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thecharacterchronicler · 8 months ago

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District Girl (Part 1) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: In district 12, peacekeeper Coriolanus Snow catches you sneaking past the fence. Thankfully for you, he accepts when you offer him a special arrangement in exchange of his silence.

Word count: 2’700

Warnings: power imbalance, consensual coercion (if that’s a thing), explicit smut.

(( Part 2 )) - (( Part 3 ))

It had been a long day. The sun was shining bright in the sky and yet, the air was saturated with humidity, making it hard to breathe. His peacekeeper uniform and gear felt heavy. He had showered before leaving the barracks and was already sweating again, adding to his discomfort with the already constant humidity. He hated it here. He hated everything, from the weather to the decaying buildings and the miners walking around with dirty clothes and faces. More than once had he thought about deserting his job, running back to the Capitol where people could manage to maintain a semblance of elegance and dignity, even while starving. But his family were the only people who would welcome him back home, he had nowhere else to go, and illegally deserting would put not only him but his cousin and grandmother in trouble. So he bite down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, as he once more gathered courage to keep going.

He had been asked to patrol the outskirts of District 12 for the rest of the afternoon. Smiley had been assigned the same task, covering the eastern part of the border while Coriolanus took care of the west. Without his bunkmates and colleagues to entertain him, time went by slowly. He walked along the tall fence that bordered the district, separating the village and the mines from a vast expanse of tall grass and trees in the distance. He found himself wondering what was hidden behind the forest, if there were other people somewhere that the Capitol didn’t know about. Maybe district 12 would have been nicer if it had included that large and lush landscape within its borders, the idea of patrolling under the shade of the trees seeming a lot more pleasant than doing it under the scorching sun. Maybe there even was a stream of fresh water meandering through the trees or better yet, a lake of cold water in which he could dive in and finally get rid of the beads of sweat that never seemed to leave his forehead, not since he had stepped in this foreign place.

His imagination running wild with ways to make his new home more bearable, he almost missed it. That movement in the corner of his eye, that trail of trampled grass leading to the fence… He turned around to see a silhouette, crouching down to enter the limit of the district from under broken wires he hadn’t even noticed when he had walked passed it a few minutes earlier. A trespasser. But were you an intruder or just a rule breaker ?

“Hey!” He shouted, the authority in his tone surprising both you and him. You lifted your head, eyes widening as you saw him and tried to hurry but the hem of your skirt was hooked to a sharp piece of wire that didn’t seem to want to let you go that easily.

His hand went to his belt, where his weapon was ready to be pulled out in case you were some kind of threat. Even if you didn’t look like it, Coriolanus knew better than to trust people, especially the people of District 12.

You didn’t want to get in trouble. All you wanted was to go back to your shack and forget about this encounter. You had heard enough terrible stories about peacekeepers to know you needed to avoid them at all cost. And mostly, you knew you had to be weary of the new ones like him, the ones who didn’t make deals and trades in exchange of turning an blind eye to whatever the citizens of your district needed to do in order to survive.

He was getting closer. Dangerously closer. And although he was walking slowly, almost carefully in your direction, you had noticed how his long fingers were just inches away from his weapon, ready to grab it and use it on you. So you decided to sacrifice your skirt, even though you didn’t own another one, and ran off, hearing the sound of the fabric tearing apart.

Coriolanus didn’t expect you to run. Where would you go anyway ? He had caught you breaking the law, he knew what you looked like, he wasn’t going to let you get out of it so easily. If he had to abide to rules he clearly didn’t want to follow, do a job he hated and was forced to live in this depressing area just because he was meant to face the consequences of his actions in the Capitol, you would have to face yours too.

He ran after you, easily catching up on you with his tall legs. And, since you weren’t making it easy for him, refusing to stop and comply, he grabbed you by the arm and yanked you back, a scream escaping your lips in reaction.

“Please, let me go.” You begged. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was looking for food past the fence to feed my family.”

He listened. He even understood. He too had struggled to find food for himself and his family a few years back. He knew what it felt like to be hungry. And he knew how it hurt to see your loved ones starving too. However, the people of the districts deserved it. It was the consequences of their actions, a fair turn of the tables that they were the ones knowing poverty now. And hopefully, it would only get worse from now on. They needed to know that they were nothing without the Capitol. And they needed to know that their reckless behavior would cause the downfall of their own people.

He held both of your wrists together in your back, his free hand pressing against the back of your neck to make you walk forward. He wasn’t sure what your punishment would be for trespassing and frankly he didn’t care, the only thing that really mattered was that his superiors would at least notice that he was a good element, if not the best one they had.

You kept begging him for freedom, explaining yourself and assuring him that your escapade to the woods wasn’t a threat in any way to the government but he stayed stoic, still walking you in direction of the peacekeepers’ barracks with your hands held painfully tight in your back.

As the austere buildings came in sight, you decided to fight back, abruptly trying to free yourself from his grip. It took him by surprise and you managed to run forward, all the way to a narrow path by the side of the barracks before he caught you again. He grabbed you with both hands this time, pushing you against the stone wall of the building with your arms held above your head. He was close, his broad shoulders blocking your view of everything else but him. His body was a fence you wouldn’t be able to cross, it was trapping you against the wall, leaving you helpless and at his mercy and he did not looked pleased.

“I promise I won’t do it again.” You said, knowing as well as he did that it was a lie. “I’m going home to tell my family that I haven’t found anything for them to eat today, isn’t that enough of a punishment ?”

Coriolanus’s pale blue eyes stared at you, visibly conflicted. He knew that feeling all too well. And indeed, it was a sufficient punishment in his opinion. An even more cruel one than anything his superiors might have in store for you. However, he couldn’t just let you go like this, not when you had been such a pain to catch. You had interrupted his quiet stroll along the fence, you had made him run under the scorching sun, you didn’t deserve that much mercy.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” You said, making sure he would notice the implications you put in your last word, staring right back at him as suggestively as you could. You knew peacekeepers were easily convinced by the prospect of a bit a fun with a woman since they didn’t get to have that much of it while in service. It was a good way to get out of trouble. And this peacekeeper in particular was handsome enough to make you slightly nervous at the idea of him accepting what you tried to suggest.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to think. Or do. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he had heard you correctly at all, getting lost in your beautiful eyes instead of focusing on your words. Maybe such close proximity to a woman was messing with his head, it had been a while after all. In fact, he had never been that physically close to anyone before and the fact that he had you pinned down against the wall, holding so much power over you made all his blood instantly rush down to his cock. There was something deeply satisfying at the thought that he could do whatever he pleased with you. Especially there, concealed from the other peacekeepers that might be leaving or entering the barracks, with nothing in his back but the fence, he could do anything and no one would know.

“Do we have a deal ?” You asked him, arching your back enough for your hips to brush against his, bringing his attention - and yours - to the impressive bulge that had formed in his pants.

Oh, it was wrong. So wrong. He shouldn’t even consider it, he should do his job and bring you to his superiors as he had been instructed to do in such circumstances but there was something about you that made him hesitate. Maybe it was how short your skirt was now, with half of it still stuck in the fence, it revealed more of your body than you were comfortable with and he definitely liked what he saw. The curves of your body, the shape of you, your lovely face… You were so different from the others. If he could have Tigris design some fashionable clothes for you and arrange your hair, you could look like a girl from the Capitol. One that he could be interested in…

But you were a girl from the filthy and barbaric district 12 and he was a peacekeeper.

“Deal.” He breathed, taking unexpected pride in the way your cheeks turned red at his word. You had never been so shy in front of a peacekeeper before, maybe it was because he was too handsome for words or maybe it was because he had an odd elegance to him that intrigued you, made you want to know who he was and where he came from. But you’d have to wait to indulge your curiosity with small talk, you had the end of a deal to hold and you actually felt pretty eager to get it done.

His breath caught in his throat when you dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands still held up above your head by one of his, yet no longer all pressed up against the wall. He easily opened his pants with his free hand, pulling out his already hard erection for you. Your hands moved, instinctively wanting to close your fingers around his cock but he held them back, still tightly in his grip.

“You won’t need them.” He told you, meeting your eyes. You quietly nodded and opened your mouth as wide as you could, letting him decide what to do next.

Still with one hand, he guided his cock past your pretty lips, the sensation of his sensitive skin gliding on your soft tongue almost ending him on the spot. He wasn’t prepared for how warm and wet it would feel, how his shaft would slide so perfectly all the way until his tip touched the back of your throat, making you gag.

You bopped your head for him, creating friction, having him slide back and forth in your mouth while you also focused on your breathing to avoid gagging too often. His eyes were clouded with intense pleasure when he closed them, letting you take care of him without opposing much resistance.

Fuck, it felt good. Especially when you took him down your throat, his whole cock fitting inside your mouth and your soft lips enclosing the base. He liked the way your cheeks were still colored pink, how your eyes watered from how big he was to swallow and how incredibly arousing it was to have you on your knees in front of him. A moment before you were a rebel, a reckless girl breaking the rules regardless of the punishment you might face and now, he had you tamed and compliant as he slowly fucked your mouth.

But maybe It was a bit too slow. Once the excitement of the new sensations he felt died down, there was only one thing he could think about; relief. That intense pleasure that you had carefully built in the pit of his stomach was begging for release, to explode on your tongue so that he could fill your mouth with his cum. He wondered if you would swallow it all, compliant til the very end or if you’d let it past your lips, drip on your chin and clothes like a very visible sign that he had marked you as his.

He was too eager to find out. He wanted to see for himself, feel how gloriously good it was going to be once his pleasure would splash out of him. So he stepped forward, forcing you back to the wall, hands still pinned up. You had no room left to move your head anymore and it was exactly what he wanted, thrusting his cock inside you himself instead. His rythym was fast and merciless, making you gag and feel breathless. His pushes forward were strong and quick, and soon, you felt his warm release drip down your throat, as his eratic movements finally came to a stop.

His cock was still twitching, spitting out white cum when he pulled it out of your mouth to allow you to breathe again, drops falling down on your chin and chest. He was breathless too, and the hunger you saw in his eyes as he stared at the drop of his cum that was slowly rolling downwards on your chest made you wonder if he was going to ask for more. He sure looked like he was ready to give it another go, right there and now.

But he unexpectedly released your wrists instead, taking a step back to arrange his still hard cock back inside his pants. With the blood finally rushing back down your arms, you tried to stand up. To your surprise, the peacekeeper held a hand out for you, helping you back up like a gentleman would.

You both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. You wanted to ask him where his manners came from, and why he wasn’t using them to navigate high society instead of being here but you couldn’t find the courage to say anything at all. There were many questions he wanted to ask you too, starting with asking for your name, but he refrained from saying anything, knowing it was better if he kept his distances. The last thing he wanted was to fall for a district girl.

You fled without a word but granting him a smile and he let you, memorizing the way your perfect body looked like in that torn skirt you probably were going to throw away now, wondering if he’d ever get to take a peek underneath your clothes.

When he went out that night with his friends, he didn’t mention you even though he knew it would have earned him the admiration of his roommates. And when he wasn’t able to fall asleep once in his bed, his mind flooded with all the possibilities of what else he could do to you - if he ever got another chance to - he ended up sneaking out of the barracks and walking back to the fence in the middle of the night, to retrieve the piece of your skirt that was still dangling in the wind, hooked to the wire meant to keep everyone in.

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jolenes-doppelganger · 3 months ago

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Curiosity (Series Debut)

Juliette Nichols x Fem! Reader

Summary: The monotonous doldrum of IT tasks brings the daughter of Mayor Holland into the path of the determined Sheriff Nichols. Against the better preparations of the overprotective Bernard Holland, Juliette inadvertently tangles (Reader) right into her mess of lies, cover-ups and the biggest killer of the Silo- Curiosity.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This Juliette series was originally called "Nuts, Bolts and Awkward Silences", but I'm a self-conscious creator riddled with fantastic ideas. Hence, a new and improved beginning to my Juliette series!

Word Count: 4.7k

Comments and reblogs are appreciatied!

“We do not know why we are here. We do not know who built the Silo. We do not know why everything outside the Silo is as it is. We do not know... when it will be safe to go outside. We only know that day is not this day.” - Cleaning Address, Mayor Jahns (deceased). File Serial No. 153.76.98, Records Department.

To say the Silo smelled like a lump of old pipes was incomplete. The upper levels, the Mids and Up Top, smelled of people. Of life, of fresh bread, laundered linen and occasionally corn, if you caught a breeze from one of the farms. It was only when you got Down Deep that the smell worsened.

Rusting pipes leaked with brackish water, and depending where you walked, there would be piles of metal shavings or maybe a few loose screws from the engineers doing their own maintenance. It was a climate one had to adapt to, a sort of behavior that was as interwoven as the exposed pipes and wire clusters that peeked out behind crumbling concrete. Few could put up with the Down Deep’s inhospitable nature; it was a thing to be endured until the Down Deep became as natural to you as the smell of stale air, oil and body odor.

The Sheriff’s office felt too pristine to Juliette. Living in close quarters with engineers too busy, (or too disinclined) to bathe regularly had given her a certain standard. Walking into that office she smelled paper. Old, but dry, sterile paper. Her clothes were threadbare and filled with slightly off-colored patches where she’d darned holes shut. The residents of the Mids looked put together, crisp in their attires. At least to her eyes. Even the porters had a certain uniformity to them, quite unlike her ragamuffin band of mechanics she’d called her family.

Juliette knew she didn’t belong here. She stuck out like a stray hair; ever present and subconsciously noticeable. It made sense that her closest companion was the hardened, conflict-savvy Deputy Marnes. They made quite a pair, strutting up and down the levels. She with her freshly starched uniform that felt all too coarse, and he with his bandaged nose and gruff demeanor. They would have made a fine pair. Neither truly wanted the power they held, they wanted the truth. But that was the unwritten rule of the Silo. Look for truth, and truth finds you. Ten steps later, so did death.

Deputy Marnes death had put Juliette into a frenzy, and with that, the drive to find George Wilkin’s file grew until it felt like life or death. She missed the smell of old pipes and the occasional unwashed man. She missed the smell of her unwashed man.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

Mayor Bernard Holland had little interior ties to the Silo. Work colleagues, employees and the occasional childhood playmate. If Bernard could fit all of his relationships into one single box, it would be labeled ‘working acquaintance’. But earlier in his life, before he had ascended the ladder higher into the goings on of the interior Maintenance department, he had decided to take a shot at having a family; a wife, and a cozy, little apartment central to the Mids. Every morning Bernard would get up and take his small briefcase to work in the IT department, and his wife, Amelie, walked with her lesson plans to go teach kindergarten.

Somewhere in the mess of young, ambitious travailing, Amelie had brought up the lottery. Bernard, being an older man in his early forties, put little faith in the possibility of having children. In his ever analytical, sagacious mind, Bernard computed the odds of having a child at his age, given only a one year window for Amelie to conceive one, at near zero. But life wasn’t little boxes that could be sorted, assessed and compartmentalized into near-zero possibilities.

Ten months after reproductive clearance had been granted, Amelie skipped a period. And then another. A younger, fuller haired Doctor Nichols confirmed the life-destabilizing news. Bernard and Amelie Holland were expecting a baby girl. Twenty some odd years later, that baby girl sat in the IT department day after day, typing out the same files in the same pattern Bernard had completed when he was her age. You had his brain for the computer, the ability to examine flawed programming and dissect it within a day or two. Sometimes three, if a previous worker had gone hopelessly astray.

Bernard Holland had made a mistake, having a child. Sure, you were astute, eager to please and unnaturally adept at the skills he himself had spent years toiling away to gain, but you were his. And with possession came the possibility of loss. Every day that Bernard wasn’t in that IT department was another day he felt that creeping paranoia, that low buzzing of anxiety in the back of his skull. You were a good child, an obedient, Pact-abiding adult. However, you’d inherited more than just his measured customs; you’d inherited Amelie’s curiosity. Amelie, who’d hidden her inner wonder for the first ten years of their pairing. Amelie who’d been found with a red class relic, only for it to disappear back into the Silo. Amelie, loyal wife, doting mother, and veteran teacher who’d been sent down into the mines at the hand of one rebellious human condition.

Curiosity was a killer. And that curiosity that you carried could destroy more than just your life, it could destroy what little bit of faith Bernard had in the limited autonomy of the Silo. Therefore, when Mayor Holland assured Juliette that he did not wish to be mayor long term, he hadn’t lied. Having that kind of responsibility on his shoulders meant that he no longer had the luxury of keeping his daughter safe from herself. Having that luxury meant that the little curiosity Bernard had whittled away day by day began to blossom anew. Like a child left without adequate stimulation, you began to question unrelentingly.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

The IT department was a stale, colorless room filled with the bustle of various employees working side by side on equally monitored computers. The day started when you punched your time card in, and it ended when you punched out. The act of punching a time card in and out was old. Your Dad mentioned doing it when he first started, and how his elders at that time had always done it that way too. Each yellow card was good for a month. If you lost it, you lost your wages. No one lost their timecard, no one was stupid enough to misplace such a valuable object. Except Lukas.

“Sorry, I literally haven’t seen it.” you shrugged, going in to punch your time card.

Once the machine had stamped the yellow slip, you put it in your empty card, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You’d come in at the perfect time to get a cup of coffee before you slipped down in the records department for an agonizingly boring shift, and Lukas was wasting what precious time you had to do so.

“Nowhere? Is it on your desk perhaps? I looked behind the copiers and I can’t find it-”

Lukas was frazzled, face drawn out into a deep frown as he anxiously slicked his dark hair back.

“Listen, I know you’re worried, just grab a spare time card and punch in today. That way when it does turn up you’ll have proof of when you were in and out while it was gone.” you tiredly instructed, pouring yourself a steaming mug of bean juice.

For eight-forty-five in the morning you were on a roll, as far as advice went.

“Okay, yeah. That’s actually a good idea.”

Lukas walked back to the time card machine, writing his name and employee number down before punching the time card for the date and time. You didn’t stay to watch more than that, waving to your favorite coworker before you made the descent deeper into the office.

Well lit computer desks were replaced by rows and rows of files, the bookcases old and battered from wear. One of them had cracked, mixing up all the files. Maintenance had been quick about fixing it, but now it meant all the files that fell had to be re-organized on the new metal shelf. The lightbulb above your head buzzed in an irritatingly persistent tone, making the work just that much more tedious. All of the files were shoved off to the side in the walkway between shelves. It was a tripping hazard, and an overt demonstration of how dichotomous Maintenance’s help could be.

Taking sips of your coffee here and there, you started sorting the files in piles, ensuring each file inside the record matched the labeling outside of it. Every so often you’d glance overhead at the large clock illuminated by a flickering bulb. You swore the motor was slow, after all you’d been at this for what felt like three hours, and it was hardly past ten. Taking a deep breath in, you reached for your coffee, holding it up to take a sip. Empty. Hardly a whiff of coffee remained, just the overpowering smell of mothballs, old paper and dust. If you had any allergies like Meryl, one of your coworkers, you’d be sneezing left and right.

Time passed, and you were just about done with the third shelf of files. Clean manilla envelopes sat side by side, each correctly labeled and displayed. It was good work, and accessible in the future. The work was monotonous, but it all faded into a distant hum as you worked in silence. The clock winked down at you, twelve-thirty blinking down like a beacon of hope. Break time.

The relief you felt walking out of the records room and into the well ventilated IT office was immediate. Lukas was still at his desk, typing away rapidly. His productivity was up. Not quite as high as yours, but higher. Meryl smiled at you as she walked by.

“Ready for lunch?”

“Are you kidding?” you chuckled. “Founders, that job is the worst.”

Meryl gave a sympathetic pout, grabbing her purse and walking towards the exit with you.

“I appreciate you taking up the torch on that one, my allergies won’t let me in that room for even fifteen minutes without hacking.” she lamented.

The two of you traded gossip and office news as you walked down to the cafeteria, catching up on whatever little bits of life the two of you hadn’t shared since your last shift. It was an uneventful lunch break, just like you wanted. The walk up to IT was filled with satisfied sighs.

“Almost there.” Meryl remarked.

“Almost.” you echoed.

Your solace was a fresh cup of coffee and a brief chat with Lukas, (who had found his time card), but that was all you dared delay. Walking back into the records department, you found that your quiet, uneventful day was abruptly shattered. Towards the back of the records department you could make out a stooped figure, carelessly rifling through the shelf you had just organized.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you gasped, quickly walking over to the individual ruining three hours of meticulous work.

“Looking for a file.” the woman huffed, pulling out another file and dropping it on the floor.

There were patient people in the Silo. People who could withstand far worse inconveniences than this. But a dubious individual rifling through restricted and sometimes confidential material without regard for proper protocols or clearance boiled your blood.

“Where’s your clearance?” you demanded, setting your mug off to the side.

“Clearance?”

The woman rose to her full height, hands on her hips. You’d originally clocked her as a deputy gone rogue, but you knew your deputies. No, this had to be the new Sheriff. Nichols, Juliette Nichols. What a pain in the ass she was, that’s what Sandy had said. And somehow she was exactly what you had pictured, and then again, not quite at all. She was shorter than you would’ve guessed, only five-foot-five or so. Her hair was short, this made sense, and it was dyed by chemicals. Experimentation mechanics got away with, you supposed. Not what you would’ve pictured, especially in a tiny bun that emphasized the deep hollows of her cheekbones and brow, but it worked. But her eyes. Those made sense. Piercing, distrusting and a bit resentful. It fit everything you would’ve assumed from her character given how much Sandy complained when she came down to grab a file.

You were gawking, you realized. Clearing your throat once, you answered her question.

“Every individual looking for a record from the record’s department needs to fill out a request slip and send it in so that IT can track down the record and deliver it to the requester.” you spoke out in a long, run-on rush. “It’s a way of ensuring files don’t go missing.”

“Okay, well I did that, and they said they couldn’t find the file. I printed out a map of the records department, and it’s supposed to be on this shelf in this bookcase, see?” the Sheriff aggressively gestured to a guide of the bookcases.

You heard the clock audibly tick as you took a deep breath in. Getting upset with the Sheriff of the Silo wasn’t a proper first impression. It was a horrible first impression, actually. True, she couldn’t get you into any legal trouble without probable cause, but you could piss her off. Pissing off a Sheriff, albeit a temporary one, not such a good idea.

“Which file are you looking for?” you managed, voice artificially measured.

“George Wilkins, a report on his death.”

Another deep breath. The Sheriff was frustrated, and you were too. It was clear she’d been digging through this shelf for a while, probably during most of your lunch break. Her uniform was crumpled, sleeves pulled up her arms and a few hairs loose around her face. There had never been a mechanic who’d been nominated before, at least not before going through IT or the Sheriff’s department as a deputy. That’s where your fascination came from, truly.

Again with the gawking! You shook your head, trying to dispel your brain fog. It had been a long day of sorting files in a dim, stuffy room.

“Listen, this shelf collapsed a few days ago, and Maintenance just replaced it. I’ve spent the last three hours of my shift meticulously organizing it, so my guess is that whoever was on shift didn’t bother finding the file until the shelf was reorganized.”

Sheriff Nichols reached up, smoothing a hand over her skull. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring in belligerent frustration. But if she couldn’t find it in the thirty minutes she’d been digging, someone who was meticulously organizing the shelf probably would.

“Right, so if you find it you’ll let me know?”

“Yup.” you answered, folding your hands together to restrain the impulse to shove her out of the way.

“Thanks.”

Sheriff Nichols moved, too fluidly, with too much assurance in her surroundings. It must have been imbued by years spent in closed spaces, but she miscalculated. Your coffee mug went flying off of the shelf it had been balanced on, drenching you and the various files on the floor in lukewarm coffee.

“Fuck, sorry.” Sheriff Nichols swore.

She reached around, grabbing a rag left from dusting, vainly and forcefully trying to dab at the liquid all over your blouse.

“Stop, stop, it’s fine.” you gritted your teeth, dropping to your knees and doing your best to salvage the files that had been damaged.

Your face felt hot, and you looked down on instinct. You were flushed. Both from the further inconvenience of several files being damaged by this insufferably meddlesome Sheriff, but her hands… They’d been so clumsy and rough as they’d patted down your front with a dusty, dirty cloth. The tension was unbearable, and one of you had to break it.

Heavy footsteps echoed as the Sheriff made a quick escape, leaving you to deal with the mess she had caused.

“Bitch.” you cussed, doing your best to salvage the situation.

Even worse, her shuffling of files had stirred up the dust again, and this time it was bad enough that you sneezed. For the next five hours of your shift, you sat damp, sneezing and pissed, doing your best to finish sorting through the files she’d fucked up. The clock hit six and what little difference you’d made wasn’t enough to be satisfactory. You’d be working overtime tonight.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

Walking into the cafeteria at just past nine was depressing, there was nobody there. Even Lukas was absent, presumably opting to head home and help care for his Mom instead of his weird hobby spent staring at the screen. He watched the little white dots. You didn’t pay attention to it most of the time, you thought it was foolish, but exhaustion made you wonder. That was before your stomach complained.

The kitchen staff managed to scrape together a meal, an uncharacteristically generous thing to do. Probably because you looked a mess in your ruined blouse and dust covered hair. Dinner was a cinnamon roll leftover from breakfast and half of a turkey wrap, but it was something. You ate quietly, observing the display with that same wonder. They were odd looking, those white dots. Footsteps echoed out from the hallway as people came and went. You never looked up, too caught in your quiet vigil of the display screen. It took a subtle wrap on the table to get you to look up.

“Hey.” Sheriff Nichols sighed, resting her hip against the table.

She looked tired. More hair was out of her ponytail than in it and her uniform was unbuttoned. It might’ve been a conscious decision, but it made her look more haggard than she would’ve appeared otherwise.

“Hi.” you replied, biting into the cold cinnamon roll.

The icing stuck to your teeth in a grotesque film.

“Sorry about the coffee again.” she gestured to your stained blouse. “Umm… Did you find the file?”

“File?” you frowned, unsure.

“Yeah, the George Wilkins one.”

Your palm came up to your forehead in a quick, masochistic slap. You’d totally forgotten to look for that file, all that had been on your mind was finishing the job and getting out. And dinner. Food had been on your mind for a while.

“... I can go look for it tomorrow.” you sighed.

Sheriff Nichols crossed her arms, toeing at the ground for a moment.

“You’re too tired to go back?” she asked, tone neither hopeful, nor presumptuous.

It was almost ten, and you were both exhausted, but something told you that the Sheriff would keep showing up to bother you until she had her answer. Considering how adept she was at inconveniencing you, the sooner you got rid of her, the better.

“If I do this for you will you promise to never set foot into the record’s department again?” you asked, eyeing her with a stern glare.

“Sure, yeah. I’ll fill out the request thingie… Yeah.” Sheriff Nichols nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Words weren’t her strong suit, especially when her stomach was churning with hunger. Taking a deep breath in, you stood, leaving the half-eaten cinnamon roll on your plate.

“... Gonna eat that?” she asked, hopeful.

“No, it’s yours, I guess.”

Sheriff Nichols snagged it, following you up to the IT department. She held the door open once you unlocked the building, which was helpful, you supposed. Upon entering the office, you noticed how the Sheriff seemed to inspect everything, scoping it out with curious interest. She’d inhaled the cinnamon roll. You didn’t remember seeing her swallow.

“Records are this way.” you gestured, not in the mood to enable her gawking.

Sheriff Nichols followed you into the dusty library of records, standing off to the side as you carefully looked for the file she wanted. You skimmed the shelf twice over, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s not here, let me check the record’s catalog.”

Turning on your heel, you walked over the dingy concrete floor of the room, turning on an ancient looking monitor. Humming along to yourself, you quietly searched the system for the record Sheriff Nichols was after. It popped up as returned to the library by the former Sheriff. He’d logged it himself. And you assumed he had done it correctly, but somewhere in between the return of the file and the cracking of the bookcase, it was more than probable that it had been misplaced.

“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry. The shelf cracked, and it’s possible maintenance damaged the file. I’ll fill out a missing records report, and if it turns up I’ll notify you.”

It was the only response you could muster. The blank look Sheriff Nichols gave you felt undeserved, especially considering she’d snagged your cinnamon roll.

“Sheriff, I’m sorry it’s not where it should be, but we know it’s missing and we can look for it now.”

She walked over and behind the desk, brushing against you as she examined the screen for herself. She’d seen you examine the files, she herself had been examining a few. You weren’t lying, and the screen didn’t lie either.

“Well. Thanks.” she mumbled, scooting out from behind the desk.

As you watched her go, you found the exhaustion and irritation of the day was slowly becoming overshadowed by a larger, far less negative cognition. Why did the Sheriff want that file? What was it about this George Wilkins that had her so worked up? And why did you care?

Three levels up into your apartment and you were still asking yourself that question. One twist of your key and you were inside. A weight left your shoulders as you slipped inside, and you shut your eyes in relief. The door was solid beneath your back, and the smell of soup drifted out. Hunched over a stack of papers sat the white haired, uniformed form of Mayor Holland, as calm and measured as he’d always been.

“Ah. You’re home.” Bernard, your father sighed, looking up from the recliner.

Blue eyes landed on you, and he huffed out a laugh as he took in your frazzled form. Coffee-stained, dusty and the image of worked to the bone, he couldn’t help comparing his younger self to you. How many late nights had he worked, surviving on watery coffee and cafeteria cuisine? There was a story behind this, and he was anxious to hear it.

“Did you spill coffee on yourself, what happened?” he smirked, taking off his glasses to see you better.

His teeth were straight and white, devoid of any crookedness or discoloration. It was the product of bi-yearly dentist visits since he was a child. His hair was combed neatly, and he carried the countenance of a man too stuck in his ways to ever bother relaxing. It was exactly what you needed to see after such a stupidly tiring day.

“Sheriff Nichols came in during lunch and rifled through the records I’d been reorganizing. The shelf collapsed in aisle H, you know?” you began, walking into the living room. “I agreed to help her find the record she was after, off the books like an idiot, and the thanks I got was coffee on myself and several pristinely maintained files.” you irritatedly reported, walking into the kitchen.

“You made soup?” you eyed the pot, stomach growling hopefully.

If you’d been watching Bernard in that moment, you would’ve seen how his eyes clouded over in concern. His jaw twitched, eyes working in small patterns over the wallpaper as he worded his next statement with as much care as possible. You were too busy ladling yourself a bowl of the most delicious looking soup to notice his change in demeanor.

“You said she was rifling through files? She didn’t have clearance, did she?” Bernard asked, keeping his tone casual.

The last thing he wanted was to drag you into this. Or more accurately, ignite your curiosity.

“Yup. Not a single request. I didn’t end up finding the file she wanted, so I’m not going to get into hot water…” you paused.

As soon as you processed what you said, it became clear just how close you had been to fucking up, admitting it to your former supervisor of all people.

“I shouldn’t have let her get away with that without reporting it. I can go back and fill out a violations slip right now, I wasn’t thinking, the files were all wet-”

Two firm hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing twice. This wasn’t something you needed to run yourself ragged over, and Bernard knew that.

“This wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be helpful because she’s the Sheriff, and causing problems with the Sheriff is arguably worse than forgetting a standard protocol of IT.” he said calmly.

He let you process his words, guiding you to sit down at the table while he ladled himself a bowl of soup as well. One look at his side profile, and you noticed how relaxed his face was..

“She was in the records department without clearance only once?”

Again he gave you time to process, his tone even and controlled.

“Twice. I grabbed food from the cafeteria right after my shift and she came up to ask if I’d found it. I hadn’t looked for the file at that point, so I went back and looked.” you reported,

Your tone matched his in evenness. Hysterics and anxiety wouldn’t buy you any points, but a simple relation of the circumstances would.

“Did she touch any files when she was in there with you?” Bernard asked, walking over and sitting quietly across from you.

“No, that time I was the only one looking at the files.”

Bernard didn’t visibly show his relief, but he felt it. The tension in his chest dissipated, and he found himself able to quietly eat.

“You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning go into the office and write the report. Detail exactly which rows you found her rummaging through and include the second, supervised visit.” Bernard quietly instructed.

The room went quiet, the pair of you eating your meal without further comment. Only when the bottom of both of your bowls was empty did he finally bring up his most significant instruction.

“A final note.” Bernard stated, tone almost emotionless. “As a rule, try to avoid Juliette Nichols as much as possible.”

The way he said it, the firm command interwoven between the sentence disturbed you. You’d heard him use this tone few times during your life, and each had been a direct command to enforce your safety. But the threat Sheriff Nichols could pose to you simply didn’t compute. Your eyes flickered, and Bernard caught that spark of damnable curiosity.

“Do I ask why?”

“No. No you do not.”

Bernard met your eyes, blue irises hard and demanding. It was a simple matter of knowing something you didn’t, something you couldn’t know. Your only course of action from here was to obey, and so you would. The chair screeched as you stood, quietly reaching for his empty bowl. The dishes were a welcome distraction from the sudden severity he had imposed upon you, thus you retreated to it. Bernard returned to his files, busying himself with the concerns of Silo management. Neither of you spoke, not until you went to leave the room.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

The soft click of the bathroom door shut you out from the force that was Bernard Holland. The conversation had rattled you, for reasons you couldn’t quite name. As much as you tried to place it, whittle down the particular mannerisms he’d used during the conversation that had spooked you so, you couldn’t. Perhaps it had been the suddenness of it, the way he’d gone from relaxed to impenetrably stern over a bowl of soup. The more you tried to dwell on it, the less you could figure it out. The semantics were abandoned, along with your coffee stained blouse.

Hot water blasted down from the shower head, soaking the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders until they went completely lax. Then, and only then, did you dare ask that treacherous question that itched provocatively over your tongue. A whisper, killed by the sound of water hitting the shower floor.

“Why can’t I talk to Juliette?”

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sbdskate · 1 year ago

Text

Laws Of Attraction (Part 7) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): fluff, language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, hangovers, sexual themes, self-pleasure, references to sexual activities, NSFW

Word Count: 5,209

A/N: Thank you for your patience while I took a bit of a break. Hopefully it won’t be as long while I finish up *the last part (*hopefully but no promises - iykyk). I hope you enjoy, please don’t be a ghost reader! Constructive criticism is always welcome <3

Daniel woke up the next morning feeling like an anvil dropped on his head. He cursed the alarm but was thankful he had the foresight to set one. It was a tall order trying to sort through the details of the night before. He had his phone, keys, and wallet, so that was a win at least. What time had he gotten back to the hotel? He recounted the most peculiar dream that you had been in his room at one point – he reminded himself to lay off the melatonin, it always made his subconscious mind run wild. It took every ounce of energy to push himself upright, swinging his legs to the side of the bed at a glacial pace. Fighting the throbbing in his head, he almost missed the pills and water on the nightstand and a trash bin next to him on the floor. Drunk Daniel had never been so thoughtful or organized. Maybe it wasn’t melatonin after all. Those familiar butterflies he felt every time he thought of you fluttered away.

On second thought, definitely not butterflies.

After unceremoniously emptying the contents of his stomach, he gladly consumed the gifts you had left for him. He took a much longer shower than usual, doing his best to wash away the anxiety brought on by his hangover. He was going into the last race weekend of the year (maybe two) feeling like absolute shit. The thought of you putting him to bed initially made him giddy but it was overshadowed by fear of the unknown. His memory of the night before was fuzzy at best and but for the physical evidence you left behind, he would have gone on believing the kiss in Brazil was the last time the two of you interacted. Fuck, he had made such a fool of himself. What else had he inadvertently said or done last night? If you had walls up before, you probably now also had a moat, barbed wire, and trained militia on guard. In his efforts to get closer to you, you ended up pushing him away. You were the sun and he was Icarus.

But clearly all was not lost if you had helped him in his hour of need. If he could trust his “dream,” you had called him your friend. You had worn his clothes. You insinuated there would be a world where the two of you would be alone in a bedroom again. If all true, the culmination of those things did not add up to a person who wanted to completely shut him out. Then again, maybe that was you simply being you – that is, a good person who would show the same compassion to anyone whether they were your lover, friend, or stranger on the street.

He hadn’t had this lack of confidence picking up girls since he was an awkward teenager. From the beginning you had been a puzzle. You did not immediately fawn over him and fall victim to his charms. He sensed you may have even disliked him upon your first meeting, though he couldn’t blame you – he had severely underestimated you. Thereafter, every one of your laughs was hard earned which made them all the more sweet. You were accomplished in your own right and impressing you was a tall order, but when he succeeded it felt as though he had won Monaco a million times over.

He thought back to Austin. So much had gone wrong, but so much had gone oh so right. There was an ease about you that weekend that he had only previously been privy to in staccato bursts. Whatever internal struggle you had been fighting seemingly slowed, allowing him to peel back all your layers. Even in that sad corridor, he could’ve sat next to you in silence for all of eternity and he would have been happy.

Then there was that pesky elephant in the room. In just a few days, he technically wouldn’t be your client anymore. He could get lost in all the tempting possibilities, but he had to stay focused. He’d cross that bridge later. Until then, all he had to do was stay in your good graces.

When the day came for your first client meeting in Abu Dhabi, you weren’t sure what version of Daniel you were going to get. You wouldn’t be surprised if he froze you out again like he did after Austin. It would be disappointing but understandable. You had explained yourself more than enough at this point though, and the position you found yourselves in wasn’t your fault. Nobody could have predicted that your client would fall for you when you were selected as counsel for the driver. You couldn’t control his response, and if you reasserting your boundaries made him that upset then so be it.

No, there were no nerves this time but there was still an underlying anxiety that caused your heart to race. The partner was waiting at the offsite dinner location when you arrived. It was an elegant restaurant, so you had selected a pretty but conservative wrap dress for the occasion.

“Y/n, so glad you could make it,” he said as he extended his arms for a small hug.

“Me? I’ve been at every race weekend, not sure where you’ve been,” you teased.

“I know, I know, it’s been busy. I appreciate all your hard work through this. I’ve told the managing partner about your efforts, we’re all very impressed.” You couldn’t help the growing smile on your face, but you did your best to hide the absolute giddiness swelling in you. That bonus was yours to lose at this point and if this trajectory continued, you could make partner by the time you were 35.

“Thank you for the recognition, but I’m just doing my job,” you feigned in modesty. You knew how many hours of sleep you’d lost over the course of the last few months between the work itself and the constant travel. You knew how much you missed your friends and family during this time, and the other countless sacrifices you’d made along the way. But you would do it all over again for the once in a lifetime opportunity. And you never would have met Daniel - that certainly counted for something. Maybe after last week your relationship wouldn’t be the same going forward, but his companionship until now had offered you an unexpected fulfillment that felt foreign.

Then, as if someone had read your mind:

“She’s being modest,” you heard behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder. You turned to see him in nice slacks, a crisp white t-shirt, and sport coat. For someone that was probably fighting for their life this morning and suffered through a long media day, he cleaned up very nicely. You did your best not to openly ogle, though he caught the quickened rise and fall of your chest. You couldn’t help but smile back when he gave you his signature grin.

“Daniel, great to see you,” Joe said as he extended his arm past you to shake his hand.

“Likewise, nice of you to finally show up.” His tone and features were so pleasant that he could pass off the genuine dig as jest. Either way, the partner was unphased.

“Well, that’s why I brought in my very best associate to help me out as back up.”

“I suppose I should consider myself lucky then,” he said, smiling back at you. “Though, I don’t think I would call her ‘back up’by any means.”

The familiar heat rose to your cheeks as you bit your lip to unsuccessfully suppress your bashful smile. You gently elbowed him to convey your thanks. Both for defending you but also for the normalcy of the interaction.

You anticipated a level of awkwardness after your nondescript rejection in Brazil, thinking he would try to distance himself as he had after Austin. You wouldn’t fault him if he sat next to Joe, but he plopped down right next to you as though nothing had happened. An unexpected wave of relief washed over you. It seemed clear that you were “good”, whatever that meant. Sure, it helped to have Joe there as a buffer, but the two of you would have probably been fine on your own. The thought gave you solace.

The uneventful meal concluded with a plan of action in place for the rest of the weekend. The three of you made your way out of the restaurant towards the valet.

“I hope the two of you will enjoy the weekend at least until we complete the signing on Monday? Consider it a thank you.” It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that line before, but it felt different this time.

“I’ll have to take some calls here and there, but sure, why not,” Joe responded, oblivious to the fact that the message was hardly meant for him.

“Good, I’ll make sure you guys have your paddock passes for the next few days.”

Of course as if on cue the partner’s phone went off as you exited the restaurant.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. But hey, great dinner. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yep, have a good night,” you trailed off as he walked away, smiling through gritted teeth. You watched as he got into the corporate car by himself already focused on something else entirely, even though you were all going back to the same place.

“Typical.” You turned to Daniel, surprised at his observation.

“Could you tell?”

“Seems like we both have bosses who abandon us.” You smiled.

“What an unfortunate bonding experience.”

It was a heavy conversation, but the air was light. You both giggled at your misfortunes. When it died down, he broke the silence.

“Uh, thanks for making sure I was… accounted for last night.”

“Oh,” your cheeks dusted pink. You had such high hopes he wouldn’t remember. Maybe there was still a chance, perhaps Lando had simply filled him in. “Sure, no biggie. It happens to the best of us.”

“I didn’t do or say anything embarrassing, right?” Daniel tested the waters, partially playing dumb. His memory may be fuzzy, but he knew enough. You pursed your lips together.

“Nothing more than usual,” you said with a smile, playing it off. He felt slightly disappointed. He wished you would admit to the kiss along with the hopes you’d bestowed upon him – but maybe it was just in his head after all. Either way, you didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the conversation and that was a clear enough message to him. He knew what he needed to do.

“Can I just say,” he paused. He might need to go back inside for another drink. “- that I’m sorry. For everything. You’re just here trying to do your job, and I’m not making it easier for you. You’ve said no, and I keep trying dumb shit. I should have stopped.”

Your chest tightened. The apology was somehow welcome, appreciated, and warranted. But you also found it endearing which made you like him even more. And it also probably meant that he had lost interest and that last part didn’t make you feel great either. You wanted to tell him everything but doing so would only complicate things. Instead you bit your tongue and gave a polite smile.

“Thank you. Apology accepted.”

“No, thank you. I’ve made an ass of myself over and over again and you put up with it.”

“Well. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from my first celebrity client, but ‘ass’ was certainly in the realm of possibility,” you said cheekily. “Nothing I wasn’t prepared for.” The lie slipped easily through your teeth.

“So you assumed I was going to be an ass?” he asked with a laugh.

“What did Drive to Survive call you guys? ‘Talented, rich, and cocky’?” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, but his face was still warm and welcoming.

“Don’t tell me you watch that garbage.”

“For research purposes, obviously,” you said sarcastically.

He watched your eyes twinkle and the sly grin that graced your features as the desert wind gently blew your hair around your face, framing it perfectly. You fixed the strand he so badly wanted to tuck behind your ear yourself. Your wrap dress fluttered just so, allowing him to catch a quick glimpse of your upper thigh, contrasting the otherwise modest outfit. He wondered what it would be like to tug at the delicate bow at the side of your waist that kept the whole ensemble together. He caught himself in the middle of his thoughts.

“Since your boss left you stranded, can I give you a ride back?” You looked around, a serious look on your face. You whispered in a low voice.

“Is that… appropriate? I know men and women aren’t supposed to be alone together here.” He wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make you feel bad. Of course the lawyer wanted to follow everything to a T. He knew from experience that the morality laws were loosely enforced at best, but he wasn’t sure how much of that was attributed to his own privilege.

“If it makes you feel any better, I could pretend to be your chauffeur.” The line earned him a laugh.

“An F1 driver as a chauffeur. That’s rich.” He smiled, satisfied with his efforts to put you at ease.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yeah, but the expectations are pretty high.”

“You’ll have to let me know if I have a backup career as a personal driver if this whole F1 thing doesn’t work out.”

The valet pulled around an unassuming black SUV with tinted windows. Without skipping a beat, he opened the back passenger’s seat door waiting for you with an extended hand dipping into an exaggerated bow.

“Your chariot, m’lady.”

“Oh my, what service,” you contrived dramatics with a hand over your heart. Your other hand graciously accepted his while getting into the car. The familiar pulsating electricity coursed through the touch and lingered as you watched him close the door.

“Home Jeffrey,” you said, donning the worst British accent you could muster when he settled in the drivers seat. He peered at you in the reflection of the rearview mirror. You looked relaxed and happy, and that was enough for him. Your eyes locked, and you caught a glimpse of those dimples that could melt polar ice caps.

It was a comfortable ride back to the hotel, a little small talk here and there. He tossed the keys to the valet and helped you out of the car, again trying to memorize the feeling of your palm in his before reluctantly letting go.

He pressed for his floor in the elevator. He looked at you when you didn’t follow suit, wondering for a moment whether he forgot his manners.

“Uh, what floor are you?” he asked politely, hovering over the buttons.

“Oh… I actually ended up down the hall from you.”

“Oh.” A loud silence fell. It was unclear whether the arrangement was fortuitous or simply torture for both parties, the other so close but just out of reach.

The doors opened and you tried to hide a sheepish look as you started walking in the same direction.

“Are you following me now?” he joked. “I don’t need help getting into bed this time, promise.”

You stammered a bit, trying to find the right words but decided to keep your mouth shut. You had begged the concierge to find you any other room but she insisted the hotel was fully booked and there were no other options. But you realized in that moment it would only be weird if you made it weird. Humor was always the best deflection so you decided to lean into it. Your ability to hide your growing smile began to falter. Looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, you didn’t say a word as you walked past him when he finally stopped in front of his door. Only looking back in his direction to wave when you stopped in front of yours which happened to be the room over. You both snorted before dissolving into laughter over the absurdity of it all.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try not to throw any ragers,” you said between fits of giggles.

“You mean I wouldn’t be invited?” he asked in faux disbelief.

“You know you’re always welcome, what’s a party without thee Daniel Ricciardo? I just wouldn’t want to disrupt your ‘high performance athlete’ routine before race day.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“If you threw a ‘rager’, everyone would be sitting in a circle doing face masks with Celine Dion playing in the background like some kind of selfcare séance. And it would be over by 10pm.” The laughter that had finally started to slow picked up again. His heart skipped a beat seeing your nose scrunch.

“Hey now, you forgot the scented candles. That open flame is a safety hazard.”

“You are just too wild and crazy.”

“You know me so well. I’ll do my best to keep it down, no promises though.” The laughter slowed again, but the wide grins remained.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow… neighbor.” You smiled, liking the way it sounded coming from him.

“I guess so, good night neighbor.”

You closed your respective doors, each acutely aware of the one wall that separated you.

Daniel rubbed the sleep out of his eyes the next morning, aimlessly palming his nightstand to turn off his alarm. He made his way to the bathroom, slowly shaking away his slumber. He was washing his hands when he realized there was more noise than what was coming from the faucet. He turned the water off and listened. He picked out the sound of running water. There may have been music playing from a phone, but it was drowned out by a muffled, unmistakable, offkey voice he could pick out anywhere.

Cuz when the night faaaaallls

My loneliness calls

Boo doo boo DOOP

Ohhhhh I wanna dance with somebody

I wanna feel the HEAT with somebody

yeaAHH I wanna dance with somebody

With somebody who loves me

He smiled to himself listening to you try to do lead, backup vocals, and instrumentals of the Whitney Houston classic, reminiscing back to your performance with Lando in Japan. The warmth that spread from his chest to his toes woke him up, suddenly feeling a renewed sense of optimism for the practice sessions ahead.

As he left to head to the paddock, he heard another door close. His timing was meticulous and he counted his blessings that he should be so fortunate to share more time with you. He couldn’t help the giant smile that grew on his face at the sight of you, immediately imagining you singing in the shower. You double checked for something in your bag before you looked up to meet his gaze. You looked behind you to make sure his dimples weren’t reserved for someone else.

“Hi?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Hi.” He knew he looked dumb, but he didn’t care. He was allowed to smile at you, right?

“You’re awfully happy to see me this morning.” The corners of your mouth turned upward, marked with a cautious skepticism.

“Yeah, h-” He stopped himself. How was your sold out stadium tour in the shower? But if this was a ritual of yours, he didn’t want to miss out on future performances – he did still have three more days with you. “I’m just excited for the practice session.”

Your smile relaxed somewhat. “I’m glad you’re feeling confident. Do you wanna walk over together?”

“Oh, you’re going there too?” He mentally smacked himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Where else would you be going?

“Well yeah. You invited Joe and I, remember?”

“Right. Wasn’t sure if you were off to do lawyer things.”

“I mean I am, but the track is a lot more fun than the hotel lobby. Y’know?”

He did. And the walk there was much nicer with your company. He enjoyed this new morning routine and would be sure to make it happen the rest of the weekend. On his own he may have felt the gravity of the situation more, may have simply gone through the motions to get it all over with, the weight on his shoulders too much to bear. But your presence invigorated him. Helped him believe that there were better things on the horizon. He just needed to clear this one last hurdle and he had the strength to do it. He was consistent in the Friday practice sessions, and your shower version of “Pocketful of Sunshine” the next morning helped him place P10 for qualifying.

You too found this morning pattern soothing. You were pleasantly surprise that you enjoyed your new neighbor more than you thought you would, and happy that what you thought would be a source of stress and awkwardness brought you peace and comfort. When race day rolled around, you had no reason to believe it would be any different than practice or qualifying, other than the fact it was a night race. So you caught up on work in the morning before you got yourself ready as usual. You decided it was a Celine Dion day, happily belting “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now,” unbeknownst to you that you had an audience. In another pleasant turn of events, Joe had given you the ok to leave the work at home, granting full permission to enjoy the race. You initially went for your yellow midi dress, but it triggered flashbacks to Austin. It was best to put it away, no need to risk the bad juju. You struggled to pick something else, changing no less than five times. Somehow you needed to be modest, but in something where you wouldn’t overheat, but it would cool down once the sun set, but it also had to be stylish because you were again going to be surrounded by A-listers across an array of disciplines who looked like they just walked off the runway in Milan. For once you wished you had the ease of just throwing on a suit and being done with the whole ordeal. But the thought got your creative juices flowing, and you settled on a sleek black blazer dress. You threw on the Louboutins you bought with your first Big Law pay check that only came out on special occasions, and topped off the outfit with some big gold hoops for good measure. You could always fake confidence with red bottoms, red lips, and gold hoops.

Even though you had no work with you this time, you had grown accustomed to arriving fashionably early to these events to coincide with Daniel. You gave a friendly knock on his door, expecting him to be ready at the same time as you as he had the last two days. But nothing could have prepared you for coming face to face with the Australian and his Adonis-like figure on full display. Of course he would have no shame answering the door in just a smile and a towel, though with a body like that it was amazing he wore clothes ever.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I. Uh. Um. I-” You continued to stutter as you tried to figure out where to look. You feebly tried to avert your gaze but his beautifully tan muscles demanded attention, from his shoulders, to his pecs, to his abs. You wanted to study and write a dissertation on the tattoos on his arms. You definitely wanted to memorize the line of the towel that hung just so on his hips. But you also didn’t want to make it obvious that you were staring. So your eyes darted from the ceiling, to his body, to the floor, then back to his body, in a chaotic loop.

“My eyes are up here.” His voice dripped with smugness. You definitely couldn’t look there. But you obliged, only to be met with the cockiest smirk you’d ever seen in your life. Your entire body was on fire, and the arrogant twinkle in his eye only stoked it. You knew he was hot. God knew he was hot. Everyone knew he was hot. And he knew it too. And he was having the best time seeing you flustered.

“When you’re done having a stroke, care to tell me why you’re here?”

“You have to be there in less than an hour, I thought you’d be ready to go and we could head down together!” Your tone came off as frustrated. And you were, for more reasons than one. He rolled his eyes.

“We aren’t that far and I don’t take that long to get ready. Give me a few minutes, I’ll be right out.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll be in my room,” you said curtly, and spared no time practically running back.

Daniel laughed to himself as he closed the door to continue getting ready. Seeing you lose any measure of control had become one of his favorite things, a stark contrast to your usual moda operendi. He paused though when an unfamiliar sound came from the wall you shared. He stood in front of it for a moment trying to decipher what it was. It sounded like an electric shaver, but why would you need one of those? His eyes widened and the blood rushed to his cheeks and crotch as it dawned on him.

Your hands were almost shaking as you got the door open. You rummaged through your bag to find your vibrator, practically ransacking your room in the process. You definitely had time to rub one out before he would be ready. The picture of his muscly tattooed thighs pressing on the back of yours flooded your brain, back bowed for him with his name falling off your tongue. Your body ached for it to be a reality, one that was so close yet so far. You fell on the bed and pressed the toy where you needed it, eyes squeezed shut, desperately wishing it was the appendage of your friendly neighbor.

Daniel had never gotten ready so fast in his entire life. No doubt, what he just witnessed was the epitome of sexual frustration. Knowing you, you would be quick and efficient about it – he could imagine you splayed on the bed with the hem of your dress bunched up. You probably didn’t even take off your underwear. An internal battle waged within him – whether to rub one out himself or rush to catch you in your immediate post orgasm bliss, the latter ultimately winning. He would have plenty of time later to take care of himself.

You were so close, when your phone went off.

DR: I’m outside your door.

The disturbance in your momentum should have thrown you off. But the idea that he was basically right there while you touched yourself pushed you right to the edge. Another fantasy intruded your thoughts, imagining what it might be like if he were to come inside and watch you. Your phone dinged again a second later.

DR: Come.

And you did.

You barely had time to come down from your orgasm as you smoothed out your skirt and grabbed your bag again.

“Hi sorry I’m ready,” you said breathlessly as you strode past him.

Daniel chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn’t miss the bright pink flush or the light sheen that graced your features. Your obvious glow matched the flyaways that now stuck out from your otherwise perfectly coiffed hair that made him want to drag you into his room and put that silly little imagination of yours to shame. Demand to know whether your dreams were as good as the real thing with a fistful of your hair in his hand as he buried himself deep inside you. Demand to know whether that stupid toy made you feel like half the woman he did. And that dress. That beautiful dress that hugged your body in all the right places, that showed off its peaks and valleys, that teased just the tip of your cleavage before sealing your tits away like a cruel riddle. He would ruin it. The stiffness in his pants pestered him, and he pushed the impossible thoughts away. He settled on tucking one of the out-of-place strands behind your ear, not missing the opportunity to tease you even if only a little.

“Everything ok? You’re all flushed.”

You bit back a whimper as the tip of your ear fired signals to your core and you suddenly wished your hair follicles had tactile sensors. You would’ve been blushing if your face wasn’t already red.

“Yeah… I, uh, realized I lost an earring. So I had to find it.”

“Did you?” The way his warm brown eyes bore into yours made your stomach do cartwheels.

“Yeah.” Why were you suddenly panting?

“Good. I’m glad you, uh… found your earring.” If you blinked you would’ve missed it, but you could’ve sworn you saw the flash of a smirk cross his face before it was gone. Were you still talking about earrings?

You continued to make your way to the paddock together, you stayed just a pace ahead still hesitant to make eye contact with the driver. You whipped around though when you heard a distinct *click* only to find him with his camera still aimed at you. Another *click*, the flash blinding you momentarily.

“Daniel!” The blush that had finally started to fade came back with a vengeance. He had tried to take pictures of you before, eager to practice his new hobby, and you had politely reminded him that it would pose a risk to your attorney-client privilege (it was mostly a lie, but he didn’t need to know that). But now he lowered the camera, revealing a ghost of a smirk.

“I figured it’s ok since you’re not working. Just want to remember everything from my last race day.”

“We’re in the hallway of a hotel,” you deadpanned.

“You’re right, I’ll take better pictures when we’re outside.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Natural lighting is so much better anyways.” You sighed, reluctantly granting your approval and he internally cheered. You didn’t need to know there was no way in the world he would delete the ones he already took though, that perfectly captured the curve of your backside and your beautiful, bambi eyes looking over your shoulder.

He could’ve gotten lost in his thoughts of you and he would do so happily, but he needed to get in the zone. He tried, but surprisingly the feeling never came. He found he wasn’t really nervous either. After basically processing the five stages of grief over the last few months over his career, there was nothing left for him to prove or fight for. That thought once brought him deep shame, but now it was freeing. Maybe the weight of everything would hit him later, but for now he simply wanted to be in the moment wherever the day led him. At this particular moment, that meant walking to the paddock with you at his side.

Tags: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233 @thatchickwiththecamera

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gghostwriter · 6 months ago

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Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 6 __ Fortune’s Fool

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

a/n: I’m not a doctor or a nurse so for any medical or hospital procedure errors, I apologize

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.” - Act 2, Scene 3. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

The popcorn white ceiling was the first thing Spencer registered. Blinking the drowsiness away, he shifted his focus to his left and to his right noting the machine at his side keeping track of his steady heart rate. A beating that was now spiking higher and higher, alerting the medical personnel stationed on his floor, as the last events flashed in his mind.

A female nurse wearing a light blue scrub entered as his legs sluggishly swung to the side of the bed. “Agent Reid! Please get back on the bed. We’ll notify your colleague that you’re awake. Lie back down,” she said in a no nonsense manner.

Spencer ignored her orders, opting to stay seated. “It’s Dr. Reid. Can I have my medical chart?”

“Well then, Dr. Reid, lie back down and I’ll give you the chart,” she negotiated back, clearly used to dealing with stubborn patients. Too bad for her, none of them were as determined and as stubborn as Spencer.

Disregarding her negotiation, he stretched his palm out for the clipboard hanging on the bottom of his bed. The nurse sighed to herself as she caved and handed it over.

“Blunt force trauma to the head—possible light concussion,” Spencer read out loud. “Midazolam found in the system, injected via the neck.”

He looked up from the chart, noting the time at present. Midazolam was a drug that renders the taker unconscious for at least an hour and a half. His last recollection was hearing Olivia scream his name—that jolted another memory—she had also shouted the attacker’s name. Quickly dropping the chart on his lap, he reached out to rip off the tubes and wires attached to his chest and arms.

“Dr. Reid!” The nurse intervened. “You can’t do that! You need to stay in the hospital for observation—the drug can cause vomiting and headaches and we still need to rule out concussion!”

He stared back at her, turmoil wafting off of him in waves. “I know the signs of a concussion and I don’t have it. I can recall the prior events before losing consciousness, there’s no pressure in my head, and I don’t feel sluggish. See for yourself, shine a light in my eyes and check my pupil dilation—I need to be discharged, quickly.”

“Let me call for the doctor and your partner. We’ll discuss the discharge after the assessment. Please don’t remove anything,” she bargained as she rushed out the room for the nearby physician.

He sat there impatiently waiting for the door to swing open again. The ticking of the wall clock taunting him. Every single second wasted within his confines was a second against saving Olivia from the clutches of her attacker. His synapses flooding his agitated mind with statistics—the probability of the unsub sexually assaulting her was very high and with resistance from the victim or disturbance from outside forces, there was an 89% chance of murder after.

He looked over at the neatly folded pile of clothes placed on the visitation chair and struggled to get to it. His credentials still safely secured in his pants pocket but his gun missing from the its holster. Eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember ever drawing it out at Olivia’s residence but drawing up blank. Morgan probably took it for safe keeping, he thought.

“Dr Reid, I heard you’ve been causing quite a disturbance from Nurse Annie,” a robust looking male doctor said with a smile as Spencer had finished putting on his pants. The button down had to wait as the wires were still connected.

“Not a disturbance, just stating the facts I show no signs of a possible concussion. The anesthesia injected is on its way out of my system so there is no need for me to stay for an observation.”

The doctor shined a light into his eyes, checking for pupil dilation and tracking of his eyes. “Well, it looks like you’re correct. Now, I’d discharge you if, and only if, you take it easy out there, Doctor. You may experience nausea, vomiting, dizziness, or drowsiness as your body flushes out the toxin.”

Spencer nodded once to play compliance to the physician’s order. He was lying, he knew, but given that he is a doctor too—albeit not a medical one, his knowledge of his limits and gravity of the situation, his own second opinion trumps the other.

“Alright. I’ll have the nurses process your papers,” the doctor said once he finished detaching Spencer from the machine and promptly exited the room.

———

“Oracle of Quantico. Speak if you deign to hear truth.”

“Sugar, I need you to work me a little magic and look up the name Elijah in Random House’s company records.” Morgan quipped as the jet hit a bit of turbulence on its way to Maryland.

“Anything for you, my chocolate thunder,” she breathed out, keyboard noises heard in the background. “Okay, there’s two Elijah’s working in the company—what are the odds of that. One works in the legal department and the other from the creative department as senior illustrator.”

Hotch slightly tilted his head to the side, remembering Hollie’s interview. “Focus on the senior illustrator.”

“Okay,” she drawn out the syllables. “Full name is Elijah Martin Williams. Age 30. Father is deceased but Mother is still alive, currently living in Texas. No records in the system, he’s squeaky clean. His last known address is at Washington, DC—”

The dark skinned profiler turned to the 187 genius. “Reid, you sure he’s our guy?”

Spencer lightly scoffed, taking Morgan’s clarification as an insult to his eidetic memory, albeit his consciousness during that time was fading into blackness. “I know what I heard, Morgan,” he turned to the phone to address Garcia. “Can you look into any connections he could have to Maryland?”

“Oh boy genius, I’m way ahead of you. He was born and raised in Adamstown, Maryland. His childhood home had already been sold to a lovely family of four but his grandfather did own a farm lot that he passed down to his father and it looks like it’s been left untouched and vacant ever since he died—didn’t even process the deed papers yet to change ownership.”

“That must be why we never found a connection when going through the basics on her co-workers. Thanks, baby girl.” Morgan then turned to Reid to give him an update on the last few hours. “You know, the unsub sent in a letter to the station that’s how we got to you so quickly. A mistake on his part, if you ask me.”

“What did the letter say?”

The profiler riffled through the clipped papers on file. “Here it is. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone—”

Spencer continued on from memory. “Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, put not another sin upon my head by urging me to fury. O be gone! Yeah, yeah it’s a line that Romeo says to Paris when he enters the tombs where Juliet lays to rest. Basically saying that he has nothing else to live for and advising his adversary to let him through or else he’ll be force to sin, to take measures and kill him.”

“Paris, huh?” Morgan’s eyes widened, a tell-tale sign that he will be revisiting that information later. “Is that why he nicknamed you that in his other letter?”

His eyebrows furrowed in intrigue. “W-what? What other letter?”

“Something you want to share with me, lover boy?” He teased as he slid a copy of the letter across the table.

He ran his fingers through his hair, distressed as to where the conversation was heading and his voice going up an octave. “Nothing! No—there’s nothing to share, Morgan!”

The long time friend and seasoned FBI profiler stared at him with such intensity as if trying to figure with buttons to push to get the boy genius to tell the truth. “Kid, you can tell me anything. You know that right?”

Spencer cleared his throat before subtly eyeing Hotch across the jet, reading through the extensive information regarding the unsub that Garcia sent through. “Did you ever feel a connection with a victim from past cases? I mean—did you ever wanted to ask them out after? I know there’s a logical explanation to the connection but how can you tell if it’s real or just transference?”

“Look Reid, you can think and try to understand it all with that big brain of yours but the truth is, you can’t. The only way to know is if you take a risk. Ask her out when all of this is over.”

He pressed his lips together, forming a tight smile—a usual tell for Spencer. “Al-alright. I’ll think about it.”

———

The whole team had been briefed and immediately packed into the two government issued vehicles provided by the local police force. The destination—Adamstown, Maryland.

The abandoned and derelict ranch lay on a 25 acre land. Situated in the middle of the property was the main house and to the farther left was a dilapidated red barn big enough to house a number of cows and horses. The atmosphere was tense as the unit exited their vehicles, equipped with their loaded rifles attached to their belts and kevlar vests snug to their chests.

“Rossi and JJ, you're with me at the barn house,” Hotch instructed, eyes roving at the dark and vast premises of the land before landing on his team members. “Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss, you three take the main house. The unsub doesn’t know we know who he is and that we know where he’s hiding. Use it to our advantage.”

They all nodded in agreement before dispersing to their assigned locations.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!oc #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #gw fics #Ytr fanfic

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ya-zz · 1 year ago

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👁👄👁 I have a request. Ramattra non-con fic and I'll make it darker. Fem!reader believes Omnics are just bots (aka don't have feelings, wants) and when she meets Ramattra she spits out that he's just a machine to follow her commands, so he fucks her instead?

Draft it and edit it, figured it out- ANYWAY, apologies this took awhile! But here we are! ♥

Hoping no other requests get ghost deleted... I have them all written down anyway.

Ramattra x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1891

Warnings: EXPLICIT NON-CON

You were there before the uprising, watching on as omnics slowly grew in numbers, completing everyday tasks that humans could already easily do. They were machines made to follow commands and not one had emotions of their own. They simply followed their programming, whether that was cooking, cleaning, serving guests. Omnics were basically slaves to mankind.

That was until the uprising happened. Omnics all over the world began having their own thoughts and feelings. They were sentient, and many fought to keep that. Lives were lost, both human and machine, and before long, omnics were mixed in with human affairs, living day to day lives much like any other species would.

While many accepted it, you did not and everyone knew that. It’s probably why many people avoided you, but to hell with them, right? Machines are meant to work, humans are meant to leisure. Omnics don’t have wants or needs, they don’t have their own emotions. That was something you had believed and stuck to.

That was, until you pissed off the wrong omnic.

Ramattra arrived at the base some weeks ago, however you were mid mission, not aware there was a new visitor among fellow colleagues. He already had a room made up for him - one fitted with a bed, not that he needed it, a desk for his private workings as well as a wardrobe for his cowls and assortment of clothes he rarely wore.

He had heard the stories of your disdain for omnics, and hatred coursed through his wires. While he had somewhat grown to be more friendly to humans, he had already begun hating you, and he hadn't even met you. He had heard stories of how you had mistreated omnics, and he knew that you would never accept him for who he was. He was determined to prove you wrong, but he knew that it would be difficult.

There was a tension in the air around him whenever someone mentioned your name, that anger rising within him more. You were a threat to him, a target for him to eliminate one way or another.

When you returned, hands fumbling with the reports you finished on the ride back, you handed them over to the commander before heading straight to your room. Throwing the bag on the bed, you flop down next to it, groaning at the achiness in your shoulders and back. It was a tough mission, but one that was successful nonetheless.

You did your job and that’s what mattered most. While you were suffering a few bruises, scrapes and a shallow wound to your arm, nothing major happened to warrant a trip to the med bay. It was almost a perfect no casualty mission, until one member suffered near fatal wounds from a nearby explosion. It was something that made you freeze for a moment before picking yourself back up and continuing the task at hand.

Heading to the bathroom, you strip off your clothes, letting them pile on the bathroom floor before letting the water run warm for a shower. A bath would be nice, but you wanted to sleep sooner rather than later.

Letting the water embrace your body instantly soothed some of the achiness in your shoulders. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that you were safe within the confines of your quarters. With shaky arms, you scrub your body, feeling the tightness within the muscles as you stretch and tense, hissing in slight pain.

Blood seeped through the wound, something of which stung as the water and suds hit the open cut. Sucking in a breath, you analyse it, pulling at the skin. Shallow and not life threatening; a relieved sigh escaped you.

Minutes pass by, the water turned off and your body dry and clothed as you sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at your hands. With another inhale, you stand, heading to the door. Upon opening it, you freeze.

“What the hell do you want?” You look up at the omnic before you, the tall, brooding figure blocking your exit.

“A greeting would be nice, but I assume you’re too crude for that.” He retorts.

“Excuse me?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you glare up to the white faceplate.

He huffed, head tilting slightly. “I have heard stories.”

“So?”

“So? Is that all you have to say?” His figure gets a little taller as he stands straight.

You squint, feeling the tension in the air. “What are you getting at?”

“I was hoping the stories were wrong, but I stand corrected.”

You smirk, taking a step forward. “Why do you care? You’re just a machine built to follow orders that are thrown to you, no matter who they come from-”

All air got caught in your throat as his hand comes up and grips it tightly, squeezing as he pushes you backwards into your room. The door slams shut behind him and he locks it effortlessly.

“What-” You choke out, feeling your body being pushed backwards onto the bed.

“We are more than machine.” Ramattra growls, his vocaliser low. His body pushes against you, full weight trapping you down against the mattress.

A whimper escapes you as you try to fight back, arms grabbing and hitting the omnic to try and get him off of you. “Get off! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

A sly chuckle escapes the omnic while he watches you squirm. “What is wrong with me? Perhaps, you should rethink your words.”

You glare up, eyes focussing on the red flickering lights on his forehead. A hand travels down your body, pulling and tugging at the shorts you were wearing.

“No- Don’t-” With wide eyes and a panic surging through your body, you continue to push against him, but his weight was too much.

“Oh?” He chuckles once again, one hand keeping you held down on the bed by your throat as the other pulls down the fabric of your shorts and underwear. “Finally realising your mistake?”

His fingers waste no time in entering you, hard digits pushing and scissoring the soft walls inside. The yelps you release only fuelled him more, thrusting his fingers in further.

“St-stop!” Your hands grip onto his metal frame, one final attempt to push him off but to no avail. His hand never leaves your throat as the other violently thrusts into you.

“Someone like you should be punished in every way imaginable.” His vocaliser lowers again, seemingly enjoying the abuse he’s handing out. “Perhaps you should be more mindful of your words.”

“F-fuck you.” You spit, feeling lightheaded as you feel his hand clamp down harder.

Between the whimpers and yelping, Ramattra’s circuits grow warm with the feeling of power that he has over you. The coarse mewls escaping your throat only fuel his rage further, removing his fingers from inside of you before he slips off his privacy plate and throwing it to the side.

Dragging his metallic fingers over his cock, coating it with your juices, he wastes no time in lining himself up. He watches your eyes widen, a smug feeling flowing through his wires as he shoves himself inside of you, eliciting a scream from you. He’s quick to move a hand to your mouth, muffling the cries for help and the screaming for him to stop. Tears prick your eyes, slowly rolling down your cheeks as you violently shake your head to the side.

Hands pushed and pulled, trying to get him to let go, but no matter what strength you could muster out, nothing would work. Your breathing was shallow already, growing harsh as his grip never faltered on your neck and mouth.

When he saw you turning red, eyes rolling back, he leans in close, his voice barely a whisper.

“Scream and you will suffer more than what is happening now.”

With eyes wide with shock, you nod frantically, wanting to breathe. Wanting to live.

He waited for a moment, and when he deemed you worth enough of air, he let you go; both of his hands moving to grab your wrists, pinning you completely on the bed.

The air filled your lungs instantly, a few gasps made your head fuzzy as he adjusted himself, pulling out and snapping his hips back to yours. The metal stung as it connected to your bare skin, his pace was relentless as he kept slamming into you, cock hitting deep inside as he didn’t faulter in speed or strength.

“P-Please… Stop…” You cry out, feeling the bruising grip on your wrists get tighter. Everything hurt, your muscles tightening in your shoulders as your throat scratched with every breath released.

“Not until you have learnt your lesson.” He snarls, moving your wrists up above your head, gripping them with one had as his other grabs at your chest. Rough hand movements pulled and tugged at your skin, grabbing your breasts as he continued to thrust hard. He pinched, listening to your cries that you tried to keep quiet.

Ramattra never slowed, cock hitting deep inside, bruising both the inside and outside of your body. His metal frame creaked slightly, fans whirring quickly to try and cool himself down as he grunts. His optics lock onto your eyes, aperture focusing onto your disgruntled face, eyebrows furrowed in pain, eyes shut tight as you bite your lip, wanting the assault to be over.

The quiet sobs and cries are music to his receptors as his hips snap to yours. He feels your pulse through your wrists as his hand tightens around them.

“Such a pitiful human, but such a good girl for me.” He coos, faceplate hovering above your face as his optics look over you once more before he buries his head into the crook of your neck, feeling the soft hum of your vocals as you whimper. “You are taking me so well. Such a good human… A good pet.” He felt your heartbeat rise suddenly, a chuckle escaping his vocaliser.

Despite the cries, despite the pain, you could feel him tensing. Not just his hands around your wrists, but his entire body.

He felt it too, knowing he was close. Circuits sparked inside, fans whirring quicker as his sensors flared up with many errors. Optics flickered alongside the lights on his forehead as he snaps his hips one final time into you, quickly moving his hand to cover your mouth as you scream out.

His sensors seize up, servos frozen as he temporarily reboots. A warm feeling fills you as you shake your head, nudging his hands away from you as you push his frame back. Panting heavily, with tear stained cheeks you keep pushing before he wakes back up.

“Get the fuck off of me.”

Ramattra chuckles, vocaliser clicking as it resets. “I see you still have not learned anything.” He sits up straight, pulling you back to him by your hips.

“Don’t-”

“Oh, my sweet little thing.” His thumbs dig into the dips of your hips, pushing against the bone, threatening to bruise. His cock rests against your already bruised cunt as he leans down to glare at you.

Ramattra’s optics scan you, noticing the shift in demeanour. He thought he got through to you, but not quite. He sighs, leaning further to your ear as his vocaliser lowers.

“Perhaps another lesson is needed.”

Tag list: @satans-codpiece

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch ramattra #overwatch fanfiction #fanfic #ow #overwatch 2 #reader #ow2 #yazzfics #yazznsfw

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popcornforone · 1 year ago

Text

Peppermint

A Dave York Fan Fic

Surprise

Back to back Dave York Saturdays. Yep. I was having a chat with a few friends about Pedro & @fatimaisabelpascal showed me an item of food which was called Yorks… now here I am writing something very sexy & steamy that was originally going to be maybe 4 paragraphs & now… yea it’s taken over. Damn it Stabby why are you such a menace & so easy to write about.

Synopsis: Dave & you are posing as a couple for a mission, but the night before one moment could make a fakelationship into something much more.

Word Count:3100

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING. Mentions of assassins, fake relationship, colleague sex. One time affair both reader & Dave are unfaithful. reader is bisexual. Oral sex male receiving, deep throat, gagging , fingering, use of vibrators, talk of masturbation too , swearing, innuendo, sexual fantasys about each other. Basically as you know by now when i write Dave he’s a menace & he gets what he wants. Slight Dom controlling vibes.

Thanks for the read peoples, as always all feed back is welcome. Please let me know what you thought. & I hope you all enjoy, this added bonus.

Buzzzzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzz… the electric toothbrush goes. You stand in the hotel bathroom cleaning your teeth. It’s almost bed time, you’ve got a long day tomorrow, the mission is important & you need to be well rested. You’ve done a brilliant job convincing everyone at the pre-charity meet up that you & your husband are inseparable & all over each other but that couldn’t be further from the truth. For the man playing your husband would never usually give you the time of day, but for one week he has to & for 5 days you’ve been a very good wife.

You stand in front of the mirror cleaning your teeth, the peppermint toothpaste tingling your taste buds. You had yours confiscated before getting on the plane, too large for your carry on, as most of what you needed for this mission including clothes was being sent by your team, so you are sharing your fake husbands. It’s while you are brushing that you hear him mumble, so you pause the cleaning to spit & ask him to repeat.

“There’s no wire in this bag that was dropped off” he groans as he packs his suit carefully tomorrow to take out the target.

“Who dropped it off?”

“Evans”

“Well that answers that” you say sarcastically to yourself & roll your eyes, looking down at your phone to check the weather for tomorrow. You don’t see that he catches a glimpse at you doing that & it’s making him smirk. He’s got changed to go out for a late evening run in a few minutes time, before he comes back to the hotel room for a cold shower & then to sleep before tomorrow. Your room has two double beds in it.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks & he leans against the dresser in the room, as you do your final spit before adding mouth wash.

“He hates garrotting Dave” your then rinse & grab a small towel to wipe your face after that & splashing it with water & turn off the bathroom light. “I think he didn’t enjoy watching it in the academy & now doesn’t want any of us to do it.”

“But it’s clean &…”

“Effective yes Dave, I’m on your side with this.” You’ve worked with agent York long enough that you know what he’s going to say next. A deadly creature of habit with a huge ego who some times does need knocking down a few pegs.

Your other hand has a small box in it that you throw at him & he plucks from mid air.

“Seriously?”you nod as he looks at what you’ve thrown him “floss?”

“Not as good as the wire but good for taking peoples eyes out”

“Huh?” Dave has seemingly forgotten that you once blinded a man using this. It then triggers as he recalls your face & the pride you had when you told everyone how your captured your target that day“point taken” & he puts it in his suit. But as he does this he admires your floral night dress. The way it skims your body & he smirks. It’s the first time either of you have been on a mission pretending to be a couple, neither of you know that the other has a slight crush on each other.

You fluff up your pillows on your bed & put the tv on for some white noise while you ‘read’, so that when Dave returns after his run you can then fall asleep. There’s no point already being asleep for him to later turn the lights back on. Dave fill us his water bottle & puts his watch on before he does a few pre run stretches. The way that tshirt is already showing off his chest, always makes you glance for a few seconds longer. He looks good in this but you know tomorrow night in that suit with his fake charm it will not be difficult to be besotted by your fake husband, who’s there for a quick & easy kill.

Dave grabs his running shoes & sits on the edge of his bed, he’s still looking at you too. His fake wife. He wishes the kisses you had been giving him were real, because he wanted them to linger longer. It’s hard for his mind to not wander what it would be like to share a bed from you. To fuck you hard. To take your arse. To make the bed creek & to get a call from reception from upset guest on either side of your room, from the noise heard on the other side of the walls. He knows little about you, usually just your name & that you are a level 8 operative will do, while he is an 11. More than qualified for this mission you were. He respects you & what you do. if you had been a 6 or bellow he’d have fucked you already each night hard & told you it was to keep up appearances, & asked what you’d be willing to do for the cause. But no Dave knows that you know the drill. He’s not going to touch you unless you both agree to it inside the hotel room.

Dave then spots something on the bottom right of your lip.

“Come here” he says, his two long fingers beconning you across & you turn around l, your night dress swishing. You do have knickers on but they are silky & once Dave leaves you will be taking them off under the sheets. His 20min run, gives you time to use your vibrator, to satisfy your needs without him having to hear. You have to hear him masturbate in the shower each night since you’ve been here while you’ve tried to sleep. It turns you on slightly that Dave is that comfortable with you, he must realise you can hear him go ooh god at his point of climax, as he spills into the water. What neither of you know is it’s the other person that you are both thinking of while you do this.

You walk across to Dave, putting your book that you’ve been not reading down.

“What is it?” You stand next to him.

“Just this” his large fat flat thumb trails across your bottom lip & wipes the toothpaste clear & you clench at nothing between your thighs, while Daves cock twitches inside his running shorts. You moan softly at the feel of this & you trail the back of your knuckles down his face. A soothing touch making you both go even weaker. This tension even if it has been fake for show can’t be ignored anymore.” All clean” Dave mumbles, his eyes have yet to leave yours & you without hesitation sit on the bed next to him.

“It’s peppermint” you whisper.

“I know it’s my toothpaste remember” he scoffs & you softly smile at him.

“I’ll buy you more when we get back,”

“No need, you smell minty fresh”

“Well at least my mouth does” you blush & flutter your eyelashes at him without even realising, those pooling caramels are now hungry, full of desire & dilating.

“Let me find out.” His hand goes around your chin. That large hand with that thumb stroking.”if you…”

“Yes” you don’t let him finish asking for your consent. You hold his face & kiss him in a frenzy. It’s not fake. It’s not for anyone else. It’s what you’ve wanted to do since you got into the room on Monday night. The way his thin lips feel on yours feels exquisite. It proves that all your other kisses the two of you have had in front of others for the last few days have been for show & fake, because right now, as his hand glides through your hair & the other trys to palm & calm his growing erection, your both feeling it & your both wishing you’d acted on this sooner.

“Oooh girl”he gasps, one of his hands goes down your silk night dress, gliding over it until it reaches the hem. It’s more than half way up your thigh. His tough as he grabs your thigh has you quivering. “You sure?”

“More than sure” it’s breathy already your words before your lips reengage. Neither of you are saints. You’re both in long term relationships out of this room. But your partner you’ve been completely honest with, she knows what you do for a job & sometimes going the extra mile for a mission to save others & get information, she understands. She always laughs though when you say you have to seduce a man. But this one might be harder to explain, having sex with a fellow assassin. Daves married, he’s not had to put on a wedding ring, it’s his own to Carol, but you don’t know he’s been admiring you from a far for a little while & requested that you be his fake wife on this mission. Being higher up gives him more clout. He’s wanted to rail you for a long time & marriage troubles at home has made him pine more.

Your palm his groin feeling him get harder the longer these kisses linger. His long neck is exaggerating meaning more places for kisses. It’s been your preferred kissing choice these last few days, concerned that you would enjoy too much a kiss on the lips which is now being proven. His hand goes under your night dress & finds your silk knickers, moist & desperate.

“My my” he tuts as his hand goes inside them & straight for your clit. “Your girlfriend must be livid, you’re soaked & she’s not here to enjoy it.”

“Dave” it’s just barely audible. Your whimper almost a plea.

“Let me see, let me see your pretty little cunt, let me see what she gets to taste.” Dave stands up lifting your night dress off your body, exposing your breasts. You automatically start to tease him by massaging them, your nipples erect in a few seconds. “Lie on the bed, head this end, almost overhanging the edge” Dave then heads to your bag having a rummage & you’ve not moved, you’re admiring his bum in those shorts. “That was not a request” he snaps, so you do as you’re told. Your knickers are still on but your arousal is now showing, no amount of silk can hide that. Dave scowls as he searches in your bag & then goes ahh & produces the bullet vibrator from your bag. He looks smug & you look embarrassed. “Do you really think I have no idea what you do each night when I go running, I hear you moan on play back”

You are angry but then play him at his own game.

“Do you think the walls & water in the shower stop me from hearing you?” You lick your bottom lip & he then walks round the bed & kneels between your legs.

“You are meant to be asleep?”

“& you aren’t meant to bug your own room & record me”

“Fair enough, but I don’t play fair.” Dave cackles. His fingers & thumbs go inside your waist band & your silk knickers leave your body, your knees raise & then Dave pushes them apart, exposing your sex to him. “Ooh fuck baby, dripping & ready.” He flings his tshirt off, his rock hard chest & abs always a delight to see.

“I want you to pretend I’m not here & start to use this” Dave says flicking through the 10 different functions on the toy. He stops at number 5 wondering how that would get anyone off at all. “I can even turn the lights out & pretend…” he’s leaning over your body caressing it & he runs the vibrator near your nipples & you grab it, which stops him in his words.

“Ooh no I want you to see Dave” you quickly hit the button to get it to setting 2 the medium one”this will get me going” & so you start to stimulate yourself with the small toy. Dave watches in wonder. He’s never see anyone use such a small toy before. Often he’s seen women use much bigger ones but the second you start hissing & gasping a smile comes across his face, watching your cunt, finger & vibrator get slicker.

“Wow, look at you” he licks his lips. “It’s a shame really, my cock isn’t for your cunt, not tonight anyhow”

“Mmmmmm” it’s an almost question leaving your mouth as you switch it to a pulsing rhythm moving the toy in circular motion over your clit.

“If the mission goes well tomorrow. I’ll fuck your cunt all night long, you’ll wish to always be my fake wife on mission.” He gets off the bed & comes & stands to where your head is almost hanging off the bed. “No tonight..” he undoes his draw string of his running shorts “…tonight is all about that sparkling clean minty fresh mouth of yours…” the shorts & briefes are dropped down around his ankles. Your eye flutter & are a gasp as to how big & meaty his penis is. You almost drop your vibrator in excitement. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth so you can’t moan” & he gets in a stance & pulls your head over the edge of the bed.

“Dave, your your…”

“Take it like a good girl” your eyes are looking up at his cock balls & arsehole. He’s on his tip toes. That large hand stroke his cock a few times before he lowers himself on to the flats of his feet & guide the cock straight into your mouth & down the back of your throat. You gag instantly & this makes Dave moan. “Oooh baby, gagging will just make me go down your throat further.” He withdraws slightly but not all the way out of your mouth. He can see your hand has slowed down with the toy, but he can also see all the saliva coating his cock. This make shin twitch you can feel it in your mouth. He plunges his cock back into your mouth. “You gotta work for this too girl, don’t let me be the only one trying.” You take the hand that’s not pleasuring you & you grab his thigh & start to move & bob your head towards him as he bounces, gagging a lot. His hands are on your shoulders, & he closes his eyes each time you gag. But Dave wants to keep his eye on your cunt as well. You’re now at the max setting, he can feel the bed reverb a little. It’s exciting him. Your body is taking so much of him.

“Next time we do this we record it, I wish we could both properly see the way your body is twitching.” Dave groans. He’s so far down your throat, you’re wondering if you might not be able to cope for much longer. Your gagging & spluttering just keeps making him move harder & faster, & the more he does this the more your hand & the vibrator stimulate you.

“You’re so fucking good, best fake wife ever, taking my cock, letting me go almost balls deep, fucking yourself. Your girlfriend is so lucky” he’s almost growling his grip getting tighter on your shoulders. He’s gonna cum soon & so are your. The vibrator is at its most powerful & your hips are stuttering. You can’t moan or say a thing, your mouth full, so at your point of orgasm your long finger nails dig into his thigh. Dave yelps & withdraw slightly & you gasp for a small amount of air & your pleasure takes over. Your drop the sodden toy & your dripping hand from your arousal join the other hand on Dave’s other thigh to finish him off. As your come down 3 thrusts later he spills straight down your throat. Hot ropes of cum past your taste buds to start with as he’s gone past that point but eventually as he withdraws you can taste the tang of his cum. He did even give you a chance to spit, your mouth & throat are now coated, & he is now empty.

He sits down next to you nude on the bed so he can get his breath back & you kneel up rest your head on his shoulder.

“Good girl” he says gasping for his own breath as his hand goes to your clit to swipe up your own juices. You moan at his touch & then look as he licks those fingers clean.

“Good head” you reply & smirk & nip at his ear lobe, he turns to face you & smirks.

“I some how don’t think that is toothpaste” Dave jokes as he takes his thumb & trails it across your lips, getting the few splattering of his cum that escaped. He doesn’t need to ask you suck that thumb clean, you do it instinctively. He smacks you on the bum as a reward, before then getting dressed in his running gear agains, finally putting his shoes on this time.

“So what will you do while I’m out tonight?” Dave asks “after the way your body twitched, I doubt you’ll be giving yourself more pleasure” he says as he grabs his head phones.

“Depends” you say as you find your nightdress & slip it back on. You make sure to bend over when you pick it up, you’ve not put your knickers on yet. “I might face time my girlfriend, tell her about my deep undercover mission & how it’s going,” Dave smiles at that. You saying this puts you both in your place that this is a mission treat & wont be continued when you’re back Home. “But I do need to clean up first, my teeth need another clean”

“Maybe next time we go on a mission like this I’ll use your tooth paste” Dave chuckles.

“& get us into this situation again?” You respond as you head to the bathroom & turn on the light. His face drops before he here’s the hum of your electric tooth brush thinking that was the only time he’d have you ever. You then slowly pop your head around the corner & say just before he leaves “yea I’d be up for that”. The smirk behind your eyes has you both knowing that peppermint toothpaste will now both take you to naughty places that only exist when you are being a fake couple.

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daisyisnotaflower · 1 year ago

Text

A list of TMA headcanons that came out of a recent brainrot session with my cousin

Jon used to wear glasses but no longer needs to after waking up from his coma

they're small, square, gold glasses. he doesn’t start out with a glasses chain, but gets one eventually because grandma core

Jon damaged his glasses at some point so he taped m up. Then the skin on his nose got irritated because he kept pushing them up

the event that damaged Jon’s glasses may have been: the worm attack (MAG 39), breaking into getrude's appartment or the not!Sasha attack (MAG 79)

in s1 Jon cleans his glasses very often. He always has the little cloth with him, at all times. He cannot stand dirt on the lenses, but maybe more so than that, he thinks it makes him appear put together, important, smart etc. he will often clean them while in conversation with his colleagues, as an attempt to show dominance.

Jon stops cleaning his glasses regularly in s2

Jon does not handle it well if you put them down on his desk wrong

Jon gets a haircut the day before he starts as head archivist and then never again.

somewhere in s3 Jon starts brushing his hair less and less. it gets matted

somewhere in s3 Georgie tried to teach Jon how to sew. he stabbed himself a thousand times and gave up

during Jon’s coma, Martin would often come by and detangle his hair for him. he is so gentle about it. it takes multiple sessions, but when he’s done, he braids it. it’s a fancy braid, too

Jon does not redo the braid, he keeps it as it is. it gets floofier over time, with more loose strands

s2 Jon, Martin and Sasha all regularly put their glasses on top of their head and then forget them, but Sasha especially

Tim’s vision is pretty bad but he refuses to get glasses

Sasha’s glasses are big, gold wire and either octagonal or heptagonal, but with rounded corners. they have the type of lenses that turn blue in sunlight, funky stuff. She has a glasses chain

Sasha knows how to sew, knit, crochet etc. she makes a lot of her own clothing.

Sasha keeps fabric scraps and makes patchwork clothing out of them.

Sasha has a jar of buttons on a shelf. or maybe it's an ordered box with compartments. if it's a box, she made it herself.

Sasha has a shelf full of crafting supplies.

Sasha has a garden where she grows vegetables and herbs

Sasha makes her own strawberry jam.

Sasha loves cooking

Gertrude has those tiny little glasses that pinch onto her nose. they’re oval and silver.

Getrude knows how to knit, but only does it when she wants to look like a harmless old lady.

Elias also does not need glasses, but he wears them to be smug.

Elias’ glasses are small, half moon shaped and gold, He has a glasses chain with little eyes at the ends. they may or may not be prescription. it does not matter to him

Martins glasses are big, round dark blue wire.

Martin has some plushies

Martin mends his own clothes because he doesn’t wanna waste them

Martin is pretty good at knitting and crochet

Melanie dyes her hair blue

in s4 Melanie’s hair dye is faded and starts to grow out.

Melanie wears contacts. They are prescription, but also might be coloured, maybe to work better with her hair.

Melanie stops wearing her contacts in s4, because they are too much work to keep up with and she is not going to leave the archives to replace them, that’s too dangerous. Her prescription is pretty low, so it’s manageable.

as Melanie gets more and more affected by the ghost bullet, her irises slowly start to turn red.

Malanie has sewed some patches to her clothing. she’s also dyed some of it.

Melanie likes to tie her shoelaces in fun ways. She looked up some tutorials online.

Georgie loves sewing while listening to podcasts. the podcasts are mainly about true crime, media and art, and some political stuff.

Basira wears reading glasses. they’re rectangular, black, plastic glasses. they’re pretty cheap, she doesn’t wanna waste money she on glasses she only wears sometimes

#tma #tma spoilers #jon sims #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #melanie king #georgie barker #elias bouchard #gertrude robinson #basira hussain #tma headcanons #tma fandom #my posts

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melishade · 9 months ago

Note

prompt # 13

This ask game

Kiyomi snitching to the Survey Corps about Megatron attending a party and dancing in Attack on Prime Chapter 52.

"Lady Kiyomi," Optimus began in his human form, "I have a small query for you regarding something you brought up earlier."

The Survey Corps stared at the Prime, perplexed. He sounded like he didn't want to ask this question, but Kiyomi didn't pick up on Optimus' reluctance.

"What is this query about?" Kiyomi asked.

"You...you mentioned meeting my acquaintance at...a party?" The Survey Corps mouths dropped at that statement while Levi coughed up his tea back in his cup.

"Oh yes, the first time I had encountered your colleague, Willy Tybur had hosted a party and he was invited as a guest of honor," Kiyomi explained.

"By the Allspark," Optimus mumbled.

"Oh this shit is getting better." Sasha grinned.

"Tell me, Kiyomi, what happened during this party?" Hanji leaned in towards the ambassador.

"Well, Matthew had walked into the party when everyone was already inside, and he was wearing a really expensive three-piece suit," Kiyomi recalled with a smile.

"Oh shit, no way!" Connie grinned.

"Megatron...in a suit." Armin couldn't help but picture Megatron in his bipedal mode wearing a suit, his spikes tearing through the clothing.

"The minute he walked, he starting wooing the others with long winded tales about how he got the scars on his face," Kiyomi continued, "I must say, despite his appearance, he can really capture the hearts and minds of a crowd."

Optimus' mouth formed a thin line. By the Allspark, what did Megatron say to them?

"After that, he manages to save a waiter's job by catching him before he tripped and fell," Kiyomi explained, "He also managed to catch a tray of wine the waiter was holding. Not a single drop hit the floor, but that tray almost hit me before he caught it. My new kimono would have been ruined."

"Oh no, such a travesty," Eren mumbled in sarcasm.

"So how did you know he was the Flying Titan?" Mikasa asked.

"Well, Zeke Jaeger had informed me that someone of special interest would be at the party," Kiyomi explained, "Although I didn't think he would make such an impact. It was quite charming."

"Please don't tell me this bitch thinks that Megatron is attractive," Levi hissed to himself.

"Although, when he was asked about you, Optimus Prime." She gestured to the Prime, "And himself, he gave a detailed answer that no one else would have given unless they knew what they were talking about."

"He scared some people with his answer, didn't he?" Hanji assumed.

"Oh he wiped the smirks and laughs off of their faces in an instant. Oddly satisfying in my opinion," Kiyomi confessed.

"Then what happened?" Armin asked.

"Well, I waited until he was alone for a few minutes before approaching him to talk," Kiyomi answered, "I drank the wine glass he was offered since he said he couldn't get drunk, and we talked for a bit. We introduced ourselves and then I asked him to dance with m-!"

"What?!" all of them nearly screamed.

"You asked him to dance with you?" Optimus asked in surprise.

"Yes, there was some music playing and I thought it would be appropriate," Kiyomi shrugged.

"And he said yes?!" Hanji exclaimed.

"Well he did take my hand and let me guide him to the dance floor," Kiyomi answered.

"Oh my god," Eren gawked. Meanwhile, Levi had to wire his lips shut, trying so hard not to speak up in fear of laughing at Megatron's situation.

"At first, he seemed hesitant to try it," Kiyomi explained, enjoying the drama she was stirring up, "He was so rigid as I was guiding him through a simple waltz. He says all he knows how to do is fight, so I say to think of dancing like fighting. The next thing I know, he's the one leading the dance. It was like a switch."

Some of the Survey Corps members started laughing while the others gawked at Kiyomi.

"Oh shit! Oh my god!" Hanji wheezed, "This is the best thing ever!"

"So then how did you get a confirmation that he was the Flying Titan?" Mikasa asked.

Kiyomi sighed in annoyance. "He whispered in my ear that he's a murderer and basically said that he could kill everyone in the room. I have to remain calm and retort by saying he hasn't so that must mean something. After that, I slipped him the number to call before heading back home."

"I...did not realize all of that happened." Optimus was at a loss for words.

"It was definitely an impression," Kiyomi sighed.

"So...we're gonna find a way to hold this over Buckethead right?" Hanji asked.

"I'm not passing up this opportunity to shit on him," Levi declared.

"You leave this alone, now," Optimus ordered them.

(Alright, I have 36 on file but the rest is free game).

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rhinozilla · 2 years ago

Text

Detroit: Become Family 2022 - Prompt 6: Found

@dbh-found-family

Just when Connor thought he was finally fully understanding the human preoccupation with their appearance and fashion and how they presented themselves…Hank found a way to confuse him all over again.

Hank had an eclectic wardrobe, as far as Connor could determine, but so did many other humans and in further extremes. He had been observing over the months since his return to the DPD how his fellow officers and colleagues had also curated their own styles and preferences. Even down to the way they wore their uniforms and decorated their work stations. He was even developing a fairly accurate radar for what Officer Chen would like versus what Officer Wilson would like, et cetera.

He was even seeing his fellow deviant androids who worked at the station exploring what their preferences, likes, and dislikes were. He himself had been wary of venturing too far from his grey, black, and dark blue color palettes just yet. And Hank was not making that easy for him.

“This looks about your size. Try it on,” Hank suggested, holding up a wad of fabric.

Connor stood in the doorway of the station’s large supply closet, arms folded behind his back and not participating. “No, thank you.”

The afternoon had been slow, and Hank had gotten the idea that they should sort through the box of Lost and Found items that was overflowing on the floor of the supply closet. Connor knew this box was occasionally sorted through. Whatever wasn’t claimed by their owners was offered up to any officers who might want any of it. What was left behind was either thrown away or donated.

“C’maaaan,” Hank drawled, fluffing out what looked like a coat…in an alarming shade of pea green and with thick tassels of fringe hanging from each wrist, all the way up the arms, and across the shoulders.

“I’m really not interested in wearing that,” Connor pressed. “Where did that even come from?”

“Eh, I think I remember Ben arresting a sex worker who beat a guy with her shoe while wearing this.”

Connor looked at him in disturbance, and Hank laughed.

“Hey, I was on HER side on that one. She just spent a few hours here and then got released. Guess she forgot her coat.”

“If you think it’s hers, why not contact her so she can get it back?”

“Because that’s not my job,” Hank snorted, tossing the coat aside and rummaging more deeply into the box. “Anyway that was months ago, if she hasn’t missed it by now, she’s not gonna.” He straightened up. “Ooh, what about this?”

He held up a fanny pack, covered in block patterns in bright primary colors. Connor frowned as Hank unzipped all the compartments to make sure there was nothing in them.

“Hank, you are fairly compensated for your job here. I don’t think it’s necessary for you to…shop…through the lost and found items left behind by people who pass through the station,” Connor pointed out.

Hank scoffed and glanced back at him, holding up the fanny pack and squinting as if to imagine Connor wearing it. Connor took a precautionary step back.

“I’m not ‘shopping,’ I’m scavenging.”

“And that’s…better?”

Hank tossed the fanny pack into the donation pile and took a break, straightening up and stretching his back. “Look, you go into a clothing store or whatever, you generally know what you’re going to find. But you never know what you’re going to find in a lost and found box like this. Or a flea market or a consignment shop or garage sales. That’s where you find all the crazy, unique stuff.”

“One man’s trash is another’s treasurer?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t call any of this trash—” Hank stopped as his eyes caught on something sticking out of the box.

He bent over, snatched up the object, and held it up. It was a massive set of headphones, with comically large ear coverings that were each shaped like half of an avocado. The connecting wire between the headphones had been yanked out of one the ear coverings, and the rest of it was hopelessly tangled. It looked like it might have been stepped on at one point.

“Maybe this is,” Hank conceded. “Are these functional?”

He held them out, and Connor reluctantly took them in both hands. He scanned the wiring and the speakers inside the headset.

“Not currently. The speakers are intact, and it would only require the replacement of these connecting wires. Then they would be good as new…perhaps unfortunately,” he assessed, turning them over in his hands with distaste.

“All right…Maybe we can salvage those. That can be somebody else’s treasure at Goodwill or something,” Hank concluded, then, “Oh what the Hell…”

He pushed aside a few other miscellaneous items to pull out a folded up wad of denim. He frowned, stood again, and held out the pair of jeans in confusion.

“Who…Who lost an entire pair of pants here?” he asked.

Connor opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. He figured he wasn’t meant to answer such a question.

“Who did we bring in that left without their pants?” Hank asked again to no one in particular.

Connor pursed his lips, tilted his head, and studied the clothing. The jeans were from a well known brand, in good condition, and styled in the popular trend of heavy fraying and tears along the bottom hem.

“God, I can’t wait for this trend to die,” Hank muttered as he looked them over as well. “People walkin’ around looking like they just got attacked by a weed whacker.”

As if he was in a position to judge someone else’s fashion choices.

Connor snickered, and Hank looked over at him.

“What?”

Connor gestured vaguely to the station around them. “Whoever they were, if they were someone brought in under our custody after an arrest…perhaps they left in a hurry because they were…a liar, liar, pants on fire?”

Hank stared at him.

Connor stared back at Hank.

Hank continued to stare.

Connor stared unblinking.

Then the jeans were smacking him in the face as Hank threw them at him.

“God, you gotta work on your jokes. Holy Hell, that was bad.”

Connor snickered again, folding up the jeans and setting them on the donation pile.

“Seriously, Hank, are you hoping to find something for your own personal use in this box?”

“I dunno, but it never hurts to—YES!”

Hank stood up, producing an extra large white t-shirt with big black lettering on it, along with an arrow below the text, pointing to the right. He turned it around to show Connor, looking strangely gleeful as he did so. Connor read the shirt and deflated in disappointment.

I’M WITH STUPID

“Holy shit, I didn’t think they even still made these.” Hank laughed.

Cocking his head, Connor lifted a hand. “I would be interested in that for myself.”

Hank looked at him sharply, and Connor offered a shit-eating grin. Hank narrowed his eyes, then wadded up the shirt and threw it at him.

“You little shit…Get in here and help me with the rest of this. If you’re not going to help, then go lurk somewhere else.”

Connor set the shirt aside and sighed dramatically, joining Hank by stepping up to the box.

“Fine. Don’t worry, Hank. I’ll only wear that shirt when I’m working on a case with Detective Reed.”

Everyone in the bullpen abruptly looked up at the explosion of Hank’s laughter as it violently burst out of the supply closet.

#detroit: Become family event #dbh connor #hank anderson

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cyberpunkren · 1 year ago

Text

Blood & Wires

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077

Pairing: Ren x RiverWard

Raiting: explicit

Summary: Amidst thrilling bounty hunting missions and perilous confrontations, Ren and River discover that, despite their differences, they share a common commitment: unmasking the mega-corporation and restoring justice in Night City. But as they delve deeper into the depths of the conspiracy, they also find a connection that goes beyond friendship and professional collaboration.

In the heart of betrayal and danger, love blooms in this tale of action, intrigue, and romance in a cyberpunk world filled with bright lights and dark shadows. As Ren and River fight together against ruthless foes and deadly conspiracies, they also fight for a love that defies all odds.

PART III

River's path

The sun rose slowly over the steel towers of Night City, casting its first rays of light onto the bustling streets.

River woke up early in his small apartment in Heywood. Despite the noisy city that never slept, his home was a haven of tranquility. He dressed in comfortable clothes, a worn-out t-shirt, and jeans, before heading to the small kitchen.

As he prepared a strong cup of coffee, the memories of that fateful day returned like an echo in his mind. The image of his parents, murdered before him and his sister, never faded. The responsibility of taking care of Josh, his sister, and her three children had been a burden that River had carried for years.

River took a moment to remember his family, reflecting on how the tragedy had changed their lives. Then, he shook his head, trying to push away those painful thoughts. Because even though his past was filled with shadows, he still had a future ahead of him and the determination to protect his family at all costs.

The day following Arachnid's capture by Ren, River is in his office at the Heywood precinct. The atmosphere in the office is tense, and news of Arachnid's capture has spread throughout the police department.

As he entered the police station, he was met with the same familiar faces he encountered every day. Though River rarely felt at ease, he had never quite warmed up to the NCPD. That's why he had trained as a private detective, even though he worked for the police.

"Good morning, River," greeted the receptionist, as she did every day, with a flirtatious tone.

River had all the female officers more than a little enamored, and he knew it. His all-organic physique, except for the cybernetic scars earned during his detective adventures, made him one of the most attractive men in Night City. River had had a few encounters with some female colleagues, but they were all one-night stands. After his last serious relationship, he couldn't see himself getting into anything long-term. He had neither the time nor the desire for it.

"Good and chilly morning, Natalie. What job do we have today?"

"All I know is that Watson is on fire today, and your partner in crime, Hans, is on vacation, so it's your lucky day," she explains, adjusting her blouse to leave nothing to the imagination for River. "I always ask you, River, but what are you up to tonight?" She asks, with excitement in her more-than-fake cybernetic eyes.

"Work, Natalie, you know that," he winks, aware of the power he holds over women, even though he's as soft as a piece of bread afterward.

River approaches his partner for the upcoming weeks, none other than Ren's lifelong friend, Watson.

"It seems we're partners these days, chum. I've heard you had quite the night yesterday?" River inquires with a keen eye, grabbing one of the best donuts from the oldest bakery in Heywood that still made sourdough pastries.

"Haven't you heard the news? Ren caught Arachnid last night."

River nods but doesn't seem too excited about the news.

"Ren, who's that? Another second-rate netrunner?"

Watson nods, explaining, "No, she's a bounty hunter. She's gaining a reputation in the city for her ability to catch fugitives. It seems she's been competing with you, River."

River furrows his brow; he's not used to sharing his territory with some bounty hunters. The news that Ren has been hunting the same fugitives as him doesn't sit well.

"Well, we'll see how good she is. I don't mind a little competition."

Watson nods, but he can feel the tension in the air.

The interrogation room at Heywood precinct was immersed in tense silence as River, Watson, and other officers witnessed Arachnid's questioning. Arachnid was about to speak, but before he could, a shot rang out in the room, hitting him and sending his body backwards.

Chaos and confusion erupted as everyone in the room reacted to the attack. River and Watson hurried to ensure that Arachnid received immediate medical attention. The identity of the shooter remained a mystery.

After an exhaustive search, River and Watson failed to find the shooter. Watson, with a furrowed brow, approaches River.

"River, we can't let the shooter get away with this. But we don't have solid leads to catch them."

River nods, concerned about the shooter's impunity.

Watson suggests the idea of working with Ren, citing her effectiveness as a bounty hunter and mentioning her progress in the investigation. However, River is not convinced. He has reservations about the bounty hunter and prefers to handle the situation on his own.

"I'm not sure I want to work with that bounty hunter friend of yours. I have my own methods for solving this case."

Watson nods, understanding River's position.

"Alright, River, if you'd rather go your own way, I respect that. But don't forget that Ren has already made progress in the investigation and could be our best chance to get to the shooter."

River is determined to follow his instincts and not rely on Ren. He begins to search for clues on his own, investigating the crime scene and gathering any evidence he can find.

Author's note: yeah, enemies to lover kinda story, just my favourite.

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bushs-world · 11 months ago

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TIME AND AGAIN

Summary: In the far future, Sameera volunteers to test a memory simulator that allows the user their memories. Her choice? A memory from three years ago but soon she realises she craves to go back again and again

Rating: G

Tags: Original female character x original female character, futuristic setting, post cyberpunk, timeloops, science fiction, short story

Word count: 3.2k

This is my first time publishing one of my short stories. I originally wrote this short story as a part of the Sylki Zine. A huge thanks to @queen-of-meows for helping me with the plot of this short story. If you like it, please do like and reblog!!

‘Every man who remembers must remember something, and that which he remembers is called the object of his remembrance.’

These words, handpicked by their president from Thomas Reid’s ‘Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man’, were inscribed on the plutonium plaque that hung on the wall of their research center. Sameera had walked past this plaque many times before but never had she ever read those words, until today.

The object of remembrance.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek. Her heart ached but she was skilled in pushing away her sorrows. Slowly instead, she laid down on the full body, flatbed scanner. The wires attached to her arms tingled with tiny jolts of electricity as a technician secured the electromagnetic band around her head.

“Sameera, are you comfortable?” asked Mr. Glen, her testing officer. She gave him a thumbs up.

He smiled. “Scared?”

She shook her head in refusal. “There's nothing to be scared of. I know the procedure, I have worked on this project for years.”

Mr. Glen attached a clip to the tip of her index finger. “We will be monitoring your vitals and bring you back if there's any problem. There shouldn't be any issue but I have to ask you again- Are you sure you want to volunteer?”

Sameera nodded. Her colleague patted her shoulder, then entered the initiate command on the main computer.

The welcome song, a piece of classical music, rang in her ears. Sameera saw her teammates walk around the mainframe. Her eyes felt heavy. She blinked once, then twice before her eyelids fell shut.

—

Sameera woke up with a start and looked around. She was at her workstation along the mainframe at the research center. Her work screen was filled with lines of codes she needed to run and test.

Her eyes went to the top left corner of her screen. The date was displayed in a deep blue colour. A small smile made its way across her face.

26 November, 2350

She was here.

Her planner lay open by her side. She still had piles of work to finish– she had to run the codes, record their output, then file her observations into the database. There was also the report she needed to prepare.

Sameera closed her planner shut with a thud. Then she got up from her workstation and walked out. Her coworkers shot her flabbergasted looks. Her manager barred her from leaving. But it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except for the one thing she came here for.

As the elevator pod took her down to the ground floor, Sameera checked her appearance in the shiny chromium of its walls. She fixed her dark raven hair, smoothing away any flyaways and removed her lab coat, scrutinizing her appearance.

There were dark circles under her eyes. She was in her work clothes, a white button up shirt with slacks. Sameera adjusted her attire and nodded satisfied. The white of her shirt contrasted well with her dusky, brown complexion. She remembered bringing a trench coat along with her, a perfect dress up for the evening.

Once she reached the ground floor, Sameera quickly made her way to the reception. The robotic assistant, an earlier model she had totally forgotten about, greeted her at the front desk. It led her to her locker where she collected her belongings, replaced her lab coat with her trench coat and went about her way.

The nightlife was in its full glory when she stepped out of the building. The nano processor installed on her wrist displayed the time– 7:30 pm.

30 minutes to 8.

Her destination wasn't too far away so she decided to walk. Along the way, she stopped by the airbrush booth to get her makeup done and bought a bouquet of flowers from the floral counter. A few minutes more and she reached the place.

A bright pink neon sign, hung at the entrance of the restaurant, glowed brightly in the night. The host, an android with a fake looking skin (the unrealistic skin always gives them away), welcomed her. “Good evening. How can I help you?”

Now that she was finally here, she realized how scared she truly was. Sameera choked on her words. “I.. I have a reservation today.”

“This way please,” the android replied in its robotic voice and led her inside.

Sameera followed it, her heart racing violently. Her palms sweated, her stomach twisted with dread. She turned round the corner, when she saw her sitting in a booth at the back of the restaurant.

The sight knocked the wind out of her. Sameera froze, tears welling in her eyes. She looked ethereal, wearing a teal dress, her beautiful, curly hair pinned up in a bun.

Oh how had she missed her. Her big, brown doe like eyes, her soft chocolate skin, her big smile, her laughter, her embrace. She was here and she was real.

“Sameera?” she called out, waving at her from the booth. “You are here.”

Sameera slowly made her way towards her, wiping away the tears in her eyes. “Rumi.”

Rumi got up and pulled her into a hug. “Happy wedding anniversary, my dear wife. I was so scared you won't make it but here you are.”

Sameera choked on a sob. “I came, Rumi.”

Rumi kissed her forehead. “Yes, you did. I am so happy, Sameera.” Then, she led her towards the table. “Come, let's sit down.”

Sameera sat down on a chair. Rumi sat across her, going through the menu. “What would you like to drink? Let's see it's almost 8.”

“Rumi,” Sameera interrupted her, reaching out to hold her wife’s hand. “You don't think I am a bad wife now, do you?”

Rumi knitted her brows in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Tell.. tell me you are happy with me,” said Sameera, her voice trembling.

“Oh Sameera,” Rumi replied. “My dear wife. You are so stupid. If only you knew–”

___

Sameera opened her eyes, shocked. Her colleagues circled around her, looking at her in anticipation. The ending song played in the background, thanking her for her patronage.

Mr. Glen removed the electromagnetic band from her head, helping her sit up. “So, how did it work? Were you able to re-access your memory?”

Sameera nodded her head. “Yeah, it was my wedding anniversary three years ago. Why am I back?”

Mr. Glen handed her a glass of water. “Oh, 30 minutes were up. The software can only run the test for thirty minutes, as you know.” He picked up his tablet from the side. “So now the details. How was the memory augmentation, the environment reconstruction and the virtual space navigation?”

Sameera wiped her cheeks. “I need to go back. Please send me back.”

“But why?” asked the technician. “This was just a test run.”

“I need to go back again. I need to check the space navigation again. Please just send me back.”

Mr. Glen sighed. “Just one more time ok.”

Sameera gave him a grateful smile, then laid down on the scanner again. The technician secured the electromagnetic band around her head. The welcome song played, her eyes fell heavy.

___

Sameera woke up. She was at her workstation, her screen lined with codes. She paid no heed to her surroundings this time around– neither her colleagues nor her manager.

She just ran. Sameera ran as fast as she could. She raced towards the reception and grabbed her trench coat. Then, he walked in haste towards the restaurant, not bothering to get herself airbrushed or buying flowers.

The host welcomed her and led her in, again. Sameera turned the corner to find Rumi sitting at the booth. Seeing her for the second time still hurt as much.

“Sameera?” Rumi called out, waving her hand. “You are here.”

Sameera walked up to her quickly. Rumi got up and hugged her. “Happy wedding anniversary, my dear wife. I was so scared you won't make it but here you are.”

Sameera held her wife's face in her palms, caressing it gently. “There's nowhere else I want to be. I want to be here, with you, forever.”

Rumi gave her a smile. “I am so happy, Sameera. Come, let's sit down.”

Sameera sat down on a chair, Rumi sat across her, going through the menu. “What would you like to drink? Let's see, it's a few minutes to 8.”

“Rumi,” Sameera interrupted, lacing their hands together. “I can't tell you how much I love being with you. I was so stupid to throw this away, to let you down for things that never mattered. Nothing mattered other than you, and I am sorry I didn't appreciate you the way you deserved.”

Rumi gave her another smile. “I am so glad to hear you say that.”

“Tell me,” pleaded Sameera. “Are you happy to marry me?”

Rumi looked at her puzzled. “Oh Sameera!”

___

Sameera opened her eyes, frustrated. Mr. Glen stood by her side, checking her vitals. “Welcome back.”

Sameera got up, disgruntled. “30 minutes are over?”

He nodded his head. “No more going back now.” Picking up his tablet, he patted her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. Satisfied, Mr. Glen proceeded to ask her a series of questions about her experience in the memory simulator. Sameera answered them absentmindedly, her thoughts far away– to a day three years ago, remembering.

Remembering as it really happened

‘26 November, 2350

It was a Sunday as well as her wedding anniversary but Sameera wasn't home with her wife Rumi, celebrating. Instead, she was seated in her work station, working diligently on Project Remembrance– an AI powered memory simulator that would let people relive their most cherished memories. A dream job for her, as she liked to say some time ago but she wasn't so sure now.

When she left for the research center this morning, she had promised Rumi she would be there for their dinner date at 8 tonight. Now, looking at the time, Sameera realized it would be impossible.

She still had piles of work left to do, and both her managers had been unable to let her off until she wrapped up her work, owing to an investor's meeting a few days later.

Sameera ran the code on her screen, hoping to miraculously wrap up her work in half an hour or so. An error message appeared on the screen, breaking her bubble. She teared up in frustration– she wouldn't be able to leave today.

She tapped the nanoprocessor on her wrist. ‘Send a message to Rumi. Tell her I won't be able to make it’. Then she returned to work, tears of frustration rolling down her cheeks.

By the time she reached home, it was already midnight. Rumi stood by the kitchen sink, rinsing off some dishes. She wore her night pajamas, her hair undone.

“Happy wedding anniversary,” said Sameera slowly.

“It's 12:15,” replied Rumi curtly. “Our wedding anniversary was yesterday. But forget that, tell me how was your Sunday that you spent at work?”

“Oh for heaven's sake Rumi!” Sameera shot back, irritated. “You know my work is demanding. I expect you to be more understanding.”

Rumi turned towards her in anger. “I am not understanding?! This has been going on for months. You are always at work, even on weekends. I don't remember when we last spent time together, to watch a movie or go out for dinner. How can you blame me?”

Sameera threw her hands in the air. “So, it's my fault. Everything is my fault.” She sank on the couch, crying. “You love your work and spend hours painting, it's not an issue. But if I am stuck at work, I am the bad one.”

Rumi pressed her head. “It's not the same. My work brings me joy and fulfillment. I am not trapped by corporate moguls who drain me out, forcing me to work till midnight on a Sunday. Babe, you really need to leave this job.”

“You can never be happy for me, can you?” Sameera asked, bitterly.

“If you expect me to be happy to see you like this, then yes I am not happy,” Rumi replied firmly.

“I can't understand why you are so pressed!” said Sameera

“Because it was our wedding anniversary and I was alone, Sameera!”

“It's no big deal. It will come next year, and the next. Do you have to make such a fuss!”

Rumi looked at her stunned. There were tears in her eyes. “What was I thinking, marrying you?”

She turned around and left, banging the bedroom door. Sameera stayed put on the couch, crying.’

Sameera sat on her workstation, going through a programme. Most of her colleagues had already left, and the few that remained were packing up their things. Her mind kept drifting back to Rumi. Her smile, her laughter, her happiness were all seared in her head. It brought back the pain of losing her along with guilt.

She needed to meet her one last time. She needed to fix what she messed up three years ago. For Rumi, for herself.

Sameera switched off her screen and made her way towards the testing area. The place was empty by now. Putting in the initiate command, she placed the electromagnetic band on her head and lied down on the scanner, revisiting her memory again.

And again.

One time turned to two, two times turned to many. Each time she went back, re-lived her memory only to feel an aching desire to go back. No matter how many times she saw Rumi’s smile or experienced her warm embrace, it was never enough. She needed more.

She hoped to fix things, she hoped for happiness. She hoped the dead weight she had been carrying for the past three years, be finally lifted off her chest.

And yet with each try, it felt hollow. Rumi felt less like a real person, and more like a figment of her own imagination, turned real via a sophisticated AI programme. Each time she appeared as what Sameera wanted but could never be what she needed because she could never be real.

Her real Rumi.

Wiping away her tears, Sameera laid down on the scanner again. The welcome song played, her eyes fell shut.

___

Sameera woke up with a start. She was at her workstation yet again. She did what she had done a dozen times now. She descended down the elevator, raced to the restaurant and went straight to the back of the restaurant to find Rumi.

“Sameera?” she said, waving her hand. “You are here.”

“I am,” she replied tearfully. “Rumi, tell me you are happy to marry me?”

Rumi looked at her confused, then smiled. “Oh Sameera, of course I am happy to marry you. You are the best wife in the world.”

The words didn't bring her the satisfaction she thought she would find. Instead, they broke something inside her, crushed and destroyed it until all that was left was pain.

The pain of losing Rumi.

“Liar,” Sameera shot back. “You are a bloody liar because I am not a good wife. You should regret marrying me, you should resent me, that's how you should act but why would you?”

Rumi placed an arm on her shoulder. “As your wife–”

“You are not my wife!” Sameera shouted. ��You are not Rumi. You are just a reconstruction of my memory, in a virtual space rendered by an AI. None of your words are Rumi's words, none of your joy is Rumi's joy. You are governed by an algorithm that I developed. You are not real. You are not my Rumi.”

Rumi, the AI reconstruction of her, shifted uncomfortably. Tears rolled down Sameera's eyes.

___

Sameera woke up, her body drenched in sweat. The vital monitor on the side beeped loudly. Mr. Glen stood in front of her, worry etched over his face. “Are you okay?”

Sameera got up, wiping off her sweat. “I can explain.”

“You wanted to relive your memory over and over,” he supplied, helping her off the scanner. “What memory are you re-accessing?”

Sameera sat on a nearby chair, looking straight ahead. “My wedding anniversary, three years ago.”

“Must be a really happy memory for you,” said Mr. Glen, sitting in front of her.

Sameera let out a bitter laugh. “Oh no! There was no happiness because I chose to stay in my office working, instead of being with my wife. I swear I tried but I just couldn't leave. And then when I went home, what did I do? I told Rumi it was no big deal, that our anniversary will come next year. She told me she regretted marrying me.”

Her colleague nodded. “Then what happened?”

Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Two… Two months later, Rumi suffered a cardiac arrest and passed away. There was no more anniversary for us.”

The pain she had been pushing away all these years finally broke free. She grabbed her face in her hands and cried, letting her sorrow wash over her.

Mr. Glen rubbed circles around her back. “Is that why you kept revisiting the same memory?”

She nodded through her tears. “I thought I could fix things with Rumi, thought I could show her I love her but –”

“But it brought you no joy,” said Mr. Glen. “Because your wife is gone. She isn't here to experience your love. You hoped changing your memory would ease off your guilt, for you. But it won't because none of it is real. It is just a memory after all.”

“I just wish I could tell her I love her,” said Sameera sadly. “I wish I could make her not regret marrying me.”

Mr. Glen shook his head. “Did she leave you?”

“No.”

“See, she knew and she doesn't regret marrying you. She was there, wasn't she?” he asked.

Sameera nodded.

“All you can do is honor your wife's memory and move on from your guilt, Sameera. There's nothing. That is more than enough. You need to let go.”

Mr. Glen gave her another pat, then walked out the room. Sameera stayed seated for some time, contemplating his words. Then, she walked towards the mainframe. Her eyes fell on the initiate command on the screen. She could relive her memory once again if she wanted but.

Sameera shut down the system. Then she grabbed her belongings and left. On her way out, she grabbed an application for her resignation. Then she stepped into the night, looking at the stars.

“I am sorry, Rumi,” she said. “And I love you.”

A star twinkled brighter. She smiled, then walked off into the crowd.

#short story #original fiction #f/f romance #science fiction #post cyberpunk #original characters #poc characters #lgbtq story #sapphic

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shipswithoutcaptains · 11 months ago

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Sitting in a train, 27th hour of travel. Bali to Prague (almost there 😅). Having a latte from the train machine with the pastry from Taipei, downing a painkiller for my (f*cking goddamn misplaced bastard of an) uterus.

Muscles still sore from the gym at the resort, wearing a wife-beater that I'm feeling pretty good in (that doesn't happen to me and clothes often).

White wine and some protein crackers waiting as the next course.

And approximately in 44hours leaving for Marroco to ride motorbikes for a few days with some of my best friends and some clients.

((And there are colleagues at hospital messaging me with "can't wait till you get back from holiday"...

There are kids running somewhere having a full range of motion of their limbs cause I had a drill and/or some wires/just a needle and a lot of stitching material in one case and did something with it.))

And there is a very good friend I can't wait to have drinks and chat with completely not connected to any of this, but who after freaking YEARS still somehow wants to spend time with me...

I dunno. It sounds kinda epic and over the top in quite a few directions (not all of them necessary good), but.... unbelievable. Tell the 20year old me I'm gonna keep f*cking up ALL the things ALL the time but it somehow still gets to a few of these unbelievable moments.

Hell, tell it to the 30 yrs old me.

Damn, remind me in a month, it will again be unbelievable 🤣🤣

#personal #srsly this is not to brag #... other ways I'd keep this in “only me” setting #but Tumblr and ppl I know in RL almost don't cross over so 💁#just on the off chance it could boost a morale of anybody 🤷#I srsl feel like a f*ck-up f*cking up tjings all the time left and right #but somehow it still gets like this 🤷#also... I need to remember this fewling for the regular days...#you know when the f*ck-up is just f*cking-up everything as usual..

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elvenmother · 2 years ago

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The Art of Crossed Wires - 4 - The Date/The Not Date

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Rating: Teen. Warnings: Swearing Chapter: 4/9 Word count: 1883

Summary: It's time for a lunch date with Marcus. It is a date right?

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes.

Part Three | Part One | Series Masterpost

Pulling out two outfits, you lay them across your bed and eyed both of them carefully. Which one you chose to wear today was dependent on the battle going on in your head of whether or not you had a lunch date or a date at lunch. One scenario meant lunch with a work colleague, while the other was a date at lunch, and both scenarios had vastly different dress codes.

The first outfit was your typical skirt and blouse that you wore variations of at work every day. Nice, but a little boring consisting of a plain white blouse teamed with a grey skirt and grey flats. The second was a dress, a little form-fitting but still work-appropriate. A short-sleeved pencil dress with a teal peacock feather design at the front but a plain black back with a pair of low black heels.

“Cos, people say it’s a date as just a saying, you know?” You turned to your giant black and white cat, Sokka, who was sitting watching you from his seat on the chest of drawers. “So saying it’s a date doesn’t mean it’s a date date.”

“Mmurp.” Sokka slowly blinked at you.

“I know.” You nodded and looked back at your clothing choices. “But I don’t want to read too much into this.”

Sokka gave a massive yawn before turning to stare out of the window. You nodded at him as though he’d just given you some sage advice.

“You’re right.” You reached over, gathering up the blouse and skirt and putting them back in the wardrobe. “Fuck it. Even if it’s not a date date, there’s no harm in looking awesome today.”

~~~~~

The morning passed by with little excitement. Marcus was back leading the morning briefing, much to the delight of all the female team members, including yourself. And as he stood talking through the next stage of the task force's current operation, you couldn’t help noticing he appeared to be wearing a new suit. Instead of the usual greys or even browns you’d seen in him before, this was a well-fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt and deep purple tie with a delicate gold swirling pattern. This was one point in the “actual date” column.

After the briefing, everyone had gotten on with their assignments, and you had only seen Marcus twice after that. Once when he had been chatting with your manager Bob where he had caught your eye and smiled at you. The second time was shortly before lunch when he and another agent, Fenton, had brought through a pack of files for your team.

Finally, lunch rolled around, and just as you were logging out of your computer, you heard his voice behind you.

“Hey.” You turned to see Marcus approaching your desk with a big smile on his face. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” You smiled back, grabbing your bag and following him out towards the elevators.

“You look lovely today.” Marcus looked over at you as the two of you entered the elevator.

“Thank you.”

“Not that you don’t look lovely every day.” He quickly added, looking a little flustered. “You do. You just look especially lovely today. Erm…” He gulped, trailing off.

“Thanks.” You let your smile grow into a grin. “You look great too. Is that new?”

Marcus ran his hands over his tie to smooth it. “Yeah, I… yeah.”

“Looks good on you.”

You watched as he ducked his head down a little at the compliment and you wondered for a moment if you’d crossed a line. But after a moment, he lifted his face to look at you again and you would see that, while he was blushing, his eyes were dancing at the compliment.

“So, where shall we go?” You asked as the two of you left the building, looking around for a nearby spot to eat.

“I actually know a great little place not too far from here.” Marcus held out an arm for you to follow him. “It’s only a short walk, and they serve fantastic homemade soups… if… if that’s your thing. If it’s not, we can-”

“Sounds great.” You nodded as you set off.

“So, how long have you lived in D.C.?” Marcus glanced over at you while the two of you walked.

“Not long.” You quickly counted mentally. “Around six months, almost seven. You?”

“Almost eight years now.” Marcus laughed, shaking his head. “I moved here when the task force was formed. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Wow.”

“And before that, you lived in Austin?”

“Yeah.” Marcus continued to direct you off to the right. “Yeah, I worked for the art squad there for almost twelve years before I got offered the job here. Obviously.” He left out another nervous laugh. “Did you move here for the job?”

“Yeah.” You followed him as he took another right, then a left. “My friend convinced me to apply along with her. We’d both done work for our local PD before, as well as a few local government departments. I got the job and moved here. She didn’t.”

“Oh.” Marcus glanced over at you again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. She got a great job offer abroad a few weeks after I moved. She’s living in Spain now.” You laughed. “Are we here?”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiled down at you, the sunlight hitting his eyes, turning them from their usual dark chocolate to warm amber. “Told you it wasn’t far.”

Heading inside, you were greeted with a surprisingly cosy oasis in the middle of D.C. Almost as though it had been transported from the main street of a small town somewhere, the cafe was filled with different shaped tables and mismatched chairs. At the back of the space was a counter filled with dozens of different cakes, probably homemade, while to the right of the door, a small stand held a stack of neatly printed menus.

“Shall we?” Marcus grabbed a couple of menus and headed towards one of the free smaller tables. As you approached, he pulled out one of the chairs for you to sit.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him as you sat, and he helped push the chair in slightly. “Such a gentleman.”

You watched as Marcus’ cheeks turned pink again as he sat. “Well, this is about starting over and making a good first impression, right?” He chuckled. “And my mom drilled into me how to treat a lady on a, um…”

“Well, we’re doing much better this time around.” You piped up as he trailed off, stopping short of officially calling it a date.

“Oh yeah.” Marcus’ smile quickly returned. “We’re nailing it this time.”

“We’ve chatted about moving here a little. We’ve thrown a few compliments out there.” You started to count off on your fingers. “We already know what the other does for a living… hmmm… what’s next?”

“Hmmm.” Marcus smirked, handing you a menu. “Hobbies? Is that too cliché? Favourite things?”

The two of you sat giggling for a few moments at your own jokes as you scanned the menu. Finally deciding on both having the soup of the day, Marcus signalled for the waiter and after giving your order, you settled in for the short wait.

“Hobbies might be a fun one.” You mused. “Not too personal, but not too serious.”

Marcus suddenly put on a very serious face. “So Miss.” He steepled his fingers in front of him. “Where do you see yourself in five years?” His composure broke on the last word as he set off laughing again.

“Sounds like a job interview.” You threw your head back laughing, knocking it slightly on the high back of your chair. “Ouch.”

“I actually had someone ask me that on a date.” Marcus managed to get out between giggles. “You ok?”

“I’m ok.” You continued to chuckle. “Really? Someone asked you that on a date?”

“Yeah.” He wiped a tear from his eye before calming. “It was kinda a weird date all round. Anyway, seriously. Only no, not serious serious, but what do you like to do for fun?”

“Well, there's the usual stuff everyone says, like reading and listening to music.” You watched Marcus nod along with everything you said, leaning forward slightly on the table as his eyes met yours. “But I really like to write. Short stories mostly.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up. “Wow. What kind of stuff do you write? Genres, I mean.”

“I’ve been trying a few different ones, but recently I’ve been writing a few more horror-based ones. Trying to keep to a theme at the moment.”

“So the short stories could go into a collection?” Marcus’ eyes never left yours. “That’s cool. Huh, smart and beautiful. What a combo.”

You knew from the immediate heat that your cheeks were bright red and you let out a shy laugh, ducking your head down as Marcus had done earlier in the elevator. “No one has ever called me cool before.” You said finally. Looking up, you found his eyes still locked onto you. Those big chocolate pools looking into your very soul.

“Well, you are.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “I think so anyway. But then again, I am a massive art nerd, so that might not actually be a compliment.”

“You paint?” You both paused as the waiter brought over your soups, and you thanked him.

“A little.” Marcus blew on his soup before taking a mouthful. “Hmmm, that’s so good. Not as much as I used to. Not felt very inspired, I guess.”

“Yeah, I get that.” You said between mouthfuls. “I had a break of almost ten years before I started writing again. Just couldn’t find the time and when I could, I had nothing.”

The rest of lunch passed with talk of creativity, finding inspiration and a promise to go with Marcus to a gallery that weekend. By the time the two of you fell out of the elevator back at the FBI building, you were both grinning from ear to ear.

“Wow, we were gone way over an hour.” You pointed at the clock mounted on the office wall. “Crap.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Marcus shook his head, stepping away from you as he headed to his office. “I happen to know your boss, and he’s cool with it.” He gave you a cheeky wink as he disappeared through his door.

Grinning, you turned to go to the main office area but found yourself face-to-face with one of your colleagues, Louise.

“Agent Pike, huh?” She smirked, eyeing you knowingly.

“We had lunch.” You walked with her back to your desk. “That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She gave you a sly wink. “I can’t say I blame you. He is a snack. And dating the boss has its perks, right?”

Louise chuckled softly as she went back to work, but you couldn’t help feeling a little colder. Is that what people would be thinking? That you were dating Marcus because he was your boss? And were you even dating now?

Sure, it had been a date. At lunch. During work hours. Sinking your head into your hands, you stared at your reflection in your monitor. Damn it. What if it hadn’t even been a real date? What if this was all in your head?

Taglist: @jxvipike, @miraclesabound, @littlemisspascal, @galaxyofmando, @pintsizemama, @athalien, @zanzann, @furiousmushroom, @ghostofaboy, @thebestrouge, @janebby

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #fanfiction #fanfic #the art of crossed wires #my writing

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