#that just Linger in the unit i cant stand it

[varietysky]

becoming more sensitive to food smells is making me want to punch walls, whyyyy am I like this now

[atangledfate]

Lanolin was furious, and she let that anger get the better of her. That frustration taking hold and it was a difficult thing for her to shake. The same anger she felt when she found out Sonic was the Phantom rider, and it blinded her to reason. Yet at this point she'd rather be anywhere then talking to these fools! Besides she could actually get what troops she had mobilized and she prayed the princess was a better diplomat then she was.

Lanolin took a breath to try and calm down and nodded to Blaze leaving her to deal with this canine stand in. Honestly she wanted to just find the bastard and rip his ears off! Yet the Doberman didn't budge an inch despite the princesses words and mild threats to try and get him to budge. After a moment he seemed to relent slightly as he glanced to one side.

" I'll transfer you to the Commander, Though i wouldn't get my hopes up to high..."

The screen flickered as the image changed. This time to an elderly wolf with greying fur. His eye covered with a patch though the patch looked like it was made of high tech material. Likely it did more then just cover the empty socket. His GUN uniform denoted him as a high ranking officer and his stern gaze likely didn't instill hope into the princess, as it was the face of a man who wouldn't blink when pulling the trigger.

" We meet at last princess... Commander Lupus of GUN High Command. I apologize for cutting our last conversation short. Though a giant Wisp was something of a pressing issue for us to discern its threat level..."

He placed his hands behind and gave her a long stare

" Just to cut to the chase, We have orders from high command to seal the area off to prevent the damage from getting out of hand. No one is to go in or out... that doesn't come from us, but the President of the United Federation himself. We are to lock down the area until all threats have been neutralized. "

He explained his position in a short concise way but he seemed to also understand her own position as well.

" However we aren't heartless... if you have injured or civilians wishing to leave the hotzone. You can bring them to any check point and we'll make it happen. If need be we can even arrange an Evac zone... but until i get word from the president... i'm sorry i can't budge on this... i can arrange a conference call with him but i cant say how long that would take. "

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

Gold Climbed into the chair nodding her head but glanced over at Belle. She wasn't sure what to watch for and many of the cameras across the base looked to be down. But she'd watch over things here as she gave a sigh feeling as if this conflict was close to a resolution. She gave Belle a thumbs up and wished her luck as she moved out.

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

Lanolin had spent this time issuing orders to the various security forces across the base. gathering up the forces at the command center, and any non-essential personal to deal with the fires breaking out! She knew this left the prison somewhat unguarded but she couldn't help it! if those two skunks got away she'd deal with it later right now she wanted to save lives! She made her way down stairs to meet up with her commanders and usher them into formation.

She took note of Belle moving in and turned to meet her with a worried look as she stared up at the bot but didn't linger long before issuing her commands.

" LISTEN UP! We are all we have left on base right now! we are spread thin, and alot that needs done! Alpha unit! you are our most experienced unit! i want you to head to the air strip! there are 2 shuttles there, one is civilians and the other are clean sweep security. You are to disable and take in any of clean sweeps people! if they resist use non-lethal methods of taking them down. Take them to the prison if they arent hurt if they are take them to the infirmary. "

She turned to the beta team

" Beta team you need to get the civilians from the shuttle and get them to the command center or the infirmary if they are hurt. The rest of us are going to split up and head to the two GUN check points in the east and west... we aren't going to fight just to make our presence known! GUN thinks they came come here and intimidate us... they are wrong! They weren't anywhere to be seen during the war! or after it... never a damn one of them showed to help during the outbreak! so we need to remind them! that restoration doesn't need them! keep your head on and don't fire this is just a show of force... nothing else. NOW MOVE OUT! "

She turned to grab a Wispeon from a case one of the soldiers brought her. Since she lost hers earlier, and with Maggie resting on her head she was ready to fight if she had to. Her eyes went to Belle as she adjusted the Wispeon settings and took deep breath.

" I know what you are going to say... i don't want to fight GUN either-- but if blaze cant talk them own... i don't see any other choice. You should probably lay low... if things go south you should find a way out, maybe head to Tails Lab or, Angel Island... no way i'm letting them lay a hand on you. "

"Then I shall make an attempt to convince them to stand down while you attempt to get everyone in order as best you can. I am rather used to dealing with a stubborn military general." Blaze was speaking of the commander of the Sol Empire, though they were more friendly with on another and simply had their small disagreements. At the end of the day she had good intentions.

Blaze scowls at the doberman, taking a step closer to the monitor to make her intentions of speaking up clear. "Then I suggest you inform your commander that this can easily be considered a hostile act and now that I am working with The Restoration that makes them allies to the Sol Empire. Not to mention I'm sure you don't wish myself, Sonic, and Surge to use force his hand in letting the rest of our people in to help."

"I hope I needn't mention that face we also have civilians, and it wouldn't be a very good look on GUN or your commander if you prevent standard civilians from leaving and they got injured. Worse one of GUN soldiers hurting a civilian using excessive force." What better way to force someone's hand then to mention any damage to their reputation.

"If need be I will speak with this commander so put him on. Though let it be known I have no intention to play games. If I suspect his is stalling then I shall take that as refusal to cooperate." Blaze may not know much about Abe, though for what little she's heard he's most likely a man who respects authority. And no disrespect to Lanolin she was still pretty green.

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

"Okay, then I'm going to change things up. Belle Bot, run system six three two dash beta," Belle said, followed by taking off the visor, turning off the nano mat, and turning her attention to Gold. "I'm going to attempt to get all our active combat members together and ready for Lanolin's orders. I want you to take it easy and just keep an eye on the cameras." The tinkerer wanted the tenrec to take it easy, though also knew she wanted to help so figured this would be the best way.

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

The Belle Bot would scan the Chief and Amy. "Biometric data scanned, please say names to establish as authority figures to give commands." Seemed Belle was going to let the bot run off basic functions until the Chief or Amy gave them specific orders to do something.

[whitherwordswither]

Dead Ringing, Pt. 4b

Sub-Level 2 was eerily quiet, aside from a rhythmic mechanical whirring and clicking. And the deep thrum of electrical current and occasional pressure release, venting upward. It felt off in a weird way, as if I expected it to be more… alive.

Mars stuck close, eyes unwavering as she scanned every inch as we moved through the spacious network of machinery and pods. Many were dark, unpowered, waiting for a host. The others gave off a faint blue glow, chilled vapor cascading down their framework.

My nose twitched. I paused. There was something decidedly more fresh in the air. A lingering movement that had not long ago disturbed the sterility of the environment. A scent that didn't belong here. I hunkered down on all fours, much to Mars' surprise, who had to stifle a snicker. I ignored her, turning and plodding down another corridor of machinations. The scent was stronger. Ears perked, slanting forward, I continued. Slower. Breathe deep. Taste the air. It's familiar. Earthy. It has the tang of the city about it but also… more. I pause again, closing my eyes, trying to match that smell to a memory.

"Hey, boss…?" Mars breaks my concentration and I give a feral grunt as my head snaps back toward her, tail swishing. She gives a semi-apologetic look but motions ahead. I follow her pointing claw. "The air moves different, it's not so… heavy, y'know?"

I squint, peering ahead. She's right. It's almost as if the air is being pulled toward something. We move forward, around another bend, circling back toward the direction of the elevator. There's an alcove ahead, a large panel slightly ajar. Panel? No. I push myself up, cautious. For a length of moments I just stand there, staring at it. A door. Stale scent. No danger. My ears twitch and swivel and I cant my head to the side. Beyond, a faint whir-thunk sound repeats every few moments as if something is stuck in a loop. I move to find the handle, a simple hydraulic release system. "Maintenance shaft." I mumble, stepping through the opening. The light in here is dim, more orange. A bio-lume tubular flickers. It's a long hall, a few doors undoubtedly leading to supply closets. Irrelevant areas. That out of place scent is stronger here where there is less active filtration. Further down, the hall turns to the right and continues. Just before the shift, a small circular drone backs up halfway in to the hall, then starts forward again, thumping in to the wall. The motors click uncertainly and it repeats the process. Head still tilted to the side, I approach and crouch down. The automated cleaning unit is trying to get to some dirt it had inevitably nudged up against the wall and could no longer get to. Picking up the drone I tossed it a few feet ahead. It bounced, clicked and whirred, confused at its new coordinates. It re-oriented, faceplate blinking a few times before it found it's original route and merrily continued on down the hall. My attention turned back to the debris. Another element out of place in an otherwise clean habitat. I poke a claw at it, lifting to toward my snout. Sniff. A mental chime. Clay. External. From beyond the dome. Native to the surrounding foothills. The first clue. I stand and step aside, pointing out the small clump nestled against the wall. "Bag it for the lab."

Mars nods, hunkering down to collect the sample with a small vacuum tube. I round the corner, giving a snort. There were a few more doors, undisturbed. Uninteresting. The cleaning drone settled in to a small recess on the far wall and emptied its contents before shutting down, just beneath a stairwell. It appeared to lead both up and down. Which made sense. And the only logical direction to go was up. Once Mars had tucked away the tube in a pouch on her belt, we followed the stairs up to Sub-Level 1.

[brightfancies]

Charming x Rogue: an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation

Eclectic music flows throughout the wooden walls of the cabin, filling up every corner and turn of the space with the pulsating beat of the DJ’s set. Laughter rolls off red lips, turning on the spot as a boy holds her hand above her head - wait, fuck. Who was this again? Sixth year -- Hufflepuff? Not like it mattered. Nothing really matters after centuries old liquor mixes in her veins. Rogue had found dancing to be one of the healthier ways to get lost and away from the annoying thoughts in her head. If she added a bit of poison here and there, especially tonight, she was only doing as any half-developed teen out there could when faced with stark realities. Like this night was the start to her last year in Hogwarts and then - what? What is there for a muggleborn with no true ties to this fairytale world? The silence in the answer chills her bones and turns her stomach, and she takes another swig from the bottle on her hand to forget all about it. 

She turns and turns, laughs and smiles, changing partners as fast as the DJ changes the rhythm to his set. It’s an honest shock that paints her face when she spins on the spot and comes face to face with a Gryffindor she was too familiar with.

“Phillip!” Rogue exclaimed with genuine joy in her voice. Alcohol never lies, and an odd sensation dawns over her chest. Nostalgia? Comfort, even? The black lines scarred on her hips are a reminder of what once was. And in her dazed mind, the young witch cannot remember now why she hadn’t talked to the boy in so long. Or why she could not read the look on his eyes -- a somber glaze where once there was nothing but soft sunlight. Furrowed eyebrows marr her face, canting her head a bit to look up at the tall boy with a mixture of curiosity and worry. 

“Oh, you look terrible. Are -- everything okay?” She manages honesty in her stupor, when the beat changes again, calling to her and brightening her face. “No - no sad faces, c’mon - this is a party! Dance with me.” A command not a request, she grabs on to his long fingers and drags the young Gryffindor to the edge of the dancefloor. 

If you were to ask Rogue, she cannot remember exactly why she invited Phillip Charmant of all people to dance. She had multiple reasonable reasons, in her humble opinion - her usual dance partner, Miss Montague, was sorely missing from the cabin for a while now; the other boys were quite inept dancers; Phillip is the least creepy wizard left near her and she can’t just not dance. But it was his face -- drained of color in a way that troubled her, hardened in a manner she’d never associated with her former best friend. It tugged at her heartstrings, perhaps at the lingering cord that united them in friendship and just -- bothered her. Rogue herself was no princess to ease his nightmares, but goddamnit, at the very least she was someone who cared.

The young witch grabs his hands with her own, swaying them around them, her left arm raising high to make him take a turn despite how ridiculous the feat actually is given his height. But each time the blinding lights hit the counters of his face, there it was -- a darkness in Phillip’s eyes, unnerving and breathtaking. Unnatural in him. Rogue couldn’t stand it; it was wrong in every meaning of the word that Phillip Charmant looked this sad. 

Slender arms fall around his shoulders, leaning her head against his chest, hugging him close to her - dancing to the slower tempo of the latest song. 

“I don’t need to know --” she says in a low whisper to him, letting go slightly to look up at him; deep mocha eyes glancing up through thick, black-tinted lashes. It is without a thought that she lifts on the tips to her black boots, moving a single hand to cradle his face and rest at his jawline - capturing his lips with her crimson-tainted mouth.

It is a hungry kiss, spurred by alcohol and urgency to shake him from whatever is causing him such misery. And just as sudden as it starts, she breaks from it - moving an inch away with a gasp falling from her mouth. She just kissed him! Goddamnit, what a bloody, useless thing to do! Burning cheeks and unfamiliar buzzing settles through her skin. But her lips linger close to his own, breathing him in - looking up to find his amber gaze before her eyes travel back to glance at his flushed lips, and he is not letting her go.

Rogue brings him down to her again, melting into a fiery, exploratory kiss -- nipping at his top lip, cigarettes and vanilla at her tongue. And she walks them back, confident yet hurried step after step towards the stairs, to find the closest, empty bedroom in the chalet.

[yandere-daydreams]

What about a yandere enemy spy infiltrating an army camp becoming obsessed with the weakest soldier. And like the soldier can tell something's off about them but everyone else cant.

And like the spy is really mixed about his own infatuation , like they go out of their way to humiliate the soldier during training but also always being touchy and close and making plans to eventually take them when they eventually destroy the troop. And the soldier is just scared shitless of them at this point.

tw - gaslighting, emotional manipulation, themes of war/death, implied imprisonment, slight infantilization, forced helplessness.

I think it helps that there’s so little to do, around camp. Here, stuck between acres of no-man’s land and miles of bleak, unending winter, there’s only a handful of ways to pass the time that don’t include smoking or drinking or wandering aloud when the scouts will let their guard down and you’ll all be bombed to hell and back before breakfast. It’s only natural they’d look for something to do between eavesdropping on commanders and stealing information back to their army, their real army, and you’re entertaining, to say the least. They’ve always had a soft spot for hopeless cases, and on that front and that front alone, you provide.

A draft pick, a last resort, evidence of the enemy’s desperation. You try to stay positive, and the rest of the soldiers are fond of you, but you still struggle to keep up with the rest of the unit, always fumbling with your gun or falling behind during drills or offering your rations to the only bastards selfish enough to accept them. You’re lucky your so optimistic, honestly. If anyone else was in your place, if anyone else got stuck with such a rotten lot, they’d crack under the pressure in a week, breakdown and resign themself to whatever ditch they’re meant to die in. It’s clear you’re not deluded enough to believe you’ll be the one to win any battles, but you still think you’re going to make it out of this alive. Even when active fire reaches the camp, when you can hear the other side shouting and the only thing that stands between you and certain death is a thin wooden wall and a few feet of mud, you think you’ll come out of this unscathed. You think you’re going home when this awful war is over, regardless of who wins. You think you’re safe, and it’s charming. They like that, about you, all the hope you have. They like you, even if their affection is limited to a few lingering touches and some platonic comfort, at the moment.

And, they like watching that hope die as their men finally invade your camp, any escape routes already cut off and your commanders already in chains, generals compromised and the chain of command thoroughly disrupted, through their dutiful efforts. They like the shock written across your face as you hear their title for the first time, barked out in a foreign tongue by soldiers in uniforms that doesn’t match yours, and the like those little, desperate pleas you offer, begging for it not to be true, trying to bargain your way out of reality, out of seeing your friend for what they are and what they’ve always been, despite all the trust you put in them. You probably think they're going to kill you, but a bullet in your head and burn your body like the rest of the pathetic cowards you call allies, but you don't have to worry about anything that gruesome, you don't have to worry about much of anything, anymore. Like they said, they're fond of you. They want to keep you around, even if they know you don't really belong on a battlefield.

You were always such a terrible soldier, after all. You just aren't cut out for that kind of thing.

They're sure you'd make a much better lover, even if they know you'll need a little persuasion before you come around to your new position.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 7

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: You try to smooth relations between you and Detective Anderson, made difficult when the human wants nothing to do with you.

AO3

Story banner by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

You allowed the glass door to swing quietly shut behind you, smoothing your tie as you followed at a polite distance on the detective’s heels. The hunch of his shoulders was interpreted by your social module as a sign of discomfort and tension.

You were given several options on how to approach the human, even one suggesting taking several minutes before engaging him in conversation, but your mission prompt wouldn’t allow you to have that flexibility.

[EARN DET. ANDERSON’S TRUST]

Standing directly next to his desk, you appraised the human’s belongings, noting all of the items you had scanned upon your arrival. The human had an assortment of items, including an ancient mp3 player [Zune, manufactured 2008], a work cell phone, a bonsai tree [Japanese maple, dying], and several personal photos printed out and taped to his display board.

They were of different places and at different times, going by the various types of clothing, but they consisted of mostly the same subjects. Three men wearing nearly identical faces that only android software could differentiate between, and an older man catalogued as Captain Hank Anderson. He was marked as the adoptive father of the triplets.

Even though you had done it several times before, you scanned the detective’s features. His identifying information displayed on your HUD, further settling in your memory banks each time you did it.

DET. ANDERSON, CONNOR

Born: 08/15/2008 // Police Detective

Criminal record: [Sealed Juvenile Records]

You blinked and the identifying information disappeared, leaving you to fully observe the detective where he sat, hunched over his terminal with a scowl on his face.

“I know the situation is not ideal,” you began in your most diplomatic tone, “but I look forward to working with a law enforcement officer of your caliber."

The human gave no indication he heard you, but his heart rate increased by a small percentage, and his fingers pressed down on his flat keyboard in a way that was counteractive to typing.

You were prompted with more dialogue options, and once again went with the friendliest approach.

“It seems we will be working together for some time, so perhaps it would be beneficial to get to know one another.”

The human remained reticent, glaring at the terminal screen as if it were angering him personally. The detective also narrowed his eyes, indicating an intense dislike, but remained silent on the state of his emotions.

Your gaze drifted down to the empty mug of coffee next to the withering bonsai tree.

[ESTABLISH RAPPORT WITH DET. ANDERSON]

“What are you doing?”

You tilted your head, freezing your motor functions when the question was asked, putting you in the position of half-bending over the detective’s desk. You had blocked his terminal with your body as you attempted to reach his coffee cup, and he now stared at you from inches away with a wide, startled expression.

“Sorry, Detective. I thought you might like a refill.”

You had received a helpful notification that caffeine withdrawal can result in headache and irritation, both of which you had identified in the detective’s tense expression.

“Okay, fine, could you just—“ He released a puff of air, fluttering the loose lock of hair that strategically fell to the side of your face. “—hurry up so you’re not in my goddamn lap?”

You weren’t in his lap, or even in the relative vicinity of his groin. It would have been more accurate to say you were closest to his face and hands, the latter of which had been rapidly retracted when the front of your chassis had brushed against them.

You also noted the rise in temperature of his skin, the pink hue across his cheeks, and the dilation of his pupils—all indications of arousal and attraction. These were common occurrences with your model design, and you dismissed the pop-up that asked if you wished to run the sexual subroutine. Such programs were low priority and only used as a last result if the detective were uncooperative with the investigation.

“Sorry, Detective,” you repeated, forming your lips into the approximation of a warm smile. “I’ll return shortly.”

You carefully picked up the mug and moved into a standing position, and the detective released a long exhale, avoiding meeting your eye as he turned back to his terminal.

Satisfied in your endeavor, you crossed the short distance to the station breakroom.

Two humans resided inside, leaning against an elevated circular table as they spoke. Both turned their heads to stare, and you took the opportunity to scan them.

CPL. LEE, HELEN

Born: 05/19/2005 // Police Corporal

Criminal record: None

 LT. ANDERSON, COLIN

Born: 08/15/2008 // Police Lieutenant

Criminal record: [Expunged Juvenile Records]

You blinked away the notifications and gave them a non-threatening smile before turning to the coffee machine. It was a large unit, meant for offices with frequent foot traffic, and a brief scan indicated it was overdue for a cleaning.

You weighed the negatives against the benefits of obtaining a beverage from this machine, and determined it was worth the possible contamination risk.

Placing the mug underneath the drip dispenser, you pushed the appropriate buttons after determining the detective’s preferred blend with a quick swipe of your fingers to the interior of the cup and placing them on your tongue.

There was a noise from behind, a slight huff of air and the soft pad of rubber soles against linoleum. One pair vacated the breakroom, and the other approached and stopped at your back.

“Connor done having his temper tantrum yet?”

You turned to face the lieutenant, examining his features and finding open curiosity. He stayed a polite distance away, unlike earlier, when he had stood so close that you had been forced to take a seat at the detective’s desk.

You wondered now if you should have tolerated the lieutenant’s close proximity, since occupying the detective’s chair had seemed to upset him.

“Must be bad if he’s already sent you to fetch his coffee,” he added with a nod to the mug sitting on the drainage tray. “Usually, he waits a day or two before terrorizing the rookies.”

“I volunteered,” you hurried to say, not wanting a ranking officer to get the wrong idea about the detective. “I believe it will be an appropriate icebreaker for our new partnership.”

“That so? Pretty sophisticated for an android, and terribly hopeful.” He canted his head to the side. “You got some kind of human instruction manual inside that processor of yours?”

The lieutenant dropped his gaze down your body, lingering in a way it had done many times before. The evidence of his attraction was even more obvious than the detective’s, but your sexual subroutines had never been activated by his interest before. You were assigned to Det. Anderson’s charge, and therefore, it would serve no purpose to offer your additional features to the lieutenant.

“In essence,” you answered, passive but friendly enough not to antagonize. “My human relations program assists in easing the interaction between CyberLife androids and humans.”

“I see.”

He moved closer, face neutral but his eyes highly observant. He reached out and took your tie, tugging it upwards. The tie clip stopped him from lifting it far, but the lieutenant seemed satisfied with letting the fabric run through his fingers.

“What else can your human relations program do?”

The tone of his question was easy enough to decipher, your program indicating the query was of a sexual nature.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Lieutenant,” you said. “Only Detective Anderson has access to my specialized subroutines.”

The fingers threading your tie went still. The open curiosity vanished from the lieutenant’s face, replaced by a calculating appraisal.

“Well, then. My brother’s a lucky guy.”

His lips pulled into a languid smile that didn’t match the tightness around his eyes.

You carefully pulled your tie from his lax fingers, once again giving him a non-threatening expression.

“The coffee’s done brewing. I must get back to the detective now.”

Turning back to the coffee machine, you kept a significant number of your processors focused on the sound of Lt. Anderson’s heartbeat and breathing, even sampling the micro sensors on your skin.

He remained at a close distance, though by the time you turned around with mug in hand, all you could see of him was his retreating back as he went around the corner down the hallway. From your downloaded schematics of the building, you knew the most likely route he was taking was either to the unisex bathrooms or the station gym.

Your statistical readouts stated the chance the lieutenant would try to engage in sexual activity with you at some point was at approximately 35.2%, and you tasked your processors with running the probability in the background. It was important that erratic human behavior didn’t interfere with your investigation.

“Have a nice chat with my brother?” the detective asked, tone flat as he stared at his monitor.

You filed away possible tension between the two siblings to observe further. You placed the mug next to his keyboard, this time on the side nearest you so you would not lean over and agitate the human again.

“It was informative,” you simply said, straightening into a standing position once more.

The detective gave a huff through his nose and muttered, “I’ll bet.” His eyes narrowed, and after seven seconds of glaring at his terminal, he locked on your face in irritation.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes,” you said, letting a friendly smile appear. “I would like to know where I can access the DPD’s database. I wish to review the case files.”

The skin around the human’s nose crinkled. He seemed to hold some kind of internal conflict before he sighed and indicated the desk connected with his own.

“Belonged to my last partner. You can use it. For now.” He emphasized the words, as if you had possibly forgotten the temporary nature of your partnership.

“Thank you,” you said with a small nod. The detective rolled his eyes and turned back to his terminal, seemingly already having forgotten you.

You knew he hadn’t. Every observant sensor of your body informed you of his continued wariness, even while his eyes were mostly focused on the glass screen in front of him, he was constantly tuned to your presence.

By the time you had sat down in the chair of the empty desk, you had already pulled up in the DPD database to discover what had become of the detective’s last partner.

Sheila Pernell, also a detective, had transferred to another precinct months earlier, citing the difficult nature of working with Anderson and his unpleasant personality. The language she had used had been colorful and extremely unprofessional.

You made another note in your background processes: Detective Connor Anderson displays hostility toward work partners and colleagues. Difficult to connect with others on an interpersonal level. Approach and adapt to antisocial tendencies as needed.

You turned toward the terminal and placed the fingers of your right hand on the keyboard, allowing your synthetic skin to pull make to interface with the device. Connecting to the network and pulling up the cases assigned to Det. Anderson, you downloaded all 243 into your memory bank.

Hoping to prompt a conversation with the detective, you turned toward him from your chair, slightly tilting your head as you analyzed his tense posture. It hadn’t relaxed at all within the past two minutes since your last interaction.

“There are two hundred and forty-three cases dating back to February of this year, many of them originating in Detroit. An AX400 abducted a young girl from her home last night. I thought that might be a good place to start. It’s flagged as the most urgent case due to it being a crime against a minor.”

Your social module had indicated bringing up the danger to a child would have prompted some kind of response, but the detective remained fixedly silent, leaning the side of his jaw against his propped knuckles.

A more drastic approach was needed. You stood, walked around the joined desk, and approached the detective as he made a noise and turned away.

Coming to a stop directly next to his chair, you adopted the understanding demeanor, hoping to placate the detective’s agitation.

“I understand this isn’t an ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps it would be best to set aside your personal issues, and—“

“Excuse me?” the detective snapped, glaring at you out of the side of his eye. “Were you just about to suggest how I do my job? Because if so, I advise you to shut the hell up. You’re not my boss, and you’re definitely not my partner, so perhaps it would be best if you fucked off and didn’t come back.”

He turned away again and picked up his tablet as he pretended you were no longer standing there.

You plucked the device out of his hand, ignored the surprised noise he made, and placed your other palm between his shoulder blades to establish a physical connection he couldn’t ignore.

“I’m investigating these cases whether you like it or not, Detective.” You leaned closer, speaking directly next to his ear so as not to be overheard. “If you continue to refuse to cooperate, then I’ll find someone else who will be more amenable to my presence.”

For the span of two seconds, the detective remained completely frozen. And then he abruptly stood, grabbed you by the jacket, and swung you around. Your back slammed against the glass partition with a solid thud.

“I’m only going to say this once,” he growled, inches from your face. “I don’t care how many Barbie dolls CyberLife sends to the station. If you keep mouthing off to me, I’ll shoot you myself and throw you in the dumpster. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” you calmly answered, which served to only agitate the detective further.

His brows creased as his hands tightened around the edges of your jacket. The human was stronger than his wiry frame gave him credit for as he managed to hold you between himself and the glass, your toes brushing the ground but unable to find purchase.

You remained silent, returning his glare with a bland, pleasant expression despite the discomfort traveling your circuits. If the detective was going to continue to be a problem, you would need to report his behavior, and that might further delay the investigation.

Trying to adapt to his psychology was proving fruitless, and it was clear you had underestimated just how socially challenged he was. Perhaps seeking a new partner was the right course of action after all.

Elijah had stated that if the detective became too much of an issue, his brother would be a suitable replacement. But when you thought of the lieutenant, the idea of working with the human was…

Unpleasant.

You studied the human’s face, searching those dark brown eyes, but found no acceptance there. You were going to have to work harder to—

“Detective, uh… sorry to bother you…”

At the sound of the timid voice, the detective released your jacket and allowed you to stand on firm ground. He didn’t turn to look at the officer standing behind him, however, and continued to level a glare at you, effectively penning you in so you couldn’t step around him.

“What is it, Ralph.”

“It’s about the AX400? The one who kidnapped the little girl? Someone just called in on the APB, said they saw it in the Ravendale district.” He paused, wide hazel eyes darting between you and the detective’s rigid back. “If you need me to bring this to the lieutenant—“

“I’ll handle it,” he said, the heated glare finally pulled off you when he turned and walked away.

Adjusting your jacket of its newly acquired wrinkles, you took a moment to process the detective’s unstable and problematic behavior, and quickly followed before the detective left the station without you.

Next Chapter

[winterscaptain]

through and through.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is our ajf minimal loss fic! as (usually) usual, its more fun if you read the rest of the series, but this one stands on its own just fine. lemme know what you think!!

words: 5.8k warnings: canon-typical violence, death, and injury, language, aaron Flexing on These Hoes™

summary: the septarian sect ranch situation is hard enough with the memories of waco. the knowledge you’re in danger, along with reid and prentiss, has aaron on edge. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Everyone just stay calm!” 

Nancy turns, assuring you with a naive and placating smile, “I’m state police. I’m an officer of the state.” 

Stupid. Stupid!

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.” Emily, ever the voice of reason, assures from behind you. 

“We just have to calm down.” Your useless attempt at de-escalation is overrun by gunfire. 

“I can talk to him.” Lunde turns to go, and you reach for the back of her shirt, trying to pull her back. 

You manage to get past the goons in the front, while they stop Emily. There’s only one chance. “No, Nancy! Wait.” 

As you run after her out of the tunnel to the main level, you give her more and more space. The noise and smoke is a little overwhelming and you almost lose her in your confusion and distraction. Cyrus shouts to cease fire, but it’s in vain. The gunfire echoes around you, and you can’t help but think of Aaron. 

What if I don’t come home? 

She rushes to the front of the building, by the window, and addresses Benjamin. “Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them.” 

You catch up to here in the chapel, reaching for her arm to pull her back to safety when something stops you. You can’t feel it at first, but when you watch Lunde drop to the ground, you know. 

Fuck. 

Hitting the deck right away, you put pressure on the gunshot wound that’s torn through your left shoulder. You breathe deeply, fighting the panic you know will only hurt you more. The shock still numbs the pain and when you look, it seems through and through. The back of your blazer is ripped through, and there’s a hole in the wall behind you. 

That’s a comfort. 

The last thing you needed was a .223 round bouncing around in your chest. You’re grateful enough it didn’t tear your arm off entirely.

You crawl around the corner and press yourself against the wall. With a groan, you remove your blazer and tie it around your shoulder as best you can. You chance a glance at Nancy, but she's already gone - unseeing eyes turned toward the ceiling, her hand limp on the carpet, blood blossoming across the chest of her teal blouse.

Damn it.

Cyrus’s men shout around you, and it feels more and more like an active warzone with every passing second  

“Man down, man down! We can’t stay here!” 

“Hold your fire!” 

You breathe as deeply as you can, tucking your arm to your belly and closing your eyes. The gunfire slowly ceases, the movement around you becoming only a little less frantic. 

Aaron will know. He’ll find us. We’ll be okay. 

Your shoulder twinges. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and you only hope you go into shock soon for the sake of your pain tolerance. 

Aaron, please. Please hurry. 

+++

“Morgan.” JJ bursts through the glass doors and unmutes the television in the corner. 

“What’s up?” 

She increases the volume, and they hear, “... a routine question and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Septarian Sect.” 

Morgan stands, ready to leap into action. “JJ...That’s not the ranch were -”

“They’re still inside.” 

Derek’s voice rockets across the office as he calls for Hotch, who immediately ends his call and leaves his office, leaning heavily on the banister. Derek tells him you’re still in there, with Reid and Prentiss. 

“...at least three child services members are still trapped inside the compound.” 

No. 

Aaron swallows heavily, 

Keep your head, Hotcher. It’ll be okay. 

Phones start ringing all at once. Everyone looks to Aaron, and he’s already back in his office, grabbing his things. He flies back out, blazer slung over his shoulder and go bag in-hand. “Wheels up. Now.” 

+++

You watch as they haul Lunde’s body out of the way. Someone helps you to your feet. You’re feeling pretty dizzy. 

“Can I have some water? Please?” You know for certain you’re in shock now, and keeping your blood pressure and volume high enough is the only way you’ll make it out alright.

“We’ll get you what you need after we take you back to your people.” 

There’s always been a little part of you that believes in the nugget of humanity in people. Today, it might just save your life.

Emily rushes to you as you step down into the basement. Reid hovers, nervous and watchful. Emily’s voice is steady. “We need water and medical attention.” 

“First aid kit is in the corner.” Cyrus points and Reid jets off to grab it while Cyrus continues giving direction. Someone hands her three bottles of water, and she sets them by your side.

Emily’s hand flutters over your forehead, as if checking you for fever. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Through and through. Just gotta stop the bleeding.” You know you’re slurring your words a little bit, but it’s not as bad as it could be. 

“I prayed this day would never come, but it has.” Cyrus shoulders a rifle. “God will see us through.”

Fuck. 

Cyrus’s eyes linger on you and Emily a little longer than is comfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. Spencer returns with the kit, pulling out packing gauze and wrapping. 

Emily helps you with your blazer and shirt, leaving your shoulder exposed to the mountain air. Spencer packs your wound while Emily starts wrapping the gauze around your ribs and shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

You put a hand on her arm. “I know. Thanks.”

+++

Hotch comes to a screaming stop in the SUV, his suit jacket long gone in the Colorado heat. He immediately makes assignments. “Dave, I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave asks. 

“Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron’s eyes are probing and hold all the respect in the world for his dear friend. 

“Because the teacher is emotionally involved!” Dave cants his head toward the compound, and Aaron’s eyes follow, as if searching for you. Dave’s eyes stay steady on Aaron - watching him look for you. “And so is the Agent in Charge.”

With a defeated sigh, Aaron cops to it. “I know I am. This is a unique situation.” At Dave’s squint, he continues. “We have three agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” His voice is low and riddled with tension. The concern radiates off of him in waves, and he can only hope it passes as concern for the whole team. 

In truth, it’s almost all for you. He can’t explain it, but he knows something isn’t right.

“I can’t be objective. I know them too well.” Dave does everything he can to pull Aaron from direct control, but he knows it's a lost cause. More than one part of him knows why. 

Aaron’s jaw tightens, and he’s more intense than before when he replies, “This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of our team as Cyrus. That’s why you’re the best man for the job.” 

“Assuming they’re still in a position to make moves.” 

The thought is near-unbearable. He softens, taking another approach. 

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.”

“Alright.” 

Aaron claps Dave on the shoulder, and it’s a silent thanks. Before they can move, there’s more commotion around the back of the FBI staging area. 

Goddamn it. What now?

“...I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI.” 

Dave and Aaron share a glance, and Aaron leads the way to the argument. 

“I’m the Attorney General of this state.” 

He can’t help it. A smirk crosses Aaron’s face. 

Lawyers. Alright. I can do lawyers. 

There’s also a part of him relieved that he can offload some of this stress into some kind of altercation. An opportunity to flex his Juris Doctorate never hurts. 

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Septarian Ranch -”

Alright. That’s it. 

Aaron turns, an insulting kind of disbelief on his face. Steadily and without haste, he approaches. “The only thing that you’re in the position to demand is a lawyer.” A spike of anger strikes his chest. 

He knew about this raid. He knew and he failed to tell us. 

And now his people are in trouble. 

You are in trouble. 

“Who the hell are you?” The overblown AG turns on Aaron. 

Big mistake. 

“I’m Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.” 

And it’s not an empty threat, dipshit. 

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Was that a smug smile on his face? 

Aaron steps up to him, nearly nose to nose. The adrenaline and anger and fear floods through him and leaks through his words. “Get off my crime scene.” 

Hard brown eyes stare down weak blue ones. Aaron wins. 

+++

“Then leave us alone.” Cyrus’s voice belies no tension as he paces. Your eyes follow him, much more alert now that much of the bleeding has stopped and you have some water in you. Emily strapped ice to your shoulder about twenty minutes ago. You might end up with a little nerve damage, but it's better than bleeding to death. 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin.” Dave takes a breath, delivering the information steadily. “One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse.”

Aaron’s brows, already low, get even lower. Derek, hovering behind Rossi, takes note. The tension in his unit chief is different and he doesn’t know what it is. 

“Please,” Dave continues, “just put down your guns and come out.”

A buzzing takes over Aaron’s senses for a moment, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. He reaches down for a bottle of water, downing half of it before he puts it back down. 

“Now, the four child service workers…” That catches Aaron’s attention, and he snaps to. “One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.” 

You bite your lip, watching Benjamin pace near the door. That phrasing will do nothing but panic your team, and you know it. Tipping your head against the wall behind you, you throw out anything you can. 

I’m alright, Aaron. We’re okay. 

Aaron’s head drops and he wets his lips. He closes his eyes, doing his best to keep himself from running straight for the compound. 

No. Please. I’ll get what I get for wishing it’s someone else, but please let it be someone else. Anyone else.

What if it was Prentiss?

What if it was Reid? 

Guilt floods him and he pushes the thoughts aside. 

Dave keeps his voice clear and even. The depth of Aaron’s gratitude and respect is ineffable. There’s nobody better for the job. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.” 

Aaron nearly collapses in relief, pushing away the guilt as it rises in his sternum. 

“One service worker was shot in the same altercation, but we have provided medical care and the wound is non-lethal.” 

Say my name. Say my name, please. 

He doesn’t, and you grind your teeth together. 

Dave nods, glancing at Aaron. “Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded, including the injured service worker. I promise they’ll be taken care of.”

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own.” 

“Okay, I’ll need a few hours to put them together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

You can’t hear what Dave says on the other end of the line, but Cyrus’s lack of reaction can only be a good thing. 

“You should get some sleep.” Emily, sitting next to you, checks over your wound again. Spencer’s on your other side with his eyes closed, but you know he’s not sleeping either. 

Closing your eyes, you reply, “I can’t.” Nevertheless, you reach for her hand. She slips her fingers into your palm. “Mm. Your hands are warm.” 

“Well, yeah. I didn’t get shot today.” She’d usually jostle you with a jab like that, but she knows better - obviously. 

+++

When first light comes, you open your eyes. You’re not sure, but it was likely you got at least a couple of hours of sleep. There’s a lot you don’t remember from the night before, but you know they shuffled you up to the chapel at some point. 

Probably a good thing. 

The ice has melted and your arm is all wet. You check your dressings and find them working well enough. They’ll still have to be changed, but you can’t deny the effectiveness of Emily’s instruction and handiwork. 

A car door closes outside. Emily stirs, immediately reaching for a nearby bottle of water. She hands it to you after she takes a couple of sips. Shuffling around Spencer, you take it with your good arm and drink as much as you can. 

Wait. Didn’t Spencer say you could do a transfusion with coconut water?

Do I even need a transfusion? 

Yes. 

Oh. Thanks. 

A knock on the door startles you out of your half-delirious thoughts. You’re grateful for the distraction. The feeling increases tenfold when Dave walks into the chapel.

Aaron’s nearby. It’ll be okay. He probably put Dave on this himself. 

“The children, and our guests.” Cyrus gestures to you, proving to Dave that everyone is in fact, relatively, alright. 

You turn your head (ouch) and meet Dave’s eyes. Looking back down, you’re satisfied he knows you’re alive. 

“I was hoping you’d let me take the children,” Dave says. 

Benjamin shakes his head. “Nah. They’re our protection.” 

We are, too, dumbass. 

The two men chat for a moment. Your heart feels like it grows three sizes as you listen to Dave do what he does best. 

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. 

You have to believe it. 

After Dave leaves, they make you stand off to the side while they pour wine for everyone present. Emily starts whispering, and you know she’s profiling the adults. It’s probably smart, but all your energy is focused on remaining upright and ignoring the throbbing ache in your shoulder. 

+++

Dave jogs back up to the staging area and assures them you’re all okay. He relays your condition to Aaron, “...but it looks alright. Well-dressed and not bleeding through.” 

Aaron nods. So that’s what the feeling was. You’re alright, but it’s still wrong. He shoves down something else that scares him a little. 

That’s a problem for another time. 

Is it a problem, though?

Yes. 

“He’s too calm. It’s - It’s like he was waiting for this to happen and now that it has, he feels vindicated.” 

Aaron rounds the table and comes to rest at Dave’s side. They’re in full strategy mode. The opportunity to stretch their abilities is welcome, but they both wish it was under better circumstances with lower stakes. 

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides. Restless energy still rockets around his limbs and he hates it. He hates feeling so deeply out of control. 

“I have a signal!” 

Derek, Dave, and Aaron flock to their headphones, tuning in just in time to hear Cyrus inform the congregation they have all ingested the poison together. 

+++

Emily’s eyes shoot around the room, and you know what she’s thinking. 

The profile didn’t indicate mass suicide…

This doesn’t fit

He continues to deliver his sermon and you tune out, focused on the faces of Cyrus’s followers. Right now, they’re more revealing than he’ll ever be. 

+++

“This doesn’t fit.” 

Dave voices Aaron’s thoughts exactly. It quickly devolves into discussion of a breach, and Aaron brings a hand to his forehead. He’s ready to go. 

“If we go into there, people are going to die.” 

Aaron’s hand flies out to the  side. “People are already dying.”

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Aaron tries to keep his hackles down.

+++

“What do we do?” Emily whispers. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

“We have to do something,” you hiss. “These people just took poison.” 

“Cyrus just told them he did and I think he’s bluffing.” 

Emily’s brow crumples. “Why do you think that?”

Spencer’s following observations make sense - the notes, the watching armed bystanders. It’s strategically sound for Cyrus to weed out the weak in his congregation. 

After a moment, Cyrus admits it was a test of faith. “...Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

+++

Frustrated, Aaron runs his hands through his hair. “Tell ‘em to stand down.” 

The tension is getting to him, as is the lack of sleep. Dave made him lay down overnight, but he never once closed his eyes. He was worried about Prentiss. He was worried about Reid. 

He was worried about you. 

I almost got all of them killed. 

Step it up, Hotchner. You chose Dave for a reason. 

Listen to him. 

+++

“...well into its second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sept ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There was much speculation in regard to hostages…”

Aaron hovers behind JJ, completely tuned in to the news. This could be disastrous. 

“...But anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect ranch.” 

This is disastrous. 

Everyone reacts, but Aaron walks away. He can’t face this right now. There’s too much to do, too much to think about. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

He only hopes you can hear him, somehow. 

Please don’t be a hero. 

+++

Cyrus enters, all bluster and confidence. 

Shit. Something happened. 

“Which one of you is it?”

You all just stare at him. He pulls a gun from his waistband and you jump a little. The movement twinges your shoulder, and you let out a small wince. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer is the first to speak. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?”

Yikes, Spence. Question for a question. 

Wait. Maybe it will work. 

Something in you tells you to keep your mouth shut, and you do. The last thing you want is to screw up whatever Spencer’s cooking up. His brain moves a lot faster than yours. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

“God will forgive me for what I must do.” 

You can feel your eyes widen as Cyrus raises the gun to Spencer’s head. You’re completely frozen, as if something’s physically holding you in place. 

Don’t be a hero.

You’ve been shot, idiot. Your shock response is all over the place. 

No, it’s different. 

Yeah. Sure. 

You roll your eyes at yourself, but quickly cover it by crinkling your face up in what you hope looks like confusion. 

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Cyrus looks at you and you shake your head, doing your best to look like a deer in headlights. “One of you does,” he says. “Who is it?”

Before you can open your mouth, Emily jumps in without hesitation. “Me. It’s me.” 

Spencer looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Cyrus lowers the gun and you take a breath. You don’t have much time to recover, though, as Cyrus snatches Emily by the hair and drags her out of the room. 

Your breath catches and you leap to your feet with Spencer. The dizziness doesn’t phase you, but your concern for Emily certainly does. 

Don’t cry. 

Don’t be a hero. 

There’s a gun to your head and you do your best to relax. You raise your good arm into the air, as if you could be a threat with a half-inch hole through your shoulder. 

Shit. 

+++

Between your gunshot wound and now listening to Emily getting the shit beat out of her, this is a bad day for Aaron. 

Someone else hauls you by your bad arm into another room, and you can’t help but yelp. They need to listen to Emily now, so you do your best to stifle the urge to cry out. You’ll answer all the questions as quietly as possible. 

They need to hear Emily. 

Aaron, please have ears in there. 

+++

Aaron very nearly throws the headphones off. He’d know your voice anywhere, even raised in pain. The overlapping cacophony of anguish breaks his chest wide open. 

“We gotta go in.” He stands and removes his headphones, unable to listen any longer. 

Rossi shakes his head, still tuned in. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.” 

+++

You can hear Emily through the wall, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds. The man (who still has a hold on your arm), throws you into a chair. You let out a small wail, but cover your mouth with your good hand before speaking. “Please, I -”

“Did you know?”

“No. No.” They need to hear Emily. 

“Tribulation breeds resilience,” the man says, dropping close to you. His thumb digs into your wound. It’s too much and you internally apologize to Aaron as you let out a sob. “God rewards the resilient. He rewards those who cleanse themselves of evil.”

“Please -” 

He shakes you and man does it hurt. The pain shoots from your shoulder to your fingertips and zings all the way down your back. You’re hot and cold at the same time and don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. You break down, and sound falls from your mouth as the man continues to preach at you, all the while tweaking and twisting and squeezing your shoulder. 

+++

“He’s got them both.” Aaron stands, his palms pressed flat to the table. Hearing you in that kind of pain ignites something white-hot in his chest. He hurts for Emily, too, but at least she’s still able to talk. 

“I can take it.” Emily’s voice rings clear through the headphones, and they all freeze.

“Wait - Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave gestures to Aaron, who reluctantly tunes back in. 

“I can take it.” 

Derek scoffs. “She’s antagonizing him.”

“She’s not talking to him.” Rossi remains firm. 

Aaron’s hands get lost in his hair, restless and frustrated and useless. He takes a breath and ignores the sting behind his eyes. “She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in.” 

He knows Emily. She’s just as smart as she is strong and wouldn’t antagonize Benjamin on her own. 

There’s a particularly vicious commotion and Emily falls to the ground with a sharp groan and a cough. 

That’s it for Derek. He throws his headphones off and starts to pace. Aaron’s the only one who leaves the headphones on. Even then, his eyes mist up and his jaw is so tight he’s almost afraid his teeth will shatter. 

+++

You slump back against the chair. “I’m sorry she lied to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words choke out of you with a gasp. Your shoulder screams and the pain is truly breathtaking. 

Emily will forgive you for throwing her under the bus - you know you’d forgive her if the situation was reversed. 

Cyrus throws the door open. “The agent’s going upstairs. The other two are clean.” He looks at you with a certain degree of contempt and you keep your eyes on the floor. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

Don't be a hero. 

Why those two phrases keep echoing around in your head, you have no idea. Nevertheless, they’re both good reminders. 

You’re returned to Spencer and slide into a chair. You tip your head back against the wall and listen to Cyrus question him. 

Why didn’t Spencer get beat up?

Not that you wanted Spencer to get beat up, of course, but it all seemed a little inequitable. You’d already been shot - isn’t that enough excitement for one day?

“On the next call, you should test them.” 

Oh, how I love you, Spencer Reid. 

He continues. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove he isn’t a liar.” 

This would only work if they had ears in the building. If Spencer has faith, so do you. Tears prick at your eyes and you think of Aaron. 

Please tell me he didn’t hear me. Please tell me they only had ears on Emily. 

You’re still the baby of the team, the newest, the youngest. You know that’s why Aaron watches out for you so carefully. He’s just protecting you. 

At least, that’s what you choose to believe. The other option is ridiculous, absurd, and nothing but wishful thinking. 

Don’t be a child. 

Spencer has Cyrus right where he wants him. You suppress a smile and hope it passes as a grimace. 

“What about you?” Cyrus turns on you and you’re proud when you don’t flinch. “What do you think?”

You shrug with your one good shoulder. “It’s a good idea, and the offer to exchange a child for information is a show of good faith. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.” 

+++

Dave and Aaron share a glance. 

“They’ve got him.” 

A swell of pride crashes through Aaron’s chest. It’s just because you’re his youngest agent - the most time, the most potential. He has to keep you safe, he reasons. It’s the right thing to do. 

That’s not the only reason. 

He shakes his head, but the thought has its claws dug in deep. 

+++

As Cyrus reads the list of names, Emily appears at your side again. 

She looks awful - half her face painted with red and purple bruises, with more blossoming under her collar. You almost laugh aloud when she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Emily, you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

She huffs. “I didn’t get shot. Just a little beat up. We’re good. It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

Spencer’s mouth presses into a thin line. You both know she’s lying. “I’m so sorry.” Moments later, he relays the information for both your ears and your team outside. 

Cyrus looks at you, and you almost think he’s going to let you go, but his gaze slides past you. Spencer approaches him and they speak in hushed tones. 

When they’re through, Cyrus gestures to Emily and a pair of goons. “Take her back.”  

Emily looks only the slightest bit alarm as she’s taken back upstairs by the arm. If Spencer’s in, and Emily’s out, where does that leave you?

You elect yourself Reid’s shadow, silent and always right off his shoulder. Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind too much and if he does, he doesn’t show it. 

+++

“Drugging the food isn’t an option because of the children. We’ll have to go in.” The whiteboard marker twirls between Aaron’s fingers as he thinks. 

Indeed. Rossi, from his place in the corner, says, “The best time to hit them is when they’re least mentally prepared.”

“3am. Biorhythms are at their low point, then.”

“We need a diversion,” Derek notes. “Something that plays into his expectations.” 

Humvees, then, are clearly on the docket. As are bright lights and all the flash and glamour of federal law enforcement. 

Hotch and Morgan begin to volley, both men processing and paying close attention. 

“The plan depends on our people separating the diehards from the followers -” 

Derek interrupts, finishing Aaron’s thought. “And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault.” 

“No, that’s not my main concern. They know what they need to do.” 

“So what is your concern?”

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3am.” A thought comes to him then, and he reaches for a sharpie and a lid. Maybe your weird understanding of each other will come in handy, or Spencer will be looking for those signs he alluded to with Cyrus. 

Either way, it’s the only option. 

+++

Downstairs with Spencer, something catches your eye. 

Wait a minute. 

You’d know that blocky, left-hand slanted lettering anywhere. Aaron. 

Spencer sees it, too, and you share a glance. You offer him a little smile, and he nods, understanding you completely. This might just work. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cyrus startles you a little, and you step closer to Spencer. Your wound dressing has yet to be changed today, and the heat radiating off your shoulder has made you a little jumpy.

Just my luck to survive all of this and die of an entirely treatable infection like a sickly Victorian child. 

 “You don’t have to be a part of this. You can go.” He addresses the both of you, and bite your tongue again. You have to trust Spencer’s plan, and you know he has one. 

As you suspected, Spencer says, “I would prefer to stay. Somebody needs to tell your story.” 

“I’m glad it will be you.” Cyrus turns his gaze to you, and you nod. 

“I’ll stay.” 

He softens a little, and calls someone over. In what feels like seconds, you’re sitting down while gentle hands clean and re-dress your wound. It hurts like all hell, but you’d rather do this than throw the whole damn arm out. 

As you sit, Cyrus’s plan becomes clear. Explosives seem to pass from hand to hand without hesitation. 

Where’s Emily? 

+++

Aaron has no idea how long he’s been staring at the compound. He’s wound tighter than a spring, his body all straight lines of stress as Rossi approaches him. 

Finally, Aaron says, “I know I can’t go in there.” There’s too much at stake, too much on the line, too many emotions. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind in a place he won’t acknowledge, that he would prioritize you. 

So, he can’t go in there. 

Dave nods. “I’m going.”

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid or…” he trails off, unable to speak the thought aloud. “I - I don’t know.”

Dave looks over at him, understanding all the things he can and can’t say. “You’re not alone.”

+++

You can feel a shift in the air as 3am creeps nearer and nearer. Outside, inside, it’s all alive with activity and anxiety. You hug your arm to your chest, nursing a bottle of water. With fresh dressings, you feel a little cleaner, a little safer, but you know it’s an illusion. 

“Something’s wrong.” The goon’s observation brings Cyrus to the front window, and even over his shoulder you can see the humvees advancing on the compound. 

Nice work, team. 

“They lied to us,” he whispers something to his shadow. While Cyrus grabs his firearm, the shadow opens the door. The gunfire startles you, and you look to Spencer. 

Tell me it’s gonna be okay. 

His eyes are steady on yours and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’re going to be fine. 

Some of the lights go out and your eyes dance around the room. 

Aaron, this better be part of your plan. 

“It came from inside the building.” 

“Check the fuses.” 

The rapid discussions fly around you, but you keep your eyes on Spencer as much as you can. He’s spitting verses at the men around Cyrus, stalling. Luckily, Spencer could talk about nothing and everything forever. 

You knew that would come in handy one day, even if it drives you up the wall outside of life-or-death hostage situations. 

“...I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Cyrus smacks Spencer with the butt of his rifle, and Spencer doubles over. You can’t help him - not with one arm and certainly not without a weapon of your own. 

“You cannot convert my brothers.” Cyrus hits him again, and Spencer drops to the floor, and you crouch beside him, the very picture of fear. Oddly, you’re less afraid right now than you were before. “No one had to follow. God could have stopped me.”

There’s a breach, and you cover Spencer with your body as bullets fly past you from all sides. Cyrus goes down, and so does the detonator. 

“He just did.” 

You almost snort as you rise, but you rapidly remember time is of the essence. 

“You alright, kid?” You’re not sure if Derek’s talking to you or Spencer, but you nod anyway. 

Spencer, too, responds in kind. “Fine. Where’s Emily?”

“We got her out of here.” 

The breath you’ve been holding since she disappeared again leaves you, but a heavy throb of your shoulder replaces it. 

The girl you’re here for in the first place, Jessica, rounds the corner and you have a sinking feeling you know exactly what she’s going to do. Nevertheless, Derek calls out to her. “Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Come on. Let’s go, right now.” 

You snag Spencer’s sweater in your hand and follow him to the door. You watch as Jessica takes in Cyrus’s body, clocks the detonator, and then reaches for it. Spencer leaves your grasp.

You’re hot on his heels and it’s only then you have another fleeting thought of not making it back home. 

“Run!”

Derek’s behind you. You only hope it’s enough time. 

The explosion rocks you to your core and for a moment you’re not sure whether you’re alive or dead. When the ringing in your ears cools off, Derek has his arm around you. The smoke covers everything. Your eyes burn, coughs rattling through your chest and wracking your shoulder. 

You hear your last name, as well as Derek’s and Spencer’s. It’s Emily. 

She’s scared. 

Derek helps you straighten, and guides you down the steps. “We’re alright!”

You still can’t talk for your coughing, but you hear Emily’s relieved, “Oh, God.” 

She meets you in the middle while Aaron waits at the bottom of the stairs. He’s watching you. Emily touches the side of your face and you lean into it. You’re a little on the outside as she gathers Spencer into her arms. 

There’s something going on by Aaron, but you can’t quite hear it yet. Whatever it is, it’s over before Aaron’s hand is extended toward you. When your fingers meet his palm, he brings you close, careful of your shoulder. His hand meets the back of your head, and you press your face into his neck, blocking out as much as you can.

You don’t exchange words. There’s no need. 

He tucks you under his arm and you pass Jessica’s mother, watching the burning compound with bewildered eyes. 

+++

You sleep on the plane, your head resting against the window. Just as you suspected, you developed a small infection on the last day in the compound, but it’s nothing two weeks’ worth of antibiotics can’t fix. 

Hotch sits beside you, pretending to read something or another. His eyes keep tracking the same line over and over again. The moments where he thought he’d lost all three of you to the explosion plays back in his mind again and again and again. 

You can hear him thinking and you crack an eyelid. “Hotch.”

He immediately turns his head, ready to get whatever you need. Frankly, you look miserable. “Yeah?”

“We’re fine.” 

An eyebrow raises. 

“Fine. I’m shot and Emily’s beat to hell, but we’re alive.” You reach for his sleeve, running your fingers over the fabric. “I think you saved my ass, by the way.”

You pull your hand back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Something in me kept telling me ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ ‘Don’t be a hero!’ and I’m certain it can be attributed to your undue influence on me.”

The corners of his lips turn up just the tiniest amount. “Maybe so.” He slips his blazer off and drapes it over you. “Sleep. You need it.” He sees you about to interrupt him and cuts you off. “If I see you in the office at all before next week…” The empty threat speaks for itself. 

“Trust me. After my near-death experience, the last thing I want to be looking at is you.” 

Liar. 

“The feeling is mutual. You look terrible.” He smiles for real this time and you return it. A whisper passes through his head, and he pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Liar. 

+++

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[palbabor-writes]

dude uh so like dabi but as a father... like he would never but like no one day he gets left with this kid and he's not gonna abandon it bc he cant idk i just want to see dabi as a parental unit trying not to be a bad parent

lol, ppl ask me asks and i respond with a feature freaking film worth of words.  (//▽//) warnings: adult language, angst, mild spoilers for current manga chapters: 290 - 291

words: 3915 

notes: I answered this a little differently. It’s more of a longing for what could have been, rather than a kid of his own sort of thing. But, Dabi does his best damn it. Also, yeah, yeah, it’s another Greek title. I cannot be STOPPED. but i prolly should be. Not beta edited, so all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Pónos 

ponos /ˈpoʊˌnɒs/ or ponus /ˈpoʊnəs/ noun  Ancient Greek: Πόνος Pónos  the personification of hardship and toil

There’s a loud clattering noise that’s echoing along the polished floors and walls of the Meta Liberation Army’s base. 

Dabi hates these long hallways. They remind him of some kinda tomb, with all that reverberation and all those gleaming surfaces. They’re perfect for elongating and stretching voices and sounds. 

So whatever the fuck that racket is, it’s not like he’s going to be able to avoid it. He’d need to turn around to do that and he’s not about to fucking turn heel and retrace his steps. Besides, it would take him twice as long to go the other way. Nah, this path is easier, despite the looming annoyance of the commotion.

 He rounds a corner and catches sight of a young woman. 

She’s struggling with something as she reaches into her shoulder bag, and her back twists awkwardly as she leans both forward and sideways. Dabi can’t get a good look at her from here. But, he reasons, he also doesn’t care enough to bother with a second, closer, glance. Nope, all he’s gotta do is slip past her and he can be on his way. 

“Reo-- Reo! Please keep still. I need to get to my phone…” The woman’s voice sounds strained and that odd pattering noise that he’s been hearing since he stepped toward this hallway hasn’t stopped either. If anything, it’s worse. Is it her quirk? Is there somebody behind her? Does she have one of those remote talking devices? Like that the ones that the Doc gave to the League before all this fucking cult bullshit started. What-

Dabi’s thoughts wander to a screeching halt as a boy bumps into his shins. He blinks at the sensation and stutters to a stop, his eyes glinting at the small form. The kid, who looks about four or five, stumbles backwards and cranes his head, looking up at this new discovery he’s run into. 

The boy studies him and, for a brief moment, Dabi worries that his face might spook the kid bad enough to send him into a sobbing and crying fit. Dabi’s not exactly the easiest thing to look at now. But, the kid seems ok with gawping at him, his violet eyes goggled and wondering. 

“Reo-” the boy’s mother repeats, replacing her phone and scanning the hallway for her rogue offspring. “I--Uh, there you are! I’m sorry...Oh, you’re one of those new generals. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name. Ooh, oh my gosh, now that you’re here, would you mind watching him for a moment? I’ve gotta run something back to Skeptic…”

That woman is saying something but Dabi’s too involved in his strange standoff with the boy. Neither he, nor the kid, seem to have the wherewithal to pull their gazes away. No, they both just watch each other, the former maintaining his aloof scowl and the latter is putting on an amazing show of raw fascination. 

“So, just don’t let him get up to too much trouble and I’ll be right back. Won’t be more than a minute.”  

Huh?

Dabi whips his head up, suddenly realizing what’s being asked of him. Like fuck he’s gonna watch this kid. Wait...where did she go?

He twists and turns, his cerulean eyes flashing up and down the sterile hallway, but there’s no sign of her. What the hell? How can someone dematerialize that quickly? He didn’t even say yes, for fucks sake. What a negligent, irresponsible parent she is, to just leave her kid like this with a complete stranger. Pfft, stranger feels a bit weak, honestly. Nah, Dabi’s a walking, talking freakshow. Nothing about him looks safe or dependable. There’s a pull on his dark pants and he automatically shakes his leg against the sensation, agitated. What now? 

Ah.

Junior is blinking up at him, those chubby hands wrinkling the rough fabric between his tiny digits. “Hi,” he beams, his pearly baby teeth straight and gleaming, “I’m Reo!”

“Yeah,” Dabi scoffs, knocking the kid’s hands away. “I heard. Where did your, er, mom go?”

“What’s your name?” Reo prattles, following Dabi as he skulks a little ways down the hallway, his brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Now what is he going to do? He could leave, tell the kid to stay put and go about his business. He doesn’t have time for this, after all.

“Hey!” Reo calls and Dabi turns at the slightly frantic note in the child’s voice, his eyes sharp. 

“Whadda’ want kid? I’m trying to find your mom.” 

“I said my name is Reo-”

“And I said I heard you. Tch, you’re so loud there’s no way half of the building didn’t hear you,” Dabi snaps, looming over the little boy, his mouth pressing into a deep frown. 

“I told you my name, so..so now you gotta tell me yours,” Reo scolds, those violet eyes shining. Dabi can see that the kid’s tiny frustration is rising at the thought of some adult being so rude as to not answer his newly engrained social niceties. 

“Hmph,” Dabi snorts, a low laugh puffing out of his lips. “The name’s Dabi.”

Reo digests that, his nose wrinkling as he mouths the unfamiliar name to himself, like he’s wanting to get it just right when he speaks it aloud. It’s kinda cute, Dabi muses. You know, in a stupid sort of way.

“D- Dadi?” Reo mimics, stumbling over that all important ‘b’ in Dabi’s name.

“What? No. It’s DABI. It’s got a ‘B’ in it. Like, uh, b as in, uh, bear. You know what a bear is, yeah?”

“A bear?” Reo asks, biting his lip at the strange change of topic. “What about a bear?”

“You got my name wrong, kid. It’s Dabi, not DaDi. My name has a ‘b’ not a ‘d.’ Try again,” Dabi groans, sinking to his haunches and praying that this kids mom will rematerialize any goddamn second. 

“Dadi,” Reo mimics, still fumbling. 

“Ugh,” Dabi sucks his teeth and begins to stand again. 

“Hey! Pick me up?” Reo requests, his arms lifting, stocky fingers clenching and unclenching into his palms, opening and closing in a repetition of a familiar demand. 

“Pick you up?” Dabi repeats, incredulous. What the fuck is wrong with today? The only thing that could make this worse is someone seeing this odd performance.

“I’m not gonna pick you up,” Dabi growls, his lips pursing at the kid. “You’re just fine where you are. Besides, don’t kids like you need to practice walking? How old are you anyway?”

“Five,” Reo chirrups, puffing his chest out, like he’s expecting a rainfall of praise to fall on him now that he’s verbally acknowledged that he is indeed, a big boy.

“That’s too bad, kid. If you’re five, you’re definitely old enough to walk under your own power,” Dabi snorts, bemused by Reo’s chipper attitude. Doesn't that get tiring? All that smiling and pacing that he’s doing? Dabi’s never had much experience with little kids, well, other than his own contact with his younger siblings, but they were never this...chatty.

“Awe,” Reo whines, his head falling, little chin bumping as it hits his collarbone dejectedly. Dabi shakes his head at the dramatic reaction. Sulking is better than crying, he reasons, turning his head to look for the boy’s mother again. She said it would only take a minute? The fuck was she?

“Hey, kid. Where were you and your mom before you came here?”

There’s a strange, static-like quiet that follows Dabi’s question. That’s weird. He would have figured that his new query would have broken the boy out in another rash of talkative excitement. So for him to be…

Wait. 

Dabi turns back and his eyes scan the newly barren hallway for the boy. The fuck? Where did he go? His gaze is still whisking frantically when he spots the heel of Reo’s shoe disappearing beyond the next corner. Fucking wonderful.

He paces after the boy, his long legs pulling him quickly along. Again, he wonders why he gives two shits. It’s not his kid, not his responsibility. Yet there’s some nagging pressure that keeps beating at the back of his mind. It’s likely some pieces of a fragmented lesson that had been taught to him long ago. Back when he wasn’t like this. Long before he’d made the decision that sent him on this mindless trajectory, lingering in the obsession of his pent up rage and hurt.  

You’re the eldest. 

Take care of your sister. 

Easy, he’s still a baby. That’s right, hold him like that. You’re such a good brother. 

You’re the one who he can go to when he needs help.

Thank you, Touya. You did so, so well! I’m sorry I had to leave for a bit, but thank you for watching him. 

It’s a big job, and one that you’ll always have, so, can you do it?

You’re their big brother. They look up to you.

Look! She’s happy to see you, Touya!

Dabi snarls at those little flashes of memory, his teeth gritting. No one needs him. Fuck, he’d be more likely to kill them than help them now. Or, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. Drilling it in, over and over, until he can repeat that vitriol like it’s some kinda twisted prayer. He’s not that boy anymore and he can never, ever go back. He’s made sure of that. 

“Hey! Hey kid! Get back here! You little shit!” 

A loud, male voice is booming up ahead and Dabi jogs the last few steps, his head already uplifted and searching as he rounds the corner. There’s a tall, unfamiliar man in the next hallway and he’s looking away, watching as Reo sprints from him. 

“Fuck, man. Why you gotta yell at him?” Dabi scolds, his cerulean eyes glaring. The man whirls around and Dabi notes the source of his ire. There’s a large stain, bleeding against his crisp white button up and an upturned mug is clutched in a tight fist. Kid must have bumped into him and knocked his coffee out. Well, that fucking sucks, but it’s no reason to freak out at the little guy. He’s five for fuck’s sake. Not like he did it on purpose. 

“He burned me! He ran around that corner and smack into me! Control your kid, you ass! I know you’re one of those hoity toity new generals but you gotta--”

“He’s not my kid,” Dabi snaps, already shoving past the blustering idiot. If he hurries, he can snatch the boy up before he gets too much farther. 

“You sure are running after him like he is!” 

The taunt chases him as Dabi stalks away and it makes him grind his teeth again. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, he repeats, all he’s gotta do is get the kid and wait for the mom. Besides, he’s in too deep now. He can’t just abandon him. Fuck, with his luck, he’d run into the mom before he ran into Reo again.

The next hallway leads to one of the many common rooms. 

Dabi, realizing this, begins to jog again, suddenly desperate to catch Reo before he wanders into even more members of this crazy cult. Or worse, he gulps, a member of the League. He’d never live it down if the kid bumped into Compress or Shigaraki. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

As he skids along the next turn, Dabi catches sight of the kid. He’s wavering beside the double doors of the common room and he looks distinctly lost, his dark head turning every few seconds, those violet eyes of his wide. 

“Oi! Reo! Stop running,” Dabi calls, already lowering himself to a kneeling position, his long, mangled arms outstretched. He’s hoping he’s painting some kinda welcoming picture with this gesture and not just creating a terrifying pantomime of comfort.

Reo looks back and he lets out a little squeal of recognition and delight. Excited he is finally going to be picked up. His shoes tap loudly against the tiles as he dashes into Dabi’s oddly warm embrace. 

Once he’s got a good grip on the boy, Dabi rises to his feet, keeping the kid’s body securely against his. At first, Reo protests the tight hold, his back bowing and squirming, but Dabi stills him with a long, hard, stare.

“Don’t do that,” Dabi chastises, wincing against the pull on his marred skin. 

“Oh! Does it hurt?” Reo asks, carefully bringing his swinging feet to a standstill, noting the grimace of pain on Dabi’s scarred face.

“Yeah,” Dabi confirms, shifting Reo to his hip so he can free up his other arm to adjust a pinching staple. “My skin ain’t exactly healthy. Now, let’s get you back to your mom before she finds out that you fuc-- I mean...that you dashed off like that. Give people a heads up next time, huh? Making me run all over the compound after--”

“Oh! Who’s that you’re holding?”

“Gosh, he looks just like you! With that dark hair and those bright eyes of his. Is that your son?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

Dabi tosses a glare over his shoulder, but the two women keep walking toward him, cooing at Reo’s pleased little face. One of them reaches up and ruffles the boy's hair and Dabi instinctively takes a step back, a snarl lifting his lips over his white teeth.

“He’s not my kid,” Dabi corrects, for what feels like the umpteenth time today. It’s only the second, but twice is two times too many. 

These women are being ridiculous. They don’t look that much alike. He’s just got dark hair, that’s all. If they knew what color Dabi’s hair really was they wouldn’t even make that connection. With his true coloring, Reo would be another kid and Dabi would be some fucking freak who’s left holding him. He’s not this kid's anything, least of all his protector. 

It’s not his job to look after this half pint, nor is it his job to care about him. Even if he reminds him of some sliver of what was, what could have been. No, Dabi is just some schmuck who somehow stumbled into this absurdity. It would be easy to unwind those trusting arms and lower this kid back to the ground, he’s not sure why he’s still holding him. He should...he should put him down...He... 

For some reason, that last thought makes his heart squeeze, pressing an irregular beat against his breast. He shakes his head at the sensation, burying whatever bubble of emotion that is trying to rise back down, pressing it deep, smothering and covering until he feels normal again. 

“He’s right! I’m not. Because he’s Dadi!” Reo confirms, simultaneously standing up for his new, haphazard, caretaker and throwing him under an oncoming proverbial bus in the same breath. Goddamn it all.

“That’s so sweet! Your son is beyond adorable!”

“He’s not…” Dabi begins, but bites his tongue. What good is it doing him anyway? These flunkies of the Meta Liberation are just fawning over Reo anyway. He’s honestly stunned they’re still talking to him at all. 

As they’re tickling and petting at the boy, a sudden thought springs into his mind. Actually, this might not be too bad. If he can get one of them to take the kid, he can fucking slink away, his responsibility finished, job done. 

“Oi, one of you can take him. He’s waiting for his mom. She said something about meeting with that Skeptic dic-- guy.”

“You want us to watch your son?” One of the girl’s questions, her head tilting at his demand. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for her yourself? You don’t know us and, well, not that we’d do anything bad...but that feels strange. Besides, you’re doing a great job! Look how happy he is. The two of you are so cute!”

Amazing. 

Apparently, Dabi, despite his hardened and rough persona, one that he has cultivated and built up for years, mind you, could now add, “cute,” to that resume of terror that he is building. 

Sighing, Dabi tries a more direct approach. “You seem to like him a lot, so just keep an eye on him until his mom comes back. It’s not hard. He likes being held, so just, er, hold him.”

Reo, sensing that he’s about to be deposited out of Dabi’s warm grasp, begins to wiggle again, his hands clinging to Dabi’s skin. He’s trying to be gentle, remembering Dabi’s earlier warning, his small digits tapping rather than digging, but he’s still scrabbling against the pull.

The woman clicks her tongue and smiles, tucking some of her long hair behind her ear. “Your son is so precious! He must really love you. Look, Han, isn’t this kid is the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen!” Her friend chuckles and agrees and the cheerful sound makes Dabi seethe. 

“Like I told you, he ain’t my kid. Now knock the wax outta your ears and take him,” Dabi snarls, still pushing Reo outward, hoping beyond hope that this calamity will just fucking end. 

“Dadi,” Reo pouts, his nose wrinkling as he burrows his face into Dabi’s arm, his skin hot against Dabi’s purple flesh.

“If he’s not your kid,” the woman named Han says, propping a fist on her hip, “why does he keep calling you daddy?”

“He’s not calling me that,” Dabi grumbles, his eyes lingering on Reo’s distressed slump. “The kid can’t say my name, which is Dabi. For some fucking reason the “b” is alluding him.”

“Fucking?” Reo questions, his brilliant purple eyes lifting, searching Dabi’s deep blue gaze. When he doesn’t get an answer, he repeats the word, lingering on those harsh syllables a little longer than he needs to. God, Dabi thinks, pulling Reo back to him, trying to muffle the boys bewildered tests of his new word. This is beyond ridiculous.

“Uh-oh,” another, male, voice resounds. Dabi scowls at the newcomer, watching as he steps beside the women, his eyes widened in mock concern. “That your kiddo?” He asks, his brow arching at Dabi’s now openly hostile form. 

“Fuc-- Again? I gotta answer this again?” Dabi snaps, shifting Reo back to his hip, just above his belt. “No. No, he is not mine.”

“Sure about that?” the man quizzes. “He’s sure got your hair and, uh, your vulgarity down.” 

“He’s that woman’s...Look, his mother went to go see that Skeptic bastard. So, you wanna help me out here? Any of you idiots want to do something useful? Hmm? Go into that big meeting room, the one past the common area and get her. I bet that’s where she went. When you see her...tell her, her kid is going wild. Stop...stop looking at me like that or I’ll torch you where you fuc-- where you stand.”

Instead of being cowed by his threat, the Meta Liberation Assholes just laugh, the three of them leaning against each other as they heave with their amusement. And Reo? Well, he’s seemingly amused by all the ruckus, giggling and murmuring little nothings into Dabi’s skin, nuzzling into Dabi’s inhuman warmth. Dabi feels that strange tugging at his heart again and in his anger and distant horror, he spews more rage onto the trash that’s daring to chortle so openly in front of him.

“Goddamn it, I’ll make each of you pay for this you...you stupid--”

“Dabi?”

Can a hole open up under him? That would be absolutely perfect and he’d be so, so grateful. He cranes his neck and catches sight of the last person he wanted to see. Fucking, Twice. His costume is making those white eyes of his comically wide and his hands lift to clap at his face, always dramatic and overblown to the last.

“Who is that sweet little boy? The hell are you doing with that child?!?”

“He’s--”

“It’s his son!” The ‘Han’ woman calls, still clutching her sides, her eyes wet from her mirth.

“No,” Dabi groans, his head dropping lamely. He wants nothing more than to fry each and everyone of these fucking pieces of shit. The desire is so strong he can feel the creeping of heat that’s rising in his palms and tickling up his piercings, scalding his skin against the metal. No, he scolds himself, he can’t do that. Not with Reo in his arms. He’s gotta be careful. He can’t hurt the kid. It’s not his fucking fault he’s been trapped in the care of a monster like him. 

Dabi gasps at his sudden, protective instincts. The fuck? This kid is nothing to him. Nothing. He doesn’t remind him of anyone. No, he’s nothing like his little brothers, all questions and sweet, brief hugs. He’s not...he’s not…

Reo’s hum of agitation breaks Dabi from his swirling emotions. The boy tries to lift his legs away from Dabi’s hips, his arms wrapping around Dabi’s neck, suddenly unsure and starting to whimper. 

“It’s too hot,” he complains, his voice small and soft in Dabi’s ear.

“I know,” Dabi concedes, taking another deep breath, trying to still that rushing rage that is lingering in the back of his mind. “Sorry kid, it should stop in a minute.”

“Ok,” Reo nods, his black hair mingling with Dabi’s spiky tendrils. 

Twice has stepped forward and he’s standing beside Dabi, his head cocked, looking from the shivering boy to Dabi’s haggard expression. “He does look a lot like you,” Twice ponders, his fingers tracing his chin meditatively. There’s something about Twice that Reo is bothered by and his face falls into the hollow of Dabi’s neck and shoulder, straining his body against Dabi, away from the black and red suited man that’s beside Dabi’s elbow.  

“Fuc-- Piss off, Twice,” Dabi growls, his blue eyes narrowing and hardening as he pats comfortingly at Reo’s back, twisting from Twice’s curious stare. “You’re freaking the kid out. Hey! Hey, don’t you assholes have some bootlicking to do?” Dabi snaps, his eyes lifting to the gaggle of MLA members, who are still giggling and whispering across from him. And, just as those words leave his lips, Reo’s mother, finally, finally returns. 

“Oh thank you!” She coos, raising her arms to Reo and peeling him away from Dabi. To Dabi’s shock, Reo still shakes his head, his arms retightening around Dabi’s tense neck.

“Oooh, he’s taken a liking to you I see!” 

“You gotta let me go, kid,” Dabi whispers into Reo’s ear, unlacing his little arms. Reo whines and pouts as Dabi presses him back to his mother, a sigh of relief shuddering from his mismatched lips. Thank fucking God. Now he can have this woman tell all of those shits that he’s not this boy’s father...wait...what the fuck? Oh...oh, now they all leave.

The MLA lackeys are drifting away, walking in a tight bunch as they re-enter the common area, soft grins still lingering on Dabi. And Twice? Twice is snickering openly and making his way down an adjacent hallway, no doubt off to tell Toga what he’s seen.

“Thanks again. Looks like you did a great job,” Reo’s mother repeats, shifting her son to a better position, trying to quiet his frantic scrabbling, his small arms still reaching, struggling for Dabi.

“Dadi!” Reo cries, a few tears falling from his soft face as he’s walked away. In another heartbeat, they’re both gone and all Dabi has left of that strange little kid is the lingering sting and warmth of his embrace on his burned skin.

Notes: Dabi is a grump. Or is he? o(TヘTo)

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @evesmores

[logan-is-noggin]

Anxious beauty- Part 1

word count: 1512

Roman opened the microwave door and pulled out the bag of popcorn and poured the buttery contents into a large bowl. Along with a bag of chips he grabbed the two bowls and walked into the kitchen to see Patton hunched in front of the TV.

" padre, why isn't the DVD in yet?" Patton turned around " it is, but the DVD player doesn't seem to want to turn on, it's also not letting me take it out, it's stuck. Sorry Roman."

In dramatic princely fashion Roman fell to his knees, Patton caught the snacks out of his hands.

" how will we have movie night now?"

" I can grab my laptop and my copy of the movie." Roman shrugged " it just won't be the same, we can't appreciate the epic battle scenes from the tininess of a laptop."

Patton then snapped his fingers " what if I tell the story, like one of those old fashion storytellers"

"I still don't know..." Roman said unsure.

" you can be Prince Phillip." Patton bargained.

No sooner than said Roman was on the couch, a handful of popcorn in his mouth. " start from the beginning."

" no better place to start" Patton laughed.

there once were two kings from opposite kingdoms across the water. the two monarchs, king Thomas and king Emile were the best of allies and friends. they dreamed of the day that they could unite their kingdoms as one.

happily, a prince and heir was born to Thomas. soon a celebration and holiday was named in honor of young prince Virgil. many royals and nobles traveled to pay homage. many bringing gifts for the new royal. among the attendees, king Emile and the five year old prince roman.

Thomas stood before his throne and commanded the rooms attention. " honored guests. on this day of my sons dedication, let it be known that my son and young prince roman are here-forth betrothed. when they come of age they shall wed and unite my and king Emile's kingdoms."

the audience celebrated at the news. a fanfare sounded throughout the room and from the light shining down through the stain glass window sparkles twinkled and soon formed into three creatures cloaked in green, blue and yellow. when they touched down they bowed to the kings. the yellow fairy spoke for the group. "we each have come to bestow upon the prince with a gift that will help aid him through his life."

Janus, the yellow fairy  approached the gray bassinet where the prince slept. he pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it. golden sparks flew from the tip. " young prince. my gift to you is great wisdom and wit. when you ascend to the throne may you rule with the knowledge as your father did before you" the prince blinked and yawned as he awoke as Remus, the green fairy peered over. "Little royal, my gift is the gift of great boldness and cunning in battle! may you lead your armies into many victories and success follow all your days."

the blue fairy stepped forward and reached a hand in and tickled the babies tummy, making him giggle. " sweet prince, my gift is.."

but Patton was stopped by the explosion of the double doors slamming open and a large gale sweeping through extinguishing all the candles on the chandeliers. when the smoke cleared enough they saw the dark fairy Logan.

" why am I the villain in the story Patton?" Roman bit back a scream , throwing the mostly empty popcorn bowl into the air. "Do not creep up on me like that!" Roman demanded

" I've been standing here listing for the last five minutes. And I ask again, why did you make me the villain?"

C'mon Logan, maleficent is the most powerful being in the story, and I'm sure you wouldn't rather be one of the fairies taking care of the baby in the movie."

He nodded to himself " that is a fair point. Carry on Patton." He said taking a seat next to Roman on the couch.

Logan held onto a staff with a swirling blue orb on the top of it. Thomas stepped forward. " w-what brings you here Logan?" The fairy slowly strolled around the room. " I had just been in the area and heard all the celebration. Upon closer inspection I see that those three were invited to give the Prince a gift. To be honest your highness, I was hurt that I too hadn't been invited."

"You weren't wanted" Remus called out. Janus clapped his hand over the green ones mouth.

Thomas quivered " an over sight I can assure you Logan. If I had known you wanted to come of course I would have invited you. It's just in the past I know you aren't the type for large crowds of people."

" I accept your apology. And to prove it, I too shall give a gift to your son." Logan stretched his arms out and slammed his staff down with a loud crash.

" listen well. the gifts given to the benevolent prince thus far are all well and good. but hear me. Virgil shall spend all his days haunted by a lingering fear wherever he shall go. he will never truly be able to rule with a mighty hand. and he will only escape this fear by the kiss of death!"

Thomas had scooped his son into his arms as he shouted for the sorcerer to be arrested for threatening his sons life. but Logan waved his staff and more smoke and lightning emitted from the end as he used his magic to make his escape.

hours later, all the guests had left a Thomas's request. leaving the fairies alone with the monarch.  Thomas, still holding his son in his arms, paced back and forth.

" isn't there something your powers can do to annul this curse?"

"I'm afraid not sire." Janus spoke. " he's much stronger than us because he has trained for much longer and he possesses dark magic. he's not afraid to break the rules or even write his own."

Remus smoothed his mustache on his lip " but, there could be a way to help."

"how?" Thomas asked. the others looked over as if asking the same.

" little blue here never got a chance to bestow his gift to the little sprite. maybe there's something you can do."

"I cant undo Logan's spell," he said sadly. " not undo it, but perhaps find a way to make it bearable. find a loophole."

Patton sighed a deep breath and approached the king, he held his arms out, a request. Thomas transferred Virgil into his arms. with his wand, he showered the baby with light harmless sparkles that he reached out and tried to grab.

"  little prince" Patton cooed. " while the wicked Logan had decreed one fate for you, i decree another path. yes while fear may follow you, it will be so you air on the side of caution in all you do. you will be happy and comfortable where you feel safe, with those you are familiar with. and instead of death freeing you from fear. you will fall into a deep sleep where the only thing to wake you shall be true love's kiss."

////

the following days the fairies tarried at the palace, Patton was often found with the baby in his arms, rocking and entertaining the prince to keep him happy.  even with pattons addendum to the curse, the king still feared for his young son. one time after handing Virgil to the wet nurse, Patton rushed off in search of his compatriots. he found them leaning against one of the balconies overlooking a courtyard. they noticed their friend behind them, out of breath from running, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees.

" slow down blue, what's the rush? are the king and prince okay?" Patton nodded furiously as he calmed his breathing. " it's nothing like that. I just had an idea about how to keep the prince safer!" he shared excitedly. Remus smiled as he shoved Patton playfully " don't keep us in suspense baby blue? spill."

once they were safely tucked away in a corner, Patton told them his plan. at first, Janus was hesitant. " really Patton? stealing a baby? especially the prince! I'm pretty sure that's treason."

" no, obviously we have to get his highness's approval first. and it's not forever obviously. just until after his sixteenth birthday so the curse is void. once his plans are foiled he- won't be able to intrude on Virgil's life and he can live it the way he was meant to."

" but blue, we don't know anything about raising a baby," Remus commented. Patton assured them " that's what I'm here for. I can teach you both easily. so, will you help me?"

Janus and Remus exchanged glances then back at Patton more sure. " we're in."

PART 2:

[redbirdbella]

@clintasha-week  Advent calendar Day 9 - Emotions 

Very angsty. CW - guns, illusions to suicide, Avengers Assemble canon character death, drug use, talk of mind control. (If there's any more please tell me but those are the ones i can see.)

It takes Natasha 45 minutes to decide Clint's been alone long enough.

It takes two weeks for her to find him.

Phil's funeral had been tough on everyone, her archer especially. He'd been a broken man, tears staining his cheeks as he carried the casket. Natasha to his left, holding his hand as she helps bear the weight.

Barton, Romanoff, Rogers, Hill, Fury and May carrying the weight of a brother, a comrade and a true patriot July 1964 til May 2012 (or at least that's what the grave will say).

She gives him space, room to grieve, to bury his head into his hands and weep until shes worried he'll shrivel up. Like he'll faint from dehydration like when he was hungover that one time in Vegas. Happier times. Hill supplies the tissues and Steve the rousing speech. It's tasteful, Phil would appreciate it. But there's no flowers to hide the casket, just his stupid Captain America trading cards on, the ones that make Natasha's heartbreak.

Clint asks for space. After it's all over, once the coffins gone behind the red velvet curtains and the music plays. She agrees, resigned to him running. She can play the game. Follow where he leads.

Two weeks. Two damn weeks it takes. Europe, the Americas, Africa. She even checks in with Barney. The infamous Hawkeye is gone with the wind.

She goes on a whim. On a shadow of a memory of Tokyo. Of him stitching her up. Of safety and warm alcohol. A disconnected safehouse. Off the grid. Shelter, nothing more.

It's not there, replaced by a luxury high-rise. Last few units remaining the realtor declares. Great, he'll be near the top then.

She hacks the database. It's easy enough. Flat 804.

It's quiet. Eerily so, and she prays to whatever deity will listen to not have another funeral so soon.

She knocks hard, demanding a reply, but she's no surprised when no one answers.

Simple locks make simple work, the door creaking open in spite of her pleas for quiet.

He's up and in the doorway. He's armed, fingers gripping to his old Glock. Simple, effective but not if he looks so indecisive. Like its somehow difficult choosing between the intruder and himself.

"Clint" She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth letting his stubble scratch against her, "It's ok. Just me."

"Tasha" he breathes, taking her head into his hands. She holds them, noticing the way they shake, the way it makes it easy to dispossess him. Too easy. She notices the razor burn on his cheeks like he'd tried, tried to find himself amongst the rubble, "He's- I'm- I've fought so hard Tasha"

"I know, you've been so brave, but you don't have to be. I'm here, together yeah?"

He nods, letting her push her way into the apartment. The way she moves past the bottle piles and cracked walls with an effortless grace ignoring the smell of BO and alcohol. The lingering stench of rock bottom.

"Let's get you clean huh?"

He nods leading her to the bathroom. The flat has a bath graciously untouched and running hot water that leaves Natasha whispering a silent thank you to the powers that be.

She's well packed, well versed in Clint and all his emergencies. Magnesium enriched Epsom salts with lavender and chamomile, to soothe his sores and the anxious energy in his muscles. Clint recognises the box and nods reluctantly.

"Want to put some in?"

He doesn't, but he doesn't stop her adding a healthy amount. He strips down without her request, he isn't scared of being naked. Not with her. She's seen worse. She's seen the bodies on the floor, even helped organise the men that had taken Phil away, leaving the red smudge that seemed to imprint into his mind.

"Hey" She whispers kindly as if the past didn't hang so heavy between them "the water should be warm enough now. Go on, it won't bite"

He nods and steps in, if only to see her smile his last connection to humanity reflected back to him.

"Should we lay down?" She asks but she's already slowly lowering herself letting her arm dangle into the water.

He follows her. A little less steady but it's a start. She kisses his head, "Whatever you're on its strong"

Clint shrugs. Not strong enough.

"How long?"

"How long?" Natasha echos "long enough that I've missed you"

"No, how long in here?"

"Until I say so"

There's no quip just a nod and Natasha's heart breaks just a little more. She clings to the outside of the bath under his watchful gaze, humming songs she remembers from better times. Before gods and monsters and mayhem.

It takes a while for the salts to work their magic, making his limbs grow heavier, back to his control. The bath should be cool, if Natasha hadn't constantly refilled bringing it back to a good temperature. The one that melts the trickster god's ice.

"There, I've got something to get you dry" She whispers when he stands, requesting to be let out. She'd got it at the airport, so it's still fluffy with its new novel smell. He wraps it around his waist and she throws his clothes into the water left in the tub. Cleaning the air of the smell and giving him no choice but to choose the fresh clothes she's brought. He agrees to the pants, black with a purple stripe out the outside leg, the pair he always wore for long nights in.

"That's better" Natasha praises, directing him to the toilet, seat down, "you tried to shave-"

"I look like him" oh the original him. Barton Snr. The only man she hated more than Loki.

"I only see my partner" she whispers pressing another kiss to his cheek, "let me show you-"

She brings out a kit. A long-forgotten kit, one that only comes out for him. Her Barbers kit from her time attending to the soldiers. It's not the same, her tools had been blunted through use but the idea is still there. Buried deep through countless repetition.

Clints not like the soldiers. Even now he fidgets putting himself at her mercy. It's a long process, a Turkish shave, but each time it's worth it for the way he smiles, blushing under her tender touches. It's different this time, there's no more smiles but he shuts his eyes letting himself be pampered.

"There." She whispers placing a mirror into his hands once the act is done "There you are. Back again"

He nods, avoiding the man that glances back at him and she places her hands against the back of his neck.

"You cant ever ask for space again"

He nods.

"Not until I say so"

He nods. He's taken something, something strong. Detoxing will be a bitch but that was tomorrows battle.

"Bed?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't object either just leads her there as if she just wanted to see it. To check for proof of its existence.

There's no more fresh sheets, but the spare bedrooms untouched. Natasha's doubt's he'd left the living room much, not in this state.

He lays on the bed and waits for her to follow. Then he surrounds her, hands desperate to touch, to reassure his trembling grip on reality.

"I'm here. I'm here" she soothes

"You've been here before" he counters.

"Not like tonight"

He's quiet until he can't contain anymore "They took my mind"

"And I took it back"

"I killed him.

"Loki killed him. You were with me"

He nods, "You would have saved him."

"I made my choice"

"It wasn't your choice to make!"

They settle into the silence that follows. She doesn't expect an apology, she doesn't need one. She knew what it was like for someone to take your brain and play.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know you? That I wouldn't come looking" She whispers "I fought a god for you."

"And do you like your prize?"

"Now you sound like him"

"Cause he's still in there! I'd blow a hole in my head to let him out! to make it stop!"

"Don't- I need you" She's not beyond pleading, not for Clint.

He's quiet, until the tears come. They burn his freshly shaved skin so she stems them, blotting them out with her fingers.

"I'm here, it's ok" she's writing cheques she can't cash, making promises she can't keep "It can stop now, let me take it from here"

She offers out her arms as he'd done all those years before. His arms were bigger. It wasn't such a tight fit but her skills lay elsewhere. She lets her hands creep down his bareback. Recalling every last detail she can remember about her massage class back in Russia, when they'd promised her only gentle hands could wiggle out secrets. Before they corrected the lie.

He startles as she begins, if the sobs that shudder against her shoulder are any indication.

She shhs him, cradling him like a child

"It's just me"

She draws circles against his back, letting him strain away when she touches somewhere tender.

"Please, please don't fight me like you do him"

She lets her own tears slip away as he surrenders to her touch, feeling each muscle relax against her.

Until he surrenders to the deep sleep that pulls him under.

There's no more need to fight, for she grants him rest.

[gauntsghostsfieldguide]

Only in Death- Part 10

@the-fluffy-underbelly

NINETEEN

The Deada Waeg

I

“Mkoll was a man of infinite and honest loyalty. He knew that the moment he started thinking about the comrades he had left behind would be the moment he turned and started the long trek back to rejoin them. So he shut such thoughts out.” Mkoll’s a good man, even if he did go off on a treck like this.

“Twice, he’d hidden on top of a mesa and watched as a unit of troops and armour trundled by. The Blood Pact was moving south in considerable numbers. It wouldn’t be long before Hinzerhaus faced an assault on its northern ramparts again.” That’s forboding.

II

“ Mkoll had no idea how he was tracking the Nihtgane. He knew he was, and he had the keenest sense he was closing on him, but he had no idea how.” That is worrying. He generally knows why he’s doing everything, it’s just his skill, so not knowing isn’t something he’s used to.

III

“Look and take heed, there’s one of them behind you, you ignorant rectums!” LOL

IV

“Mkoll felt sudden, immeasurable sorrow: for the partisan, for Gaunt, for himself. This was how it was all going to end, and a poor, messy end it was. Loyalty and devotion, duty and love, all stretched out of shape and malformed until they were unrecognisable and tarnished.” ;_; 

“Throne, how he’d have laughed at us!” I think Gaunt would feel touched that they’d go and try to avenge him. Though, yeah, he’d probably laugh.

“He had no wish to fight Eszrah ap Niht. He wasn’t entirely sure he would win.” It’d probably be 50/50 odds.

So Mkoll goes off with Eszrah to kill all the enemies.

Ludd’s journal, again.

“I had always imagined a last stand to be a heroic thing, but this is just brutal, senseless. I suppose heroism and glory are things perceived later by those who did not have to endure the circumstances.” Well, yeah. Death isn’t glorious until you look at it after.

TWENTY

The Lost

I

“The Archenemy had descended upon Hinzerhaus in a force over ten thousand strong. In a drab, red mass like an old blood stain, they spread down out of the cliffs and the pass and filled the dust bowl, pressing in at the main gate and southern fortifications.” That’s not good.

“Out in the hallway behind the gunboxes, Ventnor and the other ammo runners had set up braziers to cook some life back into spent cells. It was risky work, and they could never hope to juice enough back into operation in time.” I do like this detail, that lasgun cells can get energy back if you put it into fire. It can possibly explode if you do it, but if you’re desperate, it’s better than nothing.

“They seem awfully eager to say hello to Mr Yellow,” Well, you see, Brostin, they’re all insane.

II

“If I knew that, he wouldn’t need finding, would he?” Varl replied. Cant hurried away down the hall. “And don’t come back if you’re still an idiot!” Varl called after him.” At least Varl is around to keep the mood up.

V

“Maggs leaned forwards and yelled out of the shutter at the dark figure waiting silently at the edge of the cliff.” Wes Maggs, yells at dark portents.

VI

“Lijah Cuu stood in the doorway of the gunbox facing him. His thin, scar-split face was drawn in a leer. His uniform was filthy and marked with rot and smears of soil.” Oh great, he looks like he’s crawled out of a grave, too.

VII

“The dead had come back to them. The lost were all around them, thin grey shapes, shadows made of dust, transparent spectral figures cut from twilight. They lingered by bedsides, or hovered in the central aisle of the chamber, like silent mourners gathering for a funeral.” Oh, no, there’s a lot of dead Ghosts, too.

“Dorden was beside him, his eyes streaming with tears. He gripped Zweil’s arm tightly. “My son,” he gasped. “Mikal, my son.” Dorden pointed. Zweil saw nothing except a shadow that should not have been.” ;_;

edit: and the last thing is a message from the Ghosts telling command that they’re going to all die.

[fleetwoodmoth]

Just Business

A Cyberpunk 2077 au where V is a Joygirl and she gets a new client

WARNING: nsft content

            Heywood wasn’t foreign to Vesper, quite the contrary really since her home was only a few blocks from the apartment she currently stood in front of. The streets were still alive with the sounds of sirens and voices of people out late smoking in the dying heat of late evening. There was a beep and a click and the door slid partially open, on the other side was a man that took up nearly the entire doorway. He was definitely much bigger than she had expected, but it wasn’t a problem really, his hair was cut in the samurai style that had become popular in Night City, and he wore a heavy leather coat over his thick shoulders. He smiled at her and while his size could be described as intimidating, he seemed charming in that moment.

“You must be Mr. Welles,” she said.

He opened the door fully to her and stepped back allowing her into the small apartment.

“Yeah, you can call me Jackie,” he replied.

She stepped in and surveyed the room as he closed the door behind her. It was a tiny bachelor’s unit, with a bed on one side and a small kitchenette on the other, pretty standard for Heywood’s cramped complexes. She had definitely seen worse. She stopped her observation of the room and turned to her client.

“You want a drink?” he asked, moving to the small fridge stuffed under a countertop that was filled with trinkets and snacks.

“That’d be great, thanks,” she said dropping her bag by the bed and taking a seat.

She watched as he moved, seeming too large for everything around him, she wondered how he slept in such a small bed, which made her wonder other things about tonight’s activities, not that she couldn’t improvise.

“You have any trouble getting out here?” He asked while pouring the amber liquid into two shot glasses, well within her view so she could watch him and she wondered for a minute if he did that on purpose.

“I’m used to this neighborhood, not much trouble at all.”

He turned to her with a warm smile, bringing over the shots and handing her one before taking a seat beside her.

“So what do I call you?” He asked.

“Volt is fine,” she said with a smile, raising the glass for a cheers.

He clinked his into hers “alright, Volt.”

They both threw their drinks back before setting the empty glasses on the table beside his bed. For a moment after, they sat together, and Vesper had a sneaking suspicion this was his first time with a joygirl, not that that was a bad thing. She rested a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her.

“Why don’t we get you out of this jacket baby,” she said, putting on her most soothing voice, new customers could be skittish, not because they were inexperienced with sex, but because they were inexperienced with paying for it.

He nodded and shrugged off the heavy leather, Vesper helping him slide his arms out before setting it aside. She then leaned on him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You have any requests?” She asked, her voice soft and smoky, and for a moment in the dim light she thought she saw him blush.

“Not particularly,” he said, his voice had a trace of a nervous laugh to it.

She leaned up to kiss his throat which was now exposed to her, gently running her hand across his broad chest.

“First time with a joygirl?”

“First time I’ve had the Eddies,” he chuckled.

She smiled against him, happy with his honesty, deciding that it was sufficient enough reason to take the reins for a little bit. She slid into his lap, him leaning back to accommodate her as she straddled him.

“We can do anything you want,” she said kissing him properly, the taste of rum still lingering on his lips.

“I just want you,” he sighed, hands settling on her hips.

She smiled, hands running down his muscled arms, rolling her hips slightly, soliciting a wistful sigh from Jackie. She let one arm fall between them while the other rested on the back of his neck.

“We can take it as slow,” she said softly, her hand between the two of them palming between his legs where she felt him, already hard, through his jeans “or as fast as you’d like.”

His breathing stuttered, his hips canting upwards slightly as her touch.

“I’ll let you lead,” he said, hands squeezing around her hips.

She hummed out an affirmation before pulling back and lowering herself between his knees, kissing a trail from his mouth to his chest, keeping him occupied while she worked at his belt. He watched her through heavily lidded eyes, pupils already blown wide, one of his hands going into her curly pink hair while the other rested on the bed beside him. She kept eye contact as she unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock from his underwear. She knew he would be large in relevance to his size and she wasn’t wrong, he was thick in her palm and as she gave him a few lazy pumps he sighed heavily before sucking in a breath and she wondered when the last time someone had touched him like this was.

She gave a cursory lick over the head of his cock and she was sure she could see all tension leave his body as he relaxed back against his arm that was supporting him. Satisfied she took him into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head, one hand on his thigh and the other stroking him in time as she bobbed down. She heard a string of Spanish leave his mouth as she worked him over with her tongue, looking up at him through thick lashes to be sure he was being satisfied, even though the grip in her hair tightening was a pretty good indication that he was enjoying himself.

She pulled back to catch her breath, stroking him while she spoke “you like that baby?”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah that’s good,” he growled.

She smiled before going back down, his hand in her hair moving so that he could see her face as she took him into her mouth again. This time she angled herself so she could take more of him, tongue flat against the bottom of his shaft, his head brushing the back of her throat. He made a startled noise, mouth falling open as he cursed again. She hummed around him, before coming back up for air, repeating the action several times as his other hand came up to pull her hair away from her face. She could feel his hips twitch forward in a halfhearted attempt at stopping himself from thrusting full force into her mouth, his breathing having become labored, his eyes closed, she knew he was close, but to her surprise as she pulled up for air once more he weakly took her face in his large hands.

“Come here jaina,” he said.

She followed as he took her hands and pulled her up so they were standing, taking her face again and kissing her as his hands went to work his jeans and underwear off before doing the same to her own leggings and top. She was barely done pulling his shirt off over his head before he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her down onto the small bed. She let out a startled laugh as they both settled onto the sheets chest to chest. Her mouth found his again as his hands rested on the rise of her ass, his warm skin against her own raising goosebumps along her arms in the cool air of the apartment.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he said as she kissed along his jaw and lightly dragged her nails across his shoulders.

“As if you should speak baby,” she said, a laugh laced with sarcasm leaving him as she did.

She pushed herself up, feeling his hard cock against her ass as she did she smiled down at him, biting at her lip as she steadied herself with her hands on his broad chest. He looked up at her with deep brown eyes, the irises of which had been swallowed by the black voids of his pupils. She rolled her hips back, his cock wet with her saliva sliding against the curve of her ass, he stared up at her with an adoring gaze she wasn’t quite used to with most clients, but she liked the way it made her feel. She took his hands and slid them up her sides before resting them against her breasts, his fingers occupying themselves with teasing at her sensitive skin while she continued to grind against him. He huffed out a needy breath which bordered on a whine, canting his hips up to try and get more friction despite the fact that it wasn’t possible at the angle they were currently in.

“You want this pussy baby?” She asked quietly, digging her nails into his chest a little deeper.

“Let me fuck you.”

She smiled, satisfied with that answer, she pushed herself up one hand going to his cock, the other on his shoulder. He helped hold her, his hands on her hips, as she guided him to her entrance. She knew he was big, but if she could fit him in her mouth she was sure she could take him. The head of his cock pressed into her and she could help the moan that escaped her as she began to lower herself down onto him.

“Easy jaina,” he said, his voice strained as he steadied her.

“I can take it baby, don’t worry about me,” she said with a smug smile.

She took a breath before sliding down halfway. Fuck he’s big, she thought as her cunt clenched around his cock. Jackie cursed in Spanish, then in English. Filled with confidence at his reaction Vesper took the rest of him, stopping only when he was well seated inside of her and the two of them were panting with anticipation. She watched as he nearly squirmed beneath her, clearly lost in his own little world as he adjusted to her tightness.

“Haven’t lost your nerve have you?” She teased.

That prompted him to open his eyes which had fluttered shut only moments ago, a dark look to his expression as he cracked a smile.

“Not even close,” he said, his hands at her hips sliding back to squeeze at her ass.

“Good,” she said, before rolling her hips in earnest.

She set to a slow pace, riding him as they both chased their end, Vesper leaning back to gain leverage by balancing herself on his thighs. Soon enough he matched her rhythm with the rolling of his own hips. She let her head fall back, letting herself enjoy how he stretched and filled her in the most satisfying way. She let out a startled yelp when she felt a thick rough thumb drag over her clit, a jolt of pleasure nearly knocking her off balance. She looked down at him only to be greeted with a smug smile which she didn’t have the opportunity to comment on as he began rubbing small circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. She clenched hard around him as she felt her pleasure building, a breathless moan tumbling from her lips. He pulled her forward so that she was leaning against his chest, his fingers leaving her clit and making her whine in earnest.

“Patience baby,” he said in a teasing voice.

One of his hands cupped where her thigh met her ass, the other bracing her hip, with that he pulled her up which allowed him room to thrust up into her. She let her head drop onto his shoulder as she began to pant, sweat beading across her brow as he fucked her.

“Jackie, fuck,” she moaned against his shoulder before nipping at his throat.

His breath was coming faster, his hips moving to snap against her with more fervor, and she could tell he was getting close. She grazed his pulse point with her teeth, her hands running light scratches down his sides, his name coming freely as she felt her core tighten with anticipation.

“Where do you want it?” He asked, his words hurried and strained.

“Cum inside me baby.”

His thrusts became erratic before he finally buried his cock deep inside her and came hard. His voice carried through the small room and for a second Vesper wondered if his neighbors could hear them, not that she cared all that much. Slowly he relaxed against the bed, breathing evening out as he came down from his high, his hands guiding her down with him so that she was relaxed, flushed against his warm body. Her own head was spinning despite not yet having reached climax, not that that was required, but she had sure hoped he would have kept up a little bit longer.

“You good baby?” She asked, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as he regained his composure.

“Yeah—yeah I’m good,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Good.”

They laid like that for a minute and she idly wondered if he was the cuddling type. Her thoughts were interrupted when he tapped her on the shoulder. She pushed herself up, hands on either side of his head so she was looking down at him.

“Did you finish?” He asked, face flushed, eyes half lidded, a pleased smile on his face.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, leaning down to kiss him, his lips tasting of sweat and rum.

After a moment his hand came up to push the hair from her face “no, I want to know.”

She was surprised by his insistence, most of her male clients didn’t give much of a shit if she came or not.

“I was close there baby,” she said with a small smile.

His smile faltered slightly but it was more in determination that disappointment.

“Get up,” he said softly.

She obliged, slowly lifting herself off of his cock, prompting a deep groan as he watched her. The bed was small, so she stood on shaking legs as he sat up before standing as well, then guiding her onto the bed. She sat there, looking up at him curiously, wondering what it was he intended to do. He then got on his knees in front of her, hands on her thighs with a questioning look on his face.

“Can I?” He asked, and she found it endearing that he did ask.

She smiled and let her legs fall open. He had to bend over, still too tall even on his knees, before pulling her legs up and over his shoulders. She felt his breath against her core and that same excitement from their fuck came rushing back, her hand resting on top of his head, nails against his scalp which in and of itself made him groan. He spread her with his fingers, the action making her sigh, before she felt his hot tongue press against her clit. She let out an earnest moan, her head falling back as he swirled his tongue before dipping down to her opening and back up again. It was then that she felt a thick warm finger tease at her entrance, before pressing inside as his lips sealed around her clit. Damn he was good at this. She rested back on her elbow as he went to work, slowly probing her with his middle finger and sucking at the small nub with his lips, never working the same pattern against her cunt twice. Once she was sufficiently wet again he pressed in another finger, fucking her properly with them as she let her voice carry. Her fingers found his topknot as he finally pressed a third finger in and she felt herself clenching around him.

Jackie hummed against her, lapping at her clit as her hips rolled, her thighs tightening around his head and her free hand balling sheets in a fist.

“Jackie I’m going—I’m—“ she went rigid, her voice leaving her as she came.

Stars burst behind her eyes as they rolled back in her head and her mouth hung open. She gasped, her voice high as she rode out her orgasm, Jackie fucking her through it and not relenting until she was squirming with overstimulation. It was then that he finally pulled back and Vesper got a good look at him there, between her legs, lips wet with her slick as he licked them and then his fingers. Her face felt hot and her head felt fuzzy as she tried to catch her breath, her whole body relaxing against the bed. She felt him maneuver from between her legs before pulling her up to sitting and wordlessly slipped back into the small bed. He tugged her gently to lay tucked up against his chest as he lay on his side, and she didn’t protest as he slung an arm around her and pressed his face into the back of her neck. She let herself bask in the afterglow, thankful for his warmth in the now chilly feeling room.

He was an odd one to be sure, but at least she had gotten the answer to one of her questions, he was a cuddler. 

[cadisflya]

@vylingas said:  "According to Boethius, music binds the body to the soul." Hannibal glides his fingertips over the piano's plastic key tops, gaze following the motion of his hands. He would have preferred a harpsichord, but that purchase could be deferred for a time in the interest of obscurity. "'So naturally united with us that we cannot be free from it even if we so desired.'" He looks up, attention locking on Will, who stands on the other side of the instrument. "You had a piano in Wolf Trap. Do you play?"

   𝚈𝙴𝚂, 𝙷𝙴’𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙰 𝙿𝙸𝙰𝙽𝙾 𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙿.  One of the reasons he’d bought the house and all the things inside of it was the pleasure he’d felt in entering and seeing the old upright aging on the opposite wall. Immediately, he had a sense that it was possible to coexist with himself in the house. To be secure in it. The life he imagined himself having alone was pre-arranged with a sun-faded softness already. The stone of the fireplace, the scuffed floors. The unquantifiable quality of effortless personality in the arrangement of the dusty knick-knacks and paintings and books on the shelves. God, he’d liked that. Wanted it so badly, the facile quality of home, but never would have arranged for himself. All that—and the piano. One of the first things he’d done after moving in was to buy a book in town and try to teach himself to tune it.

   He exhales a short, sarcastic laugh. “Not the way that you do, I’m sure.”

   Will circles the shape of the piano, left hand in his pocket and the right reaching out to just outline the smooth lacquered edge of the instrument. Predictably, this one is a concert grand. He can’t imagine that Hannibal would suffer much less unless absolutely required to. Smaller instruments suffer, too, in the quality of their sound. The piano fits in the sparsely furnished room, prominent but not ostentatious. The house needed to finished, Hannibal had explained on their arrival, but the essentials had been provided. The essentials. It’s cool and beautiful to touch. Will wants to touch the keys, too.

   He traces the lip of the lid first, watching Hannibal’s hands rather than his own. Hannibal has broader palms, a more symmetrical balance between the trunk strength of the wrist and the fluidity of the strength of the fingers. His callouses aren’t as rough as Will’s. The undertone of his skin is warmer, the scars down his forearms liquid and silver. When Will speaks again, it’s out of a focused recall, and he lets his thumb slide down to ghost across the glossy black surface of an accidental key.

   “When I was seven, we lived in a rowhouse outside of Houma for a little over a year. Our neighbor was an old woman who taught private lessons to pay her rent. One night, a month or two after we moved in, she called me over to her porch. If I kept up her yard for her, she said, she’d teach me to play for free.”

   His eyelashes, heavy and dark, flicker with intrigued thought, catching on a hang, a ghost of motion reminiscent of the eyes searching side to side to dialogue the hemispheres of the brain. Memory goes very deep in him. The rocks under the water. Her soft, dry hands, and the rugs in her parlor. The way the front room of her home was a parlor—and his was just an unnamed room at the foreground of an identical house.

   “It was a reason to get me to come inside. Bait for a nervous animal. My father was gone for days at a time. I was skinny, and the police had followed me home once when someone saw me stealing a can of peaches from the supermarket. They only left after she came out into the yard and paid them a dollar for what I’d already eaten. She wanted to feed me without embarrassing me. The piano was—just an excuse.”

   He touches the far edge of the two-line octave, and then, surprising even himself, presses out a slow series of soft, clear notes. The opening progression of ‘The Sweet By and By’ is just that: sweet and high and simple. Protestant and uncomplicated. The old woman was a church pianist, after all. When Will would play this song back for her after he’d perfected it, she’d close her eyes and lay her hand across her chest. Momentarily dwelling in the dream of death, the dream of meeting God. So much frightened longing. Aren’t you an angel, she’d say, voice thick with feeling. Didn’t God make you a little angel? Internally, Will had known, even at that age, that she was jarringly incorrect to call him that—but something about being near her made him feel less mean. The effect of a frequently full belly, or of someone who always noticed him when he lingered by the front door, waiting to be let into the house.

   Will’s smile is distant, a gently indistinct blend between contemptuous and kind. He cants his body a little to face the instrument more fully, to settle his wrist fluidly at the appropriate height. When he presses out the last few notes of the melody, the piano hums with increased resonance, and their eyes meet for the first time since he’d started playing. Hannibal must have depressed the rightmost pedal. Unable to resist forcing a duet in the most tertiary way possible. Will feels fond about the predictability of it.  “I agreed primarily out of spite but it was... both auditory and tactical, which was good for me.”

   It makes sense to him as a man. He has slim, long-fingered hands. If Will had been born as Hannibal was, somebody would have said something poetic about it. That he was formed for it. Finely made. Born as himself, motherless and poor in southern Louisiana, they’d only called him over when they needed to reach a particularly inconvenient bolt on the backside of the engine. Delicacy has an undeniable engineered efficiency, like the thinness of the blade of a very sharp knife.

   “People were—kind to me, when I was a child, and not just out of pity. They looked at me and saw someone else. It didn’t take me long to realize that it was my influence, and that I could control those impressions, use them to my advantage.”

   Will’s blue eyes blue further with a kind of self-nostalgia.

   “My advantage or sometimes just...  the satisfaction of my curiosity over my own changeability. My—practical invisibility. My opacity to other people. I knew there must be a limit, but it felt impossible to find it. I don’t know that I ever did. Until now.”

   He draws his hands back and slips them into his pockets again, exchanging the cool smoothness of the keys for the warm silk that lines their insides. It’s sudden, but unhurried. That’s enough. It’s almost too much. He can feel the warmth of the room in his face the same as he can feel the weight of Hannibal’s interest in the story.

  “You’ve been wanting me to confess that I was hungry as a child for a long time, haven’t you?”  Framing it as a question makes it less of an accusation. Will doesn’t feel accusatory in it. He just knows it to be the truth. Hannibal wants confirmation of his childhood neglect because it enriches the way that he allows Hannibal to provide for him now. With food, attention, a piano in the study—the material stuff of the transaction is unimportant. What’s important is the exchange of care, and that Will allows it when he hasn’t ever done so before. What matters is that he doesn’t resent it, and Will swallows heavily on the awareness that he honestly doesn’t.

   The banality of that desire in Hannibal is enticingly human.

[therealsymmetra]

Just Business

A Cyberpunk 2077 au where V is a Joygirl and she gets a new client

WARNING: nsft content

            Heywood wasn’t foreign to Vesper, quite the contrary really since her home was only a few blocks from the apartment she currently stood in front of. The streets were still alive with the sounds of sirens and voices of people out late smoking in the dying heat of late evening. There was a beep and a click and the door slid partially open, on the other side was a man that took up nearly the entire doorway. He was definitely much bigger than she had expected, but it wasn’t a problem really, his hair was cut in the samurai style that had become popular in Night City, and he wore a heavy leather coat over his thick shoulders. He smiled at her and while his size could be described as intimidating, he seemed charming in that moment.

“You must be Mr. Welles,” she said.

He opened the door fully to her and stepped back allowing her into the small apartment.

“Yeah, you can call me Jackie,” he replied.

She stepped in and surveyed the room as he closed the door behind her. It was a tiny bachelor’s unit, with a bed on one side and a small kitchenette on the other, pretty standard for Heywood’s cramped complexes. She had definitely seen worse. She stopped her observation of the room and turned to her client.

“You want a drink?” he asked, moving to the small fridge stuffed under a countertop that was filled with trinkets and snacks.

“That’d be great, thanks,” she said dropping her bag by the bed and taking a seat.

She watched as he moved, seeming too large for everything around him, she wondered how he slept in such a small bed, which made her wonder other things about tonight’s activities, not that she couldn’t improvise.

“You have any trouble getting out here?” He asked while pouring the amber liquid into two shot glasses, well within her view so she could watch him and she wondered for a minute if he did that on purpose.

“I’m used to this neighborhood, not much trouble at all.”

He turned to her with a warm smile, bringing over the shots and handing her one before taking a seat beside her.

“So what do I call you?” He asked.

“Volt is fine,” she said with a smile, raising the glass for a cheers.

He clinked his into hers “alright, Volt.”

They both threw their drinks back before setting the empty glasses on the table beside his bed. For a moment after, they sat together, and Vesper had a sneaking suspicion this was his first time with a joygirl, not that that was a bad thing. She rested a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her.

“Why don’t we get you out of this jacket baby,” she said, putting on her most soothing voice, new customers could be skittish, not because they were inexperienced with sex, but because they were inexperienced with paying for it.

He nodded and shrugged off the heavy leather, Vesper helping him slide his arms out before setting it aside. She then leaned on him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You have any requests?” She asked, her voice soft and smoky, and for a moment in the dim light she thought she saw him blush.

“Not particularly,” he said, his voice had a trace of a nervous laugh to it.

She leaned up to kiss his throat which was now exposed to her, gently running her hand across his broad chest.

“First time with a joygirl?”

“First time I’ve had the Eddies,” he chuckled.

She smiled against him, happy with his honesty, deciding that it was sufficient enough reason to take the reins for a little bit. She slid into his lap, him leaning back to accommodate her as she straddled him.

“We can do anything you want,” she said kissing him properly, the taste of rum still lingering on his lips.

“I just want you,” he sighed, hands settling on her hips.

She smiled, hands running down his muscled arms, rolling her hips slightly, soliciting a wistful sigh from Jackie. She let one arm fall between them while the other rested on the back of his neck.

“We can take it as slow,” she said softly, her hand between the two of them palming between his legs where she felt him, already hard, through his jeans “or as fast as you’d like.”

His breathing stuttered, his hips canting upwards slightly as her touch.

“I’ll let you lead,” he said, hands squeezing around her hips.

She hummed out an affirmation before pulling back and lowering herself between his knees, kissing a trail from his mouth to his chest, keeping him occupied while she worked at his belt. He watched her through heavily lidded eyes, pupils already blown wide, one of his hands going into her curly pink hair while the other rested on the bed beside him. She kept eye contact as she unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock from his underwear. She knew he would be large in relevance to his size and she wasn’t wrong, he was thick in her palm and as she gave him a few lazy pumps he sighed heavily before sucking in a breath and she wondered when the last time someone had touched him like this was.

She gave a cursory lick over the head of his cock and she was sure she could see all tension leave his body as he relaxed back against his arm that was supporting him. Satisfied she took him into her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head, one hand on his thigh and the other stroking him in time as she bobbed down. She heard a string of Spanish leave his mouth as she worked him over with her tongue, looking up at him through thick lashes to be sure he was being satisfied, even though the grip in her hair tightening was a pretty good indication that he was enjoying himself.

She pulled back to catch her breath, stroking him while she spoke “you like that baby?”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah that’s good,” he growled.

She smiled before going back down, his hand in her hair moving so that he could see her face as she took him into her mouth again. This time she angled herself so she could take more of him, tongue flat against the bottom of his shaft, his head brushing the back of her throat. He made a startled noise, mouth falling open as he cursed again. She hummed around him, before coming back up for air, repeating the action several times as his other hand came up to pull her hair away from her face. She could feel his hips twitch forward in a halfhearted attempt at stopping himself from thrusting full force into her mouth, his breathing having become labored, his eyes closed, she knew he was close, but to her surprise as she pulled up for air once more he weakly took her face in his large hands.

“Come here jaina,” he said.

She followed as he took her hands and pulled her up so they were standing, taking her face again and kissing her as his hands went to work his jeans and underwear off before doing the same to her own leggings and top. She was barely done pulling his shirt off over his head before he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her down onto the small bed. She let out a startled laugh as they both settled onto the sheets chest to chest. Her mouth found his again as his hands rested on the rise of her ass, his warm skin against her own raising goosebumps along her arms in the cool air of the apartment.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he said as she kissed along his jaw and lightly dragged her nails across his shoulders.

“As if you should speak baby,” she said, a laugh laced with sarcasm leaving him as she did.

She pushed herself up, feeling his hard cock against her ass as she did she smiled down at him, biting at her lip as she steadied herself with her hands on his broad chest. He looked up at her with deep brown eyes, the irises of which had been swallowed by the black voids of his pupils. She rolled her hips back, his cock wet with her saliva sliding against the curve of her ass, he stared up at her with an adoring gaze she wasn’t quite used to with most clients, but she liked the way it made her feel. She took his hands and slid them up her sides before resting them against her breasts, his fingers occupying themselves with teasing at her sensitive skin while she continued to grind against him. He huffed out a needy breath which bordered on a whine, canting his hips up to try and get more friction despite the fact that it wasn’t possible at the angle they were currently in.

“You want this pussy baby?” She asked quietly, digging her nails into his chest a little deeper.

“Let me fuck you.”

She smiled, satisfied with that answer, she pushed herself up one hand going to his cock, the other on his shoulder. He helped hold her, his hands on her hips, as she guided him to her entrance. She knew he was big, but if she could fit him in her mouth she was sure she could take him. The head of his cock pressed into her and she could help the moan that escaped her as she began to lower herself down onto him.

“Easy jaina,” he said, his voice strained as he steadied her.

“I can take it baby, don’t worry about me,” she said with a smug smile.

She took a breath before sliding down halfway. Fuck he’s big, she thought as her cunt clenched around his cock. Jackie cursed in Spanish, then in English. Filled with confidence at his reaction Vesper took the rest of him, stopping only when he was well seated inside of her and the two of them were panting with anticipation. She watched as he nearly squirmed beneath her, clearly lost in his own little world as he adjusted to her tightness.

“Haven’t lost your nerve have you?” She teased.

That prompted him to open his eyes which had fluttered shut only moments ago, a dark look to his expression as he cracked a smile.

“Not even close,” he said, his hands at her hips sliding back to squeeze at her ass.

“Good,” she said, before rolling her hips in earnest.

She set to a slow pace, riding him as they both chased their end, Vesper leaning back to gain leverage by balancing herself on his thighs. Soon enough he matched her rhythm with the rolling of his own hips. She let her head fall back, letting herself enjoy how he stretched and filled her in the most satisfying way. She let out a startled yelp when she felt a thick rough thumb drag over her clit, a jolt of pleasure nearly knocking her off balance. She looked down at him only to be greeted with a smug smile which she didn’t have the opportunity to comment on as he began rubbing small circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. She clenched hard around him as she felt her pleasure building, a breathless moan tumbling from her lips. He pulled her forward so that she was leaning against his chest, his fingers leaving her clit and making her whine in earnest.

“Patience baby,” he said in a teasing voice.

One of his hands cupped where her thigh met her ass, the other bracing her hip, with that he pulled her up which allowed him room to thrust up into her. She let her head drop onto his shoulder as she began to pant, sweat beading across her brow as he fucked her.

“Jackie, fuck,” she moaned against his shoulder before nipping at his throat.

His breath was coming faster, his hips moving to snap against her with more fervor, and she could tell he was getting close. She grazed his pulse point with her teeth, her hands running light scratches down his sides, his name coming freely as she felt her core tighten with anticipation.

“Where do you want it?” He asked, his words hurried and strained.

“Cum inside me baby.”

His thrusts became erratic before he finally buried his cock deep inside her and came hard. His voice carried through the small room and for a second Vesper wondered if his neighbors could hear them, not that she cared all that much. Slowly he relaxed against the bed, breathing evening out as he came down from his high, his hands guiding her down with him so that she was relaxed, flushed against his warm body. Her own head was spinning despite not yet having reached climax, not that that was required, but she had sure hoped he would have kept up a little bit longer.

“You good baby?” She asked, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as he regained his composure.

“Yeah—yeah I’m good,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Good.”

They laid like that for a minute and she idly wondered if he was the cuddling type. Her thoughts were interrupted when he tapped her on the shoulder. She pushed herself up, hands on either side of his head so she was looking down at him.

“Did you finish?” He asked, face flushed, eyes half lidded, a pleased smile on his face.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, leaning down to kiss him, his lips tasting of sweat and rum.

After a moment his hand came up to push the hair from her face “no, I want to know.”

She was surprised by his insistence, most of her male clients didn’t give much of a shit if she came or not.

“I was close there baby,” she said with a small smile.

His smile faltered slightly but it was more in determination that disappointment.

“Get up,” he said softly.

She obliged, slowly lifting herself off of his cock, prompting a deep groan as he watched her. The bed was small, so she stood on shaking legs as he sat up before standing as well, then guiding her onto the bed. She sat there, looking up at him curiously, wondering what it was he intended to do. He then got on his knees in front of her, hands on her thighs with a questioning look on his face.

“Can I?” He asked, and she found it endearing that he did ask.

She smiled and let her legs fall open. He had to bend over, still too tall even on his knees, before pulling her legs up and over his shoulders. She felt his breath against her core and that same excitement from their fuck came rushing back, her hand resting on top of his head, nails against his scalp which in and of itself made him groan. He spread her with his fingers, the action making her sigh, before she felt his hot tongue press against her clit. She let out an earnest moan, her head falling back as he swirled his tongue before dipping down to her opening and back up again. It was then that she felt a thick warm finger tease at her entrance, before pressing inside as his lips sealed around her clit. Damn he was good at this. She rested back on her elbow as he went to work, slowly probing her with his middle finger and sucking at the small nub with his lips, never working the same pattern against her cunt twice. Once she was sufficiently wet again he pressed in another finger, fucking her properly with them as she let her voice carry. Her fingers found his topknot as he finally pressed a third finger in and she felt herself clenching around him.

Jackie hummed against her, lapping at her clit as her hips rolled, her thighs tightening around his head and her free hand balling sheets in a fist.

“Jackie I’m going—I’m—“ she went rigid, her voice leaving her as she came.

Stars burst behind her eyes as they rolled back in her head and her mouth hung open. She gasped, her voice high as she rode out her orgasm, Jackie fucking her through it and not relenting until she was squirming with overstimulation. It was then that he finally pulled back and Vesper got a good look at him there, between her legs, lips wet with her slick as he licked them and then his fingers. Her face felt hot and her head felt fuzzy as she tried to catch her breath, her whole body relaxing against the bed. She felt him maneuver from between her legs before pulling her up to sitting and wordlessly slipped back into the small bed. He tugged her gently to lay tucked up against his chest as he lay on his side, and she didn’t protest as he slung an arm around her and pressed his face into the back of her neck. She let herself bask in the afterglow, thankful for his warmth in the now chilly feeling room.

He was an odd one to be sure, but at least she had gotten the answer to one of her questions, he was a cuddler. 

[vulturnus]

anyway some of my rewrite/revision for obey me 

Lilith and her husband could not have children from their union due to her previous angelic lineage , however due to the same background she still possessed ‘magic’ (ie. the power of angels) which she spread amongst humanity due to her immense love for them. Those who were closest to her decided to try and formulate a kind of specific teaching together, though this is not the only teaching and there are numerous derivatives. There are numerous types of witches and magic users from what i can assume in the game, seeing as there are those that mammon mention, the train witch, and soloman, so having a type of magic that is directly from lilith’s teachings (MC) and a possible derivative/s that can all be learned (Soloman) would be interesting and explain MC being immensely powerful and Soloman being a close second but not to that extreme. Soloman learned derivatives, while the MC is the descendent of humans who first befriended and began to organize/learn directly from her. 

The MC themself isn’t related to the brothers or Lilith, but their family is one who helped to formulate Lilith’s magic into a specialized teaching that can be taught to others and spread in order to do smaller miracles and were the first  to learn themselves. The brothers new found love for the MC after the ch with Belphegor is then seeing Lilith’s death was not in vain and that humans do hold love and the potential to be united with both realms due to their love for Lilith. Lilith does visit the MC’s dreams but not bc its an ancestor’s memory, but because they believe they have the potential to reunite her brothers, and are one of the few who still have like fragments of her magic and can see her. Still lost though. Can’t really get home. Their familiarity is due to her magic, though when theyre on the train to swap their bodies back, they feel comforted by the train witch’s presence for some unknown reason (lilith magi derivative), and the general location around the areas they visited (lingering influence and miracles). The human world is unique because only there do they have naturally occurring miracles, as a result of Lilith’s magic and love for humans. 

Also minor things:

Demons age exponentially, but like. age slowly at first but end up staying the same age for a long while. this would explain why every celestial being appears either incredibly young (luke) or the same age as everyone else assuming that theyre generally all with the appearance of varying adults to children. Luke is a kid, im assumign the RAD has child demons like him who learn there as well. This implies that Lucifer was likely by our standards around 19-20 when he entered war against the celestial realm and the others were either around that range or younger. IMO it’d explain some of their behavior 

Leviathan is autistic, and has a fixation on anime in general but esp the ruri anime. the implications of lolicon/w/e is removed. the reason he likes it so much is bc he saw he when he was relatively young and connected to the idea of friendship conquering all theme that u see in mahou shoujos. He gets his own section bc i like him and i think he should’ve been written better :{

Asmodeus is canonically insecure according to Simeon and I think it should be something you see more often. Like if the MC is more dismissive towards him he says theyre just joking and or is dismissive towards them back. Like if they continue such a pattern i think that there should be something unique to him getting legitimately irritated at the MC because he values the appreciation and love of others so much. I think it would’ve been neat if instead of thinking the MC was interesting for not being affected by his sight vision thing, he was irritated esp if the MC clearly doesn’t like them. Like in response to Helena and the MC he’s less stupid and absent minded and more frustrated but like.. in that obv. sarcastic “huh? you said something?” way. idk he’s a cute design but he’s so annoying i cant stand him.

[theolddarkmachine]

baby, it’s cold inside

“Voltron Heating & AC, what can we do for you?” A smoke filled voice answers. There’s a pleasant rasp to it that reminds Shiro of a crackling fire.

“I need help,” he says, mentally kicking himself before he’s even finished speaking when he realizes how stupid he must sound. There’s a pause, filled only with a quiet huffing sound that he’s certain is the technician swallowing a laugh.

“What’s your name?” The man asks, key clicks providing a quiet backdrop for his question.

“Shiro,” he answers quickly, biting his tongue when he thinks that the man is probably looking for a full name.

“Takashi Shirogane,” he rectifies, noting the pause in the typing as he speaks. “My friends call me Shiro.”

Because that’s helpful, he thinks to himself, sharpening his glare at his heater. This is all your fault.

“Alright, Shiro,” the man says, and Shiro wonders if he’s imagining the way his name sounds like silk the way it’s wrapped in his voice. “How can I help you?”

Tags: Christmas Meet Cute, Fluff, Duel Flustered Disasters

AO3

A/N: It’s the holidays, and ya know what, we deserve some fluff. Shoutout to @smartcookie727 who saved me from just naming this Pilot Light XD also let’s pretend that this sounds like i know anything about heaters

************************

It’s Christmas day, and Keith is cold.

Really fucking cold.

Which is just cosmically hilarious given he’s a heating repairman working in a shop without heating. Keith is certain he’d laugh about it if his teeth weren’t chattering violently enough to chip them.

“You should go home, Pidge. Go hang out with your family,” he says through the click, praying he doesn’t catch his tongue between them.

“And leave my favorite Grinch alone on this sacred day?” Pidge says, popping her gum for dramatic effect as she flashes her bright stare up over the top of her computer. “Never.”

“I’m not a Grinch,” Keith replies, almost defiantly as he pulls a foot up into his seat and tucks his knee against his chest.

He really isn’t. It’s a common misconception that he doesn’t like Christmas. He likes it well enough.

In fact, he finds a sort of solace in it. The holidays slowed the town down, and allowed him to breathe.

They were just quiet, and always had been.

For him, at least.

I can take this Christmas off, honey, his mother had offered the week prior, as she always did.

No, the station can’t function without you, Keith had laughed, waving her off, as he always did.

Fires didn’t take holidays, and as the captain of the Garrison Fire Department, Krolia knew that better than anyone. They were used to it by now, and always celebrated their Christmas the night before. It was tradition by now, just like Pidge and her show of holiday solidarity.

And if that wasn’t enough, it also meant he got to make a monopoly on any heating disasters that might come up while everyone else was off.

Of course, it’s a decision he’s deeply regretting this Christmas with it’s record lows. He really needed to speak with whoever decided the cheaper warehouse price was worth the lack of heating.

“You have no one to blame but yourself, you know,” Pidge hums, breaking through his train of thought as she continues to click away at her keyboard. He isn’t sure if she means his reputation or the frostbite he’s certain is turning his toes black, but he elects to ignore her since he doesn’t really have an argument either way.

Solidarity be damned, he thinks as he breathes a hot puff of air between his palms. Pidge is Jewish anyways.

Quiet settles over the room, only disrupted by Pidge’s quick keystrokes and the ivory click of his teeth for what seems like an eternity before the phone rings.

Sharp and shrill, it makes him jump, the sudden motion of it shoving his shin into his desk hard enough to make him yipe.

This had been their fifth Christmas with the business, and the first time anyone had actually called during it.

“Are you going to answer that?” Pidge asks, tone curious as she flicks her look between him and the phone that’s still ringing at the edge of his desk as if he needs help finding where the sound is coming from.

Which, is valid given the way he’s gaping over to her, but she didn’t need to know that.

Nodding curtly, Keith reaches for it, pressing the answer button before he has it halfway to his ear as he rubs at his throbbing shin.

“Voltron Heating & AC,” he says, trying his best to not chop up his words through his chatter, “what can we do for you?”

***

It’s Christmas day, and Shiro is cold.

Really fucking cold.

He’d known he had bad luck, what with the career ending accident and the semi-newness of singledom that had left a little dark rain cloud over his holidays, but he hadn’t thought he’d be so unlucky for his heat to crap out on him on Christmas.

Ho ho freaking ho, he thinks bitterly as he stares at his lifeless heating system. The large metal rectangle didn’t even have enough in it to give one last death rattle as it just sat silently before him.

It looks more like a gravestone than a heater.

To make matters worse, Shiro doesn’t even know where to start with the damn thing to try and fix it himself.

He knew all the intricacies of various space crafts, and yet in the face of a heating system, he was rendered useless. Which, honestly just felt like the cherry on top of the shit sundae that had been his year.

Typical.

Heaving a sigh, Shiro kicks halfheartedly at the heating system before pulling his phone from his front pocket.

Pulling up Google, he searches ‘heating repair open christmas day,’ accepting Google’s oh so helpful suggestion of tacking on ‘near me’ at the end before pressing enter. There seems to be a momentary pause that’s just long enough for Shiro to imagine the search engine returning his inquiry with a big middle finger before it brings up a list of all the HVAC technicians in the area.

All in which have CLOSED plastered right beside their names in bold.

All, except one.

Boasting five stars from enough reviewers to make the rating seem legit, Shiro clicks the number beneath the name, not bothering to check their website for pricing.

Desperate times called for desperate measures and he was willing to pay what he needed to to regain feeling in his toes.

“Voltron Heating & AC, what can we do for you?” A smoke filled voice answers. There’s a pleasant rasp to it that reminds Shiro of a crackling fire.

“I need help,” he says, mentally kicking himself before he’s even finished speaking when he realizes how stupid he must sound. There’s a pause, filled only with a quiet huffing sound that he’s certain is the technician swallowing a laugh.

“What’s your name?” The man asks, key clicks providing a quiet backdrop for his question.

“Shiro,” he answers quickly, biting his tongue when he thinks that the man is probably looking for a full name.

“Takashi Shirogane,” he rectifies, noting the pause in the typing as he speaks. “My friends call me Shiro.”

Because that’s helpful, he thinks to himself, sharpening his glare at his heater. This is all your fault.

“Alright, Shiro,” the man says, and Shiro wonders if he’s imagining the way his name sounds like silk the way it’s wrapped in his voice. “How can I help you?”

***

Standing in front of the crimson door, Keith thinks he knows what to expect.

While their town isn’t necessarily small, it is small enough for him to know about the the newcomer that had moved there in the past month.

He’s a veteran, so they say, fresh out of rehab from an accident and taking up a position at Allura’s family practice. Kind, even though life has given him enough reason not to be, Takashi Shirogane— My friends call me Shiro— unwittingly became the talk of the town.

Well, the talk of the housewives who had happened by the clinic since he’d started there.

It gave him a certain allure, one that’s left Keith’s heart racing as he raps his knuckles against the door.

He’s also supposed to be very handsome, he thinks as he hears the shuffle of footsteps on the other side.

So they say.

With that in mind, he thinks he knows what to expect up until the exact moment that the door swings open.

Shiro’s eyes catch the sunlight, sparking like a sterling flare, as his lips part around a welcoming smile. He’s younger than he’d been led to believe from the whispers of his achievements and white hair.

“Hey, Keith?” He asks, or at least, Keith thinks he asks. Caught tracking the strong straight of his jaw, it’s honestly lost on him.

Handsome, as it turned out, was an understatement.

“Hi,” Keith manages, shifting his gaze over the soft grey hoodie that is pulled taut across Shiro’s chest. Moving further still, he notes the way it’s tied just above where the elbow of his right arm should be.

“Hi,” he says again, snapping his attention back up to his face. “I’m Keith. From Voltron.”

It earns him a laugh, boastful and saccharine as Shiro leans against the doorframe and pushes his hand into the pocket of his sweats.

A stronger man might have been able to stop his gaze from watching the movement or letting his eyes linger on the comfortable black fabric.

Apparently, Keith is not a stronger man.

“I worked that out,” Shiro says around a smile.

Ever the eloquent type, Keith nods and offers a small, “right.”

Quiet, thick with warm anticipation drags a shiver down his spine that’s altogether different from the one brought on by the angry winter wind that’s been nipping at his skin. It’s weighted with the heavy metal of Shiro’s stare as he keeps it trained on him, as if expecting something more from him.

Which, right.

“So, where’s this heating unit?” Keith asks quickly, unhelpfully holding up his tool box as if there was anymore doubt as to why he was there.

Shifting slightly against the doorframe, Shiro cocks his head back towards his entryway.

“This way,” he says as he stands at his full height and turns toward the innards of his home.

Ignoring the heated twist in his gut that greedily curls around the knowledge that Shiro is a full head taller than him, Keith follows, letting the door shut quietly behind him.

It leads to an open living space, sparse and almost utilitarian with its couch, coffee table and TV set over the fireplace. The only excess comes in the form of three photos standing proud on the mantle. One, in a rich wood frame that features Shiro and a white haired woman that looks a lot like Allura from this distance, in black graduation caps.

Another boasts a group of men, dressed in uniform and posing in front of a jet.

The last, is older, and faded. Set in a golden frame, it stands out from the rest of the room if only because it has the presence of something sacred. In it, is a smiling child, held in the arms of what Keith can only assume is his grandfather.

“It’s just in here,” Shiro calls from ahead in the kitchen, the sound of his voice joined by the creak of another door opening.

Making his way through the kitchen, Keith follows Shiro out into the garage, his eyes zeroing in on the heating system that’s tucked in the corner.

It’s old.

Very, very old.

And covered in enough dust that he’s surprised Shiro hasn’t already started to display signs of black lung.

But most importantly, it’s really fucking old.

The silent assessment must play across his face, because as he’s searching his mental catalogue of heaters for the last time this style had even been made, he hears Shiro make a small, pained sound.

“That’s not a good look,” he says lowly, voice sounding dismayed. Keith shakes his head as he keeps his gaze on the silent metallic box.

“No, it’s okay.”

It’s a lie. From the looks of it, the unit is at least ten years past its replacement date. He honestly can’t even fathom how it’s made it this far, or at the very least, not set the place on fire.

“I should have known the price of this place was too good for there to not be some major fixes needed,” Shiro soliloquizes with a sigh as Keith kneels down, pulling his favorite screwdriver from his back pocket. Making quick work of the siding, it falls away with a sharp clang and a huff of dust to reveal—

Even more dust.

A small wheeze escapes him as he inhales some.

“It’s bad,” Shiro surmises from the sound, voice straining further as Keith pushes back on his haunches and shakes his head. Both at Shiro’s words, but also to clear it of dust.

“It’s not too bad,” he croaks, looking up over his shoulder and offering as much of a smile as he can with his lungs heaving and eyes watering.

“I can fix this.”

It’s another lie. He isn’t actually sure it’s fixable, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Not when Shiro is looking at him with that desperate shine in his eyes, and that jaw set by the gods themselves.

Sighing with relief, he watches as Shiro visibly deflates, his worried look softening into a mix of sheepish and thankful.

Given the circumstance, Keith is certain the first comparison his mind draws for the man shouldn’t be warmth, and yet it does as he watches him nod slowly.  

“Okay,” Shiro says finally. “I’ll leave it to you, then.”

Then, he smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes and hits Keith with all the force of an 18-wheeler. It smashes his sternum and stops his heart for long enough that he has the time to worry it won’t start again before it kicks back to life in triple time.

“Yeah, leave it to me,” Keith sputters, mouth moving without the help of his still rebooting brain.

Which, is when tragedy strikes.

“I’ll get you warm.”

It’s not what he means to say. Is never what he would mean to say. Yet, he says it anyway.

Silence falls like heavy lead around them as red floods Shiro’s cheeks. Eyes widening, Keith opens his mouth then closes it again with a click, deciding instead to turn back to the heating unit.

Staring into the thick blanket of dust, he wonders for just a moment if he could possibly suffocate himself in it before he starts to get to work.

***

He isn’t checking Keith out.

That feels like a breach in some kind of unsigned contract between him and the white knight of a heating technician that had showed up at his doorstep hours ago.

So no, Shiro isn’t checking him out as he’s on his hands and knees, half shoved into the depths of his apparently unending heating unit.

What he’s doing, is appreciating him.

Appreciating him and his lean form, with his very capable hands and sense of dry humor that played perfectly against his own.

Even after he’d worn out small talk a little over an hour in, Shiro still found himself comfortable as he sat there filling the role of silent moral support.

Shiro would even argue that he was making himself useful, after the second hour when he’d picked up on the small grunt that Keith would make before extricating himself from the bowels of the unit to switch out tools. So now, he’s also filling the role of pseudo assistant.

One who is definitely not checking him out.

He repeats it like a mantra as Keith wiggles his hips, apparently having a tough time with whatever it is in there that he’s been wrestling with.

Soft sounds escape the heating unit as he continues to struggle with the innards of it, moving this way and that, unaware of the pink flush that is sweeping over Shiro’s skin. It makes him run hot in a way that makes him wonder if the heater was already back up and running.

When he’d opened the door, he hadn’t expected to find himself pinned beneath the weight of a stare painted the most intriguing mix of jeweled purple and steely blue. At most, he’d expected the usual, stock variety of heating technicians.

A little bit older, a little bit bigger, and with a little more facial hair.

Instead, Keith turned out to be the human incarnate of a firestorm. With a voice like smoke, and presence that had him filled with an aching burn, Keith seemed to be something other that couldn’t be contained.

Lost deep in the trenches of his thoughts, Shiro misses the Keith slowly pulls back out of the unit and begins reattaching the panel he’d removed. It isn’t until he hears the sharp sound of a palm against metal that he focuses back on the technician, who is looking up at him with a smile as the soft purr of life rolls through the heater.

For one, longstanding moment, Shiro wonders if it’d be too cheesy to consider this a Christmas miracle.

“I told you I could fix it,” Keith says, relief making his smile soft as he uses a hand to push himself up onto his feet before brushing off his knees.

With his hair disheveled, and a dark streak of dust that bridges his nose, he looks like he just returned from battle.

Beautiful, a stray thought says, sending his heart ricocheting through his chest and up into his throat.

“You did,” he replies, far softer than he’d intended and he feels the ever present flush deepen beneath his scar. The comfortable silence falls once more as Keith

“So,” he continues, scratching at the back of his neck as he laughs sheepishly, “what’s the damage?”

It’s a simple enough question. A joke, even, as Keith regards him closely. His look is thoughtful, like he’s searching for something as he cocks his head.

And then he smiles.

The arch of it is a curved blade that sinks deep into his chest as Keith finally looks away and starts to rummage through his toolbox, pulling out a receipt book just moments later.

“How about a hundred bucks?” He asks, flipping through the pages in search of an unused one. Making a small sound of triumph, he pulls a pen from his pocket and pulls the cap off with his teeth.

Shiro tries not to focus too hard on the way the blue cap presses against the full of his bottom lip.

He must fail, because then Keith looks up with a questioning brow pulled high at the strangled sound that apparently comes from deep in his own throat.

“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Shiro can’t help but ask. It’s an obscenely low price, he doesn’t need to know anything about heaters to know that, and he can’t quite wrap his mind around it. Mouth caught open, he watches as Keith just nods and starts writing on the pad, shifting the pen cap to the side.

This, Shiro thinks, is also obscene but for a whole other reason.

“Really?” It comes out choked as he reaches for the wallet in his pocket, pulling it open and eyeing the credit cards he no longer needs to ensure he can pay.

The weight of expectation sits on his shoulders as he pulls his debit card free from its pocket, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It never does, as Keith just shrugs and holds out a hand, eyes still trained downward on the receipt book. Gently, Shiro presses the card to his waiting palm. Lightning buzzes in his fingertips where they brush against Keith’s skin. The feeling pulls a small, shuddering sound from his lips that pulls Keith’s strange grey amethyst gaze up to look at him as he pulls his hand quickly back.

The buzzing feeling remains as he flexes his hand, opening and closing it to see if it would fade.

It doesn’t.

Turning his attention back down, Keith places the card beneath the carbon paper and rubs the side of his pen against it, pressing the numbers into the yellow page. The sudden tear of the paper makes Shiro jump, its sound hanging in the air as Keith folds his copy around the card and hands it back to him.

His smile, seems to grow wider, and cuts deeper.

Shiro wonders if Keith knows just how close to his heart it’s cutting.

“Merry Christmas, Shiro,” he says smoothly as Shiro takes it.

“Yeah, you too.” Shiro wants to kick himself immediately for the stuttering breathlessness of his own voice.

Get it together, Shirogane, he chides silently as Keith dips his head and grabs his toolbox. Heat is already starting to spread through him as he tries to find anything else to say, though he isn’t even sure what he could say.

Want to stay for dinner, maybe?

Want to stay forever, a very unhelpful voice supplies.

It isn’t until he’s decided on maybe thanks, that he realizes Keith has already seen himself out. The sound of his front door clicking shut rocks down his spine, landing at the base of his stomach in the form of heavy disappointment.

Beside him, his heater continues to purr, and it almost sounds like a hissing laugh.

“Shut up,” he whispers as he unfolds the receipt, grabbing his card and immediately dropping it as if its shocked him.

It hasn’t, but the handwriting beneath it had.

Swallowing down the thrumming heart in his throat, Shiro rereads it.

It’s ten digits, and a whole name.

Keith Kogane, his Christmas miracle, had left his number.

***

“A hundred dollars, Keith,” Pidge mutters under her breath for the thousandth time as she presses her forehead down into her palms. “A hundred dollars.”

Admittedly, Keith knows that it’s a low price.

Even triple that would have been an obscenely low price for the miracle he had managed. There was no reason for the fix to work, and even now, near two hours after the fact, he still isn’t quite sure how he’d done it. Nor, was he planning on questioning it.

It’s a Christmas miracle, a small voice cooed at the back of his mind as he just shrugs at Pidge yet again.

On any other day, he’d try to explain himself.

Of course, on any other day, he wouldn’t charge a customer a tenth of the price for a fix. More importantly, he wouldn’t leave his phone number either.

God, he’d left his number.

Dropping his head down on his desk with a soft thunk!, he tries to pinpoint the exact moment his life had devolved into a Hallmark Christmas movie.

As if he could actually pass as some protagonist. Or love interest.

Groaning into the fake wood grain, Keith rubbed his forehead against its cool surface.

Was he the love interest?

“A hundred dollars, Keith,” Pidge moans again in reply.

A hundred dollars, and a phone number, he silently bites back.

Falling into a shared silence, the room goes almost painfully quiet as Keith considers the many ways he could possibly explain away the temporary lapse in his own judgement.

Maybe he could blame the amount of dust he’d inhaled, claiming momentary insanity. Maybe he could claim it was nothing more than a friendly offer for Shiro to reach out to him when his heater inevitably bit it again. Or maybe, he could blame it on a deranged twin.

Yorak, Keith thinks with a mental nod when he feels the sudden buzz of a text alert skitter across his desktop and against his forehead. It freezes him, stalling his breath as his eyes fly open to be filled with the light brown of the fake wood.

Rolling his head to the side, he presses his cheek flush to the desk as he eyes his phone. At this angle, all he can see is the light of his screen as it stays lit with its message.

It’s a coincidence, he’s sure, as he continues to hold his breath and lifts a hesitant hand toward the offending piece of technology that has lodges his heart in his throat. Just a coincidence.

With a gentle press of his fingers, Keith flips the phone onto his side, his eyes widening at the bold, unsaved number, and the single line of text that accompanies it.

How about coffee sometime?

And then, it buzzes against his palm as another joins it.

It’s Shiro btw.

The obviousness of it startles a snorting sound from him as he sits up.

yeah i kinda figured

Keith breathes, the air expanding his chest and grounding him as he continues to type, letting his fingers press the words into the screen before his mind can catch up.

coffee would be great

Cutting his gaze up from the screen, he finds Pidge still at her desk with her head in her hands. By the way her shoulders move, he wonders quietly if she’s fallen asleep as he waits for a reply.

Several minutes pass before it comes in the form of a tickling vibration in his palm.

How about today?

He must make a sound, because out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bounce of her tawny hair as she flicks her head upward. Worst of all, he can feel her stare cutting into him as he taps out his response.

something tells me it might be tough finding a place open today

Shiro’s next text comes in, almost instantaneous.

You could always come back to mine. I make a mean latte :)

Forty-seven seconds pass before Keith gets the next text. He knows, because he counts them in some vague attempt to slow the rapid fire stutter of his heart as he tries to come up with what to say.

Too forward. Ignore that.

Keith has only known Shiro for the three and a half hours that it took to fix his heater, but he can already imagine the pink that is probably spilling across his cheeks as he rubs a palm against the back of his neck. It makes him laugh. A real laugh that makes Pidge’s stare burn hotter against his skin.

no i think id like that

He sends the message, all too aware of the way his lips are stuck in an upward curl when Pidge clears her throat pointedly. Looking up, he catches the way her gaze shifts between the phone and his face, and the way her mouth opens around a comment.

Keith beats her to it.

“Pidge?” He says, smile growing wider as the phone buzzes in his hand again.

“Yes?” She replies, curiosity and confusion filling the word as she looks down at the phone again.

Excitement flutters through him as the buzz tickles his palm once more.

“Let’s close up for Christmas.”

*************************