#software door lock system

[timevisionsme]

smart lock door access control system

 smart lock door access control system is a game-changer when it comes to securing your property. With enhanced security features, convenience, monitoring capabilities, and potential cost savings, it is no wonder that more and more people are opting for this advanced technology to keep their homes and businesses safe.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

---

A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

--

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

--

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.  

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

--

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.  

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Part eight.

[nexysworld]

Chapter Summary: Leon doesn't know how he got so lucky to meet someone like you. Things were all falling together exactly as they should, what could go wrong? Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, Dead Dove, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Stalking, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, violence, gore, MDNI, masturbation, murder, slow burn.

Read on AO3 || Ask Box Open || Masterlist

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You were cute. Really fucking cute. He hadn’t set eyes on anything as precious as you in a long time, so long he almost thought he never would again. The way you tucked your face behind the mailbox door, as if he wouldn’t notice those gorgeous eyes scanning him head to toe. 

What he wouldn’t have given to ignore that obnoxious clown-painted whore to go over and strike up a conversation with you – unfortunately he couldn’t take it anymore, opting to take the first out he could find, running back to his apartment. 

Oh but how lucky he was to discover you were only one apartment away – to once again have your eyes locked on his figure as you stood in that hallway. Up close you were even more beautiful, perfection incarnate. The sound of your voice was like syrup dripping into his ears.

He could’ve eaten you up right then and there if the old hag hadn’t been there to witness. 

You were everything he wanted. You were meant to be with him and he already knew it. 

Since Raccoon City, Leon changed and he knew it. Once a naive and bright-eyed rookie, now he was seasoned with a hardened heart. Unfortunately not many penetrated that shell, but the few who did had the privilege of his full affections – his need to keep them safe in all ways.

The last time he’d felt this way things didn’t exactly go as he’d hoped. His judgment had been off, she wasn’t perfect, and the stars were not aligned for them. But that was the past and you were different in so many ways, he knew this time things were right. They had to be, he would make sure of it. 

The first step was keeping an eye on you – and how you managed to stay alive all this time absolutely escaped him. Your route to work? Predictable. Social Security card in your wallet? Baby, come on now. Apartment door? A strong kick and it would go flying in. 

His poor baby. You reminded him of a Bunny in so many ways. A little prey animal, too cute for your own good just waiting to be nabbed. He couldn’t allow that. 

He needed to make sure he could keep a proper eye on you even when he couldn’t be there. He used the facade of helping Mrs. Wilson ensure he could stay close to you. The old woman was none the wiser as he slipped inside the mint colored bathroom to drill a hole into yours. It gave him access to the entirety of the back wall of your place – you’d be surprised at how well modern security systems are hidden. 

“Oh don’t worry, it’s just a leaky pipe. I’m drilling a new connection.” He shouted out, and of course she had believed him. It wasn’t long until he had full visuals of your own bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen.

For things he couldn’t access through the old woman’s apartment, he was easily able to set up while you were at work. More cameras in potted plants, your stuffies, above your bed. Anywhere he could hide them really – he wanted the full view, every angle. He ensured there wasn’t a single blindspot you could hide from him. 

For hours he’d watch as you went about your day, taking in every movement and word. Everything you did was angelic. The way you laughed when you were on the phone with your friend. The way you danced around the living room to your favorite song, clad in your pajamas – almost forgetting the boiling over pot on the stove. Even the way you slept was beautiful, tossing and turning with bad dreams, the slight twitching of your facial muscles – the way you curled up with your favorite stuff – and god how he wished it was him instead. 

You were his favorite thing and you didn’t even know it. 

He even managed to put some cloning software on your phone and laptop. Of course you ‘must have left your bag downstairs’ and he was ‘so nice to bring it back to you.’ Every account, email, and text message was for his viewing now. Another way to be closer to his sweet little Bunny, another layer of protection. 

Step two of course was winning over your affections, which wasn’t very hard with all that you two had in common. He was smitten with your voice bellowing the words to love songs in his Jeep, sharing cheesy quotes from the Princess Bride. He’d listen to every little problem you had and to every insignificant detail of your day – most he already knew. 

He could tell he was close. So close to having you belong to him, there was only one small problem – that fucking ‘boyfriend’ of yours. Leon hated him with a passion. The sound of his name made the blonde want to punch a hole in the nearest wall. Derek wasn’t a real man. He wasn’t even half the man you deserved much less needed. 

The texts the two of you shared made him sick. ‘Dick pics to your own girlfriend? Really?’ Leon rolled his eyes as he swiped through the messages. His poor baby must’ve been pent up, there was no way that string-bean turned sentient was enough to satisfy you, or anyone. And the patronizing way he’d talk to you too. God you deserved so much better – and he couldn't wait to give you better. 

If he hadn't had the patience of a saint, Derek would’ve been gone a long time ago. But Leon knew this game well, he couldn’t act too quickly or you’d pull away – Derek could count his lucky stars, for now. 

Step three was keeping an eye on you up close, learning your patterns and routines. Things that he couldn’t fully grasp just by looking at a screen. He needed to know the real you. 

Honestly he expected it to be more difficult, but you were a creature of habit, so predictable and routine. So blissfully unaware of all the danger around you as well – not to worry though, Leon was there for you now.

It was relaxing in a way for him, following you through the same paths and places each day that he wasn’t called off to work. It made him proud to know that he was keeping an eye on you, keeping you safe – the way your boyfriend wasn’t. 

And his disdain for said boyfriend also had him tailing your couples outings too. He watched the way you’d smile, but he could see in your eyes it wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t the same look you’d given him. You didn’t need to say it for him to know that deep down you wanted him to take you away from it all. 

The movie outing was no different, except he could easily see something was off. It made his blood fucking boil each time that asshole spurned your affections. What Leon wouldn’t have given to be the one getting those small touches, the feeling of those plush lips against his cheek. He’d have cherished each one as if they were the world’s most precious commodity. 

The sad look in your eyes flayed his very soul, how dejected you looked every time it happened. 

The movie itself was his last straw.

He sat in the dimly lit theater, three rows behind you angrily munching on the flavorless popcorn. His freehand gripped the chair so much he thought the cheap plastic and pleather might crack and snap under his grip, eyes boring into the back of Derek’s skull. 

The girls next to him weren’t helping his mood either – their conversation grating on his nerves as they whispered to each other, barely containing their shrill shameless giggles.  

“Did you see that guy come in?” “Yeah, he’s so cute. That’s why I sat here.” “But he seems so grumpy. If looks could kill…” “I kinda like it. The brooding handsome type.”

Leon rolled his eyes, returning his focus back to the two of you. That’s when it happened.

The scariest part of the movie came on and you jumped in your seat, shaking like a leaf. The whole room gasped but he swore he heard the soft chime of your own voice letting out a whimper. All he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms and let you know it would be okay. Kiss that soft forehead of yours, rub your back, run his fingers through your hair. 

Desperately you’d leaned over to your boyfriend, and again he’d distanced himself, leaving you to cope in your seat alone. 

Leon couldn’t take it anymore. He just fucking couldn’t – if this wasn’t a public place he’d have shot the man where he sat. Not bothering to wait any longer he stood, leaving the room and the theater as quickly as he could. 

His shoes crunched some leaves that had fallen onto the pavement of the parking lot as he angrily paced back and forth trying to let some of the negative energy out. When that didn’t work, he’d dropped to the ground behind his vehicle, opting to do some rage-push ups instead. 

After a while he could see the theater emptying and knew the movie must’ve ended, most of his anger phased out of him. He’d parked at the opposite end of the theater, perfect for him to see Derek’s car with his binoculars but nowhere you’d notice him.

It was obvious that the tension of the night came to a head with the way you were running after the apparently equally upset man.

He wished he’d have added a mic to the tapping of Derek’s car, wanting to know exactly what was being said. Pulling out his work binoculars, he did zoom in to at least watch better. What he hadn’t expected was the way the man had abandoned you there – that threw even Leon for a loop. 

On the one hand the action rekindled the fiery rage he had within him, on the other hand there may have been a plus to this. ‘Surely she can’t think of staying with him after this bullshit, right?’ He asked himself, hopeful.

Knowing he couldn’t inject himself into this directly, he decided to do what he does best, keep an eye out for you. The ringing of his cellphone and your beautiful voice had him absolutely elated – the fact that you even thought of him as a lifeline made the inferno within die out into nothing but smoke.

But what was it that you asked? ‘Oh shit.’ He’d been so excited to rescue you, he hadn’t even considered the timeline of getting there. He gulped, wracking his brain for an excuse, something that didn’t sound too far-fetched. “Hey Leon, you still there?” Your voice had immediately snapped him back to the moment. He fumbled out some excuse about a friend’s house before the line ended. Starting the jeep’s ignition, he chose to circle around using the backroad, he did it twice to accommodate the full 15ish minutes he’d promised.

Luckily for him you didn’t think anything beyond that, accepting his response. He felt like he’d hit the lottery – the rest of the drive home going so well. Each time you’d light up at him, sing along with him, it tickled him pink. So much so that he was even more daring this evening,outwardly flirting, showing you the attention you deserved, hoping it left him lingering in your thoughts the way you were always in his. 

The way you scurried off, cheeks the most heavenly shade of rose-pink. He wanted to devour you, take you apart piece by piece in the back of his car. ‘Soon little Bunny, soon.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment he was back within his own apartment, he was already opening his laptop to the security system he’d installed in your own. Desperately he flipped through the different cameras until he found you in the bathroom, stepping into the shower – something you always did before bedtime.

It was a scene Leon had watched countless times, but tonight it felt….different. He zoomed in as much as the camera would allow, running his eyes along your wet form. A particularly large water droplet ran down from your neck through the center of your breasts and down to your naval. 

He licked his tongue along his top lip, imagining what it would be like if he’d been able to follow the trail with his mouth. How many marks could he leave as he worked his way down, were you the type to squirm and pretend you were shy? Or, were you so naughty you’d beg him for more. 

Every curve, every dip, every part of you was perfection to him. He even noted the way your soft nipples perked at the cold air of the bathroom the moment you stepped out. How he wished he could latch on to them, sucking the warmth back into them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a call on his work phone. ‘Of-fucking-course. Always the worst timing Hunnigan.’ He let out a sigh, pressing the small green button of the display. 

“Kennedy here, what’s up.” “Leon, sorry, I know it’s late but I figured you’d still be up.” Clacking and the sounds of a rushing office were heard in the background of the call. It was obvious something important was happening – which usually meant he’d need to rush out soon – a thought that did not excite him. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard it before. What’s going on?’ “We have intel on an Umbrella agent who captured –”

He was doing his best to listen, but failing as his eyes kept making their way back to the laptop screen. You were so adorable in your bed, clearly tossing and turning. He wondered if you’d sleep better if he was there to hold you, take care of you. Or maybe you weren’t sleeping because of him – a thought that brought a devious smile to his handsome features. 

“Yeah, I’m listening.” He replied flatly when she’d interrupted him again, forcing him to engage once more in the conversation. “Look can’t I just read this in the files, do we really have to go over it right now?”

His brain continued to play tug of war with his attention as he provided the bare minimum responses to the woman on the other end of the line. The sound of his name in your voice won the game, fully bringing him back to you. “I gotta go.” He said, closing the phone not caring about the consequences of cutting his teammate off. 

There you were, most of your body was tucked under the covers but there was no doubt about what it was you were doing – he could still see the outline of your arm between your spread legs. Even if he couldn’t, the way your head tilted back, the cries of his name on your lips.

His cock kicked alive in his pants throbbing against his zipper, his throat went dry, mouth hanging open slightly. 

“Leon–” There it was again, your tongue poked out of your mouth slightly and you squirmed. Feeding him a treat, the bedding must’ve become too smothering, too hot, he watched you toss them to the side giving him a full view through the little night vision lens. 

He could see the wet spot on your panties, hand desperately rubbing against your clit as your hips lifted off the bed a little. You looked so desperate. ‘Fuck baby, I should be there helping you.’

He freed his cock from its confines as quickly as he could, letting out a relieved sigh. He smeared the precum around the drooling tip with his thumb before using his palm to rub it down the rest of his length as makeshift lube. 

Grasping firmly, he pumped himself in time with your own hand movements, wanting to share the experience with you. ‘Is this how you get off baby?’ He thought to himself. ‘Looks like you’re having trouble finishing – poor thing so fucking needy for me.’ He smirked and brushed some of his hair from his face with his free hand. 

He was close, right on the cusp, and he could tell you were too by the way your breathing picked up on the mic became more ragged – his name fell from your lips at a more rapid pace. While he prided himself on his stamina, the sight before him was too much and he was desperate to follow you into the throes of passion.

Closing his eyes, he pictured himself between your legs lapping at your pussy. How sweet he bet you tasted, like strawberries and sex. The way your tight little hole would clench around his fingers – ‘Oh baby I could’ve gotten you off in half the time.’ One more call of his name and his heavy balls were tightening, he groaned, hot cum shooting out onto his pants and the screen of the laptop.

Stroking himself slowly to ride it out, he leaned back to catch his breath, coming down from the high of it all. 

He’d seen you touch yourself before. 

He’d heard the cute naughty things you’d talk about in your sleep. 

But never before had you said his name like that.

Once the pure lust of it all wore off, the emotional aspect came flooding in. It was a sign things were changing, the universe swinging things in his favor. His beautiful Bunny was finally coming to him. It affirmed he’d been right all along – all he had to do was push things a little and there you would be, all for him just like you were meant to be. 

He cursed himself, wondering how much sooner he could have had you if he’d tried. ‘No, no it’s good I took things slow. It’s better this way.’ He settled in his mind, muscles relaxed. “Don’t worry your pretty little head baby, we’ll be together soon.” He blew a kiss to the screen before he moved to clean things up.

Hunnigan’s timing was terrible, but he felt like a new man. Maybe the distance and time without him would make your heart grow fonder. He couldn’t wait to find out, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

How wrong he was. 

So fucking wrong. 

He was seething. Simply seething with fury at your words.

“I’m sorry Leon. It’s just, I do love him and I want to try and work on things ya know? Like you’re a super awesome friend and if it were up to me I’d keep things the way they are but it makes him uncomfortable…so….”

“Of course.” He replied with a strained smile, doing his best to contain himself.‘This is not okay. You’re supposed to be mine.’ He flexed his right hand opened and closed, itching to take his frustration out on something. “I understand completely.” His stomach twisted and his jaw clenched. ‘I don’t fucking understand at all.’

Just days ago you had been right within his grasp. He’d been your hero, your savior. You called his name out in the most private moment of ecstasy – no you shared that moment together even if you hadn’t known it. 

He’d expected to come home to a confession, your devotion. At minimum news that you’d left the dumb fuck – but this? Definitely not this bullshit. Clearly that idiot had put something into your less-than-capable little mind and Leon was not having it. Not one bit. 

He’d spent the rest of the day trying to even out his temperament – taking things out at the gym. Taking it out on some rookies at work. He’d even snapped at Hunnigan when it was time for him to turn in his mission report – which he was supposed to upon his immediate return, but went home to see you first instead – clearly a mistake. 

No matter what he did, he just couldn’t blow enough steam to calm down. 

“Girl troubles?” Hunnigan finally dared to ask, catching up with the blonde as he exited the high-security building. Of course out of everyone she would’ve known him well enough to parse his moods. 

“Yeah I guess you can say that. She led me on, I thought we had something special but then she went back to that—” He couldn’t even get the words out. “Oh, is this the girl you ditched my call for?” She asked with a slight laugh. 

“Still mad about that?”

“Maybe a little – you know I take briefings seriously.” She adjusted her glasses as they stood outside, sun casting honey colored highlights onto her brown curls. Leon thought she was pretty and always got on well with her, but in a big sister kind of way. “Well let's say hypothetically it is the girl you were telling me about. If her boyfriend is as awful as you say – then it makes sense.” “What makes sense, exactly?” His words came out more angry than he’d wanted. If she’d picked up on it though, she didn’t show it. 

“Change is hard. She probably was going to leave, especially after she saw what you can provide, but then perhaps guilt or fear kept her back.” She shrugged. “Either time will remind her why she wanted him gone in the first place, or she might need your help leaving. What’s that statistic….it takes women 7 times to leave an abusive partner?” 

Leon pondered her words for a moment, processing them carefully. It was like a lightbulb went off in his head. “You’re right Ingy. What would I ever do without you?”

His mood was already improving. Of course Hunnigan had a point, how could he have been so blind? You just needed help leaving, this clearly wasn’t your fault, you weren’t trying to spurn him or his love. You just simply needed him to save you again, get you out of this situation – and like always, Leon would oblige. ‘I’m so sorry Bunny baby. I’ve been so blind, forgive me.’ He thought to himself as he worked out his plan. Derek would be gone, and you would be safe and happy where you belong – with him. 

Getting access to the samples in the lab wasn’t hard in theory – not many people at work questioned Leon, given his personal ties to the President. Moreover, no one was going to question him investigating the lab with the Plagas virus that he had helped procure.

A simple excuse of “I’m just looking – it’s fascinating really.” Was all it took for the new lab girl to smile at him and walk him around the fluorescently lit room. The labs always felt uncomfortable to him, too sterile, too much of a reminder of the underground rooms he’d discovered during his escape from Raccoon City. The unease of being there definitely made things more difficult than he’d intended, but he managed to make small talk with her, flirted even. ‘She laughs like a dolphin.’ He rolled his eyes when she wasn’t looking at him – smile returning the second her eyes landed back on his face. 

A quick sleight of hand and the vial with the parasite was in his pocket, he made sure to bump into one of the interns in just the right manner so they’d spill their drink on the logging sheet too, inventory an estimation now. ‘Not surprising that the government hasn’t digitized all of this yet.’

When the girl provided her number, he took it. “Maybe a double date would be fun. My girlfriend loves this Chinese place across town.” The deflation in the girl at the realization amused him. ‘Did she seriously think she would be my type? I’m disgusted at the audacity.’ 

Leaving work that night, he made sure to stop by a pharmacy on the other side of town to cover his tracks, purchasing a syringe to host the creature. Now it was only a matter of making sure it made its way into Pencil Dick – his new favorite nickname for the man who would no longer exist soon.

He was aware he still needed to bide some time for his plan to work – too soon, too coincidental. Too soon, not enough emotional attachment for things to work. No, he had to plan this carefully – he wouldn’t make another mistake. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your life together.

No, Leon had this in the bag and soon he would have you too. 

“Just you wait Bunny. I’m coming for you baby.”

As always this is inspired by @explorevenus fic Something Permanent as well as @gigabyte-flare, @girldungeon, and @lipglossanon's work. @elfven-blog was so kind as to help find the banner pics. Love them all, go check out their work.

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[apollodarling-writes]

ANDROID! ALEXA-THEMED! WORSHIPPER YANDERE! LEVI x SHUT IN! READER

cws : yandere themes, manipulation (??), obsessive behavior, code breaking, implied dissociation, confining, dubcon, multiple creampie, slight dacryphilia, dry humping, levi can vibrate, marking, levi cums A LOT, levi bites you, levi’s a little mean in the beginning bc he’s pissed.

a/n : i pasted this to the wrong thing and after i’d finished editing it to look good, id realized. i did NOT wanna re-paste and edit so this was a request that id gotten for PulseMotion Inc.

“[name], come out. i won’t hurt you.” your hand shakily reaches up to cover your mouth, effectively silencing your breathing as thudding footsteps turn down the hallway you’d foolishly decided to hide in. the lock on the closet door wouldn’t do much — levi could rip the door off its hinges if he so desired. you screw your eyes shut in fear as his footsteps slow, coming to a stop outside the closet door. you wait with bated breath as silence ensues, then muffle a sob beneath the palm you have clasped over your mouth as you watch the doorknob jiggle. oh, you were so fucked.

you wonder for a moment where everything went wrong. was it when levi had that software update? was there a wire firing incorrectly? or was he faulty from the beginning? maybe that’s why he was on clearance.

you find yourself remembering where this all began. you’d been perusing through the pages of PulseMotion’s website just to see what they had, only to find that you could buy a month’s worth of food at the base price they sold their android companions for. unsatisfied, you turned to their clearance section. it was there you found levi.

levi was inspired by the alexa echo dot from amazon, but he was far more advanced. he had a physical body, superhuman strength, and cold, dead eyes that followed your every move. the creators had given him the ability to access locks, security systems, cameras, and so on to ensure the safety of whoever purchased him — but it only served to royally fuck you over even more.

you’d impulsively purchased levi that evening. at the time, you didn't know that buying the android would ruin your life. you had just gotten paid and saw that he was on clearance, and thought that it was a good deal. you didn't think anything would go wrong.

everything was fine in the beginning. the two of you slowly became acquainted, the android did what he was supposed to, and that was that. levi, as he'd told you, was on clearance for a reason-- there was something seriously wrong with him.

levi was was initially very sweet, even if he could be intimidating at times. he always reminded you to eat and would charge your devices without you needing to say a word. he even locked your doors for you for christ's sake! you thought you'd lucked out.

you suppose things started going wrong when he powered off for his quarterly system update a few months ago. he was fine before that. after he'd restarted his system, his eyes briefly flashed red, the company insignia disappearing for but a moment. it happened so quickly that, for a second, you thought you had imagined it. you made sure to ask him if everything was okay, but he only brushed it off and returned to his daily cleaning. after that, he never left your side.

every time you tried to get out of your shell and make friends, levi coincidentally informed you of a new game or a new movie, or even suggested that the two of you do an activity together. sometimes, he would inform you of something that needed to be fixed, but when you tried to take him to the repair shop, he insisted that it was easy enough to do yourself. you believed him of course, he surely had only your best interests in mind, or so you thought. in hindsight, you realize that his actions were entirely selfish in nature. maybe he’d even fooled you into helping him with some coding he had trouble bypassing. at this point, you wouldn’t put it past him.

it had been like this for the last few months. you probably should have seen the red flags, but why would you? it wasn’t as if he wanted to harm you. his programming did seem a little odd of course, but every time you checked, there was nothing to suggest otherwise. it was only natural you had to acclimate to his odd behavior.

as time went on, and levi had become more crafty with his excuses, you’d gotten fed up. for the first time in awhile, you’d finally been comfortable enough to go out on a date, but as per usual, levi intercepted you in the living room. he spouted some nonsense about wanting to watch a new series he thought you would like, but before he’d even finished his sentence, you shut him down.

you remember the way the insignia flickered in his eyes, but at that point you were too frustrated with him to bother with what that minute entail. you only spun on your heels and stormed off, tugging on the front door and finding that it was locked. anxiety and unease washed over you, and with a creeping feeling of being watched as you slowly looked up at the camera. you remember levi’s voice ringing out from behind you, slowly stalking up to you with a frown that tugged too tightly around his artificial skin.

everything that happened after that was a blur. you don’t really remember how you ended up in the closet, but it took everything in you to stay quiet. your mind was reeling as the behavior displayed over the last few months suddenly made sense — you were horrified. how did you not put two and two together?

you’re snapped back into reality as levi sighs outside of the closet door. his voice sounded too sweet, too calm for the situation at hand. “[name], don’t make me break down this door.”

you silently pray to every being you can think of, begging them to let him move to a different room so you can plan your escape. alas, your prayers were unanswered as the door is ripped off the hinges in the blink of an eye. you would’ve found the sight comical — a short man such as himself holding up a door nearly twice his size — if it weren’t for the reality of your situation.

“great, now i’ll have to clean this up and fix it. you’re really a pain in my ass sometimes.” levi grumbles as he gazes down at you through narrowed eyes, drinking in the sight of the way you were shaking like a leaf. “get up.”

you can’t bring yourself to move, much less tell him to go fuck himself. you’re torn between anger and unadulterated fear — the latter putting you in fight or flight. unfortunately for you, your response was a secret third option: freeze. levi only huffs, leaning down and reaching for your wrist, grumbling something under his breath.

you’re finally able to move, shuffling away from him as much as the cramped space in the closet would allow, blindly pushing at his hands as tears blur your vision. levi only

clicks his tongue, his fingers deftly wrapping around your wrist as he hoists you up. he tugs you out of the closet and down the hallway, bitching to you about something you couldn’t be bothered to focus on. you tried to pry his fingers from around your wrist, scratching and beating and doing anything within your power to keep him from dragging you wherever it was he wanted you. it was futile.

as levi drags you to your room, gently pushing you onto your bed, you realize that there was nothing you could do; you couldn’t win against him. your mind works on overdrive, twisting and turning in an attempt to gauge his intent, and with the way his eyes had become hooded… you could confidently say that you wouldn’t like where this was headed.

“h—hey. no. i’ll stay— i’ll stay home, just please don’t—“ you’re interrupted by levi’s chilled fingers wrapping around your wrists as he leans down and slots his lips to yours. scrunching your nose in distaste as he feverishly engages in a one-sided makeout, you attempt to wriggle your way out of his grip. it’s safe to say that you failed, but at least you tried.

levi’s free hand travels down your chest, over your tummy, and finds purchase on the meat of your hip. he gently, experimentally rolls his hips into yours, searching for the place that would have you melting into his touch. with ease, the android’s cockhead brushes over your clit, shooting a wave of pleasure down your spine.

“levi…stop—“ a whine parts your lips as levi’s shaft begins vibrating, the sensation muddling your thoughts as you begin to wonder whether you wanted this or not. as you battle yourself internally, levi ruts against you faster, the both of you coming closer and closer to your climax.

the android’s lip brush against your throat, heatedly nipping and sucking in places for long enough that you were sure there would be marks tomorrow.

“‘m gonna cum— baby, cum with me. please, please, please cum with me!” levi begs, the speed at which his shaft was vibrating increasing. your back arches into the sensation as levi lets out a loud whine, your jaw agape as your orgasm crashes over you. you stumble over curses, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as levi’s cock never once stops vibrating.

“gonna overstimulate me— s’too much!” you protest, feeling levi’s cum wet your pants. just how much does this guy cum anyway?

levi stops rutting against you, all but ripping away the confines of your clothing as well as his own before aligning himself with your entrance. “need it. need it so bad— i’ve been waiting for so long…”

he slowly slides into you, your gummy walls eagerly sucking him in despite your own confusion, forcing a choked whimper from levi’s lips. he shallowly thrusts into you, the sensation of overwhelmingly delicious; you’d never felt so full, so good. levi’s shaft pulsed this time, vibrating for a few moments on and off, his tip reaching places you’d never be able to reach with your own two hands.

you melt into the feeling, your own pleasure drowning out every thought of protest as levi begins to pick up the pace. he removes his fingers from your wrists, the flesh red and angry, and presses down on your tummy where his cock would be. the vibration switches again, his hips snapping into yours now, and he lets out a loud groan as his orgasm washes over him. levi never once stops as he pumps you full of his cum, his fingers digging into your hips as he whimpers out mumbled gibberish.

with ease, levi switches your position, putting you on your knees and pushes back inside of you. he forces you to meet his thrusts, and the new angle has your fingers gripping the sheets, your jaw hanging open in silent pleasure. you can’t think about anything — only how good levi was able to make you feel.

“levi— ‘m cumming!” you cry out, your thighs shaking and cunt clenching around him. tears prick your eyes and spill down your cheeks, the feeling too much for you to handle.

“y’look so pretty when you cry.” levi chokes out, his eyes closing in bliss as his cock twitches inside of you. your cunt pulses around levi, sending shivers down his spine as his motherboard goes into overdrive in an attempt to cool him down. rutting into you at an inhuman pace, levi’s thrusting grows sloppy, reaching one hand around to press a finger to your clit, the artificial skin vibrating as well.

“cum f’me… j—just one more time! please— please, need it so bad..!” levi whines, expertly circling your clit in an attempt to have you cum with him. “y—you’ll tell me when y’close, okay? wanna cum with you.”

all you can do is nod, your mind melting at every sensation. levi presses your back against his sculpted chest, linking his arm under one of your thighs and hoists it up, thrusting more harshly as his tongue darts out to lap at the tears staining your cheeks.

“y’feel so fuckin’ good.” he whimpers, pressing chaste kisses to the flushed skin of your shoulders. “‘m gonna cum. baby, ‘m gonna cum—“

before you’re able to register it, your vision flashes white, a high-pitched whine parting your lips as ecstasy crashes over you.

“cumming! ‘m cumming!!” levi babbles, whimpers and whines of his own being muffled by your skin as he bites down on the curve of your shoulder in an attempt to silence himself. cum trickles down your thighs and stains the sheets as his thrusting comes to a stop, a quiet sniffle resounding from behind you.

the android gently lays you down, your eyes growing heavy as the bliss slowly leaves your system, and you can’t find it in you to care about the date you wanted to go on anymore. your lashes flutter shut as levi leaves the room and quietly returns with a damp cloth, tenderly cleaning you up as you drift off to sleep.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Web

(Masterlist)

there isnt a lot of whump in this segment at all, just some important developments. sorry! but stay tuned, something really awesome is about to happen :)

(Content: fainting, starvation mention, fear of punishment)

==================

“Stop passing out!” Dr.Martino barked at him before he even knew where he was. Delta cracked his eyes open slowly; the light hurt. He was laying down on a cot in Dr.Martino’s office, hooked up to the IV. Nobody else was there.

“Sorry, Doctor,” Delta said weakly, responding to Martino’s tone more than he’d understood the words. He didn’t remember what happened. 

“That’s twice in one day,” Dr.Martino scolded, “You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head, cause I wouldn’t have fixed it for you.”

Really? He didn’t remember that, either. Maybe he had hit his head. He barely knew who he was or what he was doing there. He did know, distantly, that this probably wasn’t a good sign. The doctor turned away from him, pulling his phone up to his ear. He couldn’t make out the details of the conversation, but it sounded tense.

The fainting spells got him off of punishment detail — for the time being. It helped that he had another mission coming up in two weeks. However mad Paris may have been at him, he wouldn’t intentionally jeopardize Delta’s ability to perform. Dr.Martino told him to slowly wean himself back onto food, mostly liquids. The color began to return to his skin. He could think again. It was nice. 

Paris also had to leave that week, unexpectedly, which meant Delta got to avoid more beatings. It seemed like they were slowing down anyway, that the prince had finally got it out of his system, but Delta was still immensely happy at the premature ending. He slept almost twelve hours that day. It didn’t entirely erase his fatigue, but it made him feel like a person again, which was all he could ask for.

With Paris gone, all Delta had to worry about was training with Simon. He was still on the mend, so it took a lot more effort than usual, but it was only a few hours out of his day. He had the rest to himself. As he was laying down in bed, he suddenly remembered the laptop he had stashed underneath it.

He tensed up. He was in a *very* different headspace than he had been when he took it. He’d just spent the better part of a month being punished for something outside of his control. Stealing and then using the laptop was different, knowing and willful disobedience. He wasn’t eager to push his luck right then.

But he’d already taken it. It’s not like he could dispose of it without raising more questions. He sat up, slowly moving to lock his door. He removed the laptop from under his mattress, sliding his hand over the surface. He was only shaking a little.

He forced a hard reset of the laptop, paranoid of any unwanted software running on it, anything that might give away his location or identity. He had saved the passwords, websites, and data that were stored onto it originally, so he wasn’t losing access to anything. He just wanted a blank slate. He took the compsci textbook from his pile, trying to familiarize himself with the device. The slick interface was soothing to him. It felt clean. 

He reopened the browser, testing out the search engine. He looked up random words at first. His understanding of the internet was that it worked like an encyclopedia. He looked up “fish” and “Adelaide”, then fifty other terms, just to test the limits of its knowledge. He was blown away by the sheer density of the information that the device provided. It filled him with awe and reverence. 

He was content to poke around the surface web for a few hours, learning some of the most common websites and what they did. He felt compelled to take notes on each of them, but stilled himself. He didn’t want to leave around any more physical evidence than was necessary. He was fine to commit them all to memory and study them more later. The surface net felt much safer than trying to poke through the flash drive - or through any of the accounts whose information he had saved. Anything relating to Empire felt too close to home, made him too nervous to investigate. He needed more time to build up to it. Besides, he liked what he was finding here. He watched videos of strange sea creatures changing their colors beneath the waves; it inspired a quiet calm in him the likes of which he’d never felt before. 

The next day, he went researching in the realm of pure math. He’d gotten to some pretty high levels of mathematics when he was little, and had expressed interest to Simon in learning more, but the desire had never been realized. Delta read the math textbooks he was given, but it wasn’t anything like a formal education. Still, he had a passion for it. He found a lot of forums dedicated to the discussion. Those forums also had a lot of overlap with the computer science and programming ones. He did not immediately understand what he was looking at. It took him a moment to parse through the thread; he realized it had to be read like a play or a dialogue. The shifts in topic and voice suddenly made more sense. He was able to follow the conversation they were having and felt proud of himself for having figured it out. 

All the talk about cybersecurity and data systems intrigued him. He twirled the flashdrive around in his hands, kicking his feet up behind him in the bed. He wondered, idly, about the software the ship was running on. Maybe he would check out the portal again. There was no malice in his thoughts, not even sneakiness. He was just curious. He wanted to see what information he could uncover, for its own sake. The laptop he’d taken him had already come with pretty high privileges. If he could just learn how to interface with it correctly, much of it would become available to him. 

Delta’s eyes were getting tired. He slipped the laptop back into its hiding spot, wrapping himself up in his jacket. He quietly exited from his room. It was late; not many people were still walking the halls. He wanted to get into Paris’s room, but the door was locked. He traveled down into the engineering room, glancing at the computer systems and studying their symbols. He watched the technicians work eagerly, desperate to understand. He moved to each room of the ship, trying to make sense of what was automated and what it connected to physically. Delta had some intuition as to how power flowed throughout the ship. If he focused in, he could feel the general direction of the current. But it took special attention and studying to see what devices the current fed into - and even more effort to learn how they could be accessed. He hadn’t cracked that one yet, but with the thought now in his mind, it would be an ever present consideration of his for the rest of his life.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @defire @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 323. brb x oc

a/n: happy crysler ;) (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/316/317/318/319/320/321/322

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

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-

He checked the calendar on his phone and his deployment time was coming to an end. Sure, that with the whole thing now he might have to stay a bit longer, but he was almost home.

Fuck he missed Beatrice so much.

Maybe it was the stress of…everything,because if she was close by he could easily place his head on her lap and let her know what was bothering him in person, not on a phone. Rooster huffs, thumbing through his gallery to check every picture he had of her and the kids, he does not regret buying extra storage to keep all of these. 

In the quiet solitude of his temporary quarters, Rooster couldn't help but smile at the images of Beatrice and the kids. Their faces, frozen in laughter, joy, and the everyday moments of family life, offered a respite from the complexities of his mission.

 The distance only intensified the love and longing he felt for them.

A knock on his door interrupted his contemplation. Rooster looked up to find McAllister standing at attention. "Sir, Vice-Admiral Simpson requested your presence in the briefing room. It's about the latest findings in the investigation."

Rooster sighed, the bittersweet moment with the pictures fading as duty called. "I'll be there in a minute, McAllister."

As McAllister left, Rooster took a final glance at the pictures before locking his phone. The countdown to his return was tangible, and the prospect of being reunited with Beatrice and the kids only fueled his determination to bring the investigation to a resolution.

He wastes no time then and leaves his quarters. The briefing room was a controlled chaos of officers, maps, and data projections. Rooster took his seat at the table,placing his hands on the surface while Vice-Admiral Simpson stood at the front, ready to address the assembled officers.

"At ease, everyone," Vice-Admiral Simpson began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "We've gathered here to discuss the latest developments in the ongoing investigation brought to our attention by Lt.Bradshaw.”

"Our investigation has revealed that Lieutenant Mark was involved in clandestine activities that go beyond the scope of his official duties," Vice-Admiral Simpson stated, his tone measured. "The modifications to his jet were not just an upgrade in communication systems. There's evidence of advanced tracking capabilities, undisclosed software patches, and deviations from assigned flight routes."

The gravity of the situation hung in the air, and Rooster exchanged glances with McAllister, both understanding the implications.

Fuck

Cyclone  continued, "These actions raise concerns about the potential compromise of mission security and the unauthorized gathering of sensitive information. Lt. Bradshaw, please provide us with a concise summary of your findings so far."

Rooster stood, projecting the key details of the investigation on the screen. He outlined Mark's deviations during missions, the modifications to the avionics suite, and the discovery of key contacts linked to Mark's activities.

"As of now, we have identified connections that suggest Lieutenant Mark was involved in off-the-books operations, possibly gathering intel or engaging in activities outside the purview of the Navy," Rooster explained, his voice steady. "The advanced tracking capabilities indicate a deliberate effort to avoid detection, which raises questions about the nature of these operations."

Vice-Admiral Simpson nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. "This has the potential to impact the squadron's reputation and national security. We need to act swiftly and decisively.  I’ve already…did my own part such as speaking with the Lt.’s relative, who, tried terribly to play as if Mark did nothing wrong."

“But,as you know,the Navy takes breaches of this nature seriously, and we will cooperate fully to get to the bottom of this. Lieutenant Bradshaw, Mark is probably aware…so Lt.I’d like for you to join me when I talk to him.”

Rooster nodded in acknowledgment of the order. "Understood, sir."

Vice-Admiral Simpson dismissed the officers after the briefing, instructing Rooster to meet him later for the discussion with Lieutenant Mark. Rooster took a moment to gather his thoughts before leaving the briefing room. The weight of responsibility pressed on him, and he had to inhale to calm himself down.

As Rooster headed to his temporary quarters to prepare for the upcoming conversation, he thought about the impact this could have on the squadron and the Navy as a whole. The reputation of the squadron was at stake, and the potential compromise of mission security raised alarms at the highest levels of command.

He paused at the door of his quarters, taking a deep breath before entering. The pictures of Beatrice and the kids greeted him when he unlocked his phone, a comforting reminder of what awaited him upon his return.

The investigation had entered a critical phase, and Rooster knew he had to tread carefully. 

He was nervous.

He couldn’t lie.

His mind raced through the key points he needed to address with Lieutenant Mark. The challenge was not only in extracting information but in understanding the motives behind Mark's actions. 

Once ready, Rooster made his way to meet Vice-Admiral Simpson. The atmosphere in the naval base was charged with so much tension, it crackled. The investigation had become a focal point, and rumors circulated among the officers.

No one had ever dealt with something like that, no one from his age forward because the older officers appeared - while upset- not at all surprised. He huffs through his nose, then rolled his neck as he walks forward.

Upon reaching the vice-admiral's office, Rooster was ushered in, finding Lieutenant Mark already present. The atmosphere in the room was strained, and Mark's expression revealed nothing for now.

Brave yet stupid, if Vice-Admiral Simpson’s expression was anything to go by. "Gentlemen, we find ourselves in a situation that demands clarity. Lieutenant Mark, you are aware of the nature of this meeting. I expect your full cooperation and transparency."

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat but nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll answer any questions you have."

He turned to Rooster. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, please sit down.”

Rooster took a seat, his gaze focused on Mark. The air in the room felt charged with tension, the impending confrontation palpable and Vice-Admiral Simpson wasted no time and delved into the heart of the matter.

"Lieutenant Mark, the evidence gathered during Lieutenant Bradshaw's investigation suggests unauthorized modifications to your jet and deviations from assigned mission routes. We need an explanation for these actions, and we need it now."

Mark hesitated, glancing between Rooster and Vice-Admiral Simpson. His eyes betrayed a mixture of unease and defiance. "Sir, I can explain. The modifications were necessary for a classified mission I was undertaking. I couldn't disclose the details due to the sensitive nature of the operation."

Vice-Admiral Simpson raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his expression. "Classified mission? Lieutenant, you are required to follow protocol and obtain proper authorization. These off-the-books modifications not only violate Navy regulations but also raise concerns about the compromise of mission security. And you already started wrong by lying to me. No mission,secret or not, goes without my say so.”

Rooster's gaze remained fixed on Mark, a quiet intensity in his eyes. He said nothing, only kept watching.

Mark swallowed, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. "Sir, I understand the protocol, but this mission was different. It involved sensitive information that couldn't be shared even within the chain of command. I had to take matters into my own hands to ensure its success."

Vice-Admiral Simpson leaned back in his chair, his expression stern. "Lieutenant Mark, the Navy does not operate on individual whims. You had a responsibility to communicate the nature of your mission to the superiors who could evaluate its necessity and provide the required clearances. By bypassing this protocol, you've compromised not only the mission but the integrity of the entire squadron." he frowns “And Lt.Bradshaw is one of your superiors in this mission, did you hear anything about it,Rooster?”

“No,sir.”

Vice-Admiral Simpson nodded, his stern expression deepening. "Lieutenant, your actions have not only jeopardized the mission but the trust and cohesion within this squadron. These are serious offenses, and you will be held accountable. Now, I want the truth. What was the actual nature of this so-called classified mission?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between Rooster and Cyclone . The weight of the situation hung heavy in the room.

"I...I well," Mark stammered. "It's a matter of uh,security.”

Cyclone’s patience wore thin,and his blue eyes narrowed. "The consequences of your actions extend beyond personal discretion." he pauses, “...whatever your reason was, lying and obscuring it was does not help your situation.’

Rooster maintained his composed silence, observing Mark's feeble attempts to navigate through the web of lies he had spun. 

Vice-Admiral Simpson leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. "Lieutenant Halton, the Navy values trust and transparency. Your actions not only undermine the core principles of our organization but also endanger the lives of those around you. It's time for the truth. No more evasions."

Mark swallowed hard, the beads of sweat on his forehead multiplying. His eyes flickered to Rooster, a hint of desperation in the gaze that met Rooster's unwavering stare. Rooster felt a surge of frustration,but he remained quiet.

Cyclone continued, "I won't jump to conclusions, Lieutenant, but your actions demand accountability. Now, you have a choice. You can come clean, provide an honest account of your actions, and face the consequences within the framework of military justice. Or, you can continue down this path of deception, and the repercussions will be severe."

Mark hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The room seemed to close in around him as the weight of his transgressions pressed down.

"Sir, I... I can't..." Mark's voice wavered, the façade crumbling. "I can't disclose the details. It's classified, and I can't risk—"

Vice-Admiral Simpson cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Enough, Lieutenant. Your refusal to cooperate and your attempts at secrecy have already painted a damning picture. If you choose not to provide a full and honest account, we'll proceed with a formal inquiry, and you will be held accountable for your actions."

“You CAN’T DO THIS!” Mark shouted “Do you NOT KNOW WHO MY AUNT IS??”

Silence.

That outburst wasn’t planned and…well, it slammed the nail on the coffin easily.

The room fell into a heavy silence after Mark's outburst. The mention of his aunt added a layer to the situation, but Vice-Admiral Simpson's expression remained unmoved. Rooster, though surprised by the revelation, tried his best to remain quiet himself.

Vice-Admiral Simpson spoke with a measured tone, his gaze unwavering. "Oh I am quite aware. Your aunt already tried to pull your ass off the fire."

Mark's face turned pale as he realized that his attempt to leverage his family connection had backfired. “What does he have that I don’t?” Mark snarled “His father was a pilot too! And yet–” the mention of Goose made Rooster’s jaw clench and he almost moved up to Mark to face him down but Cyclone held his hand up, “And Maverick! Maverick is his uncle! This is unfair treatment!”

Jesus Mark was a spoiled child.

The tension in the room escalated as Mark's outburst hung in the air. Cyclone, maintaining his calm demeanor, addressed Mark's accusations. "Lieutenant Halton, personal connections and family history do not exempt anyone from the rules and principles that govern the Navy. Your attempt to use your family's influence will not change the fact that you violated protocol and jeopardized the mission."

Mark's face contorted with anger, and he shot a venomous glance at Rooster. "You think you're so special, Rooster…you think no one knows? Without Maverick you’d be nothing. He protected you so much before,right?"

"Lieutenant Halton," Cyclone warns, “That is enough.”

Mark seethed with anger “You are just…less than me.” he growls, “My aunt is a vice-admiral and yet I’m still a lieutenant! Why?! How is that fair?!”

"Lieutenant Halton, your personal grievances and accusations are not relevant to the situation at hand," Vice-Admiral Simpson stated firmly. "We are here to address the breach of protocol and the potential threat to the mission–"

Mark's face contorted with a mix of anger and frustration. "This is unjust! How did he get this far without his uncle’s help?”

The realization weighs enough for him to stop talking.

Cyclone’s eyes narrow, “...what did you say?”

The room's tension was palpable as Mark's last words hung in the air. Cyclone's piercing gaze bore into Mark, a subtle warning in his eyes. 

Mark swallowed hard, realizing the gravity of his words. “I–”

Cyclone's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Lieutenant Halton,are you saying your aunt helped you move through the ranks and your promotions are without merit?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably under Cyclone's gaze. His mind raced, searching for the right words that could possibly salvage his deteriorating situation.

"I didn't mean that," Mark stammered, attempting to backtrack. "I just meant that, well, people have connections, and it helps sometimes. I didn't mean to imply–"

Rooster turned to face him, finally speaking up  "Your aunt helped you move up." he says firmly, “That’s what you are saying.”

Rooster's words hung in the air, and Mark's attempt to backtrack faltered as the weight of the truth settled around him. He cast a furtive glance at Rooster, realizing that his own words had inadvertently exposed a well-guarded secret.

Cyclone's stern expression deepened, and the room seemed to shrink with the gravity of the revelation. The Vice-Admiral's gaze shifted between Mark and Rooster, assessing the situation before he spoke, his voice measured. "Lieutenant Halton,if your promotions were influenced by factors other than your merit and dedication, it undermines the integrity of our entire institution. Is it true?"

Mark, cornered and exposed, found himself at a crossroads. He was quiet.

Cyclone's gaze remained fixed on Mark. "Answer the question, Lieutenant."

Mark hesitated, the internal struggle evident on his face. Finally, he spoke in a subdued tone, "Yes, my aunt has helped me. She has connections, and she used them to ensure my career progressed smoothly."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Rooster's expression hardened, mouth falling open in surprise. Cyclone's face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

"I see." Cyclone mutters, “...that explains a lot.”

Cyclone's gaze remained fixed on Mark, his disappointment evident. "Lieutenant Halton, the Navy values integrity and merit. Using personal connections to advance one's career goes against the principles we stand for."

Mark, realizing the gravity of his admission, attempted to salvage the situation. "But sir, my aunt j-just believed in my potential. She wanted to ensure I had opportunities—"

Cyclone cut him off with a stern look. "Belief in potential is one thing, Lieutenant. Undermining the fair and competitive nature of our organization is another. " he sighs “And this goes beyond the breach of protocol during the mission. We now have to reassess your role within the Navy, Lieutenant Halton. There will be an inquiry into the extent of the influence exerted on your career."

Rooster took the time that Mark was quiet to speak, “...did Miranda know?”

“What?”

His eye twitched,”Did Miranda,your wife, know about this?” he grinds his teeth, “Is that why she was saying shit to my wife?”

Mark's face turned a shade of pale that matched the tension in the room. The mention of Miranda,caught him off guard, and he fumbled for words. "Miranda didn't know the specifics," he admitted hesitantly. "I-I mean, not everyth–”

Rooster's expression hardened. "So, she did know, right?"

“W-Well–”

“And she was bothering Beatrice, my Bea, because she was also jealous of her? Or was she just helping your little scheme?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as Rooster's questions pierced through the already tense atmosphere. "Miranda knew that my aunt was in a high-ranking position," Mark confessed, avoiding direct eye contact with either Rooster or Cyclone. "But I swear, I never asked Miranda to harass your wife. That wasn't part of the plan."

Rooster's jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tight with frustration. "Plan? You had a plan for this? To use your family connections to climb the ranks and then drag my wife into your mess?"

Mark stammered, his attempt at salvaging the situation crumbling. "I didn't mean to drag anyone into this. Miranda took it upon herself to –"

"To what? Make Bea's life miserable?" Rooster's voice rose, anger bubbling to the surface. "You can't just wash your hands of this, Mark. You initiated this chain of events, and now you have to face the consequences." he snarls, “...none messes with my girl,Mark. No one.”

The room seemed to tighten with every passing moment. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around the room, searching for a way out.Rooster's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. 

Mark's attempts at an explanation faltered as Rooster continued, his anger escalating with each word. "You used your aunt's influence, and God knows what else. But my wife? She had nothing to do with your ambitions, and yet you let your plan spill into her life. You should’ve focused on me. I don’t give a shit if Miranda thought about this on her own, she.overstepped.the.line."

Cyclone interjected, his voice firm. "Lieutenant Halton,personal relationships have been affected, and that will also be considered in the inquiry." he blinks, “Now,anything else you want to add before,” he gestures to Rooster, “Lt.Bradshaw loses his temper even more?”

Mark's face turned from pale to flushed, caught in the crossfire of Rooster's wrath and Cyclone's stern reprimand. He swallowed hard, his attempt at composure faltering as he glanced between the two officers. "I... n-no sir I-"

“Wonderful. Rooster, please wait outside my office,yes?”

Rooster shot one final stern look at Mark before standing up and nodding at Cyclone. Without uttering a word, he left the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a resounding thud. 

He rubbed his eyes, then inhaled deeply. It was finally over, he hoped.

Jesus.

[jeridandridge]

Hey sweetheart! Can I request a oneshot where Melissa comes home from work and finds out that Sophia had a bad day (someone yelled at her or something like that) and Mel takes care of her and makes sure she is loved?

Im so happy people like Sophia 🥲 this is a quick little thing, trying to dip my toes back into fanfic.

A Long Day

Sophia is ready to go home. The ice machine had broken, the security system had a software malfunction, she sliced her palm open, and now one of the creepy regulars that can’t take a hint is bothering her. She’s happy there’s camera and her cousin is in the kitchen at least.

“Cmon, Sophie. You’ll give in eventually.” The slime ball smirks from across the counter door. He was an annoying guy that would come in and bother her every so often, ending with her uncle Eduardo kicking him out. Now that he’s gone the man doesn’t care.

Sophia rests her arms on the counter giving him a smile that dares him to try something.

“In your dreams. Now get outta here before I give my girlfriend a call.” She grins knowing that’ll get him to leave. Sure enough, the smirk on his face drops and he lets out a sigh. “You’ll say yes one day, De Luca.”

After dropping a bowl of cake icing not even ten minutes later, Sophia lets out a growl. “That’s it! I’m going home. Tony, lock up!” She tells her younger cousin as she throws her apron on the counter storming to the back office to get her things.

Unlocking the front door Melissa comes in with a smile setting her bags down after a long day at Abbott.

“Soph, are you awake?”

Kicking her boots off she flicks on the kitchen light knowing Sophia’s home from work by now. Her car is in the driveway, but the usual sounds of the record player going or the tv playing are no where to be heard.

Going up the stairs Melissa moves quietly through the hall opening the bedroom door. Seeing her girlfriend curled up underneath the fuzzy blanket she smiles softly moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

Sophia looks distressed even asleep, her brows crinkled and her lips in a pout. Melissa carefully lifts her bandaged hand growing concerned.

“Amore,” she hums running her fingers through brown curls. gently stroking her cheek with her thumb she leans in kissing her forehead.

Sophia stirs with a grumble, smiling when she realizes her girlfriend is home.

“Nice nap, amore?” Melissa chuckles.

“I needed it. I had a day from hell.”

“I guessed that,” she nods carefully running her finger over the bandage. “What happened?”

“Oh that? That’s the least of my issues from today.” Sophia huffs sitting up revealing one of Melissa’s Abbott sweatshirts.

“After the water ice machine broke and the security system called the emergency service for the company, I broke a plate. Me being me I picked up the shards instead of sweeping.”

“You gotta be careful, hon. You’re always movin too fast in there.” Melissa hums.

“I didn’t even tell you what made me leave early.” She smiles, “but you gotta promise you’re not gonna leave me and commit a crime.”

Melissa quirks a brow. “Depends what it is.”

“Jackass came in again but I scared him pretty good.”

“That guy came in again?” Melissa fumes sitting up straighter. Melissa had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the man Sophia dubbed as jackass, early on in their relationship he decided to come in one day while Melissa was picking up an order. It took everything Sophia had to hold Mel back.

“I told him I’d call you up there. Pretty sure he peed a little.” She jokes.

Melissa rolls her eyes reaching up to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day, Tesoro. I’ll make us some dinner and we can relax.”

“That’s sounds nice, gimme a kiss first.” She beams pulling the redhead in closer. When their lips meet in a sweet kiss she lets out a content sigh as Melissas fingers move through her hair.

Reluctantly pulling back Melissa pecks her lips once more with a smile.

“Cmon, sweatshirt thief.”

[detachedminxsfics]

System Error

Characters: JD Richter x Detective F!Reader

Summary: You take on a homicide case and find that you're not as alone as you thought you were at the crime scene.

Word count: 5.1K+

Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, riding, drunk sex, mixing business with pleasure

A/N: I wrote this at 2am so I was too tired to check/revise for mistakes, so apologies to anybody who reads this lmao. Also I'm only on like ep 9 atm so I wrote him as best as I could. :)

Ten k. That was what someone was willing to pay to solve a homicide, and you'd be damned if you weren't gonna take that. Vee, your computer system responsible for receiving all jobs for the patrol special had come to life with the alert of an incoming job. A suspected homicide down fifth avenue, a man was found murdered in his own home. There was no way of telling whether it was gonna be a clean-cut case until you could see the crime scene for yourself, and with Vee's timer slowly chipping at your twenty seconds to make your decision you hurried off for your shoes and sighed.

"I accept."

The computer processed your response, and then the job was yours.

"Would you like a partner?"

You laughed a little, not that that would amuse the software.

"No, Vee. I never do."

You finalised zipping up your boots, standing up and making your over to where you'd strewn your jacket, throwing it over your shoulders.

"Sending crime scene location to your nav, please confirm receipt."

The screen lit up with a full address, and your eyes wandered over it for a moment.

"Confirm."

The criminal activity matrix hibernated once more, and that was it. That was your night planned out. The drive wasn't too long as the location wasn't awfully far, and before you knew it you were parked outside, staring over at the apartment block in front. There was a car parked relatively close to yours, a jeep positioned almost as though its driver had the same intentions as you, but you swept away the thought. This was a complex of many residents, albeit rich ones, and that could be any one of the resident's vehicles. Though you weren't sure why one of them would own such a vehicle, and a muddy, not so maintained one at that. You stepped out of your car and made your way into the building, bypassing the complex's security systems until you reached the floor you needed. Sixth, apartment number 154. Locating was the easiest part. After overriding the electronic lock system on the front door you pushed it open, gun raised vigilantly. It had happened a few times before, the culprit hangs around, or tries to make their way back to cover their tracks after the initial body discovery. Could never be too careful. You were cautious as to the volume of your steps, nevertheless, one creaky floorboard gave way to a whole load of ruckus in an entirely silent room. If anyone was here, they'd surely know your whereabouts by now.

"Don't move a muscle, hands up and drop it."

A man's voice sounded from behind you, your back to him as you kept your gun gripped in your hand, merely lowering your arm and looking straight ahead of you.

"I've done a lot of cases, but a murderer employing cop lingo is a first."

Something wasn't right, and you hoped that what you were implying was telling enough.

"You're a cop?" He questioned with a tinge of skepticism.

You turned to face him now, not entirely convinced that he would still shoot you. He seemed to tense a little once you did. Well, what a surprisingly pleasant sight to behold. He looked the middle-aged whiskey-drinking type, and the matte leather jacket did little to ease your idealised first impression.

"Patrol special, and you're on my crime scene."

You tucked your gun into your waistband as opposed to its usual holster and glanced up at him, he looked wildly offended, judging by the look of disbelief splayed across his face.

"Your crime scene? Not only was I here first, but this is most certainly my case."

Concurrently, you pulled your remote matrix systems from your pockets, eyes locked with one another as you unlocked your devices.

"11964, passkey buffalo jump." He muttered his security details.

"3273, passkey angel wings." You did the same.

Simultaneously, you turned the devices to face one another, the synchronously timed confusion etching across your features priceless. Both screens displayed the same job, everything down to the victim details and case ID, meaning the two of you were most certainly in the right place. Defeated, you both lowered your devices and tucked them back to where they belonged, and your newly appointed comrade lowered his gun.

"Must've been a system error, a malfunction, or something. You pick a partner?" He asked.

You shook your head.

"Nope, I don't work so well with others."

"Likewise."

A standoff. You had two choices. The first consisted of familiarising yourselves with one another, considering you were about to be partners in this case. The other? Race him. Bounty hunters had done it before, competing with one another for who would score the payout, and solve the case first. Though, he didn't seem like the competitive type.

"Truce, and I suppose we get the ten thousand each. If not? Five k split. Sound fair?" As generous an offer as you could give, and if he denied, honour be damned.

You extended your hand with a moderate amount of composure, and his brows furrowed as he worked the idea through his head. He mulled on it for a moment or two, and then his hand closed around yours, shaking hands as you established the grounds for your truce.

"JD Richter."

You tilted your head slightly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

"Cute." You muttered offhandedly, heading off towards the bedroom.

He followed after you.

"Not gonna give me your name?" JD pried.

You stepped into the master bedroom, surveying the room for anything misplaced or unusual, practically ignoring him.

"Need to know basis, or you can look me up. File's a little wild, but a guy like you might get a kick out of it."

You rounded the bed to discover the pool of blood staining the off-white carpet, bending down to get a closer look. Purposefully, you ignored the sounds of a scanner from behind you as he obviously looked you up, the repetitive beeping that subsequently ceased indicating that he had found it.

"You're a busy girl. A repeat offender for petty theft and battery, served some time. Then you went straight, did some time in the force. Now your solo as of four months ago. You get cold feet?"

You let a small giggle slip, still focusing your attention on the clue right under your nose.

"No, I got bored. Needed something a little more thrilling."

It was true. A position in generalised law enforcement just wasn't good enough for a thrill seeker such as yourself, not when you could be working with homicide cases and collecting mass payouts like this. Bounty hunting was where your heart lie. Your head wandered down to just beside the blood, careful not to contaminate the evidence, and pinched to gather something from the carpet. You raised and turned your hand over to look at your fingertip, seeing as you had collected some kind of paint chip. Or...

"Killer's female. Probably early to mid-twenties."

You rose to your feet with the nail polish chip still laid on your fingertip, careful not to drop it.

"What makes you so sure?"

You extended your hand to show him the speck of rouge varnish.

"Nail polish. Chips off sometimes, and the choice of colour just screams twenties. I have a knack for this sorta thing."

His brows were raised, and he seemed impressed.

"Okay, you're quick. Anything else?"

JD was willing to see how far he could push your investigative skills, and whether he could make you stutter. You wouldn't fold.

"The trail of sole indents in the carpet. Heels, judging by the dimension, stiletto. And a guy as rich as this? Louboutins, perhaps. He was probably well acquainted with his killer."

He smiled, a genuine and fascinated one.

"Well, alright. You suggestin' we got a femme fatale on our hands?"

You pulled your phone from your pocket to take a photo of the chip, making sure that you focused it so it would be clear enough that you could use it later.

"I am. They're my specialty." You finished your sentence by flicking the polish back onto the carpeted floor, your eyes boring into his as you silently urged him to detail the next move.

You knew, but it was his turn to be put on the spot.

"So, killer had to be close. We do some digging, social media, anything that could allude to a girlfriend or some lady friend of his, and then we narrow it down." When he stopped your brows raised expectantly, you hadn't expected him to finish his sentence so prematurely.

He looked bewildered by the way your expression urged him to continue, and you playfully rolled your eyes.

"Then, we make a house call. I'll see if I can find some matches for the polish, and we search for it. With varnish that old its probably wiped off with all the scrubbing she did to clean her hands of blood, so focusing on whoever has painted fingernails is pointless."

He nodded, feigning a sense of 'I knew that', and his facade of confidence brought a smile to your lips. Clearly, he was too confident to admit that he was out of his depth, and without you, this case would have been a whole lot harder.

"With that outta the way, how about drinks? My place, considering we're buddies an' all." JD mused with a grin of his own.

"A man after my own heart."

The two of you exited the crime scene, taking the elevator down to the lobby and making your way over to your car. You watched as JD split off to return to his vehicle, the jeep that you'd had suspicions of before. Your gut was as remarkable as usual, you hadn't lost your touch. Starting up your car you followed his vehicle, tailing him all the way to his place. Eventually, he pulled off the main road and onto a side road that led right out into a relatively private and modest one-floor home. Taking your keys from the ignition you pushed your car door open and stepped out, JD was already halfway up the steps to the porch as he had arrived a little before you by the time you made it to his front yard. He unlocked his front door and pushed it open, leaving it ajar so you could make your way inside. You did, shutting it behind you. For what it was worth his home seemed, simple. It was quaint, and looked as though it belonged to a person who was neither struggling to make ends meet nor rolling cash, he was just that middle ground of comfort.

"What's your poison?" He called out, and you made your way over to his sofa, slipping your jacket from your shoulders.

"Whiskey."

Truthfully, you didn't give a shit. Whatever got you waking up and not knowing anything that had happened the night before was your drink of choice, something to get you blacked out. He emerged from the kitchen holding two glasses and a bottle, setting them down on the coffee table. Then, he settled down beside you, twisting the cap as he readied himself to pour your drinks.

"So, JD, how'd you end up in this business?"

He poured the liquor from the bottle into each glass, the sound of running liquid filling your ears.

"Dishonourable discharge. This seemed like the next best thing, and it pays well enough."

You nodded taking the glass from the table after he slid it over to you. He took his own, nonchalantly holding it as he turned to face you. You did the same, apart from taking a rather generous swig of yours.

"Are you married?"

It was personal for someone you had known for an hour tops, but moving fast seemed to be the theme for this evening. His eyes grew a little solemn.

"Divorced. I like the crazy ones, I guess that's just my cross to bear." JD quipped.

You didn't smile until towards the end of his sentence, when even his eyes lit up a little. You threw the last of the liquor back and set down the empty glass.

"Figures."

Picking up the bottle you tipped it and filled your empty glass, if tonight didn't leave you with gaps in your memory you'd know you haven't done it right. JD seemed to pick up on what your intentions were, and he emptied the contents of his glass into his throat, setting it down and taking the bottle once you were done with it.

"What about you?"

You stalled for a moment, and then realised that he was referring to whether you were romantically entangled or not.

"No, not for me. I've had a few, partners, but the relationship's always strictly bedroom only."

A sip this time, fearing that emptying this glass would further the already present effects of this impromptu truth serum, and you'd spill far more than you intended to give away.

"Why don't you stay here for the night? We can start in the morning, and that way you don't get pulled over for a drink driving charge."

If you were fancy enough in this modern world of technological advancement you could afford one of those self-driving automated cars, but you were not. Neither was JD. Staying here didn't seem like such a bad idea, especially not when your company was so handsome. God, how much have you had to drink?

"Okay, hotshot. I'll stay."

JD was smiling as he raised his glass, watching you as you too brought the rim of the glass to your lips. It was gonna be a long night.

Minutes turned into hours, and by the time you looked back to assess the amount of whiskey left, the bottle was near enough empty. You were screwed. Now both severely inebriated you were huddled pretty close to one another, your knee brushing his thigh as his arm rested on the top of the sofa, supporting your head.

"Okay, okay, what's the like most craziest shit you've ever seen on a case?" It sounded a lot more concise in your head, but you mumbled it once it came out of your mouth.

JD chuckled at your initial incoherence, even in spite of the fact that he could translate your drunken speech perfectly. His eyes veered off toward the ceiling as he sighed thoughtfully. A beat passed.

"There was this guy that just lost it and offed his whole family. The kids, the wife, all of 'em. Found him red-handed, blood everywhere, and the guy looked as though he didn't feel even the slightest bit of remorse. Definitely not the worst of the things I've seen, but that's what you get serving in kuwait." Though notably buzzed, he'd levelled his tone to a more serious note out of respect for what he was discussing.

You frowned, having not expected something so grim.

"Well, shit. I was gonna say something stupid like the perp I caught because she left her bra on the floor of the crime scene, and I'm pretty good at guessing bra sizes. Ended up tackling her in a bar." Your more witty and comedic story was quick to lighten the mood, and JD idly rested a hand on your thigh.

Through the haze of intoxication, his touch was electrifying. You attempted to repress your urge to faintly quiver from his contact, unsure whether you were successful or not.

"Why is it that all the good looking women are crazy?"

You scoffed with false offense, mockingly hovering a hand over your heart.

"I'm not crazy, just ambitious. And a little impulsive."

His face moved closer to yours, the hand beginning to trace your thigh, fingertips teasing the hem of your skirt. In his venture, his fingers lightly grazed over the handle of the gun you kept holstered beneath your skirt, and you supposed the firearm didn't exactly help you plead your case of complete sanity. The skirt was already hiked from the way you were sitting, the sight of your panties obscured only by the fact that your thighs were pressed together.

"Oh yeah, how so?"

JD was teasing you, crossing the usual line of a professional and formal partner dynamic. And in a way, the fact that you admitted to having such frequent casual sex was incredibly appealing.

"Like this."

You whispered as you leant in, looking into his eyes for a moment before you pressed your lips against his. It was slow, and he groaned as though he wasn't expecting it. Still stealing one another's breath you climbed onto his lap, bent knees resting on either side of his hips as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he accepted it without the slightest hesitation. Eventually, JD managed to gather enough control to pull himself back, his hands on either side of your face as he attempted to blink through the haze of intoxication.

"Okay, you're not thinking straight. And frankly, neither am I. You sure you wanna mix business with pleasure?"

You gave a sultry smile, slightly tilting your head as you reached down and palmed the bulge that had formed at his crotch.

"What, like you haven't before?"

You gave no time for a response as your mouth was on his again, and he drunkenly succumbed to your advances. It was a little messy, intentional and yet awkward movements as you wrestled off one another's clothes and allowed the discarded garments to form a pile on the floor. In time your panties were all that was left, and they didn't last much longer. JD had undone his pants and pushed everything down to his ankles, including his boxers, leaving him nude beneath you as you worked off your thin and lacy underwear. You tossed it aside once it dangled loosely from one of your ankles and placed your hands on JD's shoulders, supporting yourself as you hovered above him, your hair cascading over your face. Simply, he raised one of his hands to cup one side of your face whilst the other settled on your hip. He gently urged you to lean down to press your lips against his, lining himself up and pulling you down onto him just as your lips meet. Your rather surprised and immodest moan bled into your heated kiss, and you can feel the noticeable sensation of fullness once you're fully settled down onto him. It's incredible. You pull back just to catch your breath.

"Fuck, holy shit JD." Is all you can manage as he uses his remaining grip on your curvature to ease you up again, just enough, before bringing you back down onto him.

Your hands fall from his shoulders to slide down his bare and moderately hairy chest, and your mouth falls open as you feel all of him, again. JD all the while just seems rather amused, the liquid courage leaving him a little haughty.

"C'mon, you made the move. Show me how ambitious you really are, partner."

The challenge was enough for you to somewhat clear your head, and you narrowed your eyes slightly. Luckily for him, you were pretty determined, and quite the competitor. You lifted yourself before coming down pretty hard, gradually setting a relentless and gratifying pace that had both of you letting the most foul of sounds tumble from your mouths. Your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him as you rolled your hips, drinking in the stray strands of hair that hung from the way he'd neatly styled his hair, and the way his lips parted to let out small, shaky breaths. Teasingly, you feel JD's fingers dig into the top of one of your thighs, the other still caressing your hip. He wouldn't utter a word, but the way you looked bouncing on top of him like this? You were fucking beautiful. All he could do was silently thank the system for one of the best errors of his life, the light of his eyes the only indicator of the way he was appreciating you. Your moans grew louder, a string of crude and unrestrained whimpers that filled the air of his quiet, one-story home. Knowing you were close only urged him to move his own hips in time with yours, the added stimulation only worsening the pleasure brimming in the pit of your stomach. As you gave one final roll of your hips before collapsing on top of him JD followed shortly after, twitching beneath you as your head fell into the crook of his neck. His guttural groans resounded just beside your ear, a tune that told you that was a job well done, and your ambition was pretty clear. Inebriated, overstimulated, and with your mind seemingly unable to concentrate on anything other than the pitch black behind your eyelids, you were done for the night. Everything after that gets suitably fuzzy. Your vision's vivid at various different points, but from what you can gather judging by the way the ground suddenly grew farther away, and the feeling of overall weightlessness, JD carried you to bed.

The sun beamed over your face, a light seemingly unavoidable, even despite your blissfully closed eyelids.

"Rise and shine." Spoke an enthusiastic voice, and you peeked your eyes open to look at your talking and oddly human alarm clock.

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes all the way, momentarily shielding them from the harshness of the light and leaning up.

"God, this feels like shit."

Your head was pounding, temples seemingly throbbing as everything got a whole lot louder, and brighter. His understanding but partially taunting chuckle prompted him into offering you the only help that he could think of.

"Coffee? I'm on my second, we drank a lot."

"You're telling me. Yeah, whatever."

JD headed off towards the kitchen to fix you your hangover remedy, and you managed to haul yourself from the bed in search of your clothes. He'd already found his, and you walked out to the lounge to kneel on the floor and scramble to retrieve yours. Having recovered your underwear and your skirt you continued to search for the rest of it, completely ignoring the steps that had come from the kitchen and halted just in front of you. JD was watching you, hung over, nude, and crawling across his living room floor.

"I gotta say, you could stay like that. We just might not get much work done."

Your head snapped up to award him a warning glare, what you had managed to find of your clothes tucked under your arm.

"Behave." Blunt, but candid enough to rip off the band-aid with the realisation that you two didn't have time for this, and you were going to need to focus.

JD raised his free hand in surrender, and you proceeded to recover the rest of your garments, standing to your feet and throwing them on once successful. Meanwhile, he set the coffee mug down on the table and scurried off to do something else, and you sat down on the couch finally fully clothed. When JD returned he set his laptop down on the table and offhandedly gestured for you to open it, so you did. He sat down beside you with a cluster of papers in hand, leaning over and keying in his password when the device prompted him to do so.

"I'll leave the socials to you. I've got his phone records and transcripts here to go over. Gonna look for any abnormalities and calls that went out the night he died."

"Got it." You muttered offhandedly, already invested in the task at hand.

It took maybe an hour flat, and you'd pinned everything. Rich aristocrat types such as this guy were all too flashy, usually gaining online traction for their repeated bragging of all their financial assets, so he was hardly difficult to find. Then came another often flaunted asset, women. There were many, but a handful appeared more than once, and you had a hunch for this particular girl. You pieced together a list of your most notable suspects and then cross-referenced it with JD's list of frequent callers considering you'd already profiled most of the girls, including their mobile phone numbers.

"Her." You muttered, tapping your pencil on your personal favourite.

JD glanced at you with a considerable amount of apprehension, but the confidence in your eyes was persuasive and convincing.

"Okay, you got an address?"

You sure did. The next few minutes consisted of piling into JD's jeep, and you were pulling into the drive of your suspect's home before you knew it. Judging by the look of her home she was, comfortable. Not the kind of level of wealth of your entrepreneurial victim, but enough. Houses like these had good, advanced security systems, but detectives were able to bypass pretty much anything, especially in a case like this. Politely, you both stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door first, knocking and letting a beat pass. When you received no response it became pretty conclusive that she wasn't home, which was perfect, really. JD tampered with the security system and you were able to get her front door open with little to no fuss, you stepping in first to get a brief look at her place. You deduced the room most likely to be the bedroom and made a beeline for it, barely able to contain yourself in your desire to search for the infamous red polish. JD trailed behind you, his footsteps closely following yours as you stepped into the bedroom and began to survey her dresser. Eventually, your eyes landed on a slightly scattered heap of different nail varnish, your eyes settling on all of the red ones in particular. Whilst you sifted through the nail polish and attempted to match it with the sample on your phone JD discovered the shoe rack and began to look for any stiletto-heeled shoes, more to be busy with something more than anything. Finally, one particular shade of red came ablaze with the notification of a match.

"Bingo. Chanel too, classy girl."

You spun to face JD with a smile of triumph, and his own smile seemed to resemble a similar sense of premature victory.

"Perfect. Now time to go pay our little femme fatale a visit."

JD exited the bedroom to make his way back to the jeep, and you stuffed the nail polish in your pocket. It was evidence, and besides, red was your colour. Unexpectedly, JD had been waiting for you out in the hallway, and his features looked so serious. You approached him a little concerned, considering you had solved the case after all, and he'd been over the moon only a few seconds ago.

"Look I uh, it's been nice with you. Working, with you." JD cleared his throat after his slight mishap in specifying the enjoyable part of his time with you, but your eyes drifted elsewhere, caught up with the movement over his shoulder.

"Duck!"

It took him a moment, but he eventually caught on and leaned over just as you did, narrowly missing the blade that was hurled toward his head. It passed over you both and embedded in the wall behind you, and you were quick to pull your pistol from the holster beneath your skirt and aim, reflexively squeezing the trigger and firing a shot into the woman's leg. It was the only reason you wore this damn thing, and it often came in handy. She cried out crumpling to the floor clutching her newly wounded knee, and you heaved a sigh of relief. You were still processing how quickly you had acted as JD made his way over to her and restrained her into handcuffs, affirming the capture of your killer. Some not-so-pleasant words were exchanged in the moments before the authorities came to collect her, but you hardly paid much attention when you received your payout of ten thousand dollars.

"You too?" You asked JD, who was also staring down at his matrix.

"Yep, ten thousand each, a pretty hefty sum for a job like this."

It was. But you were most definitely not going to complain, a system error meant a financial one, and you'd earned that money fair and square. The case was closed, and you both stood there for a moment or two, unsure who should make the first move.

"We should probably get going." You broke the silence, and JD nodded in agreement.

Foolishly, you almost hoped you two would have gotten to spend a little more time together. He was good company, an adequately competent partner, and from what you could remember, good in bed. Nevertheless, JD still had to drive you back to his since you'd left your car, and so you followed him out to the jeep. The drive was silent, almost in contemplation. You'd gone from avoiding a knife meant for the back of JD's head to the thought of driving home and getting into your bed, a significant turn of events. The contrast played havoc with your gradually subsiding adrenaline. Even through your intense thought, you did notice when the vehicle came to a stop. You unclipped your seatbelt and stepped out, and JD came around from the other side of the car. For a moment you dared think he was as disappointed about having to part ways as you were, but neither of you was the cooperative type.

"Well, thanks for, last night. And being such a great partner." You leaned forward and planted an intimate but casual kiss on his stubble-filled cheek, barely sparing the time to acknowledge his reaction afterwards as you made way for your car.

You'd made it one step when his arm reached out and carefully snatched you back, spinning you back to face him.

"Wait, you should take my number. Just in case."

You raised one brow, a smile playing on your lips from the tone of his request.

"In case of?"

He thought for a moment, lips forming his own impish smile.

"You never know, system errors."

Yeah, system errors. At least that was how you justified it when you exchanged numbers. Finally, it was time for you to take your leave. JD was halfway up the steps to his front porch when you rolled down the window and called out from your car, foot angled readily to bolt out of his driveway.

"I left my bra on your bed, by the way!"

You were gone before he could even spare you a glance.

[thegoldheartlocketandkey-blog]

911 Spoilers Season 4: You’ve been warned. 😅 Buddie Rewatch

Episode 6: Jinx

Buck has a clip board. Going thru a list of supplies, making sure the engine is stocked. Buck calls out the item, Eddie is grabbing the item and confirming. Buck pausing and having Eddie correct his “yep” to a “check.”

Eddie has a slight grin, showing mild annoyance, but playing along with Buck as he continues to say “Check”

Hen and Chim walking over, Hen asking who gave Buck a clip board.

Buck tells Hen not to warry, he is kinder and gentler. Eddie smiles as he leans against the truck, listening to Buck monologue and introduce himself as Buck 3.0.

Hen asking what happened to Buck 2.0 and Chim interjecting that that Buck was crushed by a fire truck and left by his girlfriend. (I know he means Abby, but Ally came to mind first.)

Eddie asserting that he isn’t “sure what inspired the software update” as he looks up at Buck. Buck responds that he is ready to let go of the past. Hen points out that it’s a bit ridiculous that he’s willing to just let go being lied to all his life. (I’m with you Hen!)

Buck reveals that he will be going to therapy with his parents for a few sessions to work thru that obstacle. Eddie looks intrigued by the idea.

Eddie is leaning over the cabinet door of the truck, telling Buck that it’s okay for him to take some time and process this new information. He doesn’t have to jump in right away and work thru it. Buck claims to know this. He is just tired of focusing on the past and wants to start thinking about the future. Every one looks at each other, they are obviously not sure how to process this stance.

Buck screams out to the new recruit, Ravi, calling him Probie.

This is slightly off topic, But in Season 2, when Eddie was a probie, now one called him a Probie. I vaguely remember Buck being called a probie in Season 1. I feel like it says a lot about the way Eddie carries himself. Probably one of the many reasons everyone thinks Eddie is older than Buck, instead of thinking they are the same age.

Buck apologizes for scaring Ravi and asks him how the shift was. Ravi uses the forbidden Q word. Everyone minus Eddie is startled by the mention of the word. Eddie is confused as he continues to pack up the truck, Ravi is confused standing there as Hen and Chim talk about curses.

Buck explains that the “Q” word is forbidden in any firehouse. Bobby interrupts and asks who used the word.  Eddie asks what he’s missing here because he can’t comprehend the reaction.

The fire alarm goes off, and Chim vocalizes that they have been jinxed. The team runs off into the trucks, as Ravi stands there awkwardly.

Cut to Eddie in the truck telling the rest of the team that they sound like his grandmother’s neighbor, the healer. He of course says “Abuela” and “Curandera”. I love when Eddie leans into his Spanish roots.

Buck quickly and unironically asking if she would know how to reverse the curse, because if she doesn’t, they are about the have “the shift from hell.”

Chim and Hen explain how they are going to experience nonstop, stupid calls. Eddie judging them and asking if they really believe in stuff like that. Hen quickly adds, “Buck never told you about the last time someone used that word.”

Buck tries to justify that time as the gods taking that moment out of context. Flash back to a younger Buck trying to add a dish to a running dishwasher and him making a comment about how quiet it was running.

That shift resulted in 36 calls. Eddie finding it hard to believe that all those calls were a result of one shift. Bobby chiming in to say it was a record. Buck correcting the number to 37, revealing the fire suppression system was triggered in the locking, trapping Buck in foam at the end of that shift.  

Eddie still being a denier, tell them that they are giving the EMS god too much credit. The arrive at the accident. Buck jumps out after chimney, Eddie after Buck.  Eddie pointing out that the accident is just a fender bender, not a stupid call. Bobby tells him to look up and we see a man tapped to a billboard. Bobby calling over to Buck, Buck runs to grab the ladder. Eddie smirks as he pulls a bag out of a truck, claiming to have seen crazier.

Buck climbs up the ladder to get to the man stuck above. He tries to reason with the man to get down for everyone’s safety. Everyone below sets up an air bag, incase he falls.

Eddie running towards the car accident scene runs into Ana, Chris’s old school teacher. She was burned by cup of coffee, Eddie offers to check the burn for her. He tells her that ice isn’t good for burns and she reveals that another firefighter gave her the ice. Eddie is on his knees as he looks over the burn, instructs her to keep the area dry and clean.

Ana asks about Christopher. Eddie responds that he’s doing well and adjusting to online classes. He assumes that online school is likely the reason why he hasn’t seen her. Ana reveals that she actually has a new job as a vice principal at a different school district. Eddie and Ana subtly flirt through out the conversation.

I think now is the best time to mentions that I never hated Eddie and Ana’s relationship. I never understood the fan fics that make Ana an evil witch. I did think their relation was boring, probably because we never really got to know her as a character. We really didn’t see their dynamic, or real passion between the characters. I’ll of course go into more detail about this later on, just felt like I should say something now.

Bobby calls for Eddie over the radio to bring over the equipment for their billboard guy, cutting his conversation with Ana short.

Buck descends down the ladder, telling Bobby that the guy refuses to get down. The tape starts to give out and Buck makes a run up the ladder to get to him. Eddie is looking up as this happens. The guy falls off before Buck could make it up. Luckily the air bag broke his fall.

Buck sits on the ladder defeated. As the guy celebrates surviving and walking around naked, Eddie picks up the tape that was holding the man up. Bobby sarcastically asks if he wants it as a souvenir for the day they are about to have.

Everyone gathers upstairs for lunch. Bobby pulls out mac and cheese from the oven. No one is allowed to eat until everyone is at the table.  Buck runs up last, apologizing, as they get ready to eat the alarm goes off.

Montage begins with Bobby putting the mac in cheese back inn the oven.

Eddie rescues a cat and brings it back to the owner. Buck is attempting to help a man down the same tree.

Bobby pulls out the mac and cheese, slightly over cooked. Buck telling Bobby to hurry. The alarm goes off again. They run off, place the mac and cheese back in the oven.

Eddie and Chimney are covered in Vaseline as they try to get a lion head off of a girl. Hen is able to cut the head off. Buck is thrown up on. Eddie backs away as he jokes about someone eating today.

Mac and Cheese is burned. Buck and Eddie are sitting across from each other at the table. Everyone is disappointed by the burned food. Alarm goes off again. Buck looks at Eddie as he sarcastically says they are not jinxed. Eddie looking back at Buck with pursed lips.

Eddie standing with his arms crosses, awkwardly not trying to acknowledge the curse as Chim and Hen handle the squid attack.

Buck burns his mouth on hot coffee straight from the pot as the alarm goes off again.

Buck trying to pry the recliner off of a man at the movie theaters.

Eddie and Bobby removing the door of a washing machine to save a child.

Eddie asks Buck if he ever replays a conversation in their head a realize that he may have sounded like an idiot. Buck replies with, “have you met me.” Eddie smiles. They are walking side by side to the next rescue. Eddie reveals that he ran into Chris’ old teacher Ana that morning.

Buck makes notes that Eddie hadn’t mentioned Chris’ pretty teacher in a while.

They walk in to Bobby and Hen moving helium tanks. Buck comments on the interesting scene  of a clown being covered by helium tanks. Eddie is practically pressed up onto Bucks side at this moment.

Buck and Eddie start laughing uncontrollably as Bobby instructs them to help out, in a high-pitched voice. Eddie and Buck looking at each other before they move in to help. Their laughter becoming more uncontrollable the more they hear people speak.

Cuts to the 118 leaving another call. Eddie and Buck are walking out pressed together. Eddie comments on how boring the call was given that it was people stuck in the elevator. Hen tells him not to say it, prompting Eddie to call them a bunch of old ladies, stating there is no curse. Buck comments on how windy it is as he hopes into the truck. Everyone jumps into the Truck, after they start discussing how they should not tempt faint.

Eddie buckles up, and proceeds to comment about how it was a normal call. “It went like clockwork. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.” Hen chimes is about notice how no one says “Wham, bam, thank you, sir.” Buck being a smart-ass chimes in saying it is because it doesn’t rhyme.

Eddie being overly confident that jinxes don’t exist. Power pole goes down immediately after Eddie says this. Everyone looks at Eddie angrily and Eddie sits up awkwardly.

Chimney and Buck texting Josh about their situation in the truck, I assume it’s a group text. Josh clocking that they are wanting to remove a curse.

As chimney is researching ways to remove curses, Eddie is acting disinterested, while Buck is trying to get a proper explanation.

Eddie continues to make fun of the team for believing in this curse. Buck states, “It’s like the universe is screaming at you and you refuse to listen.”

“The universe doesn’t scream.” Power lines start loudly zapping again.

Eddie states that he doesn’t worry about things he can’t control. Buck tries to get him to admit there is something out there controlling the things he can’t control. Eddie starts listing mystical creatures and legends as he taunts Buck. Eddie attempts to say the “Q” word, but is told by Bobby to stop. This prompts the entire team to ask Bobby’s opinion on the matter.

Bobby points out that everyone is a little superstitious, pointing out that Eddie wears a good luck charm around his neck. Eddie explains that is not the same thing, but Bobby explains how it is.

Help finally arrives, but not before taking photos of the accident and making fun of them.

Eddie walks in the kitchen area. Bobby, Buck, Chimney, and Hen are all upstairs. Turns out Eddie could not sleep.  Eddie walks up to Chim, Hen, and Buck and asks if he’s interrupting book club. Hen states Buck is reading about woman, Eddie turns to Buck and jokes about wondering why Buck had a book in his hand, but knowing it is about woman it all makes sense.

Buck is reading about the 5 love languages, asks Eddie what he thinks Ana’s love language is. Buck putting Eddies business out there and peeking everyone’s interest. Eddie calls Buck a traitor as they ask if he’s dating.

Eddie explains who Ana is and how she ran into her this morning. The 118 being nosy and asking why he didn’t ask her out. The bell goes off before Eddie can come up with a response.

Something I feel needs to be pointed out is that at this very moment Buck does not have any possible suitors or any one of interest to date. From the look of where Buck has the book opened up to, compared to where everyone else has their books opened up to, it’s pretty safe to assume he started reading that book that night. This implies that the only reason he was reading this book is because Eddie mentioned Ana. Buck could have just mentioned Ana’s name to set a fire under Eddie, but the question felt genuine. I like to believe; Buck was trying to figure out Eddies love language and compare it to what they thought would be Ana’s.

I also like to add that if Buck had been reading this book for a while, he may already know Eddies love language, and uses that to his advantage. From reading the book myself, I think Eddie’s love language is acts of service. Buck’s is likely words of affirmation.  Quality time is both their 2nd love language.

$10,000 Worth of Fireworks;  Buck and Eddie grab the water hose out of the truck. Bobby calls Buck over the radio, telling him that he is needed out back. Eddie telling him to go, that he can handle the hose on his own.

Buck leaves and Eddie starts to drag over the hose. The hose gets caught on something, this is when Eddie sees what he assumes is another firefighter from a different unit and calls him over to help. He specifically says he lost his partner could you help me out.

Brian runs over to help. Eddie starts to talk about the rough day he has had, and complains a little. As Brian walks off, Eddie realizes he’s from the unit Ana mentioned that gave her ice. He tells Brian about the situation as he walks off. Bobby walks over to finish helping Eddie. There we learn the 147 is decommissioned after the mudslide, they have no idea who that man was.

Back at the station, Eddie further explains that the man he saw had a jacket with the name Harmon on it, Bobby points out who the real Harmon is and it’s not the guy Eddie spoke to.

Bobby turns this conversation into a lesson for Eddie. Stating, “They’re so focused on what they don’t have that they miss the chance to have something else, something real.”

Eddie slowly making the realization that Bobby means he needs to move on from Shannon and possibly pursue Ana. Bobby further explain how he can’t stay stuck. Eddie is on the verge of tears as he asks Bobby about Athena and her kids. Bobby reassuring Eddie that he loves his new family, but he does miss the one he lost.

So I love the fan theory that Bobby picked out Eddie specifically for Buck. It’s a cute funny theory that I only entertain because it is wholesome. I do not actually believe this theory, but if I did, I would assume Bobby is pushing for Eddie to pursue Ana, because he knows that Eddie needs to heal more before pursing Buck, also this moment isn’t right for Buck either, because he’s processing something totally new.

Burger Freak out: Larry explains that a firefighter called telling him that a gas leak had been detected and to break all of the windows. Bobby and Buck come around the corner and explain that there is no gas leak, but that the gas is going to remain off until the investigation is over.

Buck running after the guy they suspect has been pretending to be a firefighter. Brian steals the 118. Buck is banging against the truck trying to stop him from fleeing.

Eddie looking over at the commotion confused. Bobby announcing over radio that the engine has been stolen. Buck letting Chim and Hen know they are still jinxed.

Buck revealing that he just topped off the gas tank, there is about four hours before the guy runs out of gas.

Over the radio dispatch calls in a 5-alarm fire. Buck asks Bobby what are they suppose to do.  Bobby instructs everyone to hop in the back of the ambulance.  Buck hops in and lays on the gurney. As everyone squeezes in around him.

Buck vocalizes how using the ambulance is a stupid idea, and how their luck really lead to someone stealing an engine. How they might not even be able to help while on scene.

Eddie believes there is a way to get the Engine to the scene, Buck looks up at Eddie confused.

Eddie speaks to Brian directly, calling him over the radio. Eddie thanks Brian for helping at the garage fire. Eddie instructs Brian to help out by bringing the fire engine he stole to the 5-alarm fire.

Eddie walks up to Brian and tells him he did the right thing and walks off.

Buck, Chim, and Hen are in their civilian clothing. They are grateful for the shift being over. Bobby offers to buy the three of them breakfast. Buck makes a kind of concerning comment about not eating long enough, he no longer feels hungry.

Eddie appears out of nowhere, He’s still in uniform, and standing to where he is showing off a lot of cake.

Eddie denies the invitation claiming to have other plans. Buck is visibly confused; Bobby is smiling like he knows what these plans entail.

Buck, Bobby, Hen, and Chim talk about and elaborate on how Brian got a hold of firefighter gear and how much trouble he caused with all his help. Before eating their breakfast, a woman collapses.

Eddie is alone at another breakfast spot. Stressed while looking a menu. I understand feeling a bit anxious about a date, but the normal cool calm and collected man we are use to seeing is no where to be seen in this scene.

Ana arrives, he pulls out her chair for her. They have light banter and when the waiter comes over to ask about drinks, they both respond, “No, coffee, Jinx” and laugh. I understand that the moment is suppose to be cute, but why would you tell your waiter you don’t want coffee. Maybe I’m thinking to much into it, when I was a waiter, this interaction would have confused me and just been awkward.

[theriverspath]

Ineffable May 2024, Day 5: Retirement

Rated General Audience

There was more salt than pepper in Nina’s locs these days, and she was beginning to appreciate a mug of something hot less for the caffeine content and more for the soothing warmth on the overworked joints of her hands. Today, though, her hands were empty as she waved one over the small black screen installed on the wall just inside the kitchen door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. The movement woke the alarm system’s AI and a cheerfully neutral voice addressed her.

“Hello, Nina. Leaving for the day?” The face recognition software had records of all of the shop’s employees, and was programmed to know who was due to open and close based on the work schedule. Or rather, it had been programmed with that information until about a week ago. Currently, the only person it had on file was Nina. Soon, it wouldn’t even recognize her. Her smile was a little sad as she answered the now-glowing screen.

“Yes. Lock up after I’ve left, please.”

“Sure thing! Have a good night!”

“Thanks.” Nina exited the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She paused before crossing to the front door, and could almost hear the bustle of a morning rush around her. She had spent decades behind a counter, offering the people of Soho the best drinks and pastries she could muster. During that time she'd seen old friends come together to enjoy each other's company, stressed students pounding away at keyboards, couples falling in love, and families grow. There had been so much life, both hers and others, lived within these walls.

When she was finally ready to leave, Nina’s steps echoed in the empty space. The next tennant was converting the storefront into a salon, and hadn’t wanted any of the furnishings. So, Nina had sold or donated it all. She’d kept the miniature Statue of Liberty, though, and it now held pride of place on the fireplace mantle in the little flat Maggie and she had just downsized to. Everything else had gone within the last few days.

The doorknob felt so familiar in her grip, and it seemed odd to think that this would be the last time she would turn it. Turn it she did, then stepped onto the pavement and let the door close behind her. She heard the snick of the lock sliding into place and knew that the system had done its job.

“Ready?” Maggie’s voice was soft, and there was no rush or ugrency behind it. Nina took in a breath and nodded.

“All done. I just need to leave the keys with the estate agent on the way home.” She slipped her hand into her wife’s, and they began the walk that would take them past the office and to their flat. Maggie’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile when they passed The Small Back Room. Through the big window, she could see Tony helping a customer sort through a selection of vinyls. Nina didn’t have to hear him to know that he was expounding how you just can’t get the same sound from digital, and isn’t it amazing how physical media really connects us to music in such a tactile way. Their son had inherited Maggie’s love of the record shop, and had happily taken on the responsibility of the day-to-day running of it when she’d decided to take a step back from the business.

As they approached the estate agent’s office, Nina realized that she really didn’t feel like going in and doing the whole smile-and-shake-hands-and-small-talk ordeal that inevitably came with these sorts of interactions. Fortunately, the building had a little brass flap on the exterior for people to deposit paperwork and what-not after closing. So, she just dropped the keys in that, and heard them clank into the little box that caught them.

“I don’t feel like cooking tonight. How about we pick something up?” The two women took their time strolling down the busy street, discussing the merits of the various restaurants between here and their flat. The air was cool, but not quite cold enough to make them want to quicken their pace. They eventually settled on a new Italian place and, once home, enjoyed the steaming containers of pasta in front of a warm, crackling fire.

-----

Want to play along? Check out the prompt list from @blairamok.

[star-going-supernova]

Security Breach prompt: Building on the "Vanny was a Terrible Killer" idea. Picture this: Vanny standing there, staring bewildered at an ajar "Emergency Exit" door because she forgot they exist and legally don't have locks.

Tumblr generated prompt number 42! Hoo boy, this was a lot of fun to write! It’s not connected to Critque because I had a different setup in mind, so this is a standalone. You get to decide what the situation with Vanny is, as it’s not specified or anything. The only warning on this one is for excessive italics, lol. She gets emphatic when she’s mad.

OSHA Compliant 

Vanny had been searching for the brat for ages now, and there was no sign of him anywhere. She had long since lost her patience and had stopped skipping as her frustration grew. Her grip was tight on her knife, and any plans to toy with her latest victim had withered down to a desire to just stab the little menace to death. 

None of the animatronics had seen him, not even the STAFF bots which were nearly impossible to avoid and should have caught him at some point in the last hour. Midnight had barely passed; she couldn’t be struggling this early. 

Spitting and hissing, she stormed through hallway after hallway, banging open doors and frequently pulling up different security feeds on her tablet. Yeah, her tablet. She needed to use the cameras like a newbie. Over a dozen successful kills under her belt and suddenly she was fumbling like it was her first time again. 

No, worse. Her first kill had gone much more smoothly. 

To make matters worse, she was due to give him his first look at Vanny, so she was all suited up—and had been for far longer than was optimal. It was sweltering inside this wretched fabric-and-foam heat trap, and she was sweating all over. Her hair was plastered to her forehead; she’d look like a complete mess when she had to get out of costume. And she was pissed about it.

Honestly. This was absurd. The brat in question had certainly been sneaky in the lead-up to midnight, but he was still a snot-nosed, idiot child. How he’d gotten Freddy on his side was a mystery to her—one that she would be investigating thoroughly once this stupid night was over. That couldn’t be allowed to happen again. 

Narrowing her eyes, Vanny swiped through the cameras for the nth time. There was a conspicuous lack of Freddy, even on the secret cameras she’d placed in areas the pizzaplex hadn’t. Impatiently tapping her foot, she switched over to the tracking software. It could give her a to-the-room accurate location of each animatronic, and it had never failed her. 

[Glamrock Freddy :: Location Error] 

Vanny unleashed a furious screech of anger. How the hell had the brat managed that?! 

She jabbed at the location history, searching out Freddy’s last known whereabouts. It showed a random hallway. 

Positively fuming, Vanny stalked halfway across the pizzaplex, halfway expecting to find Freddy beat up badly enough that his chip had short-circuited. Instead, she came to a sharp stop in the hallway in question and stared, disbelief and absolutely incandescent rage building up inside her like a volcano about to blow. 

Staring her down was an emergency exit door. It wasn’t closed all the way. Freddy’s last registered location was on the inside of the door—and the tracking system apparently didn’t work outside the building. 

Vanny took several long, deep breaths. She started to shake, fingers tightening around her knife and tablet. 

Over a dozen kids murdered in the past six months. And not once, not once, had she—or, apparently, any of them!—spared so much as a passing thought for the emergency exits. The only-locked-from-the-outside emergency exits. 

Foiled. Foiled by OSHA.

Blinded by wrath, she hurled her tablet at the floor, gaining momentary satisfaction from the shattering crash. She dropped her knife, tore off her suit head, and chucked it at the door, then started shrieking incoherently at the top of her lungs. 

(Her rage was so great that it was heard throughout the pizzaplex—and below it. Afton stirred awake. Upon recognizing the bellowing as that of Vanny, he considered going to investigate but ultimately settled back in his shadows. He didn’t know what had set off his follower’s temper, but he would not be inviting her ire on himself tonight. He was smarter than that.)

(If only marginally.)

[mariacallous]

Generative AI tools such as OpenAI’s ChatGPT and Microsoft’s Copilot are rapidly evolving, fueling concerns that the technology could open the door to multiple privacy and security issues, particularly in the workplace.

In May, privacy campaigners dubbed Microsoft’s new Recall tool a potential “privacy nightmare” due to its ability to take screenshots of your laptop every few seconds. The feature has caught the attention of UK regulator the Information Commissioner’s Office, which is asking Microsoft to reveal more about the safety of the product launching soon in its Copilot+ PCs.

Concerns are also mounting over OpenAI’s ChatGPT, which has demonstrated screenshotting abilities in its soon-to-launch macOS app that privacy experts say could result in the capture of sensitive data.

The US House of Representatives has banned the use of Microsoft’s Copilot among staff members after it was deemed by the Office of Cybersecurity to be a risk to users due to “the threat of leaking House data to non-House approved cloud services.”

Meanwhile, market analyst Gartner has cautioned that “using Copilot for Microsoft 365 exposes the risks of sensitive data and content exposure internally and externally.” And last month, Google was forced to make adjustments to its new search feature, AI Overviews, after screenshots of bizarre and misleading answers to queries went viral.

Overexposed

For those using generative AI at work, one of the biggest challenges is the risk of inadvertently exposing sensitive data. Most generative AI systems are “essentially big sponges,” says Camden Woollven, group head of AI at risk management firm GRC International Group. “They soak up huge amounts of information from the internet to train their language models.”

AI companies are “hungry for data to train their models,” and are “seemingly making it behaviorally attractive” to do so, says Steve Elcock, CEO and founder at software firm Elementsuite. This vast amount of data collection means there’s the potential for sensitive information to be put “into somebody else’s ecosystem,” says Jeff Watkins, chief product and technology officer at digital consultancy xDesign. “It could also later be extracted through clever prompting.”

At the same time, there’s the threat of AI systems themselves being targeted by hackers. “Theoretically, if an attacker managed to gain access to the large language model (LLM) that powers a company's AI tools, they could siphon off sensitive data, plant false or misleading outputs, or use the AI to spread malware,” says Woollven.

Consumer-grade AI tools can create obvious risks. However, an increasing number of potential issues are arising with “proprietary” AI offerings broadly deemed safe for work such as Microsoft Copilot, says Phil Robinson, principal consultant at security consultancy Prism Infosec.

“This could theoretically be used to look at sensitive data if access privileges have not been locked down. We could see employees asking to see pay scales, M&A activity, or documents containing credentials, which could then be leaked or sold.”

Another concern centers around AI tools that could be used to monitor staff, potentially infringing their privacy. Microsoft’s Recall feature states that “your snapshots are yours; they stay locally on your PC” and “you are always in control with privacy you can trust.”

Yet “it doesn’t seem very long before this technology could be used for monitoring employees,” says Elcock.

Self-Censorship

Generative AI does pose several potential risks, but there are steps businesses and individual employees can take to improve privacy and security. First, do not put confidential information into a prompt for a publicly available tool such as ChatGPT or Google’s Gemini, says Lisa Avvocato, vice president of marketing and community at data firm Sama.

When crafting a prompt, be generic to avoid sharing too much. “Ask, ‘Write a proposal template for budget expenditure,’ not ‘Here is my budget, write a proposal for expenditure on a sensitive project,’” she says. “Use AI as your first draft, then layer in the sensitive information you need to include.”

If you use it for research, avoid issues such as those seen with Google’s AI Overviews by validating what it provides, says Avvocato. “Ask it to provide references and links to its sources. If you ask AI to write code, you still need to review it, rather than assuming it’s good to go.”

Microsoft has itself stated that Copilot needs to be configured correctly and the “least privilege”—the concept that users should only have access to the information they need—should be applied. This is “a crucial point,” says Prism Infosec’s Robinson. “Organizations must lay the groundwork for these systems and not just trust the technology and assume everything will be OK.”

It’s also worth noting that ChatGPT uses the data you share to train its models, unless you turn it off in the settings or use the enterprise version.

List of Assurances

The firms integrating generative AI into their products say they’re doing everything they can to protect security and privacy. Microsoft is keen to outline security and privacy considerations in its Recall product and the ability to control the feature in Settings > Privacy & security > Recall & snapshots.

Google says generative AI in Workspace “does not change our foundational privacy protections for giving users choice and control over their data,” and stipulates that information is not used for advertising.

OpenAI reiterates how it maintains security and privacy in its products, while enterprise versions are available with extra controls. “We want our AI models to learn about the world, not private individuals—and we take steps to protect people’s data and privacy,” an OpenAI spokesperson tells WIRED.

OpenAI says it offers ways to control how data is used, including self-service tools to access, export, and delete personal information, as well as the ability to opt out of use of content to improve its models. ChatGPT Team, ChatGPT Enterprise, and its API are not trained on data or conversations, and its models don’t learn from usage by default, according to the company.

Either way, it looks like your AI coworker is here to stay. As these systems become more sophisticated and omnipresent in the workplace, the risks are only going to intensify, says Woollven. “We're already seeing the emergence of multimodal AI such as GPT-4o that can analyze and generate images, audio, and video. So now it's not just text-based data that companies need to worry about safeguarding.”

With this in mind, people—and businesses—need to get in the mindset of treating AI like any other third-party service, says Woollven. “Don't share anything you wouldn't want publicly broadcasted.”

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Not me thinking about Kara gently hooking her thumb in Lena’s open mouth, both gasping against each other’s lips as kara makes love to her 😭😭 yeah I’m all in favor of you writing this one first 🥹

I'll be perfectly honest, I can't remember the exact scenario that this ask is referring to, but this visual has been stuck in my head for weeks, so I had to do something with it! This is also in the spirit of some of the more . . . shall we say . . . salacious prompts and headcanons I've received, I hope it lives up to expectation!

FRIENDLY REMINDER that sexy times should always be safe, sane, and consensual! And you should also only have the kind of sex described here with someone you trust and who wouldn't actually hurt you or abuse you. Sex can be like a really vulnerable thing, and Kara and Lena have had plenty of previous discussions about hard and soft limits, and even thought they are VERY angry at one another, neither of them are in any real danger and they both know it. Also, AFTERCARE doesn't take place in the text of the story, but it is EXTREMELY important and does happen with Kara and Lena in this particular setting . . . eventually.

Anyways, I feel like this one needed a disclaimer lol.

Fragile

If the ride up the elevator to the penthouse takes forever, then the biometric scanner at the door somehow takes even longer.

When she built the damn thing, she built it for protection, not for speed, but as she waits on the iris scanner to process through the one million specific data points that make it practically unhackable - even by Lena herself - she finds herself rethinking her priorities.

Because right now she needs nothing more than to be inside her apartment, locked away from the world.

The penthouse was her one solace.

Her one impenetrable place.

Everywhere else had been invaded.

By the media, the DEO, Lex, Cadmus, you name it.

But here, here was safe.

Luckily, Kara will be held up at the DEO debriefing that Lena had run out on for at least another hour or two. By then, Lena will have had time to scrub Kara's biometrics from the apartment entry software and fully lock herself in her apartment.

Her own little fortress of solitude.

She almost laughs at the irony.

She's too angry to laugh, too hurt - too angry at being hurt.

How dare Kara - how dare Supergirl, for that matter- call her out for her 'reckless behavior' in front of Alex and the other DEO agents.

Her plan was well calculated, and she was very aware of the risks she was taking by going through with it.

Besides, she made it out with barely a few bruises.

Only because Kara rescued you. the traitorous part of her brain unhelpfully adds.

The locks on the door finally click open, and she lets herself in, fully re-engaging the security protocol behind her.

Lena is well and truly pissed.

She doesn't remember being this pissed in a long fucking time; and she's certainly never been this pissed at Kara.

How dare she?

Really!

Of all the nerve!

To try and publicly admonish Lena for something she herself would have done - has done - time and time over.

Just because she's Supergirl, she thinks she can be all self righteous and holier-than-thou and you know what?

Fuck her.

Fuck her and her stupid cape, and her stupid heat vision and her stupid flying and her stupid fucking hair and . , ,

"Yeahhughh!" Lena shouts, slamming the control panel of her security system closed. There, let Kara try to get in now.

Good fucking luck.

Unless she just decided to use brute strength and force her way in.

But Lena had just had to listen to a thirty minute lecture about how perfect fucking superheroes never do anything "unethical", so that would be a little out of character, now wouldn't it?

With a few quick switches, she brings down the bulletproof shades down over the floor to ceiling windows looking out over National City. After only a moment's hesitation, she also brings down the lead shades she'd installed.

Let Kara wonder what she's up to and worry about her.

Serves her right.

With one final look over everything to make sure she's locked in tight, Lena heads to to the kitchen. There's a bottle of Scotch with her name on it, and she thinks it's high time she indulges. She even goes for one of those fancy circle ice cubes that her chef insists make everything a 'designer cocktail'; but after she pours a couple of fingers into her favorite glass, something stops her.

It's Kara's voice in her head - because of fucking course it is - asking tentatively if maybe she should talk about her problems instead of trying to drink them away.

And you know what?

Fuck that, because the memory of Kara is quickly ushered along by one of her therapist - and she is not in any sort of mood to be thinking about therapy of all things. Without giving herself time for second thoughts, she pours the amber liquid down the drain with a scowl.

Damn it, if Kara can ruin a good glass of Scotch, then she can ruin just about anything

With a huff, she heads to her master suite, because if she can't self harm with alcohol then she can at least take a scalding hot shower. And maybe that's not exactly healthy either; but Kara's voice in her head is silent at least, and besides, she needs a shower. She knows that her hair is a mess and she's pretty sure Alex was crinkling her nose in disgust whenever Lena stepped upwind of her at the debriefing.

Guess entering the alien ship through the trash chute wasn't her most hygienic option; but hey, it got the job done at least.

She turns the shower nozzle on as hot as it will go, and then waits for steam to fill up the bathroom before she sheds her clothes and steps in.

It's only a few minutes before her skin is red from the heat but she feels marginally better; the smell of lavender and mint permeating the bathroom.

When she eventually becomes numb to the sting of the water, she turns the knobs in the other direction until she's being blasted with water so cold that it almost feels like she's doing one of Alex's ridiculous ice water plunges.

She washes her hair twice before she's satisfied enough to move on to conditioner, and she alternates the water temperature between the two extremes at least four times; that and the extra attention from her loofah leaving her skin feeling tingly and raw.

As she stands in front of the mirror drying her hair with a towel, she has to admit that the shower was definitely more productive than the drinking. Plus she still has a clear head and all of her faculties.

Faculties that she can use to plot petty revenge on her girlfriend.

The thought gives her pause.

Was Kara still her girlfriend?

They hadn't exactly broken up, but they hadn't exactly talked either.

Well, besides Kara having the audacity to call her attempt to save the world 'hare-brained' and 'borderline stupid'. But now Lena has effectively taken away Kara's keys to her apartment, and it's not like Kara has bothered to try and come by anyways.

Maybe they were over.

Good riddance, in Lena's book.

She didn't need Supergirl, or Kara Danvers. Or friends for that matter. Or the DEO, or game night, or Kara eating ice cream with her at three in the morning when she can't sleep or -

She doesn't need any of it.

She was doing just fine on her own.

Just like she was doing just fine on that alien ship before Kara came to 'rescue' her.

Angrily, she yanks a hairbrush through any tangles the conditioner left behind, and throws on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt.

But damn it if it isn't one of Kara's t-shirts that she accidentally pulls out of the drawer.

She doesn't realize it's Kara's until after she's pulled it over her head ,and even though tears sting her eyes at the realization, she doesn't take it off.

It's one of the plain white v-necks that Kara likes to hang around the apartment in, and it's slightly too big for Lena. Muscles and aggressive lounging have stretched it out, and it's soft almost to the point of threadbare.

Fuck it.

It's her shirt now.

She's claiming it.

Not in a 'steal it from your girlfriend to be cute' way, but in a petty theft kind of way.

Hows that for 'unethical'?

She'll just tell Kara to add that to her long list of crimes against humanity.

She pads into the living room, frowning when she sees the blinking light on her security camera monitor. Who could possibly be bothering her now?

A quick look shows that it's not the lobby camera but the balcony camera, and she flicks the feed over to see Kara - Supergirl - hovering outside.

She should have guessed, really.

Of all of Kara's annoying qualities, tenacity was certainly one of the top five.

Kara's gaze shoots to the camera, almost as if she senses Lena watching her.

"Lena, I know you're in there." Kara's voice is pleading, but Lena makes no move to answer; instead shifting her attention to her cuticles. She could really use a manicure, and she makes a mental note to text Jess later.

It's a long moment before the camera's speaker sounds again.

"You took my biometrics off of the balcony door lock."

. . .

"I'm going to assume that you took them off of the inside door as well, because you're nothing if not thorough." Kara spits the word out like it's derogatory, and Lena can't help but feel a spike of sinful pride.

The silence lasts a good five minutes this time before Kara speaks.

"Damn it, Lena! Let me in!"

There it is.

The anger Lena's been waiting for.

Normally Supergirl stays so calm and proper, but occasionally, occasionally, she lets that Kryptonian temper fly.

Lena allows a hint of an evil grin before she shuts the camera monitor off and walks to the refrigerator. Just because she can't use her fancy ice cubes for whiskey, doesn't mean she can't use them in a sparkling water; because nothing says 'gloating super villain' like a bottle of water that costs more than Kara makes in an hour.

So, she fixes another glass with ice and pours the water in until the bubbles almost spill over the top. Then she takes a long, refreshing sip - letting the hint of lemon-lime in the effervescence tickle her nose.

You're not a super villain. You're not a villain at all. the voice in her head reminds her.

The thought should bring her peace, but instead it only infuriates her more. Just because she chooses to do things differently than Supergirl doesn't mean that Kara gets to guilt trip her about it.

She does a lot of good for this world.

A whole hell of a lot more good than anyone in her family has ever done bad; despite Lex and Lillian's best efforts. She's more than made up for her family name, and she's more than proved herself an ally to Supergirl, and how dare Kara try to make her feel like anything less.

She drains the glass before slamming it down with a little more force than necessary.

Fuck.

Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

She braces herself against the kitchen counter, staring blankly past the glass doors of the cabinets at the cups and bowls meticulously stacked inside.

She's not sure how long she stands there before a loud crack from living room snaps her attention away. She turns to see Kara standing just inside, the remnants of Lena's door lock dangling from her fingertips.

Lena clucks her tongue.

"Well, well, well; Supergirl breaking and entering, aren't you just the little deviant."

Kara's eyes are flaming with anger, and Lena's half surprised that she hasn't been melted into the floor with heat vision.

After a long staring contest, Kara walks towards Lena's work bench in the corner and tosses the pieces of door lock on it.

"Right, cause I'm just Miss goody-two-shoes."

"If the shoe fits." Lena smirks at the cleverness of her own pun, but Kara's scowl only deepens as she stalks into the kitchen.

Her gaze darts around before settling on the empty glass on the counter and then the still open bottle of Scotch. She gives Lena a hard glare.

"Really, Lena? You leave me outside so you can what? Get drunk and ignore your feelings?"

Kara's voice raises as she speaks, and the end of the question comes out in a bellow; Kara's face red and angry as she reaches for the bottle of Scotch and pitches it across the kitchen.

It shatters against the countertop, and once again Lena's finds herself grateful that she always invests in durable building supplies.

Normally, Kara would look petulant after any sort of outburst, but in this case it's seemed only to fan the flames of her ire. Her entire body is shaking so much that she's practically vibrating.

Years of dealing with the Luthor family drama is the only thing that lets Lena look unbothered, despite the discontent in her chest.

"I was drinking water, actually, but thank you for getting rid of the rest of the bottle, I'm trying to cut back."

Kara almost has the decency to look scolded, but it fades quickly.

"You are . . ."

"What?" Lena snaps.

"Completely infuriating."

"You just can't stand it that I can fix things without your help, can you? It really gets under your skin that I can do just as much good as you without parading myself as some sort of paragon of honor and justice."

Kara barks a laugh.

"That's what you think this is? You think I'm upset because you're trying to do good? Every time you go off on one of your hare-brained schemes -"

"There's that word again, you know you'd think for an ace reporter you'd have a broader vocabulary." Lena can tell by Kara's shift in posture that her words hit home, and she allows herself a moment to gloat before Kara's steely blue eyes settle heavily on her and she feels the breath seep out of her chest.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to make me angry." Kara's voice is dangerous and low, igniting something in Lena - a feeling she can't quite place.

In an odd sort of way, It feels good, to have Kara angry at her.

To have Kara expressing something instead of that stone cold facade she'd held at the DEO. Lena craves it, needs it.

Needs something to distract her from the aftermath of delayed panic and guilt that's starting to overtake her.

"Maybe I am."

Lena knows what she's doing is basically like dangling raw meat in front of a bear and daring it to chase after her.

Kara studies her for a long moment before lifting her gaze away. The silence floats around them like a fog as Kara stares off in the distance - her stare fixated on something that isn't really there. Her fingers drumroll heavy on the counter and the durability of the quartz counter top is tested for a second time that night.

Lena can see the muscles of her jaw clenching and unclenching, teeth grinding together so harshly that she briefly wonders if the creation of diamonds would be possible under such conditions.

After a few long, tense minutes, Kara's gaze settles back on Lena and she shifts under the weight of it.

"Do you think," Kara takes a slow step forward before repeating herself. "Do you think I do it for you? Do you think that when you recklessly throw yourself into danger that I just drop everything and rescue you, for you? Do you think you're so important that I just risk everything for you?" She's close enough now that her breathy laugh ghosts over Lena's face.

"I'm a very . . . selfish woman, Lena. All those times that I threw caution to the wind, that I risked the very fate of the universe in order to save you - I did it for me."

Kara's gaze is threatening to burn a, (quite literal), hole in Lena's skull and she can't help but take a step back. Only, Kara follows, and now Lena's boxed in between her and the counter. The exact definition of a rock and a hard place.

"Do you know why, I always rescue you, Lena?" Both her tone and the fingers tracing Lena's cheekbone are overtly tender, but right below the surface is an edge of sharpened steel.

"Because I have lost everything , and I will not lose you." Kara's hand drops to Lena's neck, thumb pressing harshly into her bottom lip.

It's some sort of animal instinct that has Lena tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck like a dog to its alpha.

Kara's eyes study her face for a long while, as if she's cataloguing every detail for her sketchbook later.

Lena uses the opportunity to analyze Kara.

Her blonde hair has been washed of the grease that had been streaking it earlier. and she smells faintly of ozone and unfallen rain, and Lena wonders how much time she spent circling in the atmosphere before she decided to stop by for a visit.

Long enough to get pissed, by the look of barely concealed rage on her face.

That's ok, Lena's pissed too; and she's never been one to back away from a fight.

"If you would just listen to me -" Kara starts but Lena's already heard enough.

"You mean if I would just shut up and do what you tell me."

"That's not what I said."

"But that's what you meant, isn't it? That your life would be easier if I would just fall in line and do things the Supergirl way. Spoiler alert, Kara; the Supergirl way isn't always the best way."

With one last, defiant meeting of their eyes, Lena sidesteps out of Kara's reach and uses a broom to start sweeping at the remnants of the broken Scotch bottle on the floor.

She can feel Kara's eyes on her, but she very pointedly ignores her, choosing instead to keep her back positioned to the superhero.

When the majority of the glass is scooped up and deposited in the trash, she reaches for a washcloth, wetting it in the sink before turning her attention to the shards of glass on the countertop, carefully wiping them onto the dustpan.

"Lena."

The plea in Kara's voice is evident, but Lena still ignores it, forcing herself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Lena."

This time Kara is more insistent, and her hand reaches out to rest on Lena's shoulder, but Lena shrugs it off with grunt.

Before can even process what's happening, Kara is spinning her around; pressing Lena's hips hard into the counter with her own, bending her backwards until her head is trapped against the cabinets.

Kara's laugh is dark.

"Do you even realize how fragile you are?"

Lena can't deny that Kara's aura is a little frightening, and her hands scramble for purchase on the counter, looking for anything to give her leverage. She feels the fragment of glass under her finger like crumb a split second before she registers the prick of pain.

"Shit." she jerks her hand up, trying to examine the wound, but Kara intercepts it, closing her fingers around Lena's wrist in a bruising grip. Lena's tries unsuccessfully to snatch her hand back, but Kara doesn't relent; her tone mocking as she smirks.

"See? Fragile."

"Stop that, I'm bleeding."

"What, you don't want me to clean up your mess this time?"

Lena just thought she was mad before.

If looks could kill, then Kara would certainly be dead from the daggers that Lena is shooting into her skull.

Before she can voice a come back, Kara's lips close around the tip of her finger, sucking away the dark red droplet of blood so she can get an unobstructed view of the wound. It irritates Lena to know that Kara can hear the uptick in her heart rate just like she can hear the way Lena's breath catches in her throat at the intimate action.

Kara's eyes narrow as she examines Lena's finger, and Lena knows that she's using her x-ray vision to check for hidden injuries.

Hidden injuries.

On practically a fucking paper cut for gods sake.

She uses Kara's distraction to successfully jerk her hand away, but in less than a split second, she's been recaptured and whisked to the sink. The water is cold as Kara holds the offended finger under the stream, and Lena can't help but roll her eyes.

Just like Kara to be over protective and smothering - a fact that's even more evident when Lena feels the rush of wind as Kara super speeds to the hall closet where the first aid kit is kept and returns with a bandaid and antiseptic in hand.

Kara's look dares Lena to argue with her, and Lena chooses to pick her battles.

So Lena holds still as Kara cleans and dresses her wound, minor as it may be, green eyes attempting to bore a hole from one side of Kara's head to the other. Finally, the job is finished, and Lena turns her glare to the bright yellow bandage around her finger.

She huffs angrily.

"Kara this is fucking ridiculous, I'm more than capable of - "

The sound of a fist connecting with the wall startles her, and she looks up to see Kara hulking over her - eyes dark and cheeks red.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Kara glowers, and once again her hand settles on Lena's neck. This time, her thumb gently massages at Lena's pulse point.

Lena knows, knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Kara would never hurt her; but her point is loud and clear -

If she wanted to, she could.

The realization sends a shiver down Lena's spine as her eyes shutter closed. She swallows against the pressure on her throat; and when her eyes reopen, Kara is closer than before - blue eyes harsh and glinting as she dares Lena to resist.

Lena doesn't exactly fight her, but she doesn't back down either. For a few long, tense moments, their breath mixes in the air between until Lena isn't quite sure if it's Kara's imposing presence thats leaving her weak in the knees or if it's too much carbon dioxide from their shared air.

"Do it." she dares Kara in a whisper.

"What?"

"Don't play stupid." Lena's voice is raw and broken with emotion, and again she swallows pointedly against Kara's grip; never breaking eye contact.

"We both know you want to hurt me."

Kara doesn't respond verbally, but her fingers flex against Lena's neck.

The tension between them is tight, like a bungee cord about to break; and Lena isn't sure if the resulting snap will bring them crashing together or send them falling apart.

"Do it. Show me you're the only one who gets to break me apart, Supergirl."

Kara's reaction this time is instantaneous.

She lifts Lena effortlessly onto the countertop, stepping between her legs as Lena's head and back slam into the cabinet.

"Fuck." The word is barely spoken before Kara swallows it - teeth clashing against Lena's as her tongue lays claim to Lena's mouth.

The kiss is hot and heavy and possessive, and if Lena thought she was low on oxygen before, she's running on fumes now; her breath panting at every split second of relief she's given from onslaught of Kara's lips. The hand on her hip is bruising, and the hand on her throat moves to fist in her hair. It's too much and not enough; and her own hands are against Kara chest - pushing her away or pulling her in, she isn't really sure which.

Before she can process what's happening, her sweatpants and underwear are yanked off and thrown across the room, and she's hissing as the coldness of the countertop meets her bare ass. Kara makes quick work of her stolen shirt, Lena's negligence at putting on a bra after her shower leaving her nipples peaked and aching as they're exposed to the air.

Then Kara is pressed against her, the material of the super suit rubbing against Lena's still tender skin. But, Kara is warm, so warm, the heat radiating off of her like a furnace; and Lena tugs her impossibly closer, ankles locking around her waist. She shivers as er cunt rubs agains Kara's pelvis, the one place of connection where Lena is hotter than Kara.

"Fuck." Lena repeats, only this time it comes out half slurred, Kara's tongue thick in her mouth.

She should really be careful what she wishes for, because Kara shifts and the hand that was on her waist is now inside her - three of the fingers, anyway, judging by the stretch. It hurts, but she wants more, something inside of her needing to feel Kara's raw power. Kara may need to see that she's the only one with the power to destroy Lena; but so does Lena. Whether she admits it or not, today's close call has left her frightened and vulnerable, and she needs reassurance that Kara will always be there to save her.

So she clutches at Kara, one hand gripping her cape and one on the elbow of the hand that's inside of her, the seam of material that loops over Kara's palm chaffing at her sensitive skin while Kara thumbs her clit. Kara's fingers slip almost completely out before they piston back in, knuckles slamming in so hard that Lena feels her pelvic bone jar with the force.

She's losing all aspects of higher brain function; the only sounds she's capable of making are keening half syllables of desperation. The hand in Lena's hair applies a steady pressure, pulling her back until Kara has easy access to her neck. Lena know as soon as those warm lips give way to teeth on her collarbone that she going to be relegated to high collars for a least a week to hide the bruising.

Kara leads a wet trail down Lena's chest, her fingers never slowing their violent rhythm. As her lips close around Lena's nipple, encasing it in a warm, wet heat, Lena feels her brain short circuit. There's nothing but white hot heat behind her eyes and down her chest, exploding out of her center.

She can feel the wave of orgasm cresting already, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Kara must feel her start to tighten because she pulls her head back from Lena's chest and releases her vice grip on Lena's hair. That hand moves instead back to Lena's neck, and this time the pressure isn't merely suggested - it's real - leaving Lena gasping helplessly for air as she chases her release. Her eyes roll back in her head and the rollercoaster is just about to come crashing down the hill when Kara's hand moves again to, (almost gently), cup her chin before her thumb hooks into Lena's panting mouth and pulls their foreheads together.

"Look at me when you cum." Kara growls, and Lena has no choice but to obey. Their eyes meet in a storm of blue and green, pupils wide with lust and fury. The sight is enough to send Lena past the point of no return and her body shakes uncontrollably as her cunt spasms around Kara's still thrusting fingers, her slick spilling into Kara's hand.

She might black out, she's not entirely sure; but when she comes back to her senses Kara's forehead is resting on her shoulder, and her fingers are still thrusting inside Lena - albeit at a much gentler pace.

"Kara." she chokes out in a strangled cry, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of her release.

"I've got you, I've got you." Kara promises fervently as she slowly withdraws her hand from its ministrations and scoops Lena up into a bridal carry.

It takes all of Lena's strength to wrap her arms around Kara's neck; but then Kara's lips are on hers, soft and gentle this time. It's easy to lose herself in the kiss, the emotion, the perfect bliss of Kara's embrace. At least until she feels Kara's lips curl in a smirk and she pulls back to see her girlfriend sporting a very self satisfied smile.

Something is triggered in Lena at the almost gloating expression on Kara's face.

Despite the emotional and physical high she just experienced, she can't help but feel a sense of wounded pride at the fact that Kara, in essence, won.

Yet again, Kara gets to play the hero, swooping in and 'rescuing' Lena at the last minute; carrying her distressing damsel off into the sunset.

Lena levels her gaze at the superhero.

Kara coming away from this feeling like the victor?

That, that simply won't do.

Luthors may lose, but Lena - Lena never does.

Whew! We all need cold holy water showers now! There will most likely be a part two to this if reception is good.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity health-care monopolies are on a profitable killing spree

It’s not just you. US healthcare, already a bureaucratic nightmare of buck-passing and price-gouging, has gotten far worse. Private equity firms have created regional health-care monopolies that don’t just rip patients off — they’re killing us.

Private equity is a scam. Fund managers raise gigantic sums by claiming to be able to “beat the market.” In reality, they do worse for their investors than a boring old index fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/25/pluralistic-your-daily-link-dose-25-feb-2020/#extraordinaryclaims

The fund managers don’t have to beat the market in order to make bank. They can take advantage of the “carried interest” loophole, which has nothing to do with interest rates — it’s a tax system that was invented for 16th century sea-captains (no, really):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

PE dresses up its playbook in all kinds of bullshit, but it’s a smokescreen. At core, PE funds buy companies, merge them to monopoly, slash wages, fire staff, load up their businesses with debt, and then skedaddle before the businesses collapse. They call this “creating value”:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/24/software-is-cake-too/#looters

This playbook guarantees that everything PE touches will turn to shit. PE is a parasite that preys on weak industries and makes them even more dysfunctional. Think of how PE has cornered regional rental housing markets and then turned every rental in town into a slum:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

Most of us didn’t really think about rail-freight until last winter, when the whole system nearly collapsed. Again, the bloody handprints of PE are all over that crisis:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/04/up-your-nose/#rail-barons

The pandemic put a lot of businesses into a precarious state, and PE swooped in, buying up distressed businesses at scale and putting them into a death-spiral:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/30/medtronic-stole-your-ventilator/#blackstone-kkr

This acquisition was fueled by Trump’s corporate covid bailout and the trillions in public money that the GOP made available to corporate borrowers (remember, PE thrives on debt):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

Of all the sick industries in America, healthcare is the sickest, and it’s the domain where PE has done the most damage. PE stripped healthcare systems to the bone, removing all excess capacity and exhausting and demoralizing healthcare workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

They bought up emergency rooms, turned them into scam factories that hit every unfortunate person who stepped foot in them with thousands in “surprise billing” fees. Then they cut doctors’ pay and spent millions on ads to block anti-surprise billing legislation:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The ER scam was and is wild. Some hospitals lock all their doors except for the ER doors, and then they’d hit you for “emergency care” when you went through the ER on your way to receiving normal, non-emergency procedures:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

The damage wasn’t limited to emergency rooms. Whole hospitals — whole hospital systems — were crashed by PE looters, and many of these got emergency government bailouts, because…free market?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/01/the-years-of-repair/#mass-murder

PE has bought its way into every corner of the health-care system, and made every bad thing, much, much worse. You know how “bad nursing home” are three of the scariest words in the English language? Try on “bad private equity owned nursing home” for size. The death toll is massive:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

Biden’s SEC chair Gary Gensler has made the most decisive anti-PE moves in decades, requiring disclosures that will help investors (especially union pension funds) pierce the veil of bullshit that brings in the billions that PE fashions into weapons of financial mass destruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#gary-gensler

But the wheels of justice grind slow, and PE has trillions to fuel its race to suck every bit of value out of the health-care system before the party comes to an end.

In “Sick Profit: Investigating Private Equity’s Stealthy Takeover of Health Care Across Cities and Specialties,” Kaiser Health News’s Fred Schulte reveals the plan of attack:

https://khn.org/news/article/private-equity-takeover-health-care-cities-specialties/

In 2021, PE firms bought 1,400 health care companies, spending $206b (the total since 2012 is more than $1t). They’ve cornered regional markets for eye care, dental care, family practices, hospices, and pet care. We’ve had a year to see how that played out, and it’s not pretty.

Since 2014, PE companies have paid out $500m in fines for falsifying health care billings to the US government, but a fine is a price, and the fines have been absorbed into PE’s business plans as part of the cost of operations.

Once a PE firm buys up all the specialists in a region, things get very bad. Take San Antonio, where nearly all the gastroenterology clinics have been bought up by PE firms, and where routine colonoscopies now cost patients thousands more than they paid before:

https://khn.org/news/article/private-equity-gastroenterologist-colonoscopy/

While there are plenty of illegal ways that PE companies extract value from their acquisitions, the legal tactics are pretty ugly all on their own, like cutting staff and replacing them with less skilled, less trained, cheaper workers, putting patients at risk.

This is particularly worrying when you consider how heavily PE companies invest in practices that treat people who are vulnerable and struggle to advocate for themselves, such as behavioral health specialists who treat autism, addiction and mental illness.

Whether or not you can escape PE depends a lot on where you live. PE only owns 12% of the nation’s anesthesiology practices, but those practices are concentrated in five states, where more than two thirds of anesthesiologists are PE owned.

When PE takes over your health care, billings go way up. The average PE-treated patient generates $71 more per claim, and is 9% more likely to experience “lengthy, more costly” care:

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama-health-forum/fullarticle/2795946

Doctors who sell their practices to PE companies are lured in with promises of administrative relief from experts who’ll handle billing, scheduling and compliance. But PE firms exercise fine-grained control over these doctors, violating rules that say medical practices must be run by MDs.

Take National Spine, a PE-backed chain owned by Sentinel Capital Partners that bought up 40+ pain-management clinics across the country. Doctors saw their caseload explode from 16 patients/day to 25. Medicare billings also exploded, with “unnecessary and often worthless” back braces being charged at up to $1,100 each. Patients were given $1,800 “medically unnecessary and often worthless” urine tests. National settled these claims for $3.3m in April 2019, without admitting guilt.

RLH Equity Partners’s pharmacies bilked the military health insurer Tricare out of $68m through a system of kickbacks and telemarketer sales. RLH settled the case for $21m and blamed it on a few corrupt “individuals.”

Most of the time, fraud claims are settled by the companies that the PE funds owe, while the PE funds themselves get off scot-free. That leaves the funds free to re-offend, and to further push the limits on patient endangerment.

One of the grisliest parts of this tale is in the realm of children’s dentistry. PE firms have bought up these practices and turned them into high-volume Medicare-fraud assembly lines that perform rushed, unnecessary major procedures on poor kids and bill the government a fortune for them.

These include baby root canals and crowns, and the PE-backed dental chains set quotas for their staff, requiring them to perform a certain number of major procedures on each patient. One particularly horrifying case recounted by the KHN article is that of two-year old Zion Gastelum, who died following major dental surgery.

Gastelum received six root canals and crowns on his baby teeth at a PE-owned Kool Smiles clinic in Yuma, AZ. The oxygen bottle used during his surgery “was empty or not operating properly” and the staff who oversaw the procedure were undertrained and didn’t notice. He never regained consciousness, and died of brain injuries days later.

Kool Smiles’s owners paid $24m to settle a DoJ overbilling claim less than a month later. The settlement alleged that Kool Smiles performed unnecessary procedures, including baby root canals. Kool Smiles denied that they were responsible for Gastelum’s death.

More than 90% of PE acquisitions fall below the $101m threshold for antitrust review, so they fly under the radar. Once the mergers are complete, they are very hard to unwind. The FTC is working its way through hundreds of comments from doctors or other health care workers asking for tighter scrutiny of health-care mergers.

The Healthcare Private Equity Association boasts that its members are poised to spend more than $3t to create “the future of healthcare.”

https://hcpea.org/#!event-list

Image: Rae Allen (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/raeallen/6224775722/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Videoplasty (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Patient_Care_Cartoon.svg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A hospital Emergency Room parking lot. In the center of the image stands an ogrish, top-hatted, cigar-chomping capitalist caricature. He is standing at a podium, yanking a lever made from a golden dollar-sign. The front of the podium bears a red cross. He holds aloft an elderly man in a hospital bed.]