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gullemec · 1 day ago

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Cross the Line

Golden Cage - Chapter Five

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Truth or Dare, Murder, and Sex. Or, you and Butcher go on a road trip.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, dirty talk, creampie, discussions of previous murders, language, unsafe driving, attempted flashing, One Bed Trope™️, reader has poor self esteem and is Going Through It, straight up vehicular manslaughter, brief description of dead bodies

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Here she is!! My first ever f/m smut scene! Please be kind. Also a very action-packed chapter. Please read the tags before diving in because there's a LOT happening here.

Monday morning rolls around with an alarming speed, the pace of your days having taken a decided turn toward the speed of light.

It had nothing to do with your apprehension around being with Butcher again, you were sure.

Certain.

The plan, not unlike the last plan, is supposedly simple. As the CytoGenix van carrying the vials of V2 makes its way upstate, you and Butcher will tail it at a distance, waiting until the time is right to strike and run the van offroad using a spike strip.

You've thought up about two thousand ways this could go wrong. You could probably think of a thousand more, but your brain started to hurt when you tried.

You pull your bag over your shoulder, every step to Butcher’s van downstairs weighed down by a strange mix of adrenaline and dread. He’s waiting for you, leaned against the driver’s side door with his usual cocky smirk, dark aviators shielding his expression.

“Look alive, sunshine,” he says as you climb in. “Big day ahead.”

You settle into the passenger seat, forcing yourself to play it cool. The hum of the engine fills the silence as you pull away, but within moments, the tension in the van feels as suffocating as the thick summer air.

The first two hours crawl by. Small talk feels like dragging a boulder uphill, each attempt to bridge the gap between you met with curt, monosyllabic responses. Weather. Traffic. A half-hearted quip about a roadside diner that doesn’t even earn a smirk from Butcher.

It’s maddening. Days ago, this man had kissed you like the world was ending. Now, he's talking about the possibility of impending rain. You feel insane.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

“Truth or dare,” you say, throwing it out like a grenade

Butcher glances at you, his brow furrowing beneath his sunglasses. “The fuck did you just say?”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath about it being a child's game. “And how exactly do you suppose we play truth or dare in a moving vehicle, hm?” He asks.

“I don't know, but what I do know is that we have a four and a half hour drive ahead of us and if this awkward silence is going to continue, I'm going to jump out of the window right now.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “What are you, twelve? What’s next, a round of bloody ‘I Spy’?” He shoots you a look of bemusement before returning to the road, ignoring your request.

He's not getting away that easy.

“Look, it's either truth or dare, or we talk about the k—”

“Jesus Christ, alright I'll play your fucking game,” he relents.

Success.

You nod toward him expectedly.

“What?” He asks

“Truth or dare? You have to pick, it's kind of how the game is played.”

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Fine. Truth.”

You pause to think for a second, racking your brain for a good question. You could, of course, go straight for the jugular, asking him why he pulled away from the kiss, why he didn't push you down on the couch and take everything you were willing to give him right then and there. But you think that might be a little intense for a first question, so you settle on something easier.

“How many people have you killed?”

His reaction is instant, an incredulous laugh that’s more bark than humor. “Straight for the jugular, eh? You don’t muck about.”

“I’m curious,” you say, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole point of the game?

“Sweetheart, if knowing how many people I've kidnapped is a second date question, this has gotta be a fifth date question.”

“Okay,” you say thoughtfully. “Well, if you count all the late night stake outs, and if you count our first date, the one where you kidnapped, me as three dates, which I do, I think we're well past the fifth date by now.” You raise your eyebrows at him, laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he huffs. The smirk on his face betrays the fact that he kind of wants to play, but his tough facade necessitates that he put up a valiant fight about it first.

But once your laughing subsides, his grin falls, and you realize that this was perhaps not the best question to ask. His eyes are fixed on the road when he answers you.

He exhales sharply, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I lost count. Got to twenty-five, maybe thirty, last time I bothered to keep track.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, but there’s no pride in it. “You happy now?”

His admission is like a shock to your system. You knew that he'd killed before, having tossed the idea around in your mind, considering the things you knew about the man you were unquestionably attracted to. He has killed, yes, but he has also lost. He has lost everything, and he has helped, and he has been kind, too. And yet, hearing the words from his mouth, putting a number, if only estimated, on the amount of times a life has been lost at the same hands that were wrapped tenderly around your body only days ago, sends a painful jolt to your heart.

“I know what you might think,” he starts, his voice faltering. “You think I'm cold and evil, or whatever.” His fingers readjust around the steering wheel, an anxious tic you're picking up on. “But I had to do it. I believed it was for some… greater purpose, I guess. I believe that, but maybe because I have to.”

You're speechless. You weren't expecting this sudden moment of vulnerability in Butcher, this emotional nakedness. If you're honest, it scares you, because it causes the sand beneath the already unsteady foundation of your relationship with him to shake. You have to say something, anything.

“How do you feel about potentially killing two more people today? Does it make you nervous?” You ask. You're vaguely aware of the van driving ahead of you, a pinprick dot of white on the endlessly winding highway.

He sighs, then smirks, looking entirely too pleased in comparison to his somber expression only moments ago. “Uh–uh, your turn now.”

He's got you there.

“Truth,” you say, and it's only fair that he throws you a hardball too. But he doesn't.

“What’s your favorite memory with your mum?”

The question throws you for a moment, its tenderness blindsiding you. You have so many, you could almost argue that this isn't an easy question at all. All the same, your mind wanders to the same memory that always pops up when you ask yourself this question.

“My seventh birthday,” you begin, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “Dad was off in the Bahamas for some meeting, and I didn’t have any friends because we’d just moved. So it was just me and her. She took me to Coney Island, and we spent the whole day there. Rides, games, cotton candy. It was the best.” A tear twinkles in your eye, but you wipe it away before it comes to fruition.

He looks like he's about to say something, maybe offer some comfort or ask a follow up, but you're too quick for him.

“Now you, truth or dare?”

He picks dare, following your lead and ignoring what you shared about your mom. You appreciate his ability to pick up on your nonverbal cues.

You resist the urge to reach across the console and brush your fingers through his wild, wind-tousled hair. You let yourself imagine for a moment a scenario in which the two of you are out for a drive on a beautiful day for pleasure rather than business, where you might entwine your fingers with his on the center console. But these thoughts are dangerous, and you need a distraction.

“Drive in the oncoming lane for ten seconds.”

“Are you bloody mental?” he snaps, glaring at you. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you want me to pull a stunt like that?”

You shrug, and you relish in the utter frustration that Butcher exudes, the way his accent comes out in full-force when he's this worked up.

“You said dare,” you counter, your tone teasing. “A dare’s a dare.”

He groans, muttering a string of expletives as he slows the van. “You’re a bloody pain in my arse, you know that?”

“Slow down a bit, so they won't see us,” you suggest, your voice low to control the giggles that threaten to peek out. “Come on, Butcher.”

He hesitates. It's a sick kind of satisfaction knowing that, if it was anyone but you, Butcher would have probably just let you jump out the window at this point.

“One, twooo… Threeeee…” You exaggerate your words, giving him every opportunity to acquiesce to your demands.

Finally, you feel the van slow and dip to the left as Butcher careens into the oncoming lane.

This is getting too easy.

You count out the next ten seconds slowly, agonizingly.

Ten.

Nine

Eight. He shifts his eyes between you and the road, imploring you to call off the dare. Absolutely not.

Seven.

Six.

Five. A speck materializes on the horizon. An oncoming car.

Four. The speck transforms into a white sedan.

Three. “I'm switching lanes,” he yells. “Three more seconds!” You argue back.

Two. You can tell now that there are two passengers in the sedan. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

One. The driver of the sedan lays on the horn, the loud bleat sending shockwaves through your system.

Butcher swerves back into the right lane, a chorus of curses spilling out, the sedan’s honking fading out behind you. Your laughter spills out, obnoxious and loud and absolutely drowning out Butcher’s string of profanities. Shortly after he course-corrects, the white van falls back into your line of sight.

No harm, no foul.

Butcher’s breathing evens. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you retort, still grinning.

“You better pick dare this turn. I didn't realize we weren't playin' fair,” he smirks, and you're knocked back again. It's criminal how this man speaks, so deep and yet so melodic, his accent and charm breaking down whatever defenses you still had standing.

“Do your worst,” you dare, and he smiles widely. For a moment, you feel a real flare of heat in your chest. You don't want to think about what you'd realistically do for this man right now, but the thought crosses your mind, sending a pang to your core.

“Flash the next car that drives past us.”

Now it's your turn to blanch at the request, your face scrunching up in response.

“You can't be serious,” you say.

He simply nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead in feigned concentration.

Well, the best way out is always through.

You pull your seatbelt off, balancing on your seat and the console as you pull yourself through the van’s open sunroof. You pretend not to notice Butcher's right arm snaking protectively around your left leg.

You watch as a dark green truck materializes before you, a lone cowboy hat wearing man inside. You pinch your fingers around the edge of your shirt. The truck speeds by as you begin to lift it up. Suddenly, the arm wrapped around your leg pulls down, forcing you back into the van.

“Hey! What was that for?!” You exclaim, annoyed at the unwelcome intrusion.

“You weren't seriously going to flash that truck, were you?” He asks.

You nod. “I mean, yeah? You dared me to do it. A dare’s a dare.”

He huffs and puffs, shaking his head intermittently. He's frustrated with you, and it's pissing you off.

Time to turn the tables.

“Okay, well it’s your turn now I guess. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he says smugly, and you laugh, because you know what you say next is going to shake him.

You take a second to stare at him, an unabashed good look at him. The way the breeze tousles his dark hair, the angle of his jaw catching the golden hour light. The warmth in the glow softens him somehow, makes him seem almost human, almost kind. You can't deny that you want him, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wants you too.

"Did you like it?" you ask abruptly, your voice low but clear.

Butcher furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Like what?"

"When you kissed me," you clarify, your heart pounding in your chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

The silence that follows is deafening. You hear him inhale sharply, see the slight hitch in his posture as the words settle between you. His face shifts, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. He stares straight ahead, jaw tightening, fingers curling around the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

Your pulse quickens. Oh, God. Why did I say that? The weight of your own recklessness presses down on you. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity as he struggles with something unspoken, his lips parting as if to say something—

Your heart stops.

—and then, with a sharp gasp, his hand slams the horn and his foot hits the brake.

"Oi! Cunts!" he shouts, jerking the van to a sudden halt. Both of you lurch forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder.

Your head snaps toward the road just in time to see the CytoGenix van swerving off into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

The spell is broken. The tension you’d built up between you vanishes, replaced by adrenaline and a sinking sense of inevitability.

At least he'd stopped you before you'd shown your tits to some unsuspecting cowboy.

Butcher’s face hardens, his attention fully back on the road as he mutters a string of curses under his breath. He keeps driving for another mile, the air in the van heavy and stifling. It’s as though the cracks you’d glimpsed in his armor have sealed up entirely, leaving only the impenetrable man you met at the start.

Finally, he pulls off just past a mile marker, the van grinding to a halt on the side of the road. He throws it in park and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

"Out," he orders, his voice clipped.

You blink at him. "What?"

"Get out of the van," he repeats, this time more firmly.

Despite every instinct screaming at you not to trust him, you obey. He follows you out, slamming the door behind him, and gestures toward the dense line of trees. "Start walking. Don’t stop ‘til you’re deep enough in that you can’t see the road anymore."

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” you fight, “I want to be a part of this. You're not exiling me to the woods while you do the dirty work. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, his tone cold and final. “You don’t want this blood on your hands, love. Trust me.”

Your temper flares. "You’re such an asshole, you know that?" you spit, heat rushing to your face.

You're all bite, all fight, until you see the look on his face. The harsh lines of his face are softened, his eyes weighed down with something heavier than anger. Guilt? Regret? He doesn’t want to do this, you realize. He thinks he’s protecting you.

And maybe you just don't have much of a fight left in you anymore.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists. "Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go."

Without waiting for a response, you storm off into the forest, branches snapping underfoot as you push past ferns and brush.

You find a mossy rock and sink down beside it, hugging your knees to your chest. The familiar ache of being abandoned washes over you, pulling you back into yourself. You wrap your arms tightly around your body, closing your eyes and imagining the comforting embrace of your mother. The memories come easily, like they always do. Her laugh, her warmth, the way her hand always found yours when you were scared.

You lose track of time sitting there, flipping through those memories like pages in a well-worn book. Hours could have passed, or maybe it’s only minutes. You don’t know, and for a while, you don’t care.

It’s the crunch of heavy footfalls that pulls you back to the present. You blink up to see Butcher looming over you, his expression grim and drawn.

"If a van crashes in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it even make a noise?" you quip, smirking despite yourself.

He scowls. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"Either that was the quietest car crash in history, or you lost them," you say, crossing your arms.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "They never came through. They’re holed up at the motel for the night. We’ll head back, stake it out, and wait for them to move on." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the road.

He extends a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, pushing yourself off the ground and brushing dirt from your clothes. Without a word, you start walking ahead of him, back toward the van.

"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, falling in step behind you.

The short drive back to the motel is silent, the energy between the two of you having soured considerably. You stare out the window, arms crossed, seething. You're pissed and you want him to know it, to feel it. The mission feels like a joke, like you’re a joke. No matter what you do, you’ll always be the inept kid getting in the way.

The Piney Point Motel comes into view just as the sun dips behind the pines, the sky streaked in pinks and oranges. You spot the CytoGenix van immediately, parked conspicuously by the entrance of the motel. As far as you can tell, it's empty.

“Did they really just… leave it there?” You ask, incredulous.

Butcher chuckles. “Your old man really should stop cuttin’ corners on security.”

A flurry of hope stirs in your chest. “So we could just break into the van and steal the vials, right? And then no one would have to get hurt?”

He gives you a look, one that’s half pity, half impatience, before gesturing to the motel’s facade. Security cameras dot the walls, floodlights primed for motion. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like your dad could learn a thing or two from Piney Point.”

And just like that, the spark fizzles.

Butcher pulls the van into a shadowed corner of the lot and kills the engine. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed.

You stare at him. “Well, are we going in?”

“Nah. You can crawl in the back if you wanna sleep. I'll take first watch.”

He can't be serious.

“You want me to sleep back there?!”

He shrugs. “Or up here, but I don’t reckon it’s any comfier.”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Or—and hear me out—we could sleep in the motel right in front of us?”

“And risk losin’ ‘em? Yeah, no thanks.”

You argue back and forth but the man is an infuriating, unflinching wall of stubbornness. Eventually, you give up, arms crossed as you glare at the moonlit motel. You consider going and getting a room just for yourself, but you reason that Butcher won't hesitate when he sees the men leave and you'll be left behind. Sleep tugs at you, but you refuse to crawl into the cramped backseat. Not after this.

The moon begins its arc across the starlit sky. Stars scatter above you, brighter and clearer than anything you’ve seen in years. You step out of the van, stretching stiff legs, the cool night air brushing against your skin. For a moment, you forget your frustration, gazing up at the wide, sparkling sky. It reminds you of Muskoka, your last vacation with both parents—before the office bedroom became your dad’s permanent home.

The ache of the memory lingers as you climb back into the van, only to find Butcher slumped in the driver’s seat, snoring. His chin tucked into his chest, a low rumble filling the space. You burst into laughter before you can stop yourself.

Butcher jerks awake, eyes darting wildly until they land on you. His expression shifts to a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Alright, laugh it up,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “Your turn to keep watch. Good luck stayin’ awake.”

You plant your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “I’m dead tired, and so are you. We need actual sleep, Butch. I’ll pay for the rooms. Final offer.”

He pretends to consider your offer like the thought of a bed, even a springy motel bed, doesn't sound downright heavenly right now. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, he pulls himself from the driver's seat and stalks toward the motel.

“Don't look so pleased,” he mutters as he stalks past you. “We’re up at 4:30, no later. Understand?”

You trail behind him, hiding your grin. Right now, you’d agree to anything.

~~~

The reception area of the Piney Point Motel looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The wood-paneled walls are warped in places, lined with crooked shelves cluttered with knick-knacks, miniature ceramic animals, a faded “World’s Best Grandma” mug, and a jar of mints that looks more like a trap than an offering.

Behind the counter sits a bespectacled woman in her sixties, a paperback romance novel in one hand and a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. The air smells like pine-scented cleaner and stale smoke. She looks up as you and Butcher enter, giving you both a thorough once-over.

“Hourly or overnight?” she asks flatly, like she’s heard every excuse in the book.

The question hits you like a slap. Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Butcher doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll take two rooms for the night,” he says, ignoring your mortification.

The receptionist shakes her head with a lazy shrug. “Only got one room left. One bed. Last two-bed went to a couple of truckers about an hour ago. It’s that time of year.”

You and Butcher exchange a look, sharp and synchronized.

“No,” you and Butcher say in unison, your sharp tone and immediate refusal surprising the older woman.

But your mind wanders back to the van, it's aging leather upholstery and stiff cushions and lingering coffee smell. The weight of your eyelids expands tenfold at the thought. No way in hell are you going to be prepared for what tomorrow brings if you have to sleep in there.

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the key from the receptionist’s outstretched hand, replacing it with a stack of bills.

“What d’you mean, fine?” Butcher asks, trailing after you as you head to the room. His boots echo dully on the cracked linoleum floor. “We’re better off in the van. Safer, too.”

You ignore him, jamming the key into the lock and twisting hard. The door creaks open to reveal a shoebox-sized room with peeling wallpaper, a squeaky ceiling fan, and a bed that looks like it’s seen more fights than rest.

Still, it’s a bed.

Without a word, Butcher follows you inside, closing the door behind him. For a man so determined to sleep in the van, he seems strangely reluctant to leave now. You glance at him, confused but unwilling to ask.

“You’re not staying, are you?” you finally say, half-turning to face him.

“’Course I’m stayin’,” he replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Not leavin’ you alone in some dodgy motel where the closest weapon’s probably that broken lamp in the corner.”

You blink at him, torn between irritation and a flicker of gratitude. Before you can respond, he smirks and brushes past you toward the bed.

“Dibs,” he declares, flopping onto the mattress with all the grace of a drunk elephant. The springs groan in protest, but he doesn’t care.

“No, no! Absolutely not!” You shout, but he's already stretched his arms behind his head, feet crossed. “You're not taking the bed, you didn't even want this room!”

“And yet, here I am,” he replies, tucking his hands behind his head. The smugness radiating off him is enough to set your teeth on edge.

“You're an asshole, you know that right?”

“Yeah, you keep remindin’ me,” he says with a grin. “Now are you gonna stand there gawkin’ all night, or are you gonna make yourself comfortable?”

You grab the pillow out from behind his head and secure it alongside yours down the middle of the bed, creating a makeshift wall between your bodies.

“What’s this, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Great Wall of Don’t-Touch-Me,” you deadpan, climbing onto your side of the bed and glaring at him over the makeshift divider.

He chuckles, low and amused. “You think I’m gonna bite?”

“More likely that I’d be the one biting you,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

The second the words leave your mouth, your cheeks flush hot. You busy yourself adjusting your pillow, pretending you don’t see the way his grin widens.

“Noted,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make you shiver.

You roll over, facing the wall. The bed creaks as Butcher shifts, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence. His scent, the warmth radiating off him, the way the air seems heavier when he’s near.

Neither of you bother crawling under the covers, facing away from each other to make it extra-clear that this is a no-nonsense, all-business sleepover.

“Goodnight, asshole,” you mutter, hoping the bite in your tone masks the thrum of nerves in your chest.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice softer than you expect.

You want to savour this moment, but you're out in seconds.

~~~

Suspended in a haze of warm sunlight, the cool edge of unreality covers you like a blanket of fresh snow. Strong arms wrap securely around your waist, across your chest, their weight pressing into you like a protective cocoon. The scratch of a beard grazes your neck, and the faint warmth of breath tickles your skin. Gentle snores vibrate against your back, a low, steady rhythm that lulls you further into the dreamlike state. You fight to stay there, curling deeper into the embrace, savoring the rare, fleeting serenity.

But serenity never lasts. A creeping discomfort nags at the edges of your mind, like an itch you can’t quite reach. The illusion splinters. The sunlight grows sharper, the weight around you heavier, the awkward press of something hard on your ass undeniable.

Your eyes snap open, reality crashing in. It’s blindingly bright, far too bright for what should be the early, predawn hours. Panic spikes through your system as you take in the scene, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You thrash instinctively, and Butcher’s grip loosens just in time for him to tumble unceremoniously off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” Butcher groans from the floor, rubbing the back of his head.

Your voice comes out in a frantic rasp. “Butcher, wake up! We slept in!”

The words are like a starter pistol. He’s up and moving in an instant, yanking on his boots while simultaneously reaching for the door.

“Shit! Goddamn it, move! Move!” he barks, his voice sharp and commanding.

The two of you are a blur of motion, grabbing, stumbling, swearing. Your bodies move on autopilot, faster than your sleep-addled minds can process. In seconds, you’re in the van, Butcher slamming the door shut and peeling out of the motel parking lot with reckless urgency.

Anxiety builds in your chest, each erratic swerve of the van feeding the dread coiling tighter inside you. As you glance back at the motel, the sight of an empty parking spot—a lone Mustang where the CytoGenix van had been—confirms your worst fears. They’re gone.

Butcher’s jaw tightens as he accelerates onto the highway, weaving through lanes with a focus that’s almost terrifying. The towering pines blur into streaks of green on either side of you as the van hurtles forward. You scan the horizon frantically, desperate for a glimpse of white metal that refuses to appear.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before Butcher finally slows the van, pulling into a deserted roadside gas station. It’s eerily quiet, the pumps sitting idle, the building dark and lifeless.

“This is the last stop for miles,” Butcher says, his voice low and grim. “That's the last stop they would've made before going to the lab.”

The weight of his words slams into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, panic tightening its grip. This was it, the window of opportunity to intercept them had closed. It was all your fault. You’d fought tooth and nail for the motel room last night, insisting you both needed the rest, convincing yourself it was a small indulgence that wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.

You were wrong.

Maybe he was right, maybe your father was right, maybe they're all right, everyone who's ever doubted you. It's cruel, the way that the frayed threads of meaning in your life seem to continually fall from your grasp.

Shame and guilt crash over you in waves, heat rising in your face as your chest constricts painfully. You blink back tears, but they gather stubbornly at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Butcher, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling. “I—I screwed up. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he stares out the windshield. The silence stretches, unbearable. Fear claws at you, the thought of him cutting you loose from the Boys—or worse, giving up on the mission entirely—hitting like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” you continue, desperation creeping into your tone. “I know I fucked up, but don’t… don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on me.”

Butcher’s head swivels toward you, his eyes softer than you expect. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost unrecognizably so.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “Breathe. It’s okay. Hold your apologies, yeah? We’re not done yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, not the anger, the harsh words, the fury you thought you deserved. Instead, his calm confidence throws you off balance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Butcher…” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat.

“Just wait,” he says, lips quirking into a faint, reassuring smirk. “Keep it together. We’ve still got work to do.”

With that, his foot presses down on the gas pedal, the van lurching forward and pinning you back against the seat.

You're certain you've never driven this fast before, not even during those rare joyrides with your father in his Bugatti. The van rockets forward, moving like a bullet out of a gun, the world outside warping into a blur of trees and sky as the tires scream against the asphalt. Your grip on the door handle tightens with every jolt, the tension in the cabin as visceral as the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Despite the chaos of the day, the abrupt wake-up, the panic, and Butcher’s uncharacteristic gentleness, the unbridled anxiety screaming inside you speaks only of the lives of the two men in the CytoGenix van, unknowingly hurtling toward their end. Anxiety claws at your chest, raw and unrelenting. You shut your eyes and try to focus on breathing, but it’s no use.

“Oi, cunts!” Butcher’s voice explodes, and your eyes snap open.

Thirty feet ahead, the CytoGenix van comes into view, its white exterior glaring against the green blur of forest on either side. To your right, the trees abruptly fall away, leaving nothing but a battered guardrail and a steep ravine beyond.

“Hold on tight,” Butcher orders, his tone calm but edged with a manic sort of energy.

Before you can question him, he floors the gas pedal. The van lurches forward, barreling into the oncoming lane to overtake the other vehicle. Butcher twists the wheel expertly, positioning your van just ahead of the CytoGenix one. Then, in one brutal motion, he jerks back and rams into the side of it.

The impact is bone-rattling. Your body slams against the seatbelt, the van shuddering violently as both vehicles swerve erratically. For a moment, you lock eyes with the other driver, his face contorted in a mix of rage and confusion. But Butcher’s already at it again, pulling back just enough to ram the CytoGenix van a second time.

This hit sends the other van wobbling wildly, the driver fighting to regain control. Your ears ring, blood rushing so loudly that you’re not sure if the scream you hear is yours or simply imagined. And then, with a final, sickening crunch, the CytoGenix van plows through the guardrail and plunges down the ravine.

Butcher swerves hard, narrowly avoiding the gaping hole in the guardrail. The side of your van scrapes against what remains, metal shrieking as sparks fly. He brings the van to an abrupt stop on the shoulder a hundred yards ahead, slamming the gearshift into park. The engine dies, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the cabin.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Holy shit,” Butcher echoes, his grin wide and reckless.

You both sit there for a moment, staring straight ahead, before the tension breaks. Anxious laughter bubbles out of you, and to your surprise, Butcher joins in. The two of you volley expletives back and forth between bursts of laughter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

When the laughter subsides, Butcher reaches for the door handle. “Stay put,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna want to see this.”

That sends your adrenaline spiking all over again. You throw your door open and stomp after him, slamming it behind you. “No. You’re not doing this. Not again.”

He turns to face you, brows furrowed. You jab a finger into his chest. “I’m capable of this, Butcher. And if I’m going to be part of the Boys, I need to prove it. No more babying me.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. The tension between you is almost unbearable as you silently plead with him to understand. To let you have this. To understand just how important this is, how this transcends the circumstances you currently find yourselves in. Finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he gives a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

Together, you make your way down the ravine, the incline steep and unforgiving. Butcher offers his arm to steady you when you stumble, and you grudgingly accept. At the bottom, the wreckage comes into view. The CytoGenix van lies on its side in a shallow creek bed, its back doors hanging open.

You rush to the driver’s side, heart hammering in your chest as you peer inside. For the past week, nightmares have plagued you—visions of Adam and Emily lying lifeless in the wreckage. But when you see the two men slumped in their seats, necks twisted at unnatural angles, neither is familiar. Relief washes over you, mingling uneasily with guilt.

“They’re nobodies,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Butcher. “Collateral damage.”

His hand falls heavy on your shoulder. “The hard part’s over,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “It gets easier from here.”

You desperately want to believe him.

You both turn your attention to the back of the van. Butcher grips one of the broken doors and yanks it free with a grunt. Inside, a sleek black lockbox gleams ominously. Without hesitation, Butcher brings his boot down on it, cracking it open.

Inside are rows upon rows of vials, their green liquid glowing faintly in the fading light. You pick one up, holding it between your fingers and marveling at its beauty. The liquid seems alive, swirling and shimmering with an otherworldly energy.

And then, without thinking, you hurl the vial at a nearby tree. You watch in awe as the glass shatters, the glowing substance splattering across the bark and dripping onto the forest floor.

“Shit—I don’t know what came over me—” you start, but Butcher is already laughing, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” he says, grabbing a vial and smashing it under his boot. You both gape at the way it explodes under his foot, staining his boot like a glow stick, before you burst into shared laughter.

You both fall into a wild, unhinged rhythm, smashing vial after vial. The forest around you glows eerily, the remnants of V2 painting the trees and ground in streaks of neon green. Laughter bubbles out of you, uncontrollable and cathartic, as the absurdity of your destruction takes hold.

When only one vial remains, Butcher reaches for it, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. We should keep one. For testing. Just in case.”

He looks at you, then smirks. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You keep me around for more than that.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense. The air shifts between you, the laughter forgotten as your proximity feels suddenly charged. Whatever force is behind the constant push and pull of your attraction to Butcher is now pushing in full force, the glowing green crime scene around you fading into nothing. It's just you and him and the screaming urge inside of you to untether.

Butcher advances toward you, pulling your face into his hands, crashing his mouth into yours. This time you get the chance to react, the opportunity to reciprocate. And you do, wholeheartedly. You pull at the lapels of his jacket, fingers fumbling for purchase in his wild hair. His hands move over your body, down your back and across your ass, squeezing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are wild. “Someone’s gonna notice the skid marks and the guardrail. We’re gonna have company soon if we don’t move.”

“Back to the motel?” you ask, bold and breathless.

His answer is immediate. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he grabs your hand, practically pulling you back up the ravine toward the van.

You had a taste of Butcher's penchant for speeding earlier, but something about the way he races down the road back to the motel now has butterflies erupting in your stomach. His right hand is placed firmly on your left thigh, your own hand keeping his there. You're ashamed to admit that his touch alone is driving you crazy.

Thank god you never had time to return the key this morning, because you both race back to the room, his mouth in your ear, arms encircling your waist as you fumble to unlock the door. The second the door closes behind you, he has you pushed up against the door, his tongue parting your lips and hands digging into your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lets a hand fall to your ass, squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, wrapping both of your legs around his middle. You moan at the way his hands explore you, the closeness of your bodies.

“Do that again,” he instructs.

“Make me,” you dare.

He throws you down on the bed, both of you using the opportunity to work your shirts off. He spends an unabashed moment staring directly at your tits, chest heaving. Like you're a work of art he can't wait to defile. You unbutton your pants before Butcher pulls them off of you, leaving you bare before him, save for your underwear. He crawls up onto the bed, knees nudging your legs open, his imposing frame towering over you.

“You have no idea how goddamn much I've thought about this,” he admits. Your eyes search his face, hands combing through his hair. He kisses you deeply, tongue exploring your mouth, before moving down to place licks along your collarbone. He moves down to your nipples, your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up in silent request.

“Please,” you beg. “Don't stop.”

And, with your permission, he practically rips the soft cotton as he pulls them down, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. You share a glance, both with bated breath, before he finally puts his mouth on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your head tilts back involuntarily as he licks at you, alternating between languid, savoring strokes, his wide tongue exploring deep inside of you, and quick, tight little circles over your clit. You've never been the kind of woman to be particularly loud or vocal in bed, a complaint you'd heard from lovers in the past. But now the moans fall freely as you fall apart on Butcher's tongue. Your sounds only serve to egg him on, his fingers digging deeply into your plush inner thighs, his growls reverberating through your pussy, matching your low moans. You barrel embarrassingly quickly toward the edge.

“‘m so close,” you whimper.

He doesn't stop, every determined movement a silent encouragement for you to chase your high.

Your hands reach down, tangling in his messy hair. He responds, deepening the push of his mouth against your core, rhythmically drawing his fingers back and forth against your inner thighs. Your fingers clench around the tendrils of his hair, pulling so hard you know it must hurt him. He doesn't seem to notice, his rhythm never stalling. Then, starbursts exploding behind your eyelids as you fall over the edge, legs clamping involuntarily around his head.

Dizzying, pure, unadulterated bliss.

Head falling back against the pillow, you're sure you've never come this hard before. Your limbs are absolutely weightless, cheeks flushed. A euphoric smile on your lips stretches so wide you're certain you look deranged.

But not to Butcher.

“You're so bloody beautiful,” he says from between your legs, and you can do nothing but laugh deliriously in response.

He gazes up at you, working his way back up between kisses to your stomach and swirling his tongue over your pert nipples. You grasp a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him up to kiss him on the mouth, your other hand reaching down to encircle his hard length.

You're pleasantly surprised at how much of him there is, pumping his thick length several times before you position him at your entrance.

You feel his body jolt involuntarily as his cock makes contact with the wetness he just created.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, words refusing to form on your lips.

He shifts his hips forward and you gasp sharply as he breaches you. You reach your other hand down to caress his ass cheek, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more.

“Fuck yes,” you moan. “Yes, Billy, just like that.”

That's all he needs before he's driving himself deep, stopping only when he's fully seated inside of you. You gasp as he stretches you out, like he's splitting you right down the middle. He pulls your knee up, hooking it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper. You whine at the fullness, earning a growl from him.

“You like this, baby?” he asks as he pulls back, looking down to where your bodies connect before plunging himself back into you. “Fuck, because I really like this.”

“R‒really like this,” you manage to sputter out. “P‒please, please, fuck me Billy.”

“I got you, love,” his voice is raw. He sets a punishing pace, his cock filling you over and over and over again, pushing you toward the brink of something you've never experienced before.

Your hands wander over him, tracing every scar, fumbling through his hair, squeezing his ass as you pull him in even deeper. You want to memorize everything about this, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the weight of him atop you, the stream of consciousness filth that flows from his lips as he falls more and more pussy drunk.

He reaches down, thumb on your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. His mouth explores your chest, dividing his attention between your nipples and sensitive, open neck. You bound toward your release, fingers scraping down his broad back.

“Fuck, fuck, Billy, I'm gonna come,” you moan between huffs. He continues, pace unrelenting.

Then, stars.

Expanding blooms of light, full-body eruption. Sweet release, a dynamite stick in your core, exploding out your mouth in a silent scream. You heave around him, bucking your hips, impaling yourself deeper on his cock. He fucks you through it, half words falling from his lips into your mouth.

Tha's right.

Mm, baby.

You go’ it.

It's all too much, the soft moans escaping your mouth, the image of you in ecstasy before him, falling apart on his cock. He's too close behind you to stop now.

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come. Where d’you want it?” he asks frantically.

You can't help yourself. “Inside,” you beg.

He really doesn't try to make it a habit of denying you, and he certainly won't start now. He groans, spilling himself inside of you. You moan at the heat that grows between your legs.

He collapses atop you, the weight of him pushing you I to the cheap, springy mattress. You feel the wetness spill out onto the bed beneath you.

“Holy shit,” you manage to get out between gasps for air.

“Holy fuckin’ shit is right,” he agrees.

Over the next eight or so hours, you and Butcher acquaint yourselves with each other, very, very, closely. On the bed, on the floor, against the dresser, in the shower, on the bed, again. You speak only a few times in rushed half sentences, too preoccupied with finding out just how many orgasms you can achieve in one go to think about much else. All of the tension that has stewed since the day Butcher first laid eyes on your dazed face has been unleashed in Room 206 at the Piney Point Motel. You stop only long enough for Butcher to drive twenty minutes down the highway to retrieve a bag of greasy fast food, hastily devoured fuel to allow you both to continue at least a few more times.

By the time you both succumb to your utter exhaustion, you're sweat-sticky and bone-tired, with a soreness between your legs you know is going to have you walking funny tomorrow. You don't notice it though, because Butcher has you pulled in his arms, lips on your ear, your heart firmly in the palm of his hand.

@bluemerakis @mystic-writings @imherefordeanandbones

#billy butcher #fanfic #fanfiction #theboys #billy butcher fanfic #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #billy butcher x you #william butcher #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #the boys amazon #the boys #the boys series #smut #18+ mdni

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cerastes · 2 days ago

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I tried the desert but got my shitmud rocked so I am bad at this game type so just what is the skill floor for it, do I need a large list of e2 units (I suck at that cause my squad is if it works dont try new ops and its been working for a long time)

RA2 is not only very endgame, it also seeks to challenge you with lots of moving parts that make you immensely strong if you know how they work, but conversely the game mode is balanced around the fact that you have access to these incredibly powerful tools and are expected to use them. Not master them, for sure, or even be great with them, just use them; I have made a joke out of RA2 several times on my stream, my people over there can testify when I say RA2 is easy when you know what you're doing.

You do need a lot of units to get the most out of the game mode, not just to deploy them in different fights to counter specific bosses' weaknesses and counter their strengths -- one boss is extremely strong against blocking comps but weak against structures, another is the opposite and wrecks structures but is weak against AoE and a solid blocker, some have sky high RES and low DEF, some have sky high DEF and low RES, one boss fully heals if you don't kill its phase 2 in time and goes back to phase 1, another boss has huge Arts aoe, and so on -- but also to make the most out of powerful Logistic bonuses in which you stow away Operators for bonuses depending how high level they are and what class they are, and expeditions for extra resources every 6 days, or on a 3 day cycle since you can have two teams out like this.

There's food recipes that give you immense stat bonuses and other advantages like extra block, more SP recovery, status resistance, reduced DP and redeployment cost, ignore DEF or RES per attack, and so on. There's a multitude of tools like 12 seconds of Stun with Mr. Booms, applying Freeze with Ice Blaster IIs, extra SP charging with Support Stations, and lots more. There's incredibly powerful structures like Urban Barriers which redirect your enemy's intended path in Blue Box maps, net launchers that Bind for several seconds, smoke launchers that inflict 10 seconds of high Fragile, and most powerful of them all, your own freaking ranged tiles on demand.

You are expected to interact with all of these aspects to properly succeed in RA2. Not master them, not become great with them, just interact with them, in addition to having a varied team. Critical Contentions, which is completely optional, requires a deeper mastery of these tools, but RA2 baseline? Just using them at all will make you much stronger.

...Now, with respect and because this is not our first dance together, I'll immediately say this since I know it's coming: If you really don't like being forced to use other units besides the small team you like and want, then don't play the game mode but also don't complain that the game is badly designed because it doesn't let you clear everything with the same team. I very much dislike that complaint because the game could not possibly be more explicit in its intent that you use different teams, adjust your strategy and experiment. Out of all gacha games, Arknights is the sole game that actually accommodates this explicit drive for variance by outfitting you with several strong welfare units and a spread of 3*s that are actually very strong and completely viable without needing you to get lucky at the gacha. If you decide you like to play the game with just your chosen few, that's completely valid and I would even say borders on adding a challenge, go for it, but don't complain that the game fails in its design when it doesn't let you clear either by lack of skill or because you decided to go against the grain of its explicit intent for you to use varied teams. I do not respect that complaint in the slightest and I do not wish to engage with it.

#biggerb0at

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youandthemountains · 2 hours ago

Text

hope it's okay to pull some of these out, what gems!!!

[Doctor McCoy, considering your intellectual levels are scarcely above plankton, I would hardly... I would... I... Doctor... McCoy.

Your pardon, Doctor, I... forgot myself. A rather insidious illusion. ]

I love how they have these little lines they won't be pushed to cross when it comes to each other, that no one else could guess. This reminds me of the novelization of Galileo 7, where Spock asks Boma if his ritual really matters to him, and Boma responds "yes, even if it was your body out there!" And Bones is furious and chastises him and I believe the phrasing is "still smarting on Spock's behalf, goes to check on him". And it's funny because in both of these cases, what's said isn't far different from the things they normally say to each other - Spock loves insulting McCoy's intelligence lmao! but they know their intent and when it feels wrong - too sharp, not part of their play, it pulls them out of things immediately. Here, McCoy literally rescuing him from getting trapped in the pride circle of hell, because they ground each other.

Bones...

Sorry. Jim... we've seen a lot of pain, a lot of death, this last while. And I'm not standing it as well as I used to. I've been thinking... I don't know, maybe this kind of thing is best left to the young.

Bones... I don't know what to say to you. If Spock were here, maybe he would. He's always good at producing snappy comebacks for anything you say.

god, they ground each other!!! this confirms my priors that McCoy wouldn't want to be on a ship without him and vice versa I think Spock isn't as stimulated without him. They need each other for enrichment!!!

Dammit, Spock, I couldn't bear it either!

But, Doctor, despite that, you did.

I have actually read this one before but this exchange always drives me crazy. McCoy, despite enjoying complaining about little things, rarely actually expresses his needs or dissatisfaction with big things when he decides they simply need to happen. So this - this open admission that something hurt, was too much, is already A Lot.

and then Spock's response - to acknowledge and validate that - "despite that" and still have that unshakeable confidence in him. Just *chefs kiss*

...and I must say, you have surprised me Dr. McCoy.

Oh? How's that?

Spock never described you as a thoughtful man.

*chuckle* Can I quote your testimonial?

You may... though I do not see the purpose.

Oh... it might just come in handy in some -- uhh -- umm -- discussion one of these days.

I've been thinking about Sarek and McCoy a lot today anyway and this exchange is GREAT. I love them bonding. and McCoy's delight at learning that 1) sarek thinks he's thoughtful and 2) Spock is going to hate this and also 3) perfect fodder for an argument he's decided to pick is just fantastic.

happyyyyy spones day!!! Some of my fav spones panels from the comics cause my pc is sadly still dead 😔 these are all out of context cause I go monkey noise whenever they interact in the comic n screenshot in a frenzy which means I don't even remember from which number they come from(they all from the DC ones tho)

These are from a bones centric chapt where baby boy realizes he can mind meld just like his husband

#thank you so much for sharing these!!!#long post #spones

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 24 hours ago

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Hello and

HAPPY NEW YEAR hope you have a great day :3

(also thank you for the last answer to my question)

How warlords would help reader who has chronic pains and struggles with their mental health? Would they try to find a way to manage their pain? would they constantlly hower around the reader? would they be more worried? Or would they just comfort reader?

They would one hundred percent comfort Reader. Cuddles and hugs to keep her warm while also trying to help make the pain go away. They hate seeing their wife hurt or just in pain.

Before the curse is broken, they would cuddle up with her and attempt to make her feel better. Sure, at this point, you're not their wife, but they see you as it (even if one of them won't admit it yet).

After the curse is broken, you know these two are going to try and do their best to find medical remedies. Maybe some mystical plant that can stop pain, or maybe a pendent that does the same. Something that can help you, they will find it.

>>>

A small sapphire pendent dangled from Macaque's hand. He held it out to you with a warm smile.

"I know you still don't believe I'm Plum. And I also know you are still keeping a distance, but this isn't for either of those. This can help sooth the pain from your migraines and muscle aches. You don't even have to consider it a Courting gift, I just hate seeing you in pain," he explained softly while continuing to hold the necklace out to you.

Your eyes flicked to the necklace in his hand and you scowled. You didn't know if it was cursed, maybe it was some sort of love spell. It could be all sorts of things, this- this monster destroyed an entire innocent village... you can't trust him- ouch. Your hand held the side of your head as another headache arose.

"Beloved, please. Just take it, I hate seeing you in so much pain," his words were sincere, and his eyes held not sign of deceit. You just... I wasn't sure if you had the guts to believe him.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Wukong with his arms crossed and a glare on his face. He was used to fighting through his problems, killing whatever he didn't like... he couldn't kill your headache and it was driving him mad!

Maybe you could trust them... just this once.

Happy belated new year to you too! Sorry I answered this so late. I hope you enjoyed it 💞

#ask #ask reply #dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #sun wukong x reader #macaque x reader #shadowpeach x reader #cursed warlords lmk au #cursed warlords au #cursed warlords

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yazzwrites6962 · 1 day ago

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Please more niragi

Warmth ♡ Suguru Niragi

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! It is so unbelievably hard to find good photos of this man. I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: Smut

Summary: After surviving a brutal game, you and Niragi take shelter in an abandoned building on a cold night. Light banter and teasing leads to more intimate moments between you two.

Word Count: 2170

Warnings: OOC Niragi, language, mentions of death, sexual content, penetration, biting, name calling, masochism, degradation, fingering, praise, begging, and some hair pulling.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It wasn't meant to turn out this way. You and Niragi had barely made it out of the game alive. Now, instead of driving back to the Beach in victory, you were journeying through the empty city on foot because, of course the keys had been left on a dead player and were too risky to retrieve.

"Remind me again, why I let you talk me into switching to your group?" You grumbled, glancing at Niragi as you trekked through the dimly lit streets.

"Because you're hopeless without me." He shot back, smirking despite the exhaustion in his steps. You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on the backpack slung over your shoulder.

"Right, because you're the poster child for good decisions." You two had been walking for what felt like hours. The cold night air danced against your skin and your muscled ached from the demanding game earlier.

You weren't sure how much longer you could keep going. Niragi didn't seem too thrilled at the thought of continuing all the way back to the Beach either, although he would never admit it outright.

Eventually, you spotted an old, abandoned building up ahead. Unlike many other buildings, it seemed mostly intact. It looked like it must've been a shop or cafe, but now it was just another hollow shell in the Borderlands.

"Hey, that looks good enough." You say, motioning towards the building. "We can stop and rest there for tonight." You began making your way to your safe haven of the night without waiting for a response.

"Fine." Niragi sighed, catching up to you. For once, he didn't argue. He was definitely tired too. "Don't go falling asleep. There's not a chance I'm taking first watch."

Inside the building wasn't much different from the outside. It was dusty, cold, and lit only by the moonlight filtering through broken windows. Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly through the city at night. You found a pile of old blankets folded neatly on the counter. They were probably left by someone who had been camping there before.

"Toss me one." Niragi hollered to you, sitting against the wall with a grunt. Instead of gently handing it over, like a normal person, you balled up a blanket and threw it at his head.

"What the hell?!" He let out a muffled yell as the blanket hit him square in the face. He yanked it off, glaring at you with an irritated expression.

"Oops." You said, innocently, trying to hide the grin playing at your lips. "Sorry. My aim is shit when I'm feeling so tired." You picked up a blanket for yourself, wrapping it around your shoulders as you approached him.

"Your ass is lucky I'm too tired to get up and strangle you right now." He muttered, with no real threat in his voice. You sat down against the wall beside him. The air was freezing, and even with the added layer, you could feel the chill seeping in.

Glancing at Niragi, you notice him shivering slightly, despite his attempts to look unbothered. Without a word, you shuffled closer, throwing half your blanket over him.

"What are you doing?" He stiffened immediately, giving you a suspicious look.

"Relax. I'm not gonna bite. Not unless you want me to." You teased. "You just look like you're about to turn into an icicle or something." He stared at you incredulously.

"You... You're annoying. You know that?" He said, ultimately deciding not to push you away. His body relaxed as he shifted slightly closer to you. You raise an eyebrow, grinning at him. "Relax. I just don't feel like freezing tonight, okay?"

You hum in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence fills the air between you. The shared warmth made the cold of the night slightly more bearable. Every so often, you would catch Niragi glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" He asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual. You turned your head to look at him, slightly surprised by the question.

"I dunno." You answer honestly. It's true, you aren't scared of him, despite everything. "I mean, I know you're just as bad as everyone says, but not to me. Do I personally got a reason to be afraid of you? Should I sleep with an eye open tonight?"

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it with a thoughtful expression. You wonder what he was going to say before he stopped himself.

"You're really annoying." He muttered after a moment. You chuckle, leaning your head against the wall. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn you saw a soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." You scoff. "We both know you'd be painfully bored without me." You scoot closer to him, your body searching for warmth.

"You keep acting like you know me so well." He murmured. "You're not scared of what I could do?" There's practically no space between you, and it's almost like he's whispering in your ear.

"I just don't think you'd do anything to hurt me." You reply, your eyes meeting his.

"So, you've either got crazy guts, or you're just unbelievably stupid." You could feel his warm breath hitting your face, and you couldn't help but crave more of his heat.

"Maybe both." You leaned closer, your heart racing as you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. "I guess that makes us a pretty good match, huh?"

Wordlessly, his hand reached up, brushing against your cheek in a way that was surprisingly gentle for someone like him. You shivered at his touch.

You weren't quite sure who moved first, but before you could overthink it, you found yourselves closing the distance. Your lips met in a rough, but strangely tender kiss.

His hand shift to your scalp, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth. You can feel the warmth building in your chest as his other hands reaches for the hem of your shirt.

He bites down lightly on your lower lip, earning a yelp to escape from your throat. He chuckled, pulling back for a moment to look at your face. There is a flash of possessiveness in his eyes as he crawls on top of you, carefully laying you beneath him.

Fortunately, the blankets are large enough to still cover both of your bodies. Yet, it somehow didn't matter. You already felt warm enough with his right hand acting as a cushion between your head and the ground, and his left hand snaking up your shirt.

"Cozy?" He asked with a grin. You'd heard the rumors of how rough Niragi could be. However, it felt as though you were seeing a slightly different side of him. Beneath it all, he cared about you. He cared about your comfort and your warmth.

You nod, a similar smile on your face. Niragi lowered his face to yours, peppering kisses along your jawline before reaching your neck. He wanted to mark you. He wanted everyone on the Beach to see you covered in hickies and bruises belonging to him. So, he did exactly that.

He kissed and licked at your neck and collarbone. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging it slightly as if begging to feel more of his body.

"Are you really so cold, princess?" He teased as he pinched at one of your nipples. You let out a gasp, and he began to pull your shirt higher and higher until your chest was exposed to him.

In his left hand, ne began kneading at your breast while his mouth worked on the other. You felt your arousal growing, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. He growled, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

"Fuck..." He whispered, pulling his mouth off you. You shivered; your cold wet skin exposed to the chilly air. "You're intoxicating." He grumbled, reaching for the hem of your pants. You quickly assisted him in removing your clothes, your heart racing with anticipation.

Niragi shifted his weight to one side, lifting two fingers to your lips expectantly. You opened your mouth, allowing him to push his fingers against your tongue.

"Suck, like a good girl." He commanded; his voice low with desire. You did exactly as you were told, sucking and likcing his fingers until they were properly lubricated. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, lowering them to the wet warmth between your legs.

"Please..." You whimpered, the word slipping from your lips. He paused, shutting his eyes and biting his lip as if trying to control himself.

"Fuck. Do you even know how hard you've made me?" He groans, shoving his fingers inside you. You yelp as they immediately curl against your sweet spot. "All the fucking time, with all your teasing. Fuck. You make me want you so bad."

His fingers pump in and out of you, stretching you out as his lips reattach to yours. Your whimpers and moans are silenced in his mouth. You grow lightheaded, and you can tell Niragi's composure is slowly eroding away.

Your hands reach down to his belt and you unbuckle it, pulling it from his pants. His breath hitches and he pulls away from your passionate kiss. A string of saliva still connects the two of you.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He growls, his fingers still curling inside you. You bite your lip, suppressing your sounds of pleasure for a moment.

"Oh, I'll m-make sure you finish." You tease, stuttering your way through your words. He huffs, pulling his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

He works his way through his own clothing as you strip your remaining garments and toss them aside. In a matter of seconds, you are both completely bare and vulnerable in front of each other.

He grips at your thigh, leaving nail marks in it as he hoists your leg over his shoulder. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock already leaking precum.

With the quick motion of his hips, he begins pushing into you, making you feel fuller than ever before. He bottoms out, suppressing a moan behind his thinly shut lips.

"Please, Niragi." You whine, rolling your hips. He inhales sharply, squeezing his nails so roughly against your skin that you believe it may bleed. "...Move."

"Yeah?" He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as he pulls back, then thrusts forward. You squeak with pleasure as he repeats the action. "You want me to move? Alright, slut. I'll give you exactly what you're asking for."

The way he pounds into you is animalistic. Possessive. It's impossible to contain the moans flowing from your lips as you take him. Your nails dig into his back, leaving scratch marks which will remain in his skin for several days.

"You squeeze around m-me so good. F-Fuck." His voice quakes in your ear. "Like y-you're sucking me in. Such a fucking whore. So desperate f-for my cock."

His sweat drips onto you, but you couldn't care less. Your mind is swirling from the pleasure, and you're locked in on the sounds of your wet skin slapping against his. The warmth and passion are overwhelming.

"Niragi!" You whimper, breathlessly. "P-Please- I'm so close!" You beg as he drops your leg off his shoulder, allowing him to press his chest against yours. You lock your legs around his hips, as if pleading for him to keep going.

"Shit." He gasps, wrapping his arms around you. "Me too, princess." His thrusts grow sloppy and his breaths shorter. "Beg for it, my good girl."

"P-Please!" You can feel the pressure building as you beg for your release. "Fuck- Please Niragi! Please let me cum- Please! I n-need to c-cum, please!"

"A-Ah-" His thrusts stutter as he twitches inside you. "Fuck- Cum for me, baby." He huffs before pressing his lips against yours.

He continues messily thrusting into you as you both ride out your highs, his seed spilling inside you. He moans in your mouth, pulling away from the kiss as he pulls out of you, combined liquids spilling out of your body.

His trembling body slumped beside you. Never before had you seen Niragi so drained of energy. Slowly, your heart calmed, and your breathing slowed back to normal.

You rested against his side, enveloped up in the warmth of shared blankets and lingering closeness. Niragi didn't have much to say, but he wrapped his arm firmly around you, holding you in an oddly comforting way.

"You're still annoying." He exhaled, but there was no malice in his tone. Only exhaustion and playful teasing. You chuckle, nestling closer to him.

"You're still pretending like you don't like me." You shoot back, but the comment falls on deaf ears. Niragi has already drifted into a rare, but peaceful sleep.

Maybe the Borderlands was cold and cruel, but at least you had found some warmth in each other.

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wolfofcelestia · 3 days ago

Text

╰┈❥ Contains: Zayne/MC. No real plot. Just a fluffy moment. Slightly tsundere MC. Unnamed female MC. Third person POV. [AO3. WC: 723. Fluff.]

The image of Zayne with an armful of colourful plush bears and penguins came into sight as she turned the corner of the pediatric wing.

“Zayne?” she called out softly with a slight giggle.

His name in her voice had always cut through any other distraction to capture his attention. He turned to face her, causing a plush polar bear to slip from his arm.

“Ah, I wasn't expecting you here so early. Is there a blue moon tonight?” he asked, neatly placing a plush penguin on the wall display.

There was a large cutsey sign in pastel colours in the middle of a pyramid of plushies, all of which the doctor and the hunter had in their own plushie display at home. It seemed to be a plushie donation drive sponsored by Twinkle Toys.

“If you're going to be snarky every time I'm not late, I'll drink your latte,” she threatened, taking a sip from one of the two coffee cups in her hands.

Zayne chuckled at her response, his lips curling into a smile as he turned away from her to pick up the fallen bear. He placed it in an empty seat on the wall display before patting it on the head.

“If you drink two cups of coffee at the same time, you'll be on the toilet all night. I’ve stocked up on Pepto Bismol, so there's no need to worry. If you want to give yourself a stomach ache, I'll take care of you.”

She beamed at him, watching him straighten out the crooked plushies on the display as his words warmed her with a soft and fuzzy feeling that may or may not have been from the coffee.

“But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so',” he added with his usual nonchalance.

Her smile dropped. She tucked one cup of coffee into her arm to free up a hand and swat him on the ass in retaliation, the sound of the impact echoing through the hospital halls.

His body stilled, his hand nearly crushing a penguin’s face in.

“...There are children here,” he reminded her, his voice steady as he pushed his glasses up with a finger. “Apparently, there’s a child here with me as well.”

“Just take your coffee,” she huffed, a smile threatening to break through her annoyance at him.

Zayne took the cup from her and stood back to admire the now-neatly organized plushie display. His hand settled on top of her head, much like how he had patted each plushie on the head when he placed them in their slots on the wall.

She didn't react, merely staying close to him as the warm sunlight poured through the hall to surround them. The bustle of doctors and nurses rushing through the hospital seemed a whole world away in their secluded hallway of soft plushies and the sweet scent of vanilla lattes.

“Why are you in charge of the plushie display?” she asked in earnest, her voice softer now.

“I’m not,” he answered simply. “I was just passing by when I saw a penguin about to fall off. I thought it looked like you when you get hungry—” He was cut off by the incredulous look she gave him, but he continued with a smile. “So I put her back in her seat and made sure her friends wouldn't fall off either.”

His hand trailed down to her shoulder, moving slowly to the small of her back as he led her down the hall. “Let's go. You'll be late for the appointment if you stay here any longer.”

She looked up to meet his gaze, confused, but her body responded out of habit, her feet carrying her in the direction Zayne had set. “I don't have an appointment today.”

“We do.”

As they walked back to his office, Zayne nodded to a passing nurse, who did a double take once she saw his arm around the hunter's waist.

“All-you-can-eat desserts. Our reservation is in an hour.”

Zayne didn't have to look at her to know that her eyes were sparkling at the surprise promise of sweets. It was always so easy to make her happy. And whenever he felt her squeeze his arm just a little tighter, it always flooded his chest with a warmth that he quickly grew addicted to.

╰┈❥ Note: The sweets restaurant I had in mind was actually Cafe Ron Ron, a place I had visited once before. After some googling, I realized that it seemed to be the only one of its kind in the world and is actually now shut down, so I had to just generalize it to an AYCE place. Zayne and MC would've loved that place tho

#yes I'm procrastinating on my other thing by writing this but this got more inspiration to make it to the finish line so here it is first #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #celestial myths

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woodenplank-gt · 1 day ago

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New Life Experiences

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rewritten this, but it’s finally done! Tucker’s realizing his humans aren’t so bad.

First: A Not So Average Night

Previous: Revelations

Next: Coming Soon!

—————

Tucker kept his knees curled up to his chest, trying not to touch Shawn's hand as much as possible. Unfortunately, the sudden breaking and turns of the car threatened to knock him over, forcing him to brace his hands on the palm underneath him. The engine of the car roared loudly in his small ears, making the ride even more unbearable. He swallowed thickly as a finger twitched behind him. At any moment the ginormous fingers could snap close and trap him forever. Tucker was at Shawn's complete mercy.

He tried to distract himself from that fact by glancing around the car. The only other time he's been in one was when he was stuck in the bag of chips earlier that morning, which honestly felt like forever ago at this point. The interior was completely black and clean and had a pleasant smell. There were a lot of different buttons and knobs that Tucker had no hope in understanding how they worked. Gus was at his right, his hands tight on the giant wheel and his eyes fixed on the road. Tucker figured the wheel controlled the whole machine, but he just couldn't comprehend how.

He curiously glanced up at the large window to his left. Since he was sat in Shawn's hands, who was resting said hands on his lap, Tucker could only see the yellow sky of the rising sun and the tops of trees and buildings. This was still far more than he was used to seeing in the walls, and he couldn't help but perk up a little at the new sights.

Suddenly, the hand he was on began to move. Tucker let out a quiet yelp when he was pitched to the side from the movement. All he could do was watch as the hand brought him closer to the window until he had a clear view outside. His wide eyes shot up to Shawn who had an innocent smile on his face.

"That spot gives you a better view." He stated knowingly.

Tucker only nodded before quickly turning back towards the window. He hated how the human was able to read him so easily. At this point, it didn't matter if Shawn was a fraud or not since he seemed to be able to read minds either way. Although Tucker couldn't stay mad once he laid eyes on all the different sights in the human world. He pressed his small hands on the glass as they passed an endless body of water.

"Shawn don't put him so high up. Someone can easily spot him out on the street." Gus chastised.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Relax Gus, I know what I'm doing." He replied playfully, although Tucker did feel the hand drop just a little bit.

The two humans continued to talk above him, but Tucker didn't listen to their rumbling conversation. It wasn't like he was going to join in any time soon. He watched as the car turned and started driving around a building. He didn't think much of it until the hand quickly lowered below the window and back to Shawn's lap.

Tucker grumbled as he righted himself on the palm and straightened out his poncho. He was quickly learning that human hands were not a stable spot for sitting, especially when the human never bothered to warn him.

"What would you like to eat for breakfast, Tucker?" Gus asked, throwing Tucker from his bitter thoughts.

Tucker blinked, "huh?"

The drive through line started to move, forcing the car closer to the intercom. "We're picking up something to eat. What would you like?" He repeated quickly. When Tucker still only gave him a bewildered look, he continued, "there's bagels, pancakes, hash browns," Gus began to list.

It took an embarrassingly long time for Tucker to realize they were actually offering him food. Real, fresh, hot food humans get to enjoy unlike the stale flavors he's accustomed to. The more foods Gus listed, the more overwhelmed he became. Tucker never had the luxury of picking and choosing what to eat, he simply took whatever he could scavenge to survive. Even then, he often came up short and had to ration the same crumb for days so he could have something in his stomach.

His mind whirled as he tried to come up with an answer. Tucker honestly didn't know what those foods even were. Suddenly, something large grazed his back and he immediately flinched forward. Tucker glared at the offending finger that touched him, then glanced up at Shawn.

"Clock's ticking," Shawn said as the car continued to move up the line.

"I-I'm fine! I had a chip already." Tucker blurted out. He internally screamed at himself for missing his only chance to eat something good. Everything was just happening too fast for him to keep up, and it was still only morning. At this rate, Tucker knew he was in for a long, long day.

As Gus neared the intercom, he exchanged an unsure look with Shawn before rolling down the window. Tucker jumped when a new human voice crackled over the speaker. He instinctively curled in on himself more to appear smaller and harder to see.

It didn't take Gus very long to list his and Shawn's orders and pull up to the window. Shawn was quick to cup his other hand over Tucker as the worker appeared with the food. He frowned as he felt the small figure shaking on his palm.

The worker quickly handed Gus the drinks and he proceeded to place them in the cupholders. He looked up at the woman and gave her his best smile, "thank you very much, miss." He said politely. She didn't even have a chance to respond as he sped out of the parking lot in record time.

Tucker yelped as he was thrown against Shawn's fingers from the speed and harsh turns. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the strap of his leather satchel for any sort of comfort. Unfortunately, any comfort his bag could bring him was overshadowed by the large fingers trapping him.

As more time ticked by, Tucker was tempted more and more to stab his nail back into Shawn's hand so he could finally be let go. Before he could even move for his weapon, the hand cupped above him slowly lifted up and out of sight. Tucker blinked at the onslaught of morning sunlight assaulting his eyes. He raised his hand over his eyes and moved to sit up only to realize the car stopped moving. When did that happen?

"Sorry about my fast driving Tucker." Gus' voice was accompanied by the sound of rustling bags. "I didn't want to risk the worker seeing you."

"I guess that's alright." Tucker said quietly. He also did not want to be seen by anyone else. These two humans were more than enough for him to handle. He chose not to mention how close he was to stabbing Shawn again.

As Gus started getting the food out of the bags, Tucker was hit with one of the most delicious smells he's ever encountered. He closed his eyes as he breathed in the greasy, salty goodness and his mouth began to water. Humans were so lucky to have access to these foods. Too bad he missed his chance to try some, at least this wouldn't be the first time Tucker had to ignore the tasty smells around him. He can do it again.

The hand underneath him began to lift up and stopped on top of the car dashboard. "Final stop on the Shawn Express!" The man announced, mimicking a conductor.

Tucker wasted no time hopping off and sat down. Instead of watching the humans take out their food and begin eating, he stared out the giant window behind him content to focus on his thoughts.

That was until a brown hand reached over and placed a large napkin a few inches away from him. Without a word, Gus broke a corner of his bagel off and placed it on the napkin followed by some eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Shawn was quick to follow suit and gave him a huge piece of his pancake that was the size of Tucker's torso.

Tucker's wide eyes flicked to one piece of food to another. His throat was dry. "Is this- what are ya doing?" He stammered.

Shawn's brows furrowed. "Giving you food. What else would we be doing?"

The borrower shook his head in complete disbelief. "I can't." His hands found the strap of his bag once again as he backed away from the food.

"Come on Tuck, don't be all humble on us now. Where's that fiery spirit we all know you have!" Shawn said, placing his food on his lap.

"Ya humans don't get it. I can't take a handout. I'm not a damn pet!" He spat. The words came out harsher than he intended, but Tucker had to make sure the humans understood him.

The humans quickly glanced at each other, which they seemed prone to do, before looking straight back at Tucker. The small man's shoulders bunched up at the serious looks he was receiving.

"Where in the world did you get that idea from? We would never see you as a pet!" Gus' voice was full of shock and disgust.

Shawn nodded along, "yeah! We know you're not a pet no matter how cute you are." He said with no hesitation.

Tucker's dark cheeks began to burn at that and he glanced down at his leather boots. "Well a handout will always be seen as a way to pity my kind. It will make us too reliant on humans, like pets." He explained.

"So you need to earn your own food?" Shawn confirmed as he slowly caught on to what the little man was saying.

Seeing Tucker nod his head again, Gus immediately responded. "Well you can take this food as an apology for Shawn kidnapping you, or a thank you for helping with the Blum case." He reasoned.

He crossed his fingers that Tucker will accept the food, but Gus was more than prepared to come up with more ways Tucker earned the food if he needed to. It was painfully obvious the little guy has been surviving off scraps. The way his brown skin stuck to his bones and how loose his clothes were sent shivers down Gus' spine. He'll make sure Tucker eats one way or another.

Tucker haltingly glanced over at the food. The warm, savory flavors were calling his name over and over again making his mouth water and his stomach grumble. He wanted to stay strong and show the humans he needed nothing from them, but Tucker could no longer ignore the ache in his midsection.

Without a word, he slowly walked onto the napkin and knelt down, his eyes taking in the incredible sight of all the food available to him. The borrower felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the humans watched him break off a piece of egg. The yellow food radiated a pleasant warmth and Tucker quickly stuffed it into his mouth. His eyes closed and he moaned in ecstasy as the flavor exploded in his mouth. Tucker had never tasted anything so good before! The heat from the egg replaced the chill that always seemed present in his body. He forgot the last time he'd had hot food, if he ever had any at all.

Shawn's rumbling chuckle brought Tucker's mind back into the car. "Looks like someone likes it." He quipped lightheartedly.

Tucker's only response was a short grunt as he began stuffing his face full of food, making sure to try one of everything. In that moment, he only cared about satisfying the hunger that has plagued him since childhood. At the rate he was going, it looked like he might actually finish all the comically large bites of food around him.

Gus almost choked on his bagel as he watched the little guy practically inhale the hash brown. "Slow down Tucker. You'll get a stomachache." He warned.

Thankfully, Tucker did hear Gus' words and forced himself to slowdown and started nibbling on a piece of bacon. Eventually, he couldn't even manage that and begrudgingly placed it down. It took him a few long moments to realize he was actually full for once. It was strange not feeling the constant pain of hunger, but definitely not unwelcome.

Shawn smirked around a mouthful of pancake. "You want something to drink?" He asked as he held up a large cup with yellow liquid inside. "It's pineapple juice." He said as if Tucker knew what that tasted like.

Tucker had never seen such an unnatural looking color for a drink before. A part of him was genuinely concerned the juice would burn through his stomach or something. Still, he didn’t want to pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity. At least he would get a unique death compared to most of his kind who usually succumbed to starvation or disease with the occasional crushing. The borrower gave a small shrug, "I guess I could try some."

Shawn smiled and he moved to place the cup on the dashboard before realizing it would be way too tall for Tucker to reach. He awkwardly held the drink in his hand as the gears turned in his head for a solution. His eyes danced around the small car before landing on a water bottle, which he immediately unscrewed the cap of.

Shawn popped the plastic lid off his drink and began tilting the liquid towards the cap before a stern voice stopped him.

"Do that out the window! I don't want you spilling pineapple juice all over a company car." Gus stressed. It was a miracle he hadn't been fired from his pharmaceutical salesman job after everything Shawn has put the company's car through. It was bad enough he was using it for personal reasons let alone murder cases.

The man rolled his eyes as he pointedly clicked the button for the window to roll down. Tucker and Gus watched as Shawn stuck his hands outside the car, and, moments later, heard the sound of liquid splashing to the ground like a small waterfall.

"I knew you'd spill it everywhere," Gus said smugly.

"No! I'm just making sure the cap is nice and full for Tucker!" Shawn argued back with his hands still out the window.

Gus grabbed a handful of napkins and hit his friend in the shoulder to take them. "Clean up. I don't want your nasty hands in the car."

The psychic huffed and quickly, but carefully, placed the cap on the napkin beside Tucker then snatched the napkins from Gus before droplets of juice could drip into vehicle. Shawn then put his now nearly empty cup back into the holder and rolled his window up, eagerly turning his attention to Tucker to gauge his reaction.

The borrower sat in front of the weirdly yellow liquid. He leaned down and cautiously sniffed it causing his nose to immediately scrunch up at the strong smell. Hesitatingly, he dipped his hands in and watched the cold, bright juice pool into his palms and quickly took a small sip. Tucker grimaced at the sweet and tart flavor coating his tongue, but it surprisingly wasn't bad. He actually found himself dipping his hands in for more.

"This ain’t bad!" He admitted as he happily slurped more juice.

Shawn let out a relieved breath. "Thank goodness you like pineapple. I don't know what we would have done if you ended up being a pineapple hater." The man joked with mock seriousness.

Gus grinned beside him. "We don't tolerate haters around here." He confirmed with a shake of his head.

Tucker shot them a confused look, but otherwise ignored them. To his dismay he finished the entire bottle cap of juice far too quickly, but the borrower didn't want to request more. That would make him seem too desperate like a pet asking for a treat. He grimaced at the thought and began wiping his now sticky hands on the napkin underneath him.

The humans were still finishing up their food, so Tucker distracted himself by tearing off pieces of the napkin and wrapping the remains of his breakfast to store in his bag. Even though the food would no longer be warm later, it still tasted so much better than the chips he'd been surviving off of back home.

After a few minutes, Gus wiped his hands with a napkin and threw the trash in the bag. Shawn followed suit before reaching up towards the dashboard. He laid his hand down flat, palm up. "Ready to get going?" He asked, wiggling his fingers for Tucker to come closer.

The borrower still eyed the hand nervously, but he was faster with climbing onboard much to Shawn's delight. With Tucker off the dashboard, Gus quickly cleaned up the leftovers of his breakfast before putting the car in drive.

Shawn once again lifted his hand just high enough for Tucker to see out the window. This time he was less interested in the human world as his thoughts took over. His interactions with Shawn and Gus didn't line up with the stories he was told as a kid. Sure they still scare him, especially in the beginning, but they also have been treating him nicely after their initial shock wore off.

Tucker frowned, and his hands once again gripped the leather strap around him as they got closer to his home.

————-

Eventually, the car turned onto a small, winding backroad before coming to a complete stop. Both Shawn and Gus intently scanned the surrounding area for any unwelcomed humans. When they determined it was safe, Shawn eagerly opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle.

Tucker couldn't help but grab onto his thumb as the large movements threatened to throw him off. He frowned and was tempted to scold the human, until he felt the breeze hit his face. A small smile formed on his lips. The smell of fresh air was so nice, especially compared to the musky scent of the walls that he’d grown so used to. Up ahead was a blue single-story house sitting alone, surrounded by a forest of trees. His eyes widened when he realized this was the house he'd been living in for 9 years.

Shawn and Gus stopped when they finally reached the door of the small house. Yellow police tape blocked off the front door, but Shawn still reached for the doorknob with his free hand. It jiggled but unsurprisingly didn't open.

He huffed and turned to Gus, "Does that safe breaking thing teach you how to pick these locks." Shawn asked, nodding towards the keyhole.

The other man crossed his arms. "It's a subscription to Safecrackers Monthly. And no it doesn't."

When no one made a move to go inside, Tucker curiously glanced between the two. He couldn't help but ask, "I thought you could get inside if ya work on the murder." He remembered hearing all the humans walking in and out of the house while he was hiding in the bag of chips. Shawn and Gus were able to go inside that time, what's different now?

"Authorized people already unlocked the door when we came here the first time." Gus started to explain.

Tucker tilted his head, "Authorized?" He repeated the strange word.

The man nodded, "It means they had official permission to go inside."

"And you two don't?"

Gus shifted on his feet and gave Shawn a look. "No we don't." He responded bitterly.

Instead of waiting to get hired to legally assist this case, Shawn immediately dragged Gus out of bed and beelined to the Blum residence. His friend was getting far too confident for Gus' liking. One day someone is not going to tolerant his "action first, permission later" way of doing things. Thankfully, he kept his second job so he'd still have income when one of Shawn's stunts gets them in too much trouble.

Shawn waved him off, "It never matters in the end once we solve the case."

"And what if the Chief finds out what we're doing before we solve the case? We could be arrested for breaking and entering and interfering with an investigation!" Gus stated, his voice becoming more hushed with paranoia. He nervously glanced behind them as if someone would appear in the tree line. He shuffled behind a beam on the porch after assuring himself no one was seeing him check out an active crime scene. "Criminal records do not look good for bachelors!”

"That's why we need to find a way inside before anyone sees us." Shawn pointed out with no hint of urgency in his voice. He bent down to look for a spare key under the doormat, failing to warn Tucker.

Tucker's stomach lurched at the sudden drop and he fearfully clung to the giant thumb beside him. The hand continued to sway back and forth as Shawn searched for a way in. He had to get off this death trap of a hand before Shawn either dropped or crushed him.

"I'll figure out how to get ya inside! Just stop movin' for crying out loud!" Tucker yelled up, squeezing his eyes shut.

Shawn immediately froze, still crouched on the ground searching for a spare key. His wide eyes locked onto Tucker who was holding onto his thumb for dear life. It was so freaking cute! If Tucker were stronger, he could probably cut off his circulation. Shawn honestly didn't think he was moving that fast, but chose to oblige to the tiny man.

When the hand remained still, Tucker finally forced his eyes open to meet the two giants' gazes. His dark cheeks reddened and he quickly tore himself away from Shawn's thumb. Tucker moved to the center of the palm but stayed crouched as he figured out how he could possibly help two giant humans. Honestly, he had no ideas on what to do, he just wanted off this hand.

He glanced around the porch. His only entrance to the outside was at the far corner of the house. But he never really used that path as it was mostly just a precaution in case he had to evacuate. It could easily be overrun by plants, bugs, mice, or even rats. Yeah.... Tucker was not in the mood to test his luck anymore.

The only other option was the front door. "Shawn, bring me to the doorknob." He ordered hesitantly, scared the human would be upset with getting bossed around by a man smaller than his fingers. Tucker felt the hand below him shift, "Be slow." He quickly added before Shawn put him through another rollercoaster of a trip.

“What’s the magic word?” Shawn responded without missing a beat. He stared expectantly at the small figure in his hand.

Tucker stayed silent, his expression completely clueless. The hell is a ‘magic word?’ He asked himself as his brain struggled to find an answer.

When the small man didn’t answer, Shawn started to look concerned. “You do know what the magic word is, right?” The tone in his voice told the borrower it was common knowledge for humans.

When Tucker shook his head, Gus leaned down and whispered like it was some big secret code word. “It’s please.”

“Please?” He repeated. He knew he heard the word before but he didn’t know it held such significance to humans. Tucker’s kind always kept conversations curt and at a minimum to keep from being heard by unwanted ears. Not to mention how they have far more bigger issues to worry about than their manners.

Thankfully, the magic word, that sounded a lot more like a question from Tucker, was enough to satisfy the human. Shawn beamed, “Of course my tiny good sir! Such a gentleman!” He complimented.

He very slowly got back onto his feet and carefully stepped closer to the door to hold Tucker right in front of the door knob. The borrower rolled his eyes then briefly inspected the keyhole. His Pa taught him how to escape a cage when he was a kid, and Tucker even got to practice on a lock when the humans were on a trip. He braced his hand on the cool metal and slowly inserted his right arm into the hole.

Shawn and Gus watched in complete fascination as the little guy started to feel around inside the mechanism. Tucker stubbornly ignored the hairs rising on the back of his neck from the human eyes, devoting his focus to the lock. He bit his lip and he began moving the tumblers inside until a click sounded out, announcing his success.

Right when he pulled his arm out, Shawn moved his hand up to eye level. Tucker stumbled and landed on his rear from the movement.

"Great job Tuck! I think you have Gus beat in the lock picking department." Shawn beamed.

Gus stepped closer and nodded at Tucker with an approving smile. "Good work Tucker." He congratulated politely. He then looked up a Shawn, "for the last time; lock picking and safe cracking are completely different." He stated in defense of his status.

"Sure it is." Shawn said as he moved his occupied hand to chest level and reached for the door.

The door creaked open to reveal the desolate house. It was dark with only cracks of morning light peeking through the closed blinds. The air was still and carried an eerie feeling that sent chills down Tucker's spine. The borrower frowned as they went deeper into the building. Usually there was music playing somewhere in the house, slightly drowned out by the TV. The resident humans were always talking and doting on each other, their lips curled into huge smiles. When he imagined coming back home, this emptiness wasn't something he prepared for.

The trio made their way through a small hallway with a row of portraits hanging on the wall before making it to the room where it all started. Shawn could feel Tucker shifting on his palm, but when he glanced down, the little guy's hands were tightly gripping the strap of his tiny bag. A nervous quirk Shawn was quick to pick up on. Surely it couldn't be because of him and Gus at this point. Hopefully.

"Alright," Shawn started as he stood by the kitchen table where Kirstin was found. The body was now gone, but a circle of crimson blood stained the light wood. "Let's get this case rolling." The psychic declared as his eyes scanned the bloodstains on the floor.

Before he could even move closer, a tiny voice piped up. "Could ya put me down, now?…. Please?” Tucker asked, his voice still sounding unsure as he addressed the human.

The man pouted like a child, "are you sure?" He asked despite knowing the answer. Sure enough, Tucker vigorously nodded his head. There was a small part in Shawn that just wanted to hold Tucker forever, it's not like the little guy could really do anything. But he knew that train of thought was very wrong, and Gus would definitely force him to put down Tucker.

So, Shawn slowly lowered his hand to the corner of the table away from the blood. With no hesitation, Tucker practically launched himself off the hand and backed a good few inches away.

The borrower was tempted to just fling himself down the table and escape into the walls, but Tucker decided to stay out in the open a bit longer. He doubted the humans would do anything malicious at this point, so he didn't really have to escape from anything. Plus the humans were still in his house, it only made sense to keep his eyes on them until they leave.

He watched as Shawn and Gus once again searched the kitchen. "Watchya doin'?" Tucker asked.

"Looking for evidence that proves someone else killed Kirstin." Shawn answered as he studied the blood stains on the floor.

Tucker tilted his head, his brows furrowed. "But I already told ya it's Josh. Go ahead and get the guy."

The man shook his head. "Unfortunately words and psychic visions are not solid pieces of evidence for the police. Trust me, I've tried." Shawn explained. He then turned back to Gus who was by the counter, "have you found anything useful?"

His friend, who was reading some papers, sighed and shook his head. He placed a hand on his hip, "just bills and newsletters, nothing about Josh." Gus replied, waving the papers with his free hand.

Shawn stood up and leaned on the table, being very mindful of the tiny man standing nearby. "I doubt Kirstin has photos and diary entries about her creepy stalker around here." He ran a hand through the brown spike of his hair. "We don't need to find anything about Josh right now, we just have to prove Steven wasn't the one who did it." The psychic decided. Based on what Juliet told him over the phone, he didn't even want to think about the intensive interrogation Lassiter was putting the widower through right now. They had to get that poor guy out of there fast.

"And how in the world are we supposed to do that, Shawn? The only defense that man has is that someone else was in the house, which, by the way, we can’t find proof of." Gus stated in exasperation.

"Just give me a second." Shawn responded as he strode into another room.

Gus shook his head in resignation but started to follow Shawn until he locked eyes with Tucker. Even though he could hardly see the facial expressions on that tiny face, he was able to recognized the look of curiosity. The human stood in thought for a moment, but ultimately decided to extend an offer. "You wanna look around with us?"

Tucker flinched back at the question as if it were an animal snapping at him. More time in human hands sounded like a horrifying death waiting to happen to him. There’s no way he could keep hanging around humans and not get hurt in some way, especially with his luck. Tucker really should be back in the walls at this point, all safe and sound and away from ginormous beings who could kill him with an easy flick of the wrist.

But he still stayed put. The borrower didn’t even know why. “Alright,” he answered without even thinking. His brown eyes widened in shock at the word leaving his mouth and his heart started to hammer in his chest. “Uh- but only because I need to keep an eye on ya humans. Make sure ya don’t snatch anything from my house.” Tucker crossed his arms, trying his best to appear nonchalant through his frantic stammering. “It’s nothing personal, just something I gotta do.”

Gus gave him a puzzled look and the small man swallowed thickly. Tucker hoped he wouldn’t take his acceptance to the invitation the wrong way. He couldn’t let anyone think he actually wanted to hang around humans. That would be crazy! What kind of self-respecting borrower would do such a thing? Yeah… he was simply doing this out of necessity to make sure the humans don’t take any goods that he could borrow later. Nothing more.

“Okay then.” Was Gus’ reply as he slowly lowered his hand to the table. Before Tucker could even brace himself to climb on, triumphant shouting came from the hallway. Maybe the humans will find their answers and be gone sooner than he thought.

#g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #giant/tiny #borrower #borrowers #burton guster #oc tucker #pocket detective #psych #shawn spencer

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