it’s about the yesterday’s incident.”

You groaned. “Fucking great. This has got to be the cherry on top of my shit-show sundae of a day,” you scrubbed your hands over your face before giving a wan smile at two incredulous – well, Connor. Nines never showed anything on his face – androids.

“Well, can’t keep the Captain waiting. I’ll keep you guys posted later,” your mouth twisted in a grim line, “if I survive.”

“We’ll see you afterwards.” Nines nodded firmly, and damn if that didn’t make you feel a little better. You winked at him before squaring your shoulders, sauntering off to the lion’s den.

It wasn’t until you’d completely disappeared from view that Nines allowed himself to frown, gingerly checking his shoulder. Connor immediately furrowed his brows in concern, reaching out to help him, only to be stopped by Nines.

“I’m fine. She didn’t do any extra damage.”

“You should have taken today off,” huffed Connor, sounding so much like his human lieutenant in that moment that even Nines had to smile, “and get that bullet wound properly repaired. You could go to New Jericho—”

“And risk rousing (Y/N)’s suspicion?” Nines’s eyes narrowed. “No. I can take care of it myself.”

Connor shook his head disapprovingly, sighing at the younger model’s antics. Every android had a different take on deviancy, but Nines—Nines had taken it to another level, and Connor was the infamous Deviant Hunter-turned-revolutionary.

Connor didn’t envy Nines’s dramatics at all, however; at least he was happily in a relationship with someone he cared for. Nines, on the other hand…

“I’ll go and patch myself up,” said Nines, his face betraying nothing save for the alarming yellow of his LED. “Please let me know once the Detective leaves the Captain’s office.”

Connor could only nod, schooling his face to hide the pity. “Got it.”

[quinzelade]

Making One’s Bones (chpt 1)

Chapter List

--

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

--

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfic! While this is technically a ‘sequel’ of By No Constraint, you don’t need to read BNC to read this. It can be read as standalone.

--

Three Little Pigs

--

The Nuka World arena hungered for its next victim.

Porter Gage tried to swallow his anticipation as he tinkered with the back of Colter’s armour, connecting it to the power grid. The lazy asshole never bothered to do it himself, forcing Gage to scrub after him like some slave, on top of all the other bullshit he pulled. Gage scowled to himself, the wailing alarm above making it difficult to concentrate. The armour sparked, and Gage swore, sucking on his thumb.

“You got me wired up yet, Gage?” Colter said over the alarm, not bothering to turn around.

Gage nodded from behind Colter’s back, before remembering he was out of sight. “Yeah, boss.”

Colter stretched and stepped away, turning his head up to the walkways. His opponent must have arrived. “Finally. Now go shut off that damn racket.”

“All right. I’m on it.” Gage strode off, weaving his way through the rusted old bumper cars littering the makeshift arena. He hated this: the tension, the build up, bitter disappointment—the same pattern repeating over and over every time someone made it through the Gauntlet.

The Gauntlet. What a fucking stupid idea—Colter’s, obviously, but in a strange twist of fate, possibly the only way to end this nightmare. Maybe. Gage wondered which unlucky bastard would be turning up today, fighting through Colter’s deathtrap maze, only realise what was waiting for them at the end.

Gage reached the control room, ignoring the erratic thudding of his heart. He’d seen this same tired routine many times before, always with the same conclusion. It was difficult to get excited when every sucker lured in from the wasteland ended up pasted all over the arena floor. Not that he felt bad for them—no, it was his own skin he was worried about. Shaking his head, he stepped inside the control room and leaned over a panel of buttons, pressing the rectangular blue one at the top and cutting the alarm.

Silence rang out for a sharp second, before Colter let out a low chuckle. Despite himself, Gage looked up. Recently he’d avoided watching Colter’s battles to the death, far too pissed off with the way things were going to give himself the hope of a challenger victory, but something about Colter’s laugh drew his attention. He peered through the gloom at the waster boxed in on the walkway above by panels of reinforced glass pitted with captured bullets, before snapping his attention back to the boss.

Colter’s face was partly hidden by his helmet, but his tone suggested a malicious grin as he stared up. “Don’t look like much.”

Gage sighed to himself. He had to agree with Colter’s assessment. Even by the warped lighting of the arena and shadows of the walkway, the stranger didn’t have a lot of bulk to them. Judging from the way their clothes hung, this one was a woman. He studied her, and saw in the gaps of her clothes and battered armour the signs of thick, powerful arm muscles. Not that it would do her any good. She wasn’t here to wrestle Colter into submission. Not with his power armour.

“Here’s a quick rundown of how this works,” Colter said, his voice still tinged with amusement. “You go stock up, make yourself presentable, and then we’re gonna give these folks a show. A show where I decorate these walls here with your lovely brain—”

A deep, rasping laugh cut through Colter’s speech, and the woman leaned against the glass, looking down on the arena as if she was part of the audience instead.

Gage frowned. Her behaviour was...unexpected. Cocky, almost. She seemed to think Colter little more than a fleeting amusement, which did nothing for his infamous temper. Colter cut his speech short, crossing the bumper car arena in three steps to scream threats up at her, but she clearly wasn’t listening, inspecting a sword in her hands instead.

Gage hoped that wasn’t her only weapon.

Colter turned away from the woman, still swearing under his breath. “Alright Gage,” he spat, his tone raked with fury. “Let her through. Something tells me I’m really going to enjoy this.” He stomped off to the centre of the arena, flexing his fingers.

Gage stared up at the trapped woman. He’d seen many a victim pass through that very walkway in the last six months since the Gauntlet was built. Some of them pretended to be brave. Others panicked. Neither interested Gage—the raiders of Nuka World needed someone with balls and brains to keep them in line—cowards who took the easy way out or idiots with bloated egos would never manage the job. Gage had realised far too late Colter fell into the latter category.

This woman, though...her calm seemed to seep into the crowd as she surveyed them all, and he realised she was neither overconfident nor afraid. A little arrogant, maybe, but it was worth it for the amount it was pissing the boss off. Gage got the strange feeling she was humouring Colter, like a parent placating a tantruming child. But…no. There wasn’t a choice in this. She had to fight, whether she liked it or not.

It took a second for Gage to realise he’d fixed his gaze firmly on a tear in the woman’s cowl, deliberately avoiding her eye. Irritation shot through him. What the fuck was this? He had a job to do; a waster to kill. He wasn’t avoiding looking at her, just…

The answer evaded him, and Gage’s temper spiked. With a silent snarl, he snapped his eye to meet hers, glaring.

She stared back, arms folded, and tapped her fingers lazily. If Gage didn’t know any better, he would have said she was bored. He shook his head, a mixture of apprehension and reluctant excitement creeping over him. It had to be an act. No one in their right mind would be this—

“Gage!”

Gage come back to his senses at the sound of Colter’s bark—who was glaring at him through the rectangular eyehole in his helmet—and hit the switch to let the madwoman through. As the door closed and sealed behind her, Gage looked at Nisha, skulking in the stands. She nodded, and Gage darted to the intercom linked to the prepping room.

He’d already given the stranger his tired old speech when she’d been lured onto the transit train three hours earlier, carrying her from the wasteland into the madness that was Nuka World—an old, decrepit theme park filled with raiders. Gage explained—as he’d explained to a thousand doomed souls before her—she was to be the entertainment for the bored and restless raiders stuck in the stronghold. And he’d also added, without really believing it, her survival would mean a reward at the end.

Except...here she was. And not only was she here, apparently indifferent to the fierce battle awaiting her in a seething arena full of screaming psychopaths, but she also carried an aura of change with her: a sense of something different—a break in the endless spiralling descent of Colter’s reign.

Gage shook his head, trying not to get his hopes up, even though bringing in an outsider to take Colter down had been his idea. With the three gangs in Nuka World constantly vying for control, the balance of power was too delicate, too bloody, to allow one of them to take Colter’s place. Gage had managed to win them over with common sense, the sweet irony of Colter’s own arena being the method of execution too delicious for Nisha, Mags, and Mason to ignore.

But that had been months ago, and they were growing tired of waiting. Gage shivered, remembering Nisha’s stony face in the crowd. He suspected his time was almost up.

Gage paused, praying the woman would be near enough the intercom in the prep room to hear his transmission, and pushed the transmit button.

“All right, listen the hell up if you want to make it out of this alive,” he muttered, shooting looks to Colter to make sure he didn’t catch on. “I’ve only got a minute. Follow my voice to the intercom on the wall. I’ll make it quick.”

There was a long silence, and then…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The static notes buzzed back out from the control room speaker, and Gage blinked. “That you?”

Tap.

“Not much of a talker?” he asked, his stretched patience already wearing thin.

Tap.

“Great.” Just fucking great. “Whatever. Listen up. You made it this far, so you obviously got skill. But this fight coming up is rigged. You get me?” She better get him. Colter’s armour was wired to an electrical grid that repelled almost all damage. He explained as such. “Miniguns, grenades...not a scratch. You get what I’m saying?”

This was usually the part where the victim began to panic and beg. Music to Gage’s ears, in any other circumstance, but taking down Colter...not good.

Instead, Gage was met with silence. He frowned. “Hello?”

Tap tap.

“Stop fuckin’ around!” he snapped, his own substantial temper flaring up like fire through dry summer grass. “I don’t have time for this shit, and there’s more than just your ass on the line here! I stashed a weapon in the lockers. Get it.”

There was a scuffling sound of footsteps and Gage leaned away from his intercom. The woman was clearly a fucking lunatic—Nuka Town had enough of those to last a lifetime. But if she dealt with Colter…

Tap tap.

Gage quickly leaned back towards the intercom. “Got it?” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer that wouldn’t come. He had no doubt the water pistol he’d left for her to find would be causing more than just raised eyebrows, but with any luck she’d keep her cool long enough to listen to him. “Good. I know what it looks like, but you’re gonna have to trust me. Once the water—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” a rough voice said, sounding just as supremely bored as she’d looked. “Water and electricity don’t mix.”

Well at least she can speak.

“Alright, fine,” snapped Gage, feeling nettled. His earlier excitement was rapidly draining away. She wasn’t going to last five fucking minutes. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He needed to get her through this. Anyone was a better option than Colter. “Look, I know you think got all the answers, but just listen, okay? The water will short-circuit the electric defences of the armour. So all you gotta do is—”

A loud thrum sounded through the arena, the lights sputtering out and plunging everything into darkness. When they came back on again, they were significantly dimmer than before. Frowning, Gage checked over the readings from his terminals, and then blinked with surprise. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, he heard it again.

Tap tap tap.

“Power…” Gage licked his lips, his mouth so dry he couldn’t get his words out properly. He tried again. “Power in the arena is down by…” He peered closer at the console. “Fuck...thirty percent?” He blinked, moving the strap of his eyepatch to scratch his head. “You do that?”

No one else had managed that before. Would she actually be the one to…? Again, Gage pushed the hope out of his mind, scowling fiercely down at the console buttons as if they were the ones teasing him with false faith. “Not bad,” he said gruffly. “You’re still gonna need the water gun but...that oughta help.”

She didn’t reply, and yet oddly enough her silence felt more like a comfort now. The sign of change. Gage cleared his throat. “It’s time. I’ll open the door. See you on the other side.”

Her footsteps became fainter as he hit the button for the door. And despite the mutterings of the crowd slowly growing around the arena, Gage swore he heard her chuckle before he cut the intercom.

Well, she’s confident, at any rate.

He almost had himself fooled she might be the one, until she came into view at the door on the other side of the arena.

Gage groaned. She was still holding the damn sword.

The flat of the blade bounced against her shoulder as she glanced around the area while Colter gave his usual shitty monologue, trying to frighten her before he cut her down. Instead, jeering laughs surged up from the crowd as they picked up on the obvious at the exact same time as Gage: she wasn’t listening.

“Fuck it,” snarled Colter, turning to Gage. “Open the door!”

Gage punched the button. Electricity sparked through Colter’s armour at the exact same time the door slid open, but by the time he’d turned back around to face his opponent, she’d sprinted past. He bellowed with rage and opened fire, but she ran circles around him, keeping as close as she dared to his electrified armour and dodging smoothly out of reach every time he tried to hit her, before darting forward again.

Gage gripped the console hard as he watched the fight unfold. The way she moved was mesmerising, ducking and weaving around Colter’s clunky blows, but he wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to achieve. Had she even brought the water gun in with her?

Colter suddenly whipped around with a speed that took everyone by surprise, including the stranger. His gun hit her hard, knocking her off her feet and sending her to the ground with a bright spark and a crash. She rolled back smartly into a crouched position, her clothes singed and smoking, but Colter was already upon her, pointing the barrel in her face and pulling the trigger.

Howls of laughter erupted from the audience as nothing happened. Out of ammo. Rookie mistake. The woman took her chance as Colter drew back, reloading his weapon with a snarl. Drawing the bright red Thirst Zapper water pistol from seemingly nowhere, she raised it and fired.

The jet of water missed.

Gage groaned, but the stranger didn’t hesitate, jumping to her feet and throwing the water pistol at Colter’s head. It bounced off his helmet just as he opened fire, but she’d already dove out of the way, her hand flying to the wrist of her sword arm. Blood splattered across the floor as his bullets caught her, but a second later, she was gone.

A yell rose up in the crowd, and even Colter hesitated, looking confused. Gage squinted through his eye, wishing he still had two, and noticed the telltale shimmer shifting around the arena. She must have a stealth boy—a small device that made the user invisible for a short time before running out of battery. The only sign of them was the shift of light around the stealth field, like heat rising from the dirt on a scorching hot day. Gage never fully had the words to describe what it looked like, but his best attempt was something along the lines of “a wobbly sort’a see-through.”

Gage bit his lip. Come on, he thought desperately. Come on, you stupid bitch. Get him!

But then how could she? She’d thrown away the water pistol—her one chance to kill him. His stomach twisted with anxious disappoint as he dropped his gaze, trying not to look at Nisha again. Would she skin him for another failure?

There was a roar from the crowd, and Gage glanced up in time to see the shimmer shoot across the arena, before cutting out, revealing the stranger once again, sword sheathed, leaving a bloody trail behind her. She reached into the depths of her clothes and pulled out a clear bottle as she ran. Colter turned to face her, but he was too slow. Unscrewing the lid in one fluid motion, the woman cranked back her arm and flung the bottle like a grenade. It soared, sending glistening liquid trailing behind in its wake.

Water.

There was a bang as the bottle made contact. Electricity sparked in a jagged arc, before the power sputtered and cut. He saw the shock and fear in Colter’s eyes as he snapped his head in Gage’s direction, his, “What the fuck?” barely audible over the screams of the raiders.

Gage held his breath. This was it. This was it!

He ran to the glass panelled door just as the woman sprinted straight for Colter, drawing her sword and raising it like a javelin as she leaped forward.

“No!” Colter spun around, throwing his gun aside as he caught the woman by the neck. She swung violently in midair, and Gage waited for the crack that never came. The woman hung there limply for a second, apparently just as surprised as Gage was, and then began to struggle and kick as Colter slowly tightened his grip, laughing at her.

The crowd was going wild now—never had there been such a match. They roared with delight, banging on the glass windows that separated the stands from the arena floor, chanting “Kill! Kill! Kill!” as the stranger fought a losing battle for her life.

Gage’s heart sank. Any second now the armour would reactivate, and she’d be toast. He finally looked back at Nisha again in the stands behind him. Gage didn’t need to see her eyes to know what she was thinking—the thinning of her lips and the stiffness of her posture said it all: no more. His time was up.

Fuck.

Gage gritted his teeth, grabbing his weapon from the nearby cabinet. Fine. He was trapped in the arena with nowhere to run, so why not take a few of the mangy fucks down with him? Better to go out in a quick, bloody blaze than end up in Nisha’s private torture chamber.

However, just as Gage threw the safety off and steeled himself for a sharp final exit, he caught an odd movement in the corner of his eye, and despite himself, he glanced over his shoulder to look.

There was a split second—just one heartstopping moment, where Gage knew Colter had fucked up. So sure in his victory, Colter had drawn his prey a little closer, all the better to sneer into her dying face.

Before Colter or Gage or anyone else knew what was happening, the woman raised her sword and thrust it straight through the eyegap of Colter’s helmet. There was a gasp across the crowd—an instant silence. His head jerked—he staggered—and then Colter fell backwards with a deafening crash. The woman flipped straight over his body, landing behind him in a heap, the sword jutting out of his helmet, wobbling for a moment, before falling as still as the crowd.

Gage stared, his breath caught in his throat. He felt numb.

RedEye was the first to speak, losing his obnoxious radio voice as he exclaimed, “Holy shit!” over the loudspeaker. Chatter broke out amongst the stands as RedEye continued. “I don’t...I don’t even know what this means! Colter, man! He’s out!” RedEye’s next words were a stage hiss, echoing around the area. “Gage, what the hell just happened?”

Well, shit. There was his cue.

Feeling as though he were walking through some chem-addled haze, Gage straightened up, trying to shake off his surprise. He switched the intercom to the speakers, forcing his voice into a calm he wasn’t experiencing, and said, “You saw it. We all saw it! Colter’s dead. We got ourselves a new Overboss.”

“Her?”

Gage turned to see Mason standing, his gang crouched at his feet. For someone who looked like he’d been dunked in Nuka-Cola Quantum, the guy sure thought himself intimidating. Maybe one day he’d realise painting himself blue, red, and yellow was hit and miss at best. Still, as head of the Pack, he wasn’t a man to fuck with.

Mason’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “Are you sure, Gage?”

Before Gage could answer, Nisha interrupted. Her tone was as cold and cutting as sharpened ice, her lip curled into a sneer. “You better know what the hell you’re doing.”

Gage suppressed a shiver. Like Mason, Nisha was also someone to be afraid of, but with her creepy fucking mask and habit of skinning people alive, she did a better job of scaring the shit out of him. But Gage hadn’t made it to second in command without knowing how to bullshit. He scowled up at her and snapped, “Hey, we talked about this! She survived the Gauntlet. She was smart enough to take my advice and strong enough to—”

“She can’t even shoot straight!” hissed Nisha.

“And managed to kill Colter anyway!” Gage shot back, his minute level of patience already spent. He’d delivered his end of the plan, but it was always the same with raiders. Fucking backstabbing—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The noise was quiet, and yet it reverberated through the metal structure of the arena. Both Nisha and Mason jerked their heads to the direction of the sound, but Gage hesitated. He knew what it was without looking, and after a deep breath, forced himself to turn and face her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The woman was standing at the door, tapping the tip of her sword in a slow, deliberate manner. Each tap left a smear of blood on the glass, fresh enough to run down the metal blade in her hand. She reached up, grasped her cowl, and pulled it free. A skinless, noseless face greeted him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Anything was possible after all. Gage still felt his jaw drop.

A ghoul?

“Who the hell are you?” Mason called out, seeming to bristle with indignation at the state of their new boss.

The woman smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “Mrs. Bossanova, little pig.” She banged the hilt of her sword hard against the glass to a slow, steady beat.

“Let. Me. In.”

[darthrevaan]

Things Come Together - RvB Rare Pair Week Fic

Title: Things Come Together

Relationship: Katie Jensen/Volleyball

Words: 2679

Summary:  Even in the midst of war, not everything is torn apart. Jensen and Volleyball during their time in the New Republic.

Notes: Written for @rvbrarepairweek ! Let’s spread some Jolleyball love ;) 

Available on AO3

People have told Katie a hundred times that she and Volleyball are so close, they must have been childhood friends, right?

Katie always smiles and shakes her head. Nope. We met the day I joined up.

“Joined up” is a misleading phrase. Katie Jensen didn’t sign up to join the army; she just didn’t have much of a choice. When you get pulled out of a burning building by a young man in armour who tells you, “Hang tight kid, we’ll take you back to base” – well, you don’t tell him no.

Back then the rebel army still had a required age to sign up for military operations, so Volleyball – two months older than Katie, nearly sixteen and just about bursting to get started – was loud, larger than life, a warm, bright distraction from the well of grief that sat hollow in Katie’s chest. She still went by Amira then, and she spotted Katie the moment she shuffled into the mess hall, shoulders hunched, hugging herself with her arms.

“Let’s get you some food,” she said, her voice blunt but kind. “I’ll show you which bits are vaguely edible.”

Volleyball and the others carried the conversation that day, and Katie was grateful – she could just listen, distract herself without having to worry about contributing.

She learnt all their stories in time. Most followed a similar pattern; parents or other guardians lost to some accident or calamity, they’d migrated here for safety, out of necessity, or sometimes, for revenge.

“My dad used to be part of an anti-government group,” one of the other girls told her one night. “Back when they used to do peaceful demonstrations and debates, y’know. He told me he used to get arrested every other week; that’s why Mom left him, he said.”

“She didn’t like the arrests? Or she didn’t believe in the cause?”

Katie could just about see the other girl shrug in the darkness. “Both? I don’t know. I guess, if she’s still alive, she’s a Fed now.”

Her name was Julia; she died on their third mission after completing training, a supply run in the hills west of Armonia. Katie can still remember Julia telling her about the nightmares she used to have – being shot by a Fed soldier who took her helmet off to reveal her mother’s face.

If people have family with the Feds, they don’t talk about it. It’s not a taboo subject, but it’s a pain one mostly keeps to oneself.

A few weeks after Katie joined the New Republic Volleyball turned sixteen and joined one of the training squads, so she saw a lot less of her. When Katie turned sixteen as well, she became part of the same squad.

“I asked if we could form our own team,” Volleyball told her in the dorm after lights out. “They told me I’m too young to lead one. But one day, right?”

Katie had nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”

Katie had never had occasion to hold or shoot a gun before, and she was disappointed to find she wasn’t that good at it. “You’ll improve with time,” the trainer told her, and she sure hoped so; even hitting near the target was an achievement for her right now.

Volleyball was a slightly better shot, but far and away better when it came to hand to hand. “I used to beat kids up behind the bike shed at school,” she’d say, grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of, Amira,” Katie would reply, and Volleyball would laugh, her loud, raucous laugh that always made people turn and look and set off a weird fluttery feeling in Katie’s stomach.

It was when Volleyball picked fights that Katie got worried. Usually she kept it to snarky comments or sharp words, but the first time she got in a fistfight was the first time Katie felt truly scared for her best friend. It all came to nothing, ending with both combatants limping moodily away from each other after being yelled at by a senior officer, and Volleyball letting Katie lecture her as she wrapped a bag of some frozen vegetable she’d pilfered from the kitchen in a towel so it could be held to her black eye.

The second time Volleyball got in a fistfight was mostly memorable because it was the first time Katie saw the New Republic’s mercenary up close.

“Time out, wildcat,” Felix had snapped, and the way he pulled Volleyball back by the collar of her uniform did sort of remind Katie of a cat with its kitten. The other guy slid backwards on his butt, getting quickly out of range, holding a hand to his bloody nose while Volleyball glared murder at him. “Why you wailing on the guy, anyway?” Felix asked, sounding irritated rather than angry.

Volleyball transferred her glare to him. “He called Sam a bitch.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “And no one calls people names while you’re in town, Batman? That it?”

Volleyball didn’t answer, just glared at him until he made a disgusted noise and released the back of her shirt. “Whatever. Just clear out, and don’t let Kimball find you fighting.”

“He’s an asshole,” Volleyball had fumed later when they were back in the dorm.

“Has been since we joined, well done for noticing,” Chopra said from the other end of the room.

Volleyball threw a shoe at her, which she ducked with a yelp. “Seriously, though. What a fucking douchebag.”

“He kills people for money,” Katie pointed out, “Did you expect him to be a paragon of virtue?”

That made the other girls giggle, and even Volleyball cracked a smile. “What big words you use, Miss Jensen,” she said.

“I read a book once in a while,” Katie sniffed, faking haughtiness, and that made Volleyball laugh.

Volleyball got her chance at leading a month into their training. A simple capture-the-flag exercise, it should have gone easily enough.

Of course, few things in their lives went easily.

“That,” Volleyball groaned, slumping down onto the bench next to Katie, “was a disaster. A fuckin’ shit show.”

“It was only your first time,” Katie said, trying to sound encouraging.

“The first and only time.” Volleyball put her face in her hands. “Not like they’ll let me take the lead again.”

“Never say-”

“Never,” Volleyball said grimly. “Katie, we charged right into their ambush and got shot down to the last man. And woman. Last human. Whatever, we just plain sucked, okay?”

“It was your first time,” Katie said again, emphasizing the words. “No one’s perfect on the first run.”

Volleyball had just made a discontented noise and started eating her soup.

Despite mishaps of tactics, they’d both graduated to full New Republic Privates after their intense four-month training program, and begun to run real missions.

Actually being on the battlefield, Katie discovered, was nothing like being in the training hall. She desperately tried not to freeze up and lose her head, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but the sound of bullets whizzing around her, the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Still, she survived where many others didn’t – though whether that was down to skill or luck, she can’t say.

Now she and Volleyball are standing with the others on what passes as the New Republic’s parade ground, listening to General Kimball make a speech about their new arrivals.

“War heroes?” Katie hears Volleyball whisper over the radio. She darts her eyes to her HUD, confirming that she’s is talking to her over their own private channel. “Do you think it’s for real?”

“I don’t know,” Katie hisses back. “Why would war heroes be all the way out here?”

Volleyball is silent at that, but Katie can tell from her silence that she’s thinking about it. “You think they’re fake?” she asks after a moment.

“I haven’t even met them yet,” Katie says, noncommittal. “But if General Kimball believes it…”

“Hmm.” Volleyball lets out a long, low sigh. “I guess we’ll just see for ourselves.”

The Reds and Blues aren’t exactly what Katie would have expected of war heroes. They’re not confident and self-assured like Felix, don’t have the quiet strength and determination that emanates from Kimball. They’re not even that good at capture the flag.

But there is something about them. They may not be perfect soldiers, but they’ve seen things. Sometimes when they speak, it seems to come from a well of personal experience that Katie can’t begin to fathom.

And sometimes they can’t talk to her without their voice breaking every five seconds like a fourteen-year-old boy.

Well. Actually that’s just one of them in particular.

“This helmet’s almost done, sir,” Katie says, fixing the last few wires into place.

Captain Simmons just nods at her; he prefers to communicate non-verbally where possible. She’s wondered if she should offer to take up learning military hand signals, if only so they could communicate more effectively.

Still, when they’re not trying to hold a conversation, it’s kind of nice to sit and work side by side. Irrespective of his communication problems, Captain Simmons is matching her blow for blow – if one reimagines the phrase as pertaining to wiring cameras into helmets, that is.

When she gets back to the dorm Volleyball is the only one still up, sitting on her bed in the near-darkness, arms crossed, just waiting. “It’s almost midnight, Katie,” she whispers, disapproving.

“Lost track of time,” Katie mumbles, pulling her armour off.

When Volleyball doesn’t speak, Katie looks up and makes out an expression of vague suspicion through the darkness. “We were rewiring helmets,” she says quickly, “Nothing weird.”

Volleyball rolls her eyes. “From anyone else that would sound like bullshit, but because it’s you?” She snorts and lies back on her bed. “You managed to get a project like that done without exchanging words? Or was it the conversation that slowed the whole process down?”

Katie feels slightly defensive at Volleyball’s derisive tone, though she tries not to show it. “It’s just a fiddly bit of work. That’s all.” She clambers into bed, pulling the covers snugly down over herself. “I’m going to sleep, V. I’ll see you in the morning.” Volleyball only grunts in response.

They don’t really talk about the whole team leader thing. Volleyball is smart enough to know that she’s not really cut out for the job – her head for tactics hasn’t noticeably improved since their first dramatic failure – but Katie knows it stings nonetheless. Having your teenage dream crushed isn’t a pleasant experience for anyone.

But it’s not like being team leader really means anything, not when you’re disposable enough that your Captains prefer to sneak away in the night just so they can leave you behind.

And then get killed. There’s that, as well.

Katie’s hiding in an unused section of the base when Volleyball drops down beside her, huffing out a breath as she hits the ground. “Thought I’d find you here,” she says, voice soft.

Katie sniffs and says nothing.

They sit in silence for a while before Volleyball says, “They left to protect you, y’know.”

Katie bites her lip. “And if we’d been there, if we’d had their backs like we were supposed to, they might not have-” The tightness in her throat cuts her off.

“Not from the way Felix tells it.”

“Fuck Felix,” Katie snaps, so forcefully that Volleyball jerks round to look at her. “He doesn’t know, not for sure. We could’ve done something.”

“I…” Volleyball stops, the fingers of one hand tapping against the other, as if she’s not quite sure how to put into words what she wants to say. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Katie,” she says after a moment, “But I’d rather have you than them.”

Katie looks at her long and hard, then glances away. “That’s only sentiment talking.”

“Maybe.” Volleyball taps two fingers on the knee plate of her armour, two quick sharp taps. “But aren’t feelings what makes all this matter?”

Katie can’t, as it turns out, argue with that.

As they gear up for their assault on the capital, Katie often finds herself thinking back to that quiet night rewiring helmets with Captain Simmons. It’s always seemed so strange to her, how someone can be so alive in one moment and so very dead in the next. How someone’s memory can linger like a ghost, almost as corporeal as their living body, even after they’ve been put in the earth.

Volleyball comes to her the night before they leave for Armonia. There’s a ledge about halfway up the walls, easy enough to scramble to up the cliff face at the back of the motor pool, and from it Katie can lean back against the rock wall and look up through the gash in the earth that hides them, out at the starry night sky.

She hears Volleyball grunting with the effort pf climbing and the scrapes her armour makes against the rock face long before she sees her. Her friend finally hauls herself up onto the ledge, out of breath, and flops down beside her. “You make it look so easy,” she complains. “Scrambling up here like a monkey.”

“One thing I can still beat you at,” Katie says with a grin.

“Yeah yeah, cocky,” Volleyball taps the side of Katie’s helmet with her fist gently, a gesture that’s come to replace ruffling someone’s hair among the troops. “What’re you contemplating up here all alone?”

“Our possible imminent death?”

“Cheery.” Volleyball mirrors Katie’s casual slump against the wall and folds her arms. “You don’t think the plan’s gonna work?”

“It might work, but I also might die in the process.”

“You could have died in any of our missions.”

“Yeah,” Katie shrugs, “But this is taking the capital. It’s on a whole other level. Kimball’s not hiding the fact that there’ll be casualties.”

“I can’t see it being you,” Volleyball says confidently.

“Because you don’t want it to be me,” Katie says.

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re too smart to get shot.”

Katie can’t tell if she’s joking, but she laughs anyway. “No one’s too smart to get shot.”

Volleyball makes a noncommittal noise and says nothing.

They sit side by side for a long time in the quiet night, neither saying anything. The only sound is the wind whistling through the caverns, night creatures rustling and calling, and a few quiet noises of late night activity from the base.

After a while Volleyball reaches up and pulls off her helmet, taking a deep breath of unfiltered night air. “I’m gonna miss this place if things go south,” she says quietly.

Katie snorts. “This hole in the ground?”

Volleyball smiles in the darkness. “It’s more than that. The people… the people make it more.”

“So what you’re saying is, you’ll miss us,” Katie says, and also reaches up to take off her helmet. The humid, hot air hits her skin, bringing with it the smell of earth and the jungle.

“I’ll miss you,” Volleyball says softly. When Katie turns to look at her, she says, “You in particular, I mean.”

“Really?” Katie says, feeling a grin pull at her lips without being able to suppress it.

“Yeah,” Volleyball says. She sounds breathless. “I mean… you… You and me are…”

“We’re what?” Katie breaths.

Volleyball hesitates, then whispers, “Fuck it,” and leans in to kiss her.

Katie stills, and there’s a single, magic moment when everything goes quiet, as if the world is holding its breath. Volleyball’s lips are soft and warm against hers. After the first second of surprise, Katie kisses back as best as she knows how.

After what seems like hours, Volleyball pulls back. “Sorry,” she whispers, “Probably should’ve given you a little more warning on that one.”

Katie shakes her head. “That was good,” she says, her voice just as soft, “Didn’t need any warning.”

Volleyball laughs quietly. “What?”

Katie blushes, hoping the darkness will hide it, and says, “I’m trying to tell you that you can kiss me whenever you want, idiot.”