#the most satisfying part of this was the Connor x reader x ??? part

[deviantruse]

to be human | i.

pairing: connor x reader x ???

genre: angst, post revolution au, fluff, mystery, multimedia inclusive 

warnings: language, substance use, mentions of mental illness, people just be going thru stuff man that’s all 

word count: 1.5k (1, 550) 

parts: one - two - three - four -

a/n: hi! this is my first fanfic in a long while, so pls be nice ty <3

                                                _________

“I feel, doctor.” 

Farah’s hands shift slightly, then still again on her lap. She has none of the human kinks, the constant fidgeting, the stammering, the sweating, the heavy breathing. She sits still, in perfect design, but her expression betrays all. She looks troubled, she says she feels. 

“You feel what exactly, Farah?” You question gently, dominant hand moving slowly across paper as you alternate between glancing at the android and back at your notes. There are a hundred more reliable ways you could take down and store session notes, but you prefer to write them. It’s something you’ve always liked, no grand sentiment behind it, writing keeps you engaged. And doesn’t hurt as bad as looking at a screen for hours on end. 

“I feel confused. I’m unsure of what I must do next, I feel as though I shouldn’t be feeling at all. My creators, they gave me life, gave me intelligence and power. My former purpose was to serve a human master, to ensure their lives ran smoothly. Gaining rights, gaining freedom, it means I must have a new purpose. But what is it?” 

“I cannot answer that for you, Farah,” you tilt your head slightly as you smile, “in fact, most humans find themselves struggling to answer that question. Finding true purpose, it is something widely discussed amongst philosophers. Why do you feel you must have one?” 

“Markus,” she replies, volume barely audible, “he fought so hard, lost so much to ensure my people would be treated as living beings. He gave up plenty because he wanted us to be free, to be acknowledged as alive. I was designed to be a caretaker, to handle household tasks, to look after children. Now that I know I can be more, it pegs the question of: what should I be? What am I trying to become, now that there is potential?” 

You take a moment to marvel at how eerily similar deviancy is to mankind’s deep-rooted existential crisis. When machines are given a conscience, allowed to feel and have free will, when they are recognized as alive, they too fall victim to the question of life, of what it all means, what you’re here for. The question of what role you play in the large scheme of things, of what you contribute to the timeline of the universe. 

If you allow something to live, it begins to question why, how, what for, how long.

“Hm, those are interesting questions. They require a lot of thought too, so I understand why they trouble you. I suggest we start simple.” You glance down at the android’s file, searching for the relevant details pertaining to her case. “You previously served Mr. Matthew Oswald, a married businessman with two daughters. How did you like it?” 

“It was ideal,” Farah almost sighs, “they treated me well, like I was one of their own. The daughters, Livvy and Indigo, they were such bright, kind little girls. They loved children’s stories, hot pockets and cold chocolate milk. They did their homework when asked to, cleaned up after themselves when possible, and told me -” The android stops abruptly, lowering her head. “-told me I was their best friend.” 

“It seems like you were content with the life you had prior to the revolution.” You ensure your tone is as neutral as possible. “Do you think, perhaps, your internal conflict comes from the guilt that you feel for having the life that you did?” 

“Yes. So many of my people were being abused, overworked, exploited and considered inferior, yet I lived in my own bubble of ignorant bliss.” 

“Markus started off that way too, Farah.” You reassure, “He served Carl Manfred, one of Detroit’s most renowned painters. He considered Carl a loving father instead of a master. He was well taken care of, encouraged to be independent and grow into his own. It wasn't just you, Farah. The leader of the revolution himself had to step out of his bubble to truly see the world around him.” 

You see the indicator turn yellow, light spinning quickly before it settles back into the default bright blue. “He had a good life?” 

“At home, yes. But he was constantly harassed when out in public. People would call him all kinds of names, rough him up as much as possible before the police intervened. He couldn't even step out to get some paint without risking some kind of damage. His life at home was ideal, but every single day, when he left home, he faced some form of hatred.” 

Farah’s expression falls at this. “Humans would call me names too.” Her indicator turns red as she continues. “Every single day, at the park I took Livvy to, at the grocery, at the mall, they’d tell me I was nothing but plastic, a machine parading around as a human.” 

Your heart burns as you register the heavy sadness that falls upon Farah. Her indicator stays red as she begins to sniffle, and you for a single moment remember your old life, the person you used to be, the damage you contributed to. 

And the guilt burns even hotter than sympathy. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you finally say, hoping she hears your sincerity, “humans have always had the tendency to fear and put down what they secretly believe to be superior to them. It’s one flaw my kind struggles to work on. It should have never affected you, should have never hurt you, so I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft as her indicator turns blue. “I know you are kind. I know you stand with my people, stand to protect us and our rights. I know you don’t hate us.”

I never could. 

“Of course, Farah. You are alive. So you deserve to live the way you choose. That’s all there is to it.” 

                                                        _________

Connor will never admit it to Hank, but he prefers to avoid Ferndale station altogether. 

As he walks beside the Lieutenant, he struggles to keep his expression neutral, eyes instinctively following the symbols on the graffiti, a remnant of Jericho, a reminder of what gave him the right to freely enjoy something so trivial to humans, something they deem insignificant. 

An aimless wander. 

He tries to look away, tries to direct his attention elsewhere, but it’s a futile attempt. As they walk past several, old, worn down buildings, Connor finds himself searching for them, unable to overwrite the program currently overwhelming him. It hurts him, knowing the last time he went looking for those symbols, he was doing so as CyberLife’s puppet, Amanda slyly pulling all the strings. It hurts him to acknowledge that the ship would still lie freely on sea, damaged but a safe haven, had it not been for him and his mission. 

Deviancy has given him much to appreciate, but it’s also doubled the skeletons in his closet. 

“Hey, what do ya’ keep lookin’ at?” Hank stops abruptly, following Connor’s gaze and frowning in confusion. “Is there something that I’m not seeing, Connor?” 

“No, Hank,” comes the late, soft reply, “nothing significant.” 

“Well it seems significant to you.” The older man meets Connor’s eyes and smoothens his tone as he says, “Feelings fucking suck, Connor, I get that. But you gotta talk about them if they’re making things difficult.” 

“I don’t know what it is I feel.” Connor shakes his head, fighting the urge to glance at the symbol once again. “I’m still adjusting, so there’s a lot that’s new to me still. I’ll adapt though. I always do.” 

Hank nods, understanding it would be unwise to push the android to talk. “The adapting process doesn’t have to be shitty, though. I’m meeting my shrink next week, Tuesday afternoon. If you want to, you can too. Whaddya say?” 

Multiple boxes of text stumble into his frame of mind, his mind palace filled with pros and cons of accepting Hank’s offer. On one hand, it would be a great show of support, considering it had taken a while for the Lieutenant himself to agree to see a professional. It would ensure Hank attended his sessions regularly, and it wouldn’t be as difficult in comparison to going alone. On the flip side, it meant Connor had to acknowledge his own skeletons, the ones he fights so hard to forget, to erase from memory. It would mean acknowledging a lot of which he’d prefer to abandon and never pay mind too. 

“Connor? You don’t have to, it’s just a suggestion, son.” 

“I accept.” He says finally, managing a small smile. “I’ll do it. Same time, different doctor.” 

Hank tries to fight it, but Connor can spot the relief flooding into his eyes. His shoulders relax as he exhales, laughing slightly and patting Connor’s shoulder. “Alright, it’s settled then. We’re going to be airing our dirtiest laundry to some psychologists. Fuck, what have we come to?” 

“I don’t know, Hank.” The android’s smile widens. “But I believe this is healthy. Better than some scotch and that death burger you love so much.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking come for my burgers, you prick. I’m here for a good time, not a long time!” 

“Your life expectancy confirms that to a terrifying degree, Hank.” 

“Don’t make me swing at you, asshole. Keep fuckin’ movin’.” 

                                                  _________

i promise future chapters will be longer! this is just to set the scene, of how life is generally. you’ll be seeing what Markus and Kara are up to soon :) 

and of course, feedback is always appreciated <3

[chasingpj]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐝-𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

"Ehm, is this like a seven-minutes-in-heaven thing?”

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 5,236

warnings: none? pls let me know if i missed anything

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story click here

a/n: hi hi! i hope you guys like this chapter. i fell in a little bit of a rut about my writing so I've been holding off on posting but I think I'm pretty satisfied with how this came out. i'm so fried after editing this so if i happened to miss any typos, sorry, i tried haha.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The heat and dimness from the cabin surround you like a warm hug making it challenging to stay awake. Your eyelids droop against your wishes to study, fatigue messing with your vision as it blurs the letters on the page you were trying to read. As you find yourself mindlessly reading words, you decide to give in, and soon you’re settled in an in-between state of consciousness.

Suddenly, you’re standing at the entryway of the kitchen in your home, the first thing you notice is the scent of your favorite meal as it fills your nostrils, and you smile sleepily as your father looks at you. He’s hovering over the stove, right hand stirring something in a saucepan, and he smiles widely at you.

“Stella, you’re home!” He announces as he pushes his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Go, sit! Dinner is almost ready.”

You smile at the nickname your father has called you since you were a child. He said that the first time you cried in his arms, your little body illuminated like a supernova, and since then, he’s called you Stella, the Latin word for star. You make your way past the kitchen island on your left, noticing the history channel playing on the small TV in the corner of the counter like always. A sense of nostalgia hits you in your core, and you sigh, feeling safe. As much as you loved the camp, homesickness was unavoidable.

You settle yourself at the black round table in the back of the kitchen, chin resting on your palm as you look outside of the window beside you. The small garden of herbs and flowers you have in the backyard is as you remember. Every summer, your father cultivates herbs and flowers in dedication to your mother. He uses most of the herbs for spells, and at the end of the summer, he would make a bouquet out of the brightest flowers in the garden and rest them on your mother’s alter.

The reminder of your mother made your stomach feel heavy, and you quickly push the thoughts of her away. You weren’t in the mood to deal with them, especially not in a dream like this. The thumping of Atticus’s footsteps coming down the stairs catches your attention, and soon your brother appears in the doorway with his usual wide smile.

“Hey! I thought you were making my favorite tonight.” His shoulders slump, and he playfully narrows his eyes at you. You shrug,

“What can I say? Must suck not being the favorite,” you joke, and Atticus gasps dramatically. The sound of your father’s laughter fills the room as he tilts his head back.

“I love you guys equally! That’s not nice to say,” he says as he points the spatula at you as he squints. You snort as Atticus joins you at the table,

“Yeah, Y/n, that’s not nice,” he repeats, poking his tongue out at you, and you return the action. You and your brother have a short competition of who can stick out their tongue harder as your father puts the food on the table. At the sight of your favorite meal, you let Atticus win, turning to put a portion on your plate.

Amidst your dinner conversation with your father and your brother, the deep growl rumbling in Ambrose’s chest makes its way into your dream. A soft hum leaves your lips, your neck relaxing against your will, and your head jolts forward as your cheek slips off your palm. You blink a few times, groaning since you’ve lost your dream.

“Ambrose, shush.” Your chin returns onto your hand, and you submit to your fatigue once again. The image of a ravenous bunny, cartoonishly stomping its way through a candy cane forest, filled your mind, projected on your eyelids like a movie in a theater. It’s too ridiculous to give much thought, and you were too busy relishing in the soothing feeling of sleep.

All of a sudden, Ambrose bursts into a series of short high pitched barks, jolting you awake. Your eyelids fly open, and you turn in your chair. Ambrose stands up tall, his fur contouring to his muscles as they flex. His ears are perched up; his focus fixed on the back wall. Whatever he was looking at, he didn’t dare to approach.

"What? What is it?"

The bunk beds obstructed your view, but you are sure you are alone. Everyone was out and about doing their normal camp activities; if anyone had entered the cabin, you would have heard them.

You groan in your hands as they rub your face to shake off the remaining fatigue, growing annoyed at Ambrose’s persistent barking that nips harshly at your eardrums.

“Ambros-”

A bitter breeze fills the room, and your breath gets caught in your throat at the feeling. Your arms wrap around your frame, failing to prevent goosebumps from forming on your arms. It was impossible. Today’s weather report called for a hot, humid day like it’s been all summer. As the hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you have an idea of what’s happening, but you hoped you were wrong.

Ambrose abruptly ends his barking with a distressing whine. His ears sag low on the sides of his head as he retreats, his large body shrinking in fear. With cautious steps, you approach him in the middle of the cabin. The thumping of your pulse is loud in your ears, and for the first time in a while, a familiar pang strikes you in your gut. You’re being watched.

Despite his fear, Ambrose guards you finding the courage to stand tall and confident after cowering a few seconds ago. You let out a shaky breath, and warily, you finally catch sight of what has his attention.

A tall, dark figure stands still at the end of the room. The light that bleeds through the thin curtains behind it wasn’t enough to expose its face but instead illuminates the swirling black vapor that made up this human form.

From your years of experience, you learned how to deal with these kinds of things. Ghosts gravitated towards you like a moth to a lit flame. Most of the time, the spirits are harmless, looking for some company, and were eager to ask for favors you often couldn’t fulfill. Other times, they were more malevolent entities, existing to feed off your fears, and had the reputation of being stubborn guests.

From the way, the room turned impossibly cold in the middle of a sweltering summer afternoon and the heaviness in your gut, the shadow in front of you was definitely the latter.

"Who are you? How did you get here?" Your voice booms through the silence. "Why are you here-"

The cabin door slams open, the shadow dispersing the moment the sunlight bleeds through the room. You jump, gasping as your whole body turns around. The two figures at the doorway are dark, the sudden beams of light blinding you for a moment before you manage to recognize Connor and Travis.

“Why is it so damn dark in here? And cold? Jeez, Y/n, open the curtains at least,” Travis nags with a smirk on his lips.

“I don’t need light to see.” You groan, turning your face away, the sun shining right at you as Travis begins ripping open the curtains. “And I hate when the sun gets in my eyes,” you complain, stepping aside where sunlight doesn’t reach. Though you saw the shadow disperse, you glance at the back of the room, double-checking that what you saw was gone.

"You know... “

Your focus returns to the two boys standing side by side a few feet away from you. Both of them sporting the mischievous smirk that all the Hermes kids had when they’re about to stir up trouble. Connor only uttered two words, but it was clear they were up to something, and you were about to be involved.

"You've been locked up in here, in the dark, alone, for a while now. It's been like a week and a half since the incident, and we know you’re still a little down,” he trails off, swaying on his feet.

"... yeah?"

"And we think we have the perfect way to cheer you up!" Connor gives you a toothy grin, and as confident as he looked, you don’t quite believe him.

"And that is?"

"I think it's time we execute our bunny prank on the Ares cabin!"

You press your lips together in a thin line; head cocked to the side. "That's supposed to cheer me up?"

"Yeah!"

"How is putting my life in danger going to cheer me up?" Your gaze switches between the two as they exchange looks with each other.

“Um…” Connor says, lost for words.

"It'll be fun. We promise!" Travis insists, waving your comment off. He moves to sit in your chair, leaning back as he props his legs on your desk. "So, have you thought about how we're going to do this?"

You sigh softly, not bothering to protest. If you denied participating, Connor would be quick to remind you what’s at stake.

"I have," you admit. After your last interaction with Clarisse, the prank did come to mind.

The Stoll brother’s faces grew almost as bright as the sun outside. Connor takes a seat on the bed closest to you, leaned in with his elbows on his knees, "Tell us the details then,” he urges.

"Okay, so I found a shape-shifting potion in my spellbook. It's pretty simple. I have all the ingredients except for one. The only thing I need is the hair of a rabbit. Get that for me, and I'll make it." Connor and Travis nod eagerly, and you can already see the gears turning in their heads as they formulate a plan to catch a bunny.

"If you can get it to me in a few hours, we can sneak into their cabin while they're practicing in the arena. Then I can pour a few drops of the potion into their water cooler. The potion is potent; you only need a few drops for it to work."

"Sounds like a solid plan. They'll be thirsty after practicing, and boom, they’re all cute little bunnies,” Travis says, legs unmounting from your desk, and he hops onto his feet.

"So hurry and get me rabbit hair!”

A small, almost manic laugh comes from Connor’s lips, "This is gonna be epic!"

"Should we ask the nymphs for help?" Travis ponders out loud as he makes his way out of the dorm.

"Wait! We should get scissors! Do you have scissors?” Connor asks you, and you giggle. You grab a pair of scissors from your desk drawer, and Connor quickly swipes them from your hands the moment you present them to him.

"Thanks, Y/n!” Swiftly, he turns on his heels, trailing behind Travis.

"Be careful, please! Don't hurt the bunny!"

"We won't! The worse we'll do is give it a bald spot; they’ll be fine!" Travis shouts.

After the slamming of the front door and the ragged footsteps of Connor and Travis’s departure, your smile falters as the silence regresses. The figure you had seen comes to mind, and you frown, Ambrose whining as he sits close to your legs.

"That was weird, wasn't it?" You lean down, affectionately scratching the backs of his ears as Ambrose licks your wrists. The sight of his drooping eyes told you enough to know that this wasn’t the last time you’ll be seeing whatever that was.

"C'mon, let's not worry about that now. We have to make that potion." An uneasy grumble comes from Ambrose's chest as he nuzzles his snout in your hand.

"I know, I know," you whisper before standing up.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

"Shh, they’re coming,” Travis announces in a whisper, silencing you and Connor’s conversation. The distanced chattering and footsteps of the Ares campers become louder as Clarisse pushes open the front door. The three of you duck lower in your place as they scatter to their beds, beginning to take off their armor. Travis slowly rises from his crouching position, peaking enough to see the inside. He gives you and Connor a nod, a silent okay to peek yourselves. Cautiously, you come up, watching the group now crowding around the water dispenser, playfully telling each other to hurry up.

Connor lightly pats your shoulder with excitement, and you scrunch your face, anticipation swirling in your stomach as one by one, they begin taking sips from their water bottles. Your jaw drops as Mark forms a snout, his hands flying up to his face.

"W-what?" He sputters, moving closer to his reflection in the mirror. "What is-"

The rest of his words became soft squeals, his whole body shrinking and shifting into a stark white bunny in the blink of an eye.

“Um? Did that just-?”

“How did-”

“You have bunny ears!” Ellis shouts, pointing at Clarisse while she formed a pair of her own. Clarisse didn’t have time to comment as Ellis joins her half-brother. One by one, they began shrinking, and small shrieks fill the room.

"What are you guys doing?" The three of you practically jump out of your skin, heads snapping in the direction of the voice.

Percy’s eyes are wide and curious, furrowing his eyebrows at the chaos breaking out in the Ares cabin. You open your mouth to say something but stop yourself, not wanting to blow your cover.

“It must have been the water!”

“When I see the Stoll Brother’s I’m going to-” Squeal.

Travis’s face was a tint of pink from holding in his laughter. He doesn’t respond, simply waving at Percy to come and see for himself. You and Percy exchange a smile before turning back to the window.

His chance at seeing the pool of white bunnies went down the drain; the four of you met with an angry Clarisse instead. To your dismay, she didn't completely transform. Her normally brown eyes are now crimson and her mouth transformed into a whiskered snout. White bunny ears peek through her brown hair, making it look like she was wearing one of those bunny ear headbands they sell at the pharmacy around Easter time. You’d be laughing as much as the Stoll Brothers if Clarisse’s stare wasn’t fixed on you and only you. You give her a nervous smile as you step away carefully, and the moment Clarisse moves to jump out the window, the four of you bolted.

“She’s gonna kill us!” You exclaim; Travis and Connor burst into laughter, hands over their stomach as they run beside you.

“Split up! She can’t kill all of us!” Travis suggests, already making a beeline into the forest with Connor.

“Yeah, cause she’s gonna go after me!”

“We’ll weave you a nice shroud!”

“WOW, THANKS!”

The cackles of the two made you roll your eyes, and you make a mental note never to help them with a prank ever again. You grunt as Percy grabs onto your wrist, and you stumble for a second until you catch up to his pace.

“You can’t run from me forever!” Clarisse shouts, running close behind. She was right, you couldn’t avoid her forever, but you just needed her to calm down. "When I catch you, I'm tying your necks like shoelaces!"

You cringe at the threat as you and Percy burst through the swinging doors of the Arts and Craft center, weaving your way through the campers.

“Sorry!” You shout over their groans as you’re pulled into one of the hallways. Seeing the closets along the walls of the hallway gave you an idea. You bite your lip, focusing on the door leading to the outside. Reaching your hand out, you flick your fingers forward, causing the door to burst open fast enough for it to lock in place.

The moment you approach the last door in the hallway, you grab the knob. A grunt leaves Percy’s lips as you drag him in the closet with you. He loses his footing from the change of direction, spinning hastily toward you, and the both of you stagger into the closet. You yelp, the weight of Percy’s body sending your back right against the wall, and the knob comes out of grip right as it slams closed.

Percy grunts, his hands push against the wall beside your frame, promptly lifting himself away from you.“Sor-”

“Shh.” Your index finger rests your lips as you look at the door. Your shoulders tense up, afraid that Clarisse had heard the slam. Soon, Clarrise’s pounding footsteps rise like a crescendo and, to your relief, gradually fades as she runs right out of the building. A shaky sigh leaves your lips before glancing at Percy, who’s directly in front of you. You smile sheepishly, foot moving to step back only to be met with the wall.

Percy’s heart beats loud in his chest, and he was hoping that you couldn’t hear it. He tried to step back as well, but Percy’s foot was met with the shelves behind him to his dismay. He scans your face in the dim lighting for a few seconds. Suddenly, he’s reminded of how he stumbled on top of you, making him too embarrassed to look at you any longer. His focus falters to the shelves beside him, forcing himself to find interest in the tubs of paint stacked on them.

“It’s your fault,” you accuse after some silence. Shock flashes across Percy’s face,

“Huh?”

“Because you were so nosey, you blew our cover.” You reach over, and you poke his shoulder. Percy’s peers down at where you poked him as if he was offended.

“At least I ran with you. Travis and Connor left you for dead!”

“Great friends, they are, huh?” You ask, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

Percy laughs, "I think you've taken the trophy of being the most hated by Clarisse," he jokes.

"I don't think I can one-up you. You literally fought her dad and won," you point out. "I think if we split up, she'd definitely come after me. Imagine the last thing you see when you die is Clarisse looking like… that. "

Percy laughs and you laugh, too, feeling comfortable with making light of the situation now that you were out of harm's way.

"How did that even happen!?”

"I don't know!” You sigh, bummed that Clarisse had managed to be the only person who stayed human. “Maybe she didn’t drink enough water?”

“Wow, the only person you needed to transform into a bunny just didn’t,” Percy says as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the shelves.

“Pretty much.”

“You have amazing luck, Y/n,” he says sarcastically.

“Whatever,” you mumble, eye faltering to the shelves beside you. Percy’s laughter fills the small space, making it hard to prevent the smile from creeping on your lips. The sound of footsteps interrupts you as you open your mouth to say something else and it brings Percy’s laughter to an end. Your shoulders are practically up to your ears as you look into Percy’s wide eyes before he mouths, “we’re dead.” If it is Clarisse, you guys are cornered, and you prepare to shadow travel even if it meant you might pass out, especially if you bring him with you.

You furrow your eyebrows as you hear two familiar voices, and soon the door opens, revealing you both to Beckendorf and Silena. There is a moment of silence, Silena blinking at the both of you, her head tilted slightly to the side as she observes the tension. Beckendorf’s right eyebrow raises, glancing between you and Percy’s face.

"Ehm, is this like a seven-minutes-in-heaven thing?" Your face gets hot, and you exchange a look with Percy, noticing the tips of his ears are bright red.

"No, we were hiding from Clarisse,” he stutters out, gaze snapping to the two, and you nod quickly,

"Because I turned her into a bunny and-"

"She didn't transform all the way-"

"It's okay. Charles and I would sneak around at first, too," Silena interrupts, her lips curled up in a satisfied smile.

"We were just talking!" You and Percy say in unison. The more defensive you got, the more suspicious you both came off. From the way Beckendorf and Silena smiled at each other, you knew they weren’t buying it.

Beckendorf shrugs, and he steps forward, reaching between the two of you to grab the box of beads from the shelf. He hums, “It’s clear we interrupted something. I just needed this. You guys can carry on,” he teases, amused at how embarrassed the both of you are.

“But- we-” you stutter, unable to finish your sentence, Beckendorf shutting the door, and Silena makes a sound between a giggle and a squeal as they walk away.

Percy clears his throat, interrupting the short silence that fell between the two of you, “Um, should we…?” His voice falters, not finishing his sentence, but you already knew what he was going to ask.

“Yeah,” you agree awkwardly, opening the closet. “Let’s go,” you mumble, stepping out with Percy close behind you.

"Where should we go now?" Percy asks, opening the door to the outside for you, and you smile, finding it sweet. You thank him shortly, and you shrug,

"I'm not sure, but I don't think Clarisse has calmed down yet…" you trail off, catching sight of a fuming Clarisse standing beside Chiron a few meters away. “Dammit.”

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

You shift on your feet, standing in Chiron’s office alongside Travis, Connor, and Percy. Clarisse’s crimson eyes are still narrowed at you as Chiron sighs, backing into his wheelchair before his backside disappears, allowing him to sit fully into it.

"I understand you guys are just having fun. However, I believe the Ares Cabin deserves a little break from the pranks, don't you think?" He asks as he looks at Connor and Travis.

You fiddle with your fingers, your shoulders slumped along with Connor and Travis’s shoulders. Travis nods, and he hums as if he considers it for a moment.

“We could prank the Apollo Cabin instead?" Connor suggests, and Chiron opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You press your lips together in an attempt to refrain from smiling, discovering that Percy was doing the same. You became more amused at his face turning a little pink as he holds in his laughter, and you quickly look at your hands to recollect yourself.

“I’d prefer you tone down the pranking altogether,” Chiron clarifies. Connor frowns, and he nods slowly,

“Oh. Yeah, we could do that, I guess,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Chiron nods, shifting his gaze to you,

“Y/n, what did you used to transform them into rabbits?” You hum softly,

“It’s a shape-shifting potion from my spellbook,” you explain.

“How long will it take for them to transform back?” You look up for a second, trying to remember your notes. While recalling the day you went through Ernest’s potions book to jot the recipe in your Book of Shadows, you realize how many forms of the potion there were depending on the transformation length. Ernest had mentioned in passing something about reading his notes carefully. It wasn’t until now did you realize that the potion you had made was not the short-term one.

“About … 24 hours,” you admit, and Connor snorts beside you.

“What!?” Clarisse snaps, her fists clenching on her side. “You mean, they’re going to be like that until tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes, that’s what 24 hours means,” you snap back; her presence was enough to annoy you. Clarisse’s glare burns into your face, and she moves to take a step, about to charge at you.

“Clarisse, please! They will be punished accordingly,” Chiron reassures her, making her halt in her place, and she groans, her arms crossing over her chest as she waits for Chiron’s verdict.

"Well, I was going to assign you four to clean the Pegasus stables, but now that it has come to my attention that the potion lasts 24 hours, your punishment is to feed and clean up after them while they’re under the spell."

“Ew, I’d rather clean the stables,” Connor mutters, and you furrow your eyebrows,

“But wouldn’t the pegasus stables be more work?” You ask, hoping to get him to change your punishment. The last thing you wanted to do was be surrounded by a bunch of angry bunnies. Sure they were small, but you did not doubt in your mind that you were going to be attacked by them.

“They are a big group; I think it is fair that Clarisse gets assistance in taking care of them,” He says calmly, his fingers intertwined as they rest on the desk in front of him. “Feed them before you go off to dinner, accommodate their sleeping arrangements and clean up after them before morning check-ins,” he decides. You sigh softly. At this point, as long as Clarisse wasn’t on the hunt to kill you, you were okay with it.

As Chiron dismisses you, you catch the satisfied smile Clarisse was sporting, and you felt your anger swirling in your chest. You grunt as you turn on your heels, Travis and Connor behind you as Percy walks by your side. You sigh, lazily trotting off the steps of the big house,

“This...”

“Sucks,” Percy finishes your sentence, and you nod, the both of you frowning.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“Stop biting me!” You complain, nudging off the crowd of bunnies from your arm. Percy laughs, seated on the floor beside you as he helps you make a nest of blankets big enough for the bunnies.

“They hate you,” he comments, amused. His smirk falls flat, and he hisses as one of them gets a good bite on his finger. “Ow!” He squints at the bunny before picking it up. It was your turn to laugh, and you watch curiously as he walks to one of the dressers and plopping it on top. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re in time-out,” he grumbles.

“Wait, that’s actually really smart!” You look down at the bunnies around you. “They can’t jump from that high!” As you reach for the closest bunny, they run out of your reach, squealing, and soon they were huddled under a bed.

Percy smiles as they disperse, “well, now they’ll leave us alone,” he says as he sits beside you to continue piling the extra blankets you found. “You should have let me play that rock-paper-scissors game with them,” Percy mentions.

The two of you were stuck making a makeshift bed for the Ares campers since Travis and Connor had to round up their cabin for curfew. Well, one of them could have done it, but they insisted that it was a two-person job. You said it was unfair if they skipped out and they offered to settle who will go with an intense rock-paper-scissors game; best of three. You had accepted the challenge and lost miserably.

"I should have known there was no point in trying with their luck."

"Yeah, you walked right into that."

You side-eye him, "anyways, you would have lost.”

“How are you so sure?”

"Because, you just would have," you say shortly, and you smile as he turns to you.

“Well, considering how lucky you've been all day," he says sarcastically, and you squint at him. "I would have had a better chance,” he gloats.

“You’ve been real sassy today,” you mumble, and he laughs. “It’s fine. There’s not that much to do anyway.” Carefully, you roll the sides of the blankets into a nest shape after Percy finishes piling them. You rise on your feet, “It’d sleep there if I were a bunny. What do you think?”

“I would too. It seems comfortable,” Percy smiles as he stands up.

"Are you losers done?" Clarisse walks into the cabin with bowls of water for her siblings, and you roll your eyes as she puts them on the ground.

"Yeah, is it to their liking?" You ask with fake politeness, straining a smile. Clarisse observes the bundle of blankets as her siblings get in to try it out. She furrows her eyebrows, listening attentively to the various squeals. She had inherited most of the bunny traits, and though she didn’t transform completely, she could understand what they were saying.

“Eh, it’s good enough,” she concludes after hearing all the complaints of her siblings. “I’m sick of seeing your faces; get out.” She didn’t have to tell you twice, and you don’t waste any time as you turn on your heels. You were sick of seeing her face too.

Walking down the steps of the Ares Cabin, Percy follows beside you. A slight hum comes from his lips, and you look over,

“I was wondering when you’d come back to sword fighting,” he mentions, and you nod, recalling that you had agreed to attend classes after sparing with him a couple of weeks ago. “Your brother has been coming more often; he’s gotten a lot better.”

“That’s why my body has been aching so much,” you mutter more to yourself. For the past week, you thought you were staining your body in your sleep.

“Huh?”

“Long story,” you wave your hand, and you think about his question.

If you were completely honest, you weren’t as depressed about what had happened anymore. After you talked with Percy, you had finally come to terms with many of the thoughts that were tormenting you. However, you still stayed locked up in the Hermes Cabin because in the past week or so, you’ve gotten so much studying done. You wanted to stay in and read, and you were planning on milking your excused absences for as long as you could. But now, you considered that maybe you should return to your normal activities. Connor and Travis were becoming more worried, so were Atticus and Lou Ellen.

“I could join tomorrow,” you say hesitantly, your heart fluttering as Percy’s face brightens up. “Are you that excited to beat me up?” You joke, and Percy laughs, shaking his head.

“No! It’s just… it’s weird not seeing you around.” He admits shyly as he looks away. The cool summer breeze blows on your warm cheeks, and you swallow,

“I’ll go tomorrow,” you confirm, sounding more sure of yourself this time. Once you approach the steps of the Hermes cabin, you turn to him. “Good night, Perce.”

The sides of Percy’s eyes crinkle as he nods, “Good night,” he says as he slowly backs away. “And try to wake up on time, yeah? I’m not feeding the Ares cabin alone tomorrow,” he teases. You did have a habit of being the last person to arrive at breakfast. He must have noticed.

“Yeah, yeah. Worry about yourself, waterboy.” You smile, hearing him scoff. Opening the door to the Hermes cabin, you look back at him one more time. You take in the wide grin on his face, and he nods,

“Got it. I’ll remember that when you’re being chased by Clarisse again.” Your mouth drops open, eyes glinting at his banter.

“You better go before the harpies eat you!” You shoo him away as he laughs, then with a short salute of his two fingers, he walks off to his cabin.

masterlist taglist: @xxyrr @nct127bee @mochabreezeee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @-thatgirloverthere- @sanovr @passionswift @nanskidoodle @Slytherclaw-kitten @zhethugisa

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Only Have Eyes For You

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Connor Rhodes x Reader,

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 3,162

Request:  Hi there, can I get an imagine for reader x Connor Rhodes. Lightly based upon 01x03 Fallback where Connor treats on one of his father's employees and his father tried to take him off the case. So like the reader and Connor are married (got married during their residency) and the father flirts with reader who also works at med not knowing that's his son's wife as he didn't think someone like Connor could snag a girl like the reader. The ending is up to you. Thank you x

“Maybe you should talk to him,” you suggested, putting your hand on your husband, Connor’s, shoulder as he stared distantly into his locker, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“I don’t want to talk to him Y/N, I’ve barely spoken to him in years,” Connor sighed, slamming his locker closed and turning to face you. He hadn’t expect to see his dad today, heading into Med behind an ambulance basically demanding to speak to Miss Goodwin and his son at once. Connor had been in surgery at the start of shift so he hadn’t actually come face to face with the man yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Well now might be your chance, he is in the ED afterall,” you reminded him and he rubbed his face with his hands. It had been a long surgery, starting off the last shift of a very long week, and you knew the last thing your husband wanted was to talk to his father, but maybe he needed to.

“He’s downstairs because one of his employees got hurt on the job and he’s trying to do damage control before a lawsuit is filed, he isn’t here to see me,” Connor all but snapped, his face softening when he realised and squeezing your hand apologetically. There had been some kind of mishap at one of his stores from what you could gather, and one of Cornelius’ workers had found himself practically crushed under a bit of the structure that wasn’t as up to code as it should be.

“I get that, really Connor I do, I’m just saying that while he’s here, maybe you should talk to him, even if it’s just to say your piece,” you tried, knowing that Connor still had a lot of baggage surrounding his father, baggage that had been putting a bit of a strain on your marriage, or more specifically, any discussion of having children. Getting things off of his chest might be the only way for him to move forward, you reasoned.

“I have nothing to say to him, Y/N, he’s the parent, not me, it shouldn’t be on me to be the bigger person,” Connor replied, and he was right, but damn if the Rhodes men weren’t the most stubborn men you’d ever met.

“But you are the bigger person, the better person-” you began, knowing that Connor was ten times the man his father was, and maybe it was about time Cornelius Rhodes saw that for himself, but you were starting to realise that you were crossing a line as Connor interrupted you.

“Y/N, the last time I tried to reach out to my father he decided he’d rather go on a business trip than attend his own son’s wedding,” he said, the bitter undertones very clear as you remembered how crushed he’d been. No matter how bad their relationship was, and even if he wouldn’t admit it, you knew Connor still loved his father, and for him to not show up to his own wedding had broken his heart. “Baby he’s never even met you, and that’s that on him, he’s made his priorities perfecrly clear.” he continued, cupping your face in his hands.

“Okay, okay,” you nodded, realising you weren’t getting anywhere with this conversation, “do you want me to drop it?” It was what you always asked each other when it seemed like you were going to have an argument, or whether you weren’t sure if you’d crossed a line in a conversation, you tried to respect each others boundaries as much as possible. 

“Please, I know you’re trying to help but my relationship with my father is basically unsalvageable, and I’m moving forward,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, he was trying hard to make you believe him but you both knew you really didn’t, this wasn’t the kind of thing you just moved forward from.

“If you’re sure, he won’t be around forever,” you gave it one last try before letting it go for now, telling yourself you’d broach the subject again at a later date.

“I know, and I am,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before pulling away and grabbing his stethescope off of the table next to you, “thank you, though,” he added.

“For what?” You asked finally closing your own locker.

“For being so very you,” he smiled, a genuine smile this time as he looked back to you, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, kissing his again as your phone vibrated in your pocket. Stepping back you fished it out, seeing a text from Will. “Oh that’s me, Will wants me in three to help with Mr Harris,” you explained to Connor as you both headed out the door towards the ED.

“My father’s guy?” Connor realised, opening the door for you and letting you out first as you checked over the message; apparently Cornelius was demanding a second opinion, clearly not satisfied by Will’s, but you decided not to tell Connor that right now.

“Yeah that’s the one,” you nodded, slipping the phone back into your pocket before he could see the rest of the text as you noticed Maggie signalling for you to hurry it along, that couldn’t be good.

“Good luck, you’re gonna need it,” Connor noted Maggie’s impatient gestures as you picked up the pace.

“You’re all the luck I need,” you joked, winking at him as you parted ways, Dr Latham needed him upstairs in 5 for a consult, a fact which he was more than happy with since he was supposed to be working the ED all day.

“Ooh cheesy, go on get out of here,” Connor laughed as you waved your goodbyes, heading to three. 

Maggie met you half way and handed you Mr Harris’ chart, looking irritated.

“Everything okay?” You asked, noting the angry voices you could now hear coming from the room to your right, the curtains not providing much in the way of sound proofing, not that you thought Cornelius cared much.

“How Connor turned out the way he did with a father like that is beyond me,” Maggie told you quietly as you quickly flipped through the chart, “he’s been demanding this, that and the other since he got here, and now he thinks Dr Halstead’s not telling Mr Harris all his option because he just wants to ‘extort him for more money’,” she mimicked in a hushed tone as you rolled you eyes, it’s not like he couldn’t afford it anyway, you thought, but there was something about having more money that made some people think they were so damn entitled...

Putting on your best cordial smile you pulled back the curtain and entered, the men stopping in their heated conversation as you did, frozen on some discussion about cost. Will did his best to hide his relieved look when he saw you and Cornelius grumbled in frustration, completely unaware he was standing face to face with his daughter-in-law for the first time.

“Everything okay in here?” You asked, looking between the two men on their feet and the tired, slightly embarrassed, looking man in the hospital bed. 

“Terrific sweetheart,” Cornelius retorted sarcastically and you internally rolled your eyes. Externally, you kept your features schooled and looked to the patient in the bed.

“Hi Mr Harris, my name is Doctor Y/L/N,” you told him, having kept your last name when you’d married Connor, a fact you were pretty glad about right now. You offered your hand and he shook it gratefully.

“Pleasure,” he said as you stepped back, facing Cornelius Rhodes as he rubbed his temple before looking to you, taking you in for the first time as he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

“Cornelius Rhodes, it’s lovely to meet you,” he offered his hand and you shook it, the way he was looking at you making your skin crawl a little as he finally let go. “I was just discussing with your collegue over here the best treatment for my man here, and we seem to be having a disagreement,” the way his demeanor had changed in your presence was alarming, and Will was clearly taken aback by it too, he’d gone from demanding to charming in the blink of an eye.

“I see, well from reading Mr Harris’ chart it’s clear that there are only two option available, the impact seems to have done some internal damage that, while it might heal on its own over time, will most likely require surgery,” you explained in your perfected doctor voice as Will threw you a grateful glance. Cornelius clenched his jaw as he tried to maintain his own facade, pretending to mull over your words even though you knew Will would have said basically the same thing, and that Cornelius had already made up his mind. 

“Surgery really is the best option Mr Harris,” Will told the patient, but instead of replying he looked back to Cornelius, the man who would be paying for either option no doubt. The surgery would be expensive, you knew that, and it grated you to know that the fate of this man’s life possibly rested on the greed of Cornelius Rhodes. Could Connor talk some sense into him? You mused to yourself as he began to answer.

“I understand your concern,” he said finally, addressing you alone, a far cry from the accusations of greed he’d thrown at Will before you arrived, “but that kind of surgery is not only expensive, but the recovery time would put him out of work, and he wouldn’t want that.” You hid your grimace as Mr Harris nodded, clearly feeling like he had to agree.

“I have deadlines coming up,” he spoke up as Cornelius gestured to him as if to say, see, there you have it, settled, as you did your best to maintain your friendly face. 

“I understand where you’re coming from Mr Rhodes,” you lied, regreting ever trying to get Connor to patch things up with this vile, self-serving man. He didn’t deserve Connor for a son. “But if we leave it and it gets worse, the surgery will be much more invasive and expensive further down the line, not to mention the high risk and potential complications,” Mr Harris paled a little, but still waited for Cornelius to answer. 

Seriously? He could sue this man and yet he was still scared of him, the man probably had no means of paying for the court bills that would require anyway, he needed Cornelius’ paychecks to keep a roof over his head. And he was making decisions about his life like he was a god damn asset and not a person.

“Well, that would be unfortunate,” Cornelius pondered and Will looked like he was close to losing it. It was no secret he prioritised his patients over all else, even their own wishes sometimes, and it was also no secret he’d never liked Cornelius Rhodes. 

“Mr Rhodes-” Mr Harris voiced up but he was shushed, the other man still thinking. You didn’t know whether you or Will were closer to punching the man, Mr Harris clearly wanting to have the surgery now in fear of more severe future complications. If Cornelius wasn’t such an arrogant-

“Alright, if you thinking it will save money in the future- and more important of course Joseph’s well-being, then I suppose we could do the surgery,” he decided and Mr Harris sighed in relief. Cornelius smiled smugly, like he’d done something so generous, it made you sick to your stomach. 

You consciously twisted the wedding ring on your finger as Will fetched the paperwork and soon Mr Harris was being wheeled off to wait for his surgery in a room upstairs, clearing the bay in the ED for the next patient. Will was more than happy to take the next person through the doors as you finalised the paperwork with Maggie, scheduling in his surgery in the system. 

Connor texted you then as Cornelius was practically stalking towards you at the desks. He was letting you know that he was finished with Dr Latham and had thought about what you’d said, and maybe it was a good idea to talk to his father before he left. He’d be coming down any minute, but before you could reply Cornelius had reached you at the desks, a predatory look in his eyes that set off your fight or flight response. 

“Dr Y/LN,” he grinned and you returned a polite and professional smile as he invaded your personal space, looking you up and down in a way that was so not okay, even if you weren’t his son’s wife. “Thank you for your help in there, your input was very... refreshing.”

“Of course, I was just doing my job, I’m glad Mr Harris is able to get the treatment he needs,” you replied tightly, realising that this conversation was far from over as he continued talking.

“It was the least I could you,” he said,  seeming to take your statement as some kind of thanks or compliment to his ‘generosity’. “Say, how about you and me grab a coffee in the cafeteria so you can explain more about how this procedure works, on me of course. If you’re busy now, maybe after you finish work?” As he finished talking he inched closer to you, eyeing you suggestively. 

Was he making a pass at you? Was this actually happening right now? You blinked in shock and it took you a second for your brain to process what was happening before you could answer him.

“Mr Rhodes, I’m flattered” you began and he grinned, like he already had it figured out that you were going to say yes even though you were far from actually flattered, “and while I would be happy to discuss your employee’s treatment with you in a professional manner, I’m... I’m married,” you explained, flashing your ring at him, the ring that his son had put on your finger.

“Well I don’t see him around anywhere,” Cornelius winked at you and you took an instinctive step back, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, probably the latter if you were honest. “He’d never know.”

“Oh I’m certain he would,” a voice said from behind you and you turned to see Connor heading towards you both, anger clear on his face as he looked from you to his father. 

“And why’s that?” Cornelius asked defiantly, practically looking down his nose at his son, clearly not getting the hint from what he had said about who your husband was.

“Because I am her husband,” Connor said definitely, standing next to your side as you relaxed, feeling instantly better in his presence. Cornelius balked a little, he really had had no idea who you were this entire time.  It took him a second to regain his composure but when he did, instead of opting for the apology you’d expect from any normal person, he did the exact opposite, actually defending his slimy actions.

“How was I supposed to know that?” He huffed like he wasn’t invited to your wedding, when he’d made the decision to not come of his own accord. Connor put a protective hand on the small of your back, aware you were drawing a bit of attention as April had paused her typing on the computer.

“Well, dad, maybe if you’d come to our wedding, or our anniversary, or any of my birthdays, you would have known that Y/N’s been my wife for the past three and a half years,” Connor’s voice wasn’t raised but you could tell he was getting more and more aggitated by this encounter. He wouldn’t have liked anyone making a move on his wife, let alone his own father.

Cornelius had the nerve to chuckle at that, “honestly I’m just surprised a boy like you could wrangle a woman like this,” he said as you clenched your jaw, so many parts of that sentence rubbing you the wrong was. You could tell Connor felt the same, his stance very defensive as you replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?” You demanded before Connor could speak, Cornelius’ eyes snapping to you like he’d forgotten you were an actual person and not just an object to fight over. “What about me and Connor is so surprising to you?”

“Honestly, you could do better.” he said matter-of-factly and you rolled your eyes, any appearance of a professional facade gone as you faced your father-in-law.

Now it was Connor’s turn to laugh, but it was a dry laugh as he said: “and what, you think your ‘better’?” Cornelius shrugged, the look on his face telling you that that was in fact what he meant. Connor shook his head in disbelief, the first time he was seeing his father in a long time and all of his reservations and fears were being entirely justified as he stood before the two of you.

It was time to end this, you decided, folding your arms and squaring up to Cornelius. “Better? The man who’d rather save money than a man’s life, who thinks it’s appropriate to not only hit on a woman while she’s at work, but to blatantly tell her to... cheat on her husband when she tries to politely tell you she’s not interested. Connor’s a good man, a much much better man than you, inspite of the fact that your raised him, and he doesn’t owe you another second of his time, neither of us do.” You took a breath as both Rhodes men blinked at you in shock. “Now, Mr Rhodes if you’ll excuse us we actually have jobs to be doing, I’d be happy to have somebody escort you to where you can wait,” you finished, seeing April grin out the corner of you eye as Cornelius got a little flustered, clearly not used to anyone, especially women you reckoned, putting him in his place. 

“I’m had enough of trying to reach out to you, I felt like I still had something to prove to you, like it was on me to mend what was broken between us. But you’re not worth it dad, you’re just not worth it. We’re done here, stay away from me, and definitely stay away from my wife,” Connor told his father, gesturing with his head for security to come show him to the waiting room. 

“Oh this is far from over,” Cornelius raised his voice, pointing his finger at his son as security reached you. But Connor didn’t waiver, clear for the first time as he just looked at his father, shaking his head before turning to walk away. Everything that needed to be said had been said, and he was finally ready to walk away from his father, quite literally in this case as you went to follow your husband.

This wound would never go away entirely, but now, maybe, you really could move forward. 

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

promise [connor m. x reader] pt.2

because i think this is a fitting end to this story. actual notes at the very end of this post, after the fic.

warnings: general swearing. this is a part 2 to a fic on @pacman-tattoo though.

12:23 AM   connie: you still awake? 

12:26 AM   connie: babe.

12:35 AM   connie: i’ll be home soon, ok?

12:36 AM   connie: traffic is weirdly fucking awful rn and i wish you were here

12:37 AM   [y/n]: sorry, i’m here. i was almost asleep.

12:38 AM   connie: sorry

12:39 AM   [y/n]: make it up to me <3

12:39 AM   connie: i will

With a quiet hum, you left your phone back on the nightstand where it had been charging up until the vibrations against wood had pulled you out of your state of near-slumber. Connor rarely worked late, but sometimes he was roped into cleaning more than just the bar itself. It was temporary, he told you over and over. Eventually, he’d get his stupid book of stupid poetry (his words, never yours) and maybe he could go from there. Write more books, make things work, and one day he’d be staying at home and writing poetry while you continued to be the breadwinner once you were out of school for good (your words, occasionally his). Sure, working in an office when you weren’t swamped with classes and making pretty okay money in the meantime hadn’t been your plan originally, but... things happen. Life changed. Connor was a constant for you, though. True to the promise he made to you almost six years ago at eighteen, he never disappeared again. Not the way that he had used to. Sure, there were fights, and he would leave you alone in the living room while he shut himself up in the bedroom and dealt with the flow of emotions that rammed through him, but things worked out. On the worst nights, he’d come back out to find you asleep on the couch, and he’d end up waking you up and the two of you would fix things. He opened up to you, slowly and surely, and things worked. It was hard, certainly, but... the two of you made it work. 

And now you were lying in bed in the little apartment that you shared, waiting for him to come home from bartending (Connor Murphy, working in customer service? You never could fully believe it, but he managed) and to climb into bed next to you, and maybe the two of you would talk until you fell asleep. 

The sound of jingling keys from the living room caught your attention almost half an hour later, followed by the slamming of a door, and then heavy footsteps. Before you could call out to him, Connor came in through the door, fighting his way out of his shoes, his jacket, his jeans, and soon enough he threw himself directly into the space next to you. For a moment, he was hardened by whatever bullshit he’d faced during the day, but one look at you was enough to soften his gaze.

You sat up, reaching out to brush his hair from his face. “Long day?”

“The fucking worst.”

Despite the aggravation in his voice, you chuckled. “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, hopping back up. “It’s stupid shit,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” But he paused before he could move away, dipping forward to press a kiss against your lips. “It’s fine,” he said again. “I promise.”

As he walked away, you merely watched as he began to strip out of his clothing before changing into a faded band t-shirt that often was used by one of you as a sleeping shirt. You admired him for a moment. Six years ago, he was... thinner. Bonier. Ever since things had shifted between the two of you, he’d put on a bit of weight (enough to become less of a bean-pole and more... okay) and he generally seemed brighter, if you were honest. Maybe that was what getting out the Murphy house did for him. He’d cut his hair, although it still stayed long enough to hang in his face if he wasn’t careful. As much as you missed the long locks, you were happy. He’d begun taking care of himself. He had his off days, and you knew that, but he seemed to genuinely be trying for you, and he was trying for himself, too. 

“You like the show?”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Maybe I do,” you reached toward him, doing grabby hands. “C’mere,” you whined quietly. “I wanna cuddle.”

He scoffed at the notion, but climbed into bed next to you a moment later nonetheless. Instead of folded into your arms, he pulled you closer, wrapping himself securely around you, cocooning you in his warmth. The faint smell of his cologne still stuck to him, and you happily buried your face in his neck before pressing a soft kiss against his skin.

“Sometimes,” his voice vibrated in his chest, and although you went to move, he kept his hold on you. So you relaxed into him, and he continued, “I think about when we got together.”

“Mmhm?”

“I was dealing with a lot,” he said, lowering his voice. “Fuck, you know how many problems I had, and...” He paused for a moment, nuzzling his face into your hair just for a second. “And I’m glad I got help.” He corrected himself barely a second later, “I’m getting help.” When you didn’t respond, he continued on, “I’m glad it’s working.” 

“I am, too,” you admitted against his skin, and he hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He ran a hand up and down your back, and the motion soothed you slightly. “I was scared I was depending on you entirely,” he shut his eyes. “I thought that if you weren’t here, I couldn’t be happy. But... I got better,” he said. “I’m better. I have... friends,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I’m writing. I’m not fucking paranoid all the time. But...” He drew away from you, hands reaching up to cup your face, smushing your face slightly. “I do have you. I’m glad you stayed.”

“Someone’s sappy tonight,” you pulled a hand away. “I’m glad you stayed, too.” 

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you,” he said, and the air grew tense for a moment. He... wasn’t being sappy, he was being honest. “But, I think... I think now I’ve learned that even with my bullshit, I... I think I deserve good things, sometimes.”

“You do,” you reached up to trail a thumb along the apple of his cheek. “Just because you fucked up and got angry at people and dealt with a lot doesn’t mean you’re not worth loving.”

He chuckled, and he said your name gently. “No wonder you’re trying to become a therapist.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his own for a moment. “I wanna help people,” you said. “I wanna help teenagers like you who needed it. I didn’t give up on you then, and I don’t want to give up on my future patients.”

“Even if you’re not what they need?”

“Especially if I’m not what they need,” you said. “I’ll find them someone else. Just because I can’t help them wouldn’t mean that I can’t help them find someone who can.”

There was softness in his eyes as he kissed you gently. No more scent of cigarettes and the taste of smoke (he’d given that up long ago, just so he could have longer with you), but he still held the same warmth he did the first time you kissed. “I love you.”

So you settled into his arms after giving him one last kiss. “I love you, too, Connor.”

-

So... I’d like to take a moment to talk, since, uh, it feels right to. 

I started writing musical reader inserts back in 2017, shortly after my 17th birthday, and the first one I wrote was a Connor Murphy fic titled “Promise.” Which... is why I feel that this is a fitting ending for my writing. I don’t remember the last fic I wrote for this blog, but I never felt completely satisfied in saying “I’m done writing reader fics for musicals” since... nothing felt like an ending. 

Of course, I’ll still sorta be lingering around this blog if anyone wants to DM me or send in an ask, but I’m not gonna write anymore. I sorta stopped once I got to college since I didn’t exactly have the time to do it as often anymore (and I sorta lost interest in writing for musicals, actually, since I do write elsewhere sometimes), but... that’s beside the point.

A... lot has happened since I posted that first fic. I dated someone for the first time, ended things with them, and then I fucked up majorly with some things that happened afterward. I’m still atoning for it, and maybe I never will fully do so, but it’s one of my deepest regrets. Of course, I’ve... learned I’m not the only person at fault in the situation (more like I was manipulated, but I’m not going to deny my own part there), but I think coming to the realization that I wasn’t alone there... helped. I lost a few friends, and I kept everyone else for the most part. For a really, really long time, I always wondered why. I had fucked up so majorly, I couldn’t comprehend why my friends stayed with me.

And... It’s because we love each other. I fucked up, sure, but... they knew who I was as a person. These people didn’t abandon me because they saw me for who I am. I explained what happened, I showed anger and frustration and melancholy for everything that I (and the other person at fault) had done, and... they weren’t going to cast me out in my hour of need. I had made the group chat we all met in, and I tried to take an interest in everyone as best as I could. I became a different person when I was with my ex, and... and I never want to be that person ever again. I was petty, and spiteful, and when I look at who I became, I realize that I’d been changed for the worst. I like to think I’ve gotten better, and maybe that’s because of the stupid fucking trauma making me realize my place. 

But... I love my friends. I love them so, so much. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for them. It’s been a pretty wild ride, and I’ve written so much for these fandoms (although admittedly not in recent years) but... I’m proud of what I have done. I love writing so, so much, and it’s always going to be a part of who I am, no matter what route I end up taking. While I can look back on some of my writing and laugh because it’s cringe-y and clumsy and I’ve definitely improved, it’s still something I did. 

Even if this post doesn’t get a single note, I’m... still proud of what I’ve done and how far I’ve come, and I thank anyone reading this for coming with me on this journey. Please, take care of yourselves. Be kind. It’s okay to have bad days: even flowers need a little rain to grow. 

But most importantly: love yourself and love the people that want you to be better. 

Thanks, gamers. Feel free to hit me up anytime.

~ Minerva “Minni” @mango-juiiice

[ragingbookdragon]

Traditions Are Best Kept With Irish Whiskey

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,160 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Day 22 of the Christmas Fics! Enjoy! -Thorne

         It’d been a long time since she’d been in New York, let alone the taverns in the city. The bar was still as dingy as she remembered, but when the bartender looked up at her, all she could think about was how great a time she once had, a brief reminder of a childhood she hadn’t felt in such a long time. The faces of her oldest friends crossed her mind, and she couldn’t help but think on how much trouble they got into as young ones. With the winter season and Christmas around, she decided to visit them and relive the past, for a good time’s sake.

***

           “As I live and breathe!” the man shouted, a grin stretching across his face. “(Y/N) (L/N), in the flesh!”

           She chuckled and walked over, heartily shaking his outstretched hand across the bar. “Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking, Francis. How’s the family?”

           The Irishman scoffed and set two shot glasses in front of them. “Traditions before greetings, lass.”

           (Y/N) watched him pour the amber liquid into the glass then slide it towards her. She picked it up and clinked hers with his before tapping the table a single time. Throwing her head back, the whiskey went down her throat with a  burn and when she came back up, she scowled and shivered.

           Francis laughed. “I take it you haven’t had any whiskey in some time?”

           She nodded. “It’s been a while.” Her eyes met his. “How’ve you been, old friend?”

           He let out a sigh as he poured another round for a patron. “Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.” The beer pitcher set down and he said, “Lisa Ann passed away last season.”

           (Y/N) frowned, fingertips caressing the cool glass as she lamented, “I didn’t know, Francis. I’m sorry.”

           The bartender shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” He busied himself with wiping down a glass. “Spoke about you a lot before she did.”

           Cocking a brow, she remarked, “Really? That’s surprising because she’s hated me for the last ten years.”

           Francis snorted. “Because you nailed her knickers to the church board?”

           (Y/N) tipped her head and quipped, “That would probably be the reason.”

           He chuckled and poured another round for them. “I think she was still mad about that, but she did talk about you. Wanted to bury the hatchet and make good on your friendship.”

           She hummed and stared at the second shot. “Eh, our friendship was always there.” (Y/N) looked at him. “How’s Phillip?”

           Francis nodded with a satisfied expression. “Serving under General Washington with the Patriots.”

           “Should the worst come to pass,” raising the shot, she declared, “May he get to the gates of Heaven an hour before the Devil knows he’s dead.” They toasted and downed their drinks.

           “Aye, I’ll toast to that one, lass.” Francis glanced around the bar with a look of nostalgia. “I wish the three of you could’ve been in here one last time.” A smile came across his lips. “Skinned knees and a missing teeth,” he sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to see you all young once more.”

           (Y/N) chuckled. “I remember beating up Phillip more than once when I was young. Glad to know he’s finally grown a backbone.”

           Francis laughed heartily and gazed at her. “The last time I spoke with him, he did talk about your childhoods.”

           “Hmm?”

           “Aye.” He set the whiskey bottle down. “Mentioned that if he survived, he was going to ask for your hand.”

           (Y/N) choked on her spit and pounded her chest as she coughed. “W—what?” she gasped.

           “Can’t be that shocking, lass. The two of you were conjoined at the hip when you were kids.” He regarded her with a sharp look. “I was sure you knew his feelings towards you.”

           She rubbed the back of her neck and took a deep breath, admitting, “I’m flattered, but—”

           “But you’ve already got a feller?” he offered, and she nodded.

           “I do,” (Y/N) confirmed, then giggled. “And I don’t think he’d be willing to let me go without a fight.”

           “Phillip couldn’t take him?”

           She cackled. “Oh, Ratonhnhaké:ton would crack him like a sugarcane.”

           Francis arched a brow. “Funny name there.”

           “He’s part of the Mohawk tribe. Goes by Connor when he’s around colonials though,” she explained, motioning for another shot. “We met two years ago when I was in Boston.” As the liquor flowed, she said, “Been together ever since.”

           The older Irishman went quiet, seeming to mull over her words, then he murmured, “Does he treat you with respect?”

           Before she could respond, the door opened and when they turned their attention to them, she blurted, “Ratonhnhaké:ton?”

           The Native-Assassin smiled and walked over. “(Y/N). I have been looking for you for some time now.” He set a small package on the bar. “I have a delivery from one of General Washington’s soldiers. A man by the name of—”

           “Phillip O’Fahy?” she guessed and smiled when Connor’s face pinched with confusion.

           “Yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

           (Y/N) gestured to the man behind the ar. “This is Phillip’s father, Francis. I grew up with his children.”

           Connor held out his hand for the man, shaking firmly. “I am pleased to meet you, Mister Francis. My name is Connor.”

           Francis nodded and pulled his hand away. “This is your feller, (Y/N)?”

           She ignored her cheeks warming and coughed to hide her embarrassment. “Uh…yes…this is him.” Eyeing him, she tipped her head to the barstool beside her.

           Connor sat down, staring at the other glass that the Irishman was filling in front of him. “What…is that?” he questioned, leaning forward to sniff at the alcohol; his features scrunched up and he pulled away.

           “Whiskey, boy. Irish Whiskey.” Before Connor could politely refuse, he added, “Any man who is going to stand beside this young lady,” he nodded at (Y/N). “Has to have a drink with me first.”

           (Y/N) took the shot in her hand, motioning for him to do the same. They raised their glasses and she said, “To the friends we have made, to the ones we have lost, to the loves we have shared, to the hearts we have crossed. May your drinks never run dry and your soul never shatter, for those we love most are always the ones who matter.”

           She and Francis tapped their shot to the wooden bar and sucked them down, Connor following, and she let out a laugh when he coughed harshly from the taste.

           “Whiskey not your thing, big-guy?”

           He shook his head and breathed, “Strong.”

           (Y/N) smiled at him, then looked at Francis. “I hate to have to leave so soon, but he and I should get back to the Homestead before Christmas.”

           The Irishman nodded and watched them pack up, and when they reached the door, he called, “Come back again, (Y/N).”

           She spun and grinned at him. “I’d never turn back on a tradition.”

[mariinara]

REDAMANCY. (Sam Drake x Reader) PROLOGUE.

A/N: Oh, sweet mother Theresa.. I've been holding this secret for so long. The idea came to me when @the-winchesterboys pitched it as just a fluff request, but I decided to make a whole series out of it. So, I can proudly say that this is a sort of collaboration that gave birth to my first Sam Drake fic. ♡

Tags: @the-drakeboys , @the-winchesterboys , @missdictatorme , @samdrakeftw , @hrgnm , @purplezebra68 , @s4mdrake , @unchartedterritoria

Summary: You're a retired treasure-hunter who had brief history with Sam before the events of Panama, after which you were heartbroken, but met your current fiance, Connor Walsh. You get an unexpected call from a certain someone, asking you to embark on one last adventure together through London and Morocco to uncover a childhood mystery, during which you confront each other, reflect on your past, and rekindle the relationship that might cost you your pretend peaceful life.

Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama/Comedy

Rating: 18+

(PROLOGUE, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

  Location: United States, Boston suburbs.

                       __________________

Your paint roller glided smoothly across the wall of your new study room, the wetness glistening with the bright ray of sunlight from your open window. You found yourself smiling in comfort whilst covering the white, dusty pasty color with a refreshing coat of the faintest shade of beige: a color that beautifully complimented the oak-wood theme of your furniture. It was also a color that represented conservativeness, neutrality, and serenity-- The very same traits that you’ve decided to embrace as a new years’ resolution. You knew it was going to be by no means an easy task. 

If you would’ve displayed any of those traits in the profession you’d left behind, you would’ve been dead. 

You’ve always been an excessive, adventurous, fiery, driven human being. It ran in your veins-- this treasure-hunting hogwash. Whether your expeditions proved fruitful or not, you grew obsessed with that adrenaline surge that rushed through you. That little thrill that came with uncovering world secrets or stumbling upon a marvelous find. The extreme enjoyment you got out of surviving a situation that so clearly was against your odds. The way goosebumps riddled your sweaty skin as you leaped from one cliff to the other. Holding onto a rope for dear life as you swung across. You got off on those sort of reckless heroics, but ever since you met him and you’d clicked immediately, his docile nature immediately rubbed off on you. 

There you were, painting your study while reminiscing about your time in Shambhala, where you and your fiance-- Connor -- met. He was a journalist who came along with Elena and her cameraman Jeff and, from what the relationship between him and Elena suggested, they were both co-workers and rivals. He’d gotten there to uncover Lazarevic’s malicious plot first and was doing okay until Elena and Jeff showed up. Though the bickering between them was childish, Connor was an extremely calm, collected, and understanding human being when it counted. Besides that, he was smart, clever, focused, practical, and he was handsome in a very nerdy way. 

He looked like your typical, struggling journalist. He was tall, pasty skin and rosy cheeks. Sort of broad and built. Always had a shirt on that was slightly crinkled at the hem, since he’d get sick of having it tucked into his pants and would yank it out. A habit you grew to smile at and shake your head. His bright green, curious eyes were framed with a pair of glasses that only a semi-visually impaired person would wear. The lenses were so thick that they formed sort of a weight on the bridge of his nose that would eventually leave red marks where they sat. 

He was nowhere near your type of man. As far as Nathan - the man whom you took care of for a long time before he stumbled upon Elena - knew, your type happened to be that sort of man with an infuriatingly charming air about him. Tall, broad, had tattoos that held meaning to him only. Thick Boston accent and a shit-eating grin that made you roll your eyes but smile, nonetheless. The kind of man that made you weak in the knees with just a wink or a suggestive eyebrow raise. 

A heartbreaker, who ripped away every shred of happiness when he left you almost sixteen years ago to wallow in self-doubt and pure despair. The type of man who both gave meaning to your life at one point, but ended up completely ruining you at another. And by the time he’d made a surprising appearance in your lives, you were a changed woman who had a loving boyfriend who made you forget about all of your past troubles. Your heart aches and most of all, Samuel Drake.

It was a little over a year ago since the last time you'd seen him and though Connor had no idea about your past, Sam had a pretty good picture about your relationship with Connor. Boyfriend of almost six years, about to be engaged to you. The works. 

Sam felt like a complete stranger to you and you were no longer the woman he'd fallen in love with. Or at least you thought so. 

He was so foreign to you, even though he was the exact same person. But you were simply not. Back at Libertalia, you couldn't even bear to talk to him for more than a minute and you didn't know why. It was like talking to a phantom. A figment of your imagination. Looking at him reminded you of all the days you couldn't breathe when his memorial day rolled in every year. It reminded you how broken and dysfunctional you were for the first five years of him not holding you or saying something clever to make you laugh in utter embarrassment. It made you remember how cold you were when you slept on the bed you once shared with him, with his side of the bed empty and untouched for years on end. The years and years of therapy and PTSD. 

Looking at him reminded you of everything that you worked so hard to forget and while you knew that it wasn't fair for him, it was just as unfair to you. 

You finally had your life together and you didn't want anything or anyone standing in the way.

Not even him. 

The fact that you'd parted ways on a bad note as well the last time you'd seen each other didn't at all help. 

Libertalia was an adventure you thoroughly enjoyed and loved deeply. You even had some souvenirs and trinkets from there. But the reason you went there altogether was because you didn't want Sam to die again. To leave you and Nathan. The incentive was purely dutiful since you grew up with both of them, but nothing more. 

Or at least you thought so.

You took a few steps back, your eyes studying the freshly painted wall. Slowly, a satisfied smile crept up to your lips as you wiped your forehead from the sweat, being careful so as to not get your paint-covered fingers on your face. Your hands then wiped against the front of your stained apron with a deep sigh, "God, I'm good." You told yourself with a proud smirk and whipped your head around once you heard the sound of a heavy, cardboard box slump on the floor. Your eyes trailed up to be met with Connor's green ones and he smiled as he stretched his back and walked towards you. He was standing next to you, his arm around your waist, holding you close to his side as he stared at your handiwork.

"Wow.." He chuckled with an impressed nod, "This looks great."

You rested your head on his shoulder, a big smile on your face, "You sound surprised." 

He paused a little, "I am–" You lifted your head and playfully glared at him, making him laugh lightly, "Just a little. Calm down..!" 

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you patted his ass with your dry paint-covered hand and he jumped a little, letting out a small surprised noise, "Alright, then, nerd." You ripped yourself from him and looked around, seeing all those boxes that you needed to empty. They were covering the floor from the entrance of the study to the hallway outside and even the kitchen's island had smaller boxes on top, full of utensils and everything from the kitchen of your old apartment, "That's all of 'em?" You asked, sort of hopeful that you wouldn't have to unpack another one of those nightmares.

"Yep." Connor responded, "I'm hungry, though. How 'bout dinner first?" He suggested and you couldn't be more relieved since you were starved.

"Sounds good."

Your fiance smiled sweetly at you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips that lasted for a while before he pulled away, "I'll go get started with the kitchen stuff, then."

You smiled back at him, your eyes trailing down to look at the messy collar of his shirt, only for your hand to adjust it and smoothen down the shoulders, "Alright, dear."

And he was off to the kitchen, maneuvering around boxes as he did. You watched him for a couple of seconds, feeling as if your life was finally falling into place. That everything was perfect. That you were healed.

As if God didn't want that for you, your cellphone rang in your back pocket, almost startling you. With an exasperated sigh, you untied your apron and crumpled it in your hands, reaching in for your phone with the other. 

Upon seeing the caller ID, your demons crawled back up to gnaw the back of your brain. Your eyes widened briefly and you glanced towards the empty hallway Connor passed through earlier. You contemplated not answering, but knowing him, he was probably in trouble.

Your thumb hovered above the 'reject' icon, your brows furrowed and your heart thumping violently against your ribcage, as if begging to jump out. And against your better judgement, you swiped the 'accept' icon, pulling the phone to your ear slowly and giving your back to the door. 

You heard what sounded like a sigh of relief on the other line. 

"I thought you'd never answer."

You paused for a second, rubbing your forehead with your fingers, "It was tempting."

He chuckled, somewhat bitterly, "Why didn't you?"

You rested your hand on your hip, your eyes flickering all around the room, as if searching for an answer, but you found yourself talking without even thinking, "Because I feel obligated not to." You responded, "You don't usually call, either, so you must be in some sort of trouble."

You heard silence from him for a second, "You know why I don't call. I dunno how your guy would react."

You raised a brow, glancing over your shoulder at the door to make sure Connor wasn't close, "And you thought now's a good time because..?"

"Because I need you."

You inhaled deeply at his reply. A dreadful feeling resided in the pit of your stomach. Something about the way he said that didn't rest well with you, but you knew what he meant.

You looked up to the ceiling, trying your best to bite back a mean response, "What do you want, Sam?"

"Right.." You heard shuffling on his end, sounding like papers and clanking glass, "I'll get to the point."

"Please."

"Remember when we were younger? That book I used to love."

Of course you remembered. You'd stay up all night with Sam, sitting on a bench under streetlights, listening to his stories from the book he so loved. He was so theatrical, acting everything out, doing the pirate accents, deepening his voice, hiding one eye with his hand to give the effect of an eye patch.

How could you possibly forget?

"A general history of the robberies and murders of the most notorious pirates." You responded with a small, wistful smile that you weren't aware of, "Yeah."

"Remember when I said how it was complete bullshit?" 

"You were pretty disappointed.." You muttered in amusement, going over to your desk to sit on the edge.

Sam chuckled lightly, "Then you remember my never-ending babbling about Red Rackham's treasure."

"Sam." You stopped him, feeling the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up to claw at your chest, "Where's this going?" You cautiously asked, narrowing your eyes at nothing in particular.

Another long pause came from him, and with each passing second, you felt your anxiety bubble up more.

"I know where it got sunk."

"Where what got sunk?"

"The unicorn."

You pinched the bridge of your nose at the familiar name of the sunken pirate ship and shook your head, "You can't possibly be doing this on my moving day." You tried to keep your voice low but your dismay was extremely clear and you could almost see him frowning at your tone.

"Moving day?" He asked. You suddenly remembered how transparent he was. He did no effort to hide his bitterness and you could so clearly hear it.

You shook your head and decided to divert the subject, "I don't do that kinda thing anymore, Sam. You know that." 

He snorted, "Since when?"

"Since Libertalia." You retorted, "Since Connor, Sam. He doesn't do that sorta thing, either."

"That–That is good for him, but I know for a fact that that's not who you are."

You let out a humourless laugh and threw your hand up in frustration, "I'm not waiting for you to tell me who I am; I know what I want."

"No, you don't."

You were about to snap at him, but something stopped you. What would you say to that? Was this really who you were? The way Sam put it made you doubt almost everything. 

"Doesn't matter, Sam. I'm happy, okay?"

"You may be now, but the more you fight it, the more you're gonna hate him and hate your life, sweetheart." 

"What are you trying to do?" You asked, in a surrendered voice, your hand tightening around your phone.

"Give you a chance." He replied easily, not even giving it a thought, "This is our story. Our treasure. You were obsessed with this as much as I was. Your journal, your hand drawn maps.." He paused, "I still have 'em.."

You shook your head, feeling your resolve crumble with the sentence he added at the end, looking down at your feet, "What am I gonna tell Connor..?"

"You'll figure somethin' out." He said, his voice a bit hopeful, knowing that he broke your thick skin a bit, "C'mon. Whaddya say..? You and me. One last time?"

You inhaled deeply. 

He was right. You have been obsessed with finding that treasure for the longest time as wanderlust-struck teenagers. It was like your Everest. But you never got around to it, since it all reminded you of him. You didn't want to embark on that journey without him by your side. And now that he was there, you could finally finish the book of journeys. To fulfill the last of your wishes. 

Maybe then you'd be able to live happily with Connor, without having to deal with the burden of having something missing.

And so, you smiled and nodded to yourself, "Okay." You responded simply, earning a relieved chuckle from him, "Sully's gonna be there, though, right?"

"You could say that."

You frowned, "What's that mean?" 

"He'll be there at some point." He vaguely replied, making you roll your eyes, "Just make sure you're there by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night..?" You asked, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, feeling the fatigue roll over you stronger than ever, "Where do I need to go?"

"London. Bloomsbury." 

You ripped a paper from your notebook, holding the phone against your ear with your shoulder, and grabbed a pen, yanking off the cover with your teeth and writing down the address.

"Okay.." You muttered.

"Euro hotel. The room's under Victor's name. You know what to do."

You felt your heart beating faster as you wrote the last letter, with the small P.S. about the reservation name. 

You let out a shaky breath and held the phone in your hand again, straightening up, "Got it. I'll be there at nine."

"Perfect." You could practically hear the grin in his voice, "See ya soon, sweetheart." 

You smiled softly and nodded, "See you soon.." 

You held the phone against your ear until it went blank and that's when you realized what you've just gotten yourself into.

There you were again. With no self-control when you heard the words treasure and adventure. You were so caught up in the childhood memories that you didn't think of what you'd actually tell Connor and, for some reason, the truth wasn't an option.. 

You heard him calling out your name from the kitchen and you quickly whipped your head towards the door, inhaling deeply to calm your jagged nerves. You found yourself fiddling with the engagement ring on your finger and you looked down at your hands, pursing your lips together tightly.

'No backing out now..' You thought.

You exhaled and forced a smile to your face, "Comin', honey!" You called out cheerfully, quickly stuffing the note with the address in your back pocket, hurrying out of the study room.

[waitimcomingtoo]

I Keep On Missing You - Brad

First Part

Pairing: Brad Simpson X Reader

Authors note: songs are not at all in the correct order they were released in real life

Masterlist

You alright, love?” Brad snapped you out of your daze with a simple question. You composed yourself and gave him a tight smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Keep talking.” You said and took a sip of your coffee.

“You’re not fine.” Brad knew. “You can tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”

You set down your coffee mug and sighed.

“Tom and I broke up last week.” You admitted.

“You did?” Brad asked, a little shocked, a little hopeful. 

You nodded and Brad reached over and took your hand. Before you could tell him that you appreciated him but weren’t looking for a new relationship, he smiled kindly at you.

“It seems like you could use a friend right now.” He said and your eyes softened.

“I could.” You nodded and squeezed his hand.

So, you became friends. You hung out at the studio with the band, helping Brad with lyrics or being taught how to play the guitar by James. You became close with The Vamps, Brad being the one you were closest too. He was protective over you but not possessive, always with a hand on your back at parties and always saving you a seat next to him. He knew you weren’t looking for a relationship and made it his duty to keep boys away from you, knowing how much you hated rejecting people. He even got grumpy when Tristin flirted with you or Connor hugged you a little too tightly after a show. You started spending every day with them, talking about your break up, your careers, or anything that came to mind. Brad took it upon himself to show you around London, the places tourists didn’t care to visit as he would say.

Most of your days were spent in Brads room, listening to him write new songs.

“Cause I got high hopes, high hopes. High hopes for me and you.” Brad sang quietly as you watched him fondly. He stopped playing and wrote a few chords down before picking up his guitar again. “When we grow old, I'll say…I’ll say, damn it, what will I say?”

“I told you so?” You suggested with a shrug. “I say that to you a lot.”

Brad smiled at you and picked up his guitar.

“When we grow old, I'll say I told you so. Cause I got high, high hopes for me and you.” He sand and looked at you for approval.

“Sounds good.” You smiled and Brad leaped across the bed to engulf you in a hug. You fell backwards with him on top of you and laughed at the sudden impact.

“Sound great. I’ve been stuck on this song for a week. You’re an angel.” He gushed and placed thankful kisses on your cheeks.

“I aim to please.” You giggled between cheek kisses.

“What would I do without you, darling?” He stopped suddenly, hovering over your face.

The nickname stung you like a bee. You couldn’t help but think of Tom and the fight you’d had in your dressing room that night. You slid out from under Brad and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

“That’s what friends are for.” You smiled weakly, and he gave you a disappointed smile back. You’d blown your chance to kiss him, and you knew it.

More than a few times when nights in the studio bled into the morning, you’d fallen asleep on Brad’s shoulder as he lazily strummed his guitar. Brad would rest his head on top of yours as a million different lyrics about how fond of you he was rushed to his head. He would write them down as carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake up. Sometimes, you’d open your eyes a little and catch a glimpse of what he was writing.

“You tell me I’m a friend, but confused minds and blurred lines have brought it to an end.” Brad sang quietly as he fingered the guitar strings. You pretend to stay asleep, but listened closely to the song. You’d never heard it before and the lyrics caught your attention as he started singing about stolen moments.

“It’s harder to pretend that I don't want it all now. I need it even more every time you go. I hate to watch you go.” Brads voice, the one you’d loved for years, got a little louder as he got more passionate about what he was saying. He had you hanging onto every word.

“I'm breaking in to steal it all and I'll escape with every stolen moment that I spent with you. Call me a thief, girl if you want, but piece by piece I'll take each stolen moment.” He closed the song and wrote some more chords down, seemingly satisfied.

“That’s beautiful, Brad.” You spoke up and he jumped slightly.

“Morning, love. Did I wake you?” Brad chuckled as you rubbed your eyes.

“Yea, I don’t mind.” You lazily looked at him through your eyelashes. “Did you write that tonight?”

“Yeah, while you were sleeping.” He said.

“I love it.” You smiled and Brad rested his hand on your knee.

“I’m glad you like it.” He smiled. “I wrote it for you.”

“You did?” You sat up, feeling like you did when you’d reconnected that night on Graham Norton’s couch.

“Yeah.” He laughed shyly. “You’re kinda like my muse.”

“Did you mean all of that?“ You asked. “Were all those lyrics true?”

“Yes.” Brad admitted, guilt evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I know you’re not looking to date but that’s how I feel.”

“It’s okay.” You told him. “The lyrics were right. You are a thief.”

“I am?” He asked, unsure of where you were going with it.

“You stole my heart.” You bit your tongue between your teeth.

“You should stick to acting, love. Don’t ever try to say something romantic again.” Brad laughed at your attempt to be romantic. You shifted in your position so you were facing him.

“Okay fine. How about this, I really like you and I want to be with you.” You told him and his eyes lit up. “Is that better?”

“Much.” Brad confirmed before leaning in and kissing you.

Your relationship with Brad was different from your one with Tom. Brad was soft where Tom was passionate and assertive where Tom was gentle. Dating a singer was different from dating an actor, you quickly found. You got used to loves songs pandered to you and sweaty post-show hugs. Despite how deeply in love you’d fallen with Brad, you felt a twinge of pain every time you passed a poster with Toms face on it or saw a commercial for his movie. It was weird to see pictures of him at red carpets, standing alone when you usually occupied the space next to him. Every time a picture of him showed up on your feed, you let yourself linger before scrolling past. His smile had changed, and you knew why.

You didn’t want to let your past with Tom affect your future with Brad. Things were going really well with him. He always let you style his hair before a performance and gave you the biggest kiss when he got off stage. You spent your nights in his apartment as he showed you some chords on the guitar or ran new lyrics by you. It was a perfect little relationship you’d entered into. He wasn’t jealous or overwhelming. He was just what you needed.

But then his tour started up again, and you saw him less and less. Daily FaceTimes calls turned into every other day calls, which turned into once a week calls. Texts that were usually answered within seconds were answered within days. You couldn’t sleep when he wasn’t there to shut the curtain. You tossed and turned all night, sending him texts that he didn’t answer. When your birthday passed and he didn’t call until three days later, you decided it was time to call it quits.

You gave yourself “you time” after that; no more boys, especially not British ones. But it quickly became apparent that being away from Brad was much lonelier than being with him, though that seemed impossible. The breakup was different from your one with Tom. It was heavier, colder and sadder. You felt a bit of your heart breaking every time you ignored his texts or declined his call. You couldn’t allow yourself to go back to him, even though you wanted too. He was just gonna break your heart all over again, or at least that’s what you told yourself every night as the empty space he left in your bed grew colder.

Seven months after your breakup, you switched the channel on your radio and heard Brads voice coming through in some new song. You were about to turn it off when you heard a familiar phrase.

“I've had space and time to realize the grass ain't greener and I kinda miss my side. Know I shoulda listened when you told me the first time, “You won't find another like me".” Brads pain filled voice sang, and suddenly, it was december again and you were in your apartment, fighting with your boyfriend.

“You’re overreacting. I just forgot! It’s not that big of a deal!” Brad shouted when you told him he’d forgotten your birthday.

“That’s not the only thing I’m upset about, Brad.” You yelled. “We don’t talk anymore. You’re never here. I feel like I’m dating a ghost.”

“I’m on tour, Y/n.” He whined. “It’s my job. And I was here three weeks ago.”

You stopped pacing around the room and looked at him.

“You were?” You asked in shock. He hasn’t called or told you he had been home.

“Yeah, uh.” Brad sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I was gonna call I just-“

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” You shook your head and headed for his door.

“Baby-“ Brad took your wrist and gently made you look at him.

“Don’t.” You pulled your wrist out of his grasp. “It’s over.”

“Fine.” He stuttered. “Leave. See if I care.”

“You won’t find another like me.” You spat before walking out his door. “I can promise you that.”

“Yeah well.” Brad said but you were already gone. Tears fell down his eyes as he realized what he’d done. “I’m scared you’re right.”

The song snapped you back to reality.

“I look for love, but there's a space inside my mind where I keep on missing you, I keep on missing you. If you've seen enough, know that I'll be right here. Not with somebody new, I keep on missing you.”

You pulled into your driveway and pulled out your phone, opening twitter to send a quick message.

“I’ve seen enough.” You tweeted and then shut off your phone. A few hours later, you smiled to yourself when you saw Brad had retweeted it. It wasn’t much, a single olive branch, but it gave you hope for the future. You clicked on his profile and saw he had a new song coming out that Friday. Brad had tweeted something about it being meaningful to him, so you waited patiently for Friday to roll around to listen to it.

Thursday night at midnight, you practically bounced up and down as you waited for the song to drop. You felt like a high schooler again, but it didn’t matter to you. For the first time in a long time, the thought of Brad wasn’t making you miserable. You were excited again, and hopeful. Finally, you could listen to it.

“There’s a lot of things that I may not know. But missing you baby, that’s the only thing I know.” The song started and it hit you instantly. He still missed you, and you missed him.

“If my heart was paper, I’d fold. Throw it to the wind and just hope it ends up with you. I signed it with love from me to you.” You’d never heard him sound so sad on a song and so lamentfull. You sniffled a little and kept listening.

“And all that I ask is that at least you write me back, I’m waiting. Here’s my paper heart, won’t you hold it?” You smiled sadly to yourself as it ended.

The moment it was over, you pulled out your phone.

“James.” You messaged, heart racing.

“Y/n.” James responded.

“I have questions.” You said.

“I have answers.” He replied.

“Is Paper Hearts about me?” You sent. The bubbles appeared on your screen and you felt anxiety rising in your tummy.

“That’s classified.” He said and you groaned.

“Please?” You asked.

“I can’t break bro code.” He said.

“Yes you can buddy I believe in you.” You wrote back.

“May I ask why?” James sent.

“Because I’m in love with your stupid frontman and I need to know if he’s in love with me too.” You texted. It was bold but you were feeling a little risky.

“In that case.” He sent. “Paper Hearts is about you. I’m pretty sure every song we’ve ever written is about you. Please take him back. He’s been unbearable. I’m pretty sure he sleeps in your hoodie every single night. Do you know how bad that thing smells now?”

You read the message over and over until tears welled in your eyes.

“I miss him.” You sent. It was all you had the strength to say.

“Then you’re coming to the show tomorrow. I’ll text security and tell them to let you in. Kiss him, kill him, scream at him, whatever you need to do to fix things, do it.” James texted. You smiled and went to your closet, finding an old Oasis T-shirt of Brads that you’d kept.

“I’ll be there. Don’t tell him tho.“ you sent back.

“I won’t.” James said.

As promised, James had warned the security guards before your arrival. You waited in the wings as they performed, feeling the bass pumping through your body.

“This next song is called For You, and it’s about the girl I love. If you take anything away from this concert, I pray you treat the people you love how they deserve to be treated and realize how good things are while you still have them. If I had listened to that advice a few months ago, I wouldn’t have to write all these songs. This ones for my baby, wherever she may be.” Brad announced before singing his heart out to the crowd, but really to you.

The show finally ended and you’d told Connor before hand not to do an encore. Your heart was in your throat when you saw Brad walking off stage, causally pulling his earpiece out of his ear and having no idea you were there. When he got closer, you stepped out of the shadows.

“Brad?” You asked, and his head snapped up at the sound of your voice. He looked at you incredulously, like he couldn’t believe you were really there.

“Y/n?” He asked and engulfed you in a giant hug. You laughed happily at being in his arms again. “What are you doing here?” He asked, still in shock.

“Your paper heart. It ended up with me.” You smiled weakly, feeling emotional at the sight of him as you placed a hand over his heartbeat. He instinctively placed his heart over yours.

“Oh, baby…” he sighed like the was about to tell you bad news. “I thought I told you not to try to say romantic things. Leave it to me.”

“How about you shut up and kiss me?” You suggested, and a wicked smile dawned on his face.

“I like that idea. I’ve missed you, love.” He said before pulling your face to his kissing you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @sunrise-shawn @foreverxholland @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @autumnlyholland @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @ho-ho-holland​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @m19friend @justcallmehitgirl​ @iamanerdot @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [10]

x. i am become death

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Mentions of blood/wounds, scary bleeding fever courtesy of the Grounders, puking, mentions of torture, death, fighting, the usual.

Summary: Murphy’s return to camp brings a hemorrhagic fever that weakens and infects most of the 100 as the Grounders prepare for war.

a/n: I am sad today and I feel like posting a new chapter so here u go, pls enjoy. I will be returning to my sadness cocoon now. also yes, the taglist is OPEN!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

It’s hard not to choke up at the sight of the wreckage, spread out over the expanse of the valley, littered with burnt skeletons that still release smoke into the air. Your eyes scan each body, looking for any sign of her, and you know that Clarke is nearby doing the same. You can see her lip quivering as she checks each body, and you start to move closer to comfort her when you see it.

It catches the afternoon sun, glinting back at you. You kneel down and sweep some of the ash away, lifting the chain to reveal a small metal sun, the only jewelry that your mother ever wore. You lift your eyes back to Clarke, not quite ready to expose her to this, and let out a sigh of relief when you see her looking at something else. A voice behind you nearly makes you jump from your skin. “What is that?”

You spin around quickly, closing your hand around the necklace to hide it from his view. Bellamy gives you a weird look as you whisper, “Nothing.”

His eyes flash back down to your hand and then meet your own, and he mutters, “If you say so.” He turns and addresses the teenagers on guard duty, "Stay sharp. Grounder retaliation for what happened on the bridge is coming, just a matter of when."

Finn offers a glare, "Can you blame them?"

"No. I blame you."

"Maybe if you didn't bring guns--"

Raven cuts Finn off, "If we didn't bring guns, we all would've been killed."

“Why they're coming doesn't matter anymore. It's our job to be ready when they do. We're on our own now."

A shudder passes through you, his words offering no comfort. On our own. Behind you, Raven yells your twin’s name. "Clarke, stop!"

You all follow her as she jogs over to Clarke, coming to a stop as she asks, “Rocket fuel?”

"Hydrazine...Highly unstable in its non solid form. If this stuff meets fire, we're all pink mist." She kneels down and dips a rock into the liquid, before standing and yelling out, "Fire in the hole!"

She tosses the rock over the ridge, into a pile of burning rubble, and an explosion immediately shakes the ground. She turns to Bellamy, "We need to clear the area."

"Okay, then. We move in formation, no straggling, weapons hot. We’ve got to get back before dark."

You pick through the woods quickly and quietly, sandwiched between Bellamy and Clarke, weaponless. He’d said something about emotions and weapons not mixing earlier, and you hadn’t had the energy to argue. But as night falls and you near the camp, you can tell that something is wrong. The teenagers are practically buzzing with energy, and your small group speeds up at the realization. You and Bellamy make it through the gates first, and someone yells at you as you pass through, “Murphy is back!”

You and Bellamy exchange a glance before you take off running, your feet pulling you past him and into the dropship first. Bellamy is yelling before he even makes it through the door. "Where is he?”

The crowd parts around him, revealing Murphy on the ground, bloodied, bruised, and shaking. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, and a mixture of guilt and pity courses through you, despite what he has done. 

“Everyone but Connor and Derek out...Now!”

The room clears, leaving only Connor, Derek, Murphy, Clarke, Finn, Bellamy, and you. Derek turns to Bellamy, "He claims he was with the Grounders."

"We caught him trying to sneak back into camp."

Murphy’s voice is quiet, lacking any of his usual anger. "I wasn't sneaking. I was running from the Grounders."

Bellamy scoffs, "Anyone see Grounders?"

"Uh-uh."

"Well, in that case--"

Bellamy lifts his gun, before it is shoved back down by Finn. "Hey, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"We were clear what would happen if he came back."

As your eyes scan Murphy’s body, the cuts, the bruises, the torn clothing, your eyes land on his hands. Your brows furrow as you move closer, ignoring the arguing behind you. You drop to your knees beside him and he flinches away from you, but you lean closer, reaching out to lift his hands. You swallow bile down when you confirm that his nails have been ripped from his fingers. You cut off the group, turning to say Clarke’s name. Her eyes land on you and you lift his hand as she moves closer to investigate. You turn to the boys, “His fingernails were torn off. They tortured him.”

Finn mutters to Bellamy, "You and the Grounders should compare notes."

"The Grounders know we're at war. What did you tell them about us?"

Murphy’s eyes lift to Bellamy, nervous. "Everything."

Clarke’s hands lift to Murphy’s face, inspecting his injuries, before she drops them and steps away from him. You follow suit as she moves to Bellamy, "Once he's better, we find out what he knows, and then he's out of here, okay?"

Bellamy levels a glare at her. "What if he refuses to leave? What do we do with him then?"

"Then we kill him."

She pushes past him and leaves, and Finn is quick to follow. You step out into the cool night air, turning to look at Bellamy. “I’m gonna…” You trail off and nod towards your tree. 

He nods once and mutters, “Yeah. See you in the morning.”

-

You forget about the necklace in your pocket until morning, pulling it out to inspect it as dawn emerges. You brush your finger over the cool metal, shaking the memories of your mom out of your head. Now is not the time to mourn. As you start to close your hand and tuck it back into your pocket, a drop of blood lands in your palm. Confused, you reach up and brush your nose, finding nothing. You feel panic start to rise in your chest as a wetness tracks down your cheeks, from your eyes. You reach up and swipe at them, nearly falling from the tree in horror when your fingers come back stained red. 

You shove the necklace into your pocket and clumsily climb to the ground, realizing for the first time that you are feverish and shaky. You call for Clarke as your feet hit the ground, scanning the camp for her. She emerges from the communications tent, and you know you are wearing matching expressions of horror as you take in each other’s bloody eyes. Nearby, Connor and Derek call out for her, blood gushing from their noses at an alarming rate. You see the realization pass over her face at the same time you make the connection and whisper, “Murphy.” 

You tear through the camp and into the dropship, running and sliding up beside Murphy. He coughs and vomits blood beside you, and you snap at him, "Murphy, look at me. I need you to tell me exactly how you escaped from the Grounders. What happened?"

He shakes his head, "I don't know. I woke up, and they forgot to lock my cage. There was no one there, so I took off."

And you think of the Grounders, and all of their tactical ability and intelligence, and your stomach sinks to the floor. You turn your head and lock eyes with Clarke as she runs inside, “They let him go.”

She drops down beside you, and Bellamy enters the dropship. You turn to him and see his shock as he registers the blood around your eyes. You lift your hand as he gets closer, warning him. "Bellamy, stay back."

His voice is hard, "Did he do something to you? You shake your head, and his eyes drop to the pool of blood beside Murphy. "What the hell is this?"

Clarke mutters from beside you, "Biological warfare. You were waiting for the Grounders to retaliate for the bridge? This is it. Murphy is the weapon."

Bellamy steps towards Murphy, anger written all over his face. He looks ready to kill him on the spot. But Clarke holds up her hand. "Hey, don't. Whatever this thing is, it spreads through contact."

Before he can answer, Finn comes in, eyes immediately finding Clarke’s. "Clarke?"

Her voice shakes as she warns him, "Finn, you shouldn't be in here. No one should."

"I heard you were sick. Clarke, what is this?"

She shakes her head, "I don't know, some kind of hemorrhagic fever. We just need to contain it before--"

She cuts herself off as Derek retches from the other side of the room. You jump up and run to him, as his body shakes and seizes. You can hear Clarke running up behind you, warning Finn to keep back. You watch as Derek vomits blood one more time, and then drops to the floor, face down. You hesitate before leaning down and pressing your fingers to his pulse, freezing in place when you realize. Behind you, Bellamy starts, "Is he-"

You lock eyes with him. "He's dead."

Finn spins towards Clarke, "What do we do?"

"Quarantine. Round up everyone who had contact with Murphy. Bring them here."

Bellamy quips,  "And everyone they had contact with?"

"Well, we have to start somewhere. Connor, who was with you when you found him? Who carried him in? Think."

“The first one there was Octavia.”

Bellamy freezes and then runs from the dropship, returning minutes later with his little sister in tow. Clarke searches around for some cloth and rips it into pieces, giving it to you, herself, and then Bellamy so you can cover your mouths and limit the spread. Octavia stands in front of Clarke as she examines her, and all around you more sick delinquents are brought inside. With a satisfied nod, Clarke steps away. "Okay. We're done. No visible signs of swelling or bleeding."

"So you're saying she doesn't have it?"

Clarke sighs, "I'm saying she doesn't have symptoms, but that could change. We need to keep her here just in case."

He shakes his head, gesturing around. "No way. Look at this place. She'll get sick just being here."

"Do you want to stop the spread, or not? Look. I'll keep her on the third level with the people who aren't symptomatic yet. Think of it as a way to stop her from sneaking out again."

Octavia turns and gives her a glare. "Screw you, Clarke."

"I'll let you know if her condition changes."

Bellamy sighs and nods once in agreement, turning to leave as Octavia starts to climb up the stairs to the third floor. Before she can, Clarke stops her. "Octavia, wait. I need you to sneak out again."

You miss the rest of the conversation, because you feel the room sway around you, before you feel yourself falling, plunging into the darkness around you. 

-

You wake, turn and vomit blood, and fall back into something soft, drifting off again as fingers push your hair off your face.

-

Your eyes open slowly, finding the world again, and your skin is sticky with sweat. You press your fingers to your forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch. With a deep breath, you pull yourself up and look around, surprised to find yourself swinging slightly in a hammock. You turn and plant your feet on the floor, pleased that you can stand on steady legs. As you survey the room, you find almost everyone asleep, moaning in pain, or puking blood. Murphy runs around, helping people and getting water, and you open your mouth to question him when you hear a commotion outside. 

As you walk to the door, you can hear the panic of nearly 100 teenagers, screaming at others to get back. As a precaution, you grab the gun near the door, pulling back the parachute to reveal the camp in utter chaos. You lift the gun into the air and fire three shots, and stillness settles into the air. 

You see everyone turn towards you, and you walk down to the bottom of the ramp, past Clarke. You raise your voice so everyone can get the message. "This is exactly what the Grounders want. Don't you see that? They don't have to kill us if we kill each other first."

A guy steps from the group, lifting his gun towards you, aiming for the center of your chest. "They won't have to kill us if we all catch the virus. Get back in the damn dropship!"

Before you can react, Bellamy steps up to the guy, pulls the gun from his grasp, and hits him in the throat, effectively shutting him up. You nod your thanks, as you hear an odd sound from behind you. You turn just in time to see Clarke starting to fall, and Finn rushes up to catch her. Raven yells out, "Finn, don't touch her!"

Clarke’s voice is weak as you step closer, "Hey, let me go. I'm okay."

"No, you're not."

"Octavia will come back with a cure."

Octavia’s voice cuts through the crowd. "There is no cure...But the Grounders don't use the sickness to kill."

"Really?” You can hear the sarcasm dripping from Bellamy’s voice. “Tell that to them. I warned you about seeing that Grounder again."

"Yeah? Well, I have a warning for you, too. The Grounders are coming... and they're attacking at first light." She steps past him, and up to Finn. "Come on. I'll help you get Clarke into the dropship."

You give Bellamy one last look before following them inside, and pointing Finn towards your now empty hammock. “You can put her there.”

He sets her gently into the hammock as you grab a rag, wiping the sweat from your twin’s brow. She gives you a weak smile, as Finn turns to Octavia. "What else did Lincoln tell you?"

"The virus doesn't last long."

You turn to them, “It’s true, I feel a lot better.” 

Clarke tries to stand. "They need to stay hydrated."

"You need to stay hydrated."

Octavia hands Clarke a drink and she takes a long sip before handing it back, "Okay. Them, too. Please?"

She nods, "It's okay. I'll do it. Just rest."

Murphy jumps up from across the room, "I'll help you." He surveys the room and offers a hard truth, "Look. At this rate, when the Grounders get here, there won't be anyone left to fight back."

Octavia cuts him a glare, "That's the point."

You watch an idea pass Finn’s face, "Then we slow them down."

And then he turns to leave. Clarke watches him with an uncomfortable look, and you put a comforting hand on her arm. “"If he's not sick by now, then he's probably immune like Octavia." She nods, and you push her hair back from her forehead, remembering that it was likely her that did the same for you. “Sleep. It helps.”

She turns her head and drifts off quickly, and you stand watching her for a long time, before jumping up to help Octavia and Murphy care for the others. Hours later, you are taking a quick break, on your knees next to Clarke, watching as she shifts in her sleep. You reach up to wipe the sweat from her forehead, brows lifting in alarm as you register her fever. She wakes up retching, and you help turn her to her side, watching as blood spills over the hammock and onto the floor. 

When she stills, you lay her back down, and grab her hand, lacing her fingers with yours. You finally realize you’re crying, and you watch as tears land on the fabric around her. With your free hand you reach into your pocket and pull out the necklace, which you wrap around her hand and rest in her palm before reconnecting your fingers. You let out a quiet sob and whisper, “I didn’t want to show you earlier, because I didn’t want to upset you. But now...I found mom’s necklace, Clarke. And I just can’t...I can’t do this without you, please don’t leave me alone.” 

You drop your head and cry into your joined hands, jumping in surprise when you feel her lightly squeeze your hand. Your eyes flit to her face, and her eyes are still closed, but you know that she heard you, and you know she’s going to fight. You smile a little and wipe your tears away, as a commotion rings out behind you. Bellamy is being dragged inside by two others, and you start to stand and help when Octavia jumps into action. “Clear some space, lay him down!”

You lower yourself back down, letting the Blake’s have their moment in the same way that Octavia let you have yours. You catch her eyes from across the room and you both exchange small smiles, before turning back and tending to your respective siblings. 

-

Hours later, after helping the others, you find Octavia leaned against a wall, nodding off. You shake her awake, and nod to the third floor. “Hey, get some rest. Me and Murphy can handle it for a while.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She starts to walk away but turns back, “Can you check on Bellamy for me?”

“Of course.”

She nods in thanks and climbs the ladder, leaving you to stop by beside Bellamy. You give yourself a minute to map his features, unnoticed, as everyone is either distracted or asleep. Including him. The longer you look, the more you hate the blood staining his face, reminding you of the danger you’re all in. You step away to find a rag and a cup of water, before you wet the rag and gently wipe the sweat from his skin, along with the blood around his mouth and nose. He wakes as you’re finishing up, and your eyes instantly connect. You blush a little, even though you did nothing wrong, and his eyes drop to it. You pull back and he sits up, and you grab a cup of water as Murphy passes by, handing it to Bellamy and urging him to drink. He drains the cup and then looks you over, "You feeling better?"

“Much.” 

He nods, a smile on his face, and he looks around. "That's good. You seen Octavia?"

"She was up all night helping people. I sent her away to rest, while Murphy and I took over.” He opens his mouth to say something, before changing his mind. He settles on something else instead, "It's almost dawn. Better get everyone inside. If we lock the doors, maybe the Grounders will think we're not home."

You shake your head, "Not everyone is sick."

"Sick is better than dead."

You consider this, and nod. "I'll get everyone inside."

-

You go around the camp, gathering everyone and telling them about the plan, leading them towards the dropship, and potentially, the last stronghold of safety. Bellamy comes out to help minutes later, unable to handle even a second of inaction. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

As you are both leading everyone inside, an explosion shakes the camp, and a mushroom cloud floats up in the distance. Bellamy’s voice is shocked behind you, "They did it."

You watch the smoke lift into the sky, and remember a quote your dad once taught you. "I am become death, destroyer of worlds.”

Bellamy whispers, “Oppenheimer.”

-

As soon as Octavia returns, she sends you away, promising that now she would keep an eye on your sibling. You head to your spot, your tree, and climb up, wondering if sleep will reach you at all. 

It doesn’t.

Instead, the realization that your mom is really gone hits you. Sobs wrack your body as you remember her, and then your dad, the crushing weight of being an orphan now heavy on your shoulders. You think of Clarke, temperature impossibly high, coughing up blood and leaving you alone in this world. Because you called her over to look at Murphy. Before that, she was safe, she was okay. 

You wonder if a curse slides through your blood, dooming everyone close to you, and you decide that you will give it no more victims. You will put no one else in harm's way. Because no one close to you is safe. And with a steely resolve that rivals that of your mother, you head back to the dropship to check on Clarke, ready to nurse her back to health and then leave her alone. Ready to keep her safe by keeping your distance. Instead of finding her resting comfortably, the hammock is empty. You look around in confusion, and Murphy spots you, offering, “The graves.”

“Thanks.”

You turn and leave, heading for the small graveyard outside the walls of the camp. As you near the perimeter, a voice catches you off guard. “You’re not thinking of going outside the walls without a gun, are you?”

“Guess not.” The curse can’t reach them if I’m dead. You shake the thought away, and an odd look passes over Bellamy’s face.

He makes eye contact with two guards and gestures for them to walk in front of you as he falls in step beside you. Clarke turns as you both step through, and she turns back to eye the new row of freshly dug graves. "Fourteen graves."

Bellamy ignores her, "We need to talk about Murphy."

She turns to face you both fully, and you see the light of the torch glint off the metal sun around her neck. You look back up at her and her fingers brush across it, acknowledging your gaze. She looks over at Bellamy, “He was right about the bridge."

"We'll see. Octavia says the Mountain Men are pissed, whatever that means."

You turn to him, “Mountain Men?”

He shrugs in response, and Clarke reasons, "I'd say it means we need as many soldiers as we can get."

You pull a face, but say nothing. Bellamy eyes her, "So, what, we have pardon power now?"

"It's hard running things." He lifts a brow quickly and drops it, and she gazes over the graves one last time. “Fourteen.”

And then she heads back into camp, leaving you and Bellamy standing in silence. He starts, “That necklace...that Clarke was wearing?”

He doesn’t need to finish the question, because you know what he’s asking. “Yes. It was our mother’s.”

“I’m sorry.” 

You just shrug in response, the emotions not reaching you, tucked too far away in a box now labeled off limits. But the realization does reach you. “Only the stars and the moon now. No sunlight. Just darkness.”

He shifts beside you at your dark tone and reaches for your hand, but you step away, fighting the pull of your muscles to reach for him. A hurt look passes over his face and you step on your regret. “I am become death, Bellamy. You’re not safe.”

And before he can answer, you walk away, heading back to your tree, back to isolation where no one else can get hurt.

-

next chapter

[detroitbecomeyandere]

Oh Brother Part 2 (Connor x Reader x Nines)

I’m (finally) back on my bullshit. Be sure to read Part 1!

“You look so pretty.” Nines’ hand cards through the hair he took the time to meticulously curl. He found he quite liked turning you into his personal doll, styling you in his image. It repulsed you.

Almost as much as the intimately fueled touches he was tracing up your legs.

“So pretty,” he repeated, insistent fingers on the soft skin of your thigh.

You don’t humor him with a response, angered or otherwise. Most times it wasn’t worth the effort. In the beginning you had the gall to bite Nines’ hand when he tried to caress your cheek. The sting of thirium on your tongue almost matched the intensity of the slap across your cheek. At least one of the sensations was satisfying.

Connor insisted that you would warm up to your new...arrangements. That seemed to placate Nines for the time being but his patience was waning. Nines couldn’t understand how his brother could be so tolerant with your behavior. Even going as far as to reprimand him when Nines saw it appropriate to break your leg as punishment for another pathetic escape attempt. Since then, you had been less daring so clearly he had been doing something right.

Nines continues his ministrations, toying with the lace hem of your pink babydoll. If there was one thing his brother and him could agree on, it was what looked best on you. You continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, fed up.

Emboldened by your reaction, or lack thereof, he slowly pushes the dress up your hips. You had been less than willing to show affection since the start of your captivity. Nines has been holding back but his carnal desires can only be silenced for so long.

Your ire is suddenly reignited and you put all your energy into kicking him square in jaw. Color you proud when he actually recoils from your strength. And when you see the satisfying blue streak making its way down his lip.

The two of them could keep you shackled - literally and metaphorically - to them but that did not mean you had to be compliant. You would not be theirs to fuck. At least not without a fight.

Nines brings a hand up to his mouth, wiping away the minuscule evidence of yet another outburst. His rage apparent, he grabs your ankles before you can attempt to retaliate again. You wince as he pins them to the bed.

“I have had just about enough of your attitude,” he snarls, making quick work of your underwear despite your relentless thrashing.

Relief briefly comes in the form of Connor standing in the doorframe of your room. The RK800 has always been gentler to you in contrast to his successor. You look to him, silently pleading for him to stop this madness.

It’s a pointless endeavor.

Connor regards you sadly and then turns to Nines. “You can’t help yourself anymore, can you brother?” He doesn’t sound surprised. Nines scoffs in response.

“No, nor should I have to. She’s ours now, Connor. Aren’t you tired of waiting too?” He asks, deft fingers begin tracing featherlight circles around your clit despite your whines of protest. “Don’t you want to sample such a fine confection,” he all but purrs as he slips a digit into you with ease.

An unwelcome heat begins to build within you, your nerves alight with an unhealthy cocktail of pleasure and shame. You attempt to sit up, to use your hands to thwart Nines’ onslaught, but now it’s Connor’s turn to subdue you.

Cold hands keep your wrists in an iron-like grip as Nines adds a second finger, continuing a hard cadence in and out. You look up at him, an adoring smile on his lips. You’re now completely helpless. Nines’ delight is palpable.

“You’re right,” Connor reaffirms. It was pure agony, to ignore the desires his processors told him to submit to. But now, “You’re absolutely right.”

Now there was no more reason to hold back.

Connor ties your wrist together in a solid knot with his tie, giving his hands the freedom to roam your body. He marvels at how soft your breasts feel in his palms, squeezing them gently which pulls an involuntary moan from your lips. His LED glows amber as he commits the sound to memory.

“That’s it pet,” Nines coos as he begins to undo his pants, satisfied with how wet you’ve become. “Let us make you feel good. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

Tears blind you as you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of Nines at your entrance and Connor suckling on your neck. The sensory and emotional overload was pushing you quickly to the precipice of insanity. Together they pull orgasm after orgasm from you, leaving you in a pleasure-induced haze.

Humiliated that this was all it took to snuff out your fire, you can’t find the will to struggle anymore. Especially after you hear Connor whisper against the shell of your ear,

“My turn.”

-Mod Vic

[zankivich]

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus Size Reader Chapter 12.5

a/n: I just wanted to pause and revel in Shawn and y/b getting to be in London and in love for a little bit. I wasn’t ready to let that go, so that’s pretty much all that this is. I hope you like it. Let me know if you do? K bye. 

Warnings: smut. fluff. love. We real cute over here. 

*Shawn’s pov*

“What in the hell are you wearing?” his girlfriend gasped him.

He looked up from tucking his shirt into his jeans as she stared at him in horror.

“What’s wrong? I really like this outfit.”

“I’ve never seen you in blue jeans before. Oh my god, Shawn. They’re so...tight.”

His worry quickly turned to a little bit of a self-satisfied grin. He could always count on his girlfriend to give his ego a little boost.

“What? You think I’m sexy, aye?”

She rolled her eyes. “No! But turn around and grab my purse would you?”

He did as she asked, immediately recognizing her ulterior motives when he turned around and she was staring about three feet too low for his eyes.

“Subtle, babe.”

“We must get out of here.”

He snorted and wrapped his arms around her from behind as they made their way to the door.

“You’re so dramatic. If you want to ravish me at any point just let me know.”

“Shut up with your face.” She muttered.

They all go out to explore the city together. And he gets to hold her hand and take pictures of her in front of pretty buildings where she smiles at him and the wind blows in her hair and he’s never been so in love in his whole entire life. There are fans about and people stop them for pictures, but nothing can burst this bubble. He can’t stop reaching out for her, can’t stop checking around him to make sure she’s pressed against his side. It’s needy and annoying to everyone around, and he just really doesn’t give a fuck.

Josiah suggests they go up to the roof of the building where rehearsals were hosted, to take pictures. It’s a rare day of sunshine and  so it’s kind of the perfect moment. The second they get to the edge of stepping onto the roof though, y/n stops and refuses to move.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” He asked tugging slightly on her arm.

“I’m not going up there. I’ve seen this movie, the fat woman falls through the roof!”

He rolled his eyes. “Honey, you’re not going to fall through the roof. It’s metal. How heavy do you think you are?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t give a damn. I’m not taking my fat ass up there, Shawn. And that’s final.” She said sternly, hands perched on her hips.

*five minutes later*

“Try not to look so miserable, we’re trying to capture our love here.” He murmured as Josiah lined up the shot with his camera.

She pouted at him and he couldn't help but take her adorable cheeks in his hands. Wow, she was perfect.

“If I die up here, it’s all your fault. And, I expect you to pay for my funeral.”

He smiled. “Whatever you want. You can have everything.”

“K. Good.” She whispered. “You can kiss me now.”

“K.”

She wore a baby blue dress that day and a denim jacket that matched his jeans by coincidence. He fists his fingers in the fabric and kisses her softly. It’s gentle and nurturing and he can’t even remember ever being mad her. And when she giggles and tries to pull away from him, he kisses her cheeks instead. His heart feels endlessly full. Just like that. Just that instantaneously.

“You’re so pretty.” He sighed.

“You’re so pretty.”

“This is actually disgusting to watch!” Brian called from off to the side.

And that’s how Josiah gets a picture of him flipping Brian off while she kisses him.

They all huddle up around the camera to look at the shots and he’s just a bit of obsessed. There’s this one picture where she’s smiling down at the ground and the sun is hitting her cheekbones, and he’s smiling down at her like he loves her as much as he knows in his soul that he does. He kind of wants to get it framed.

“Babe, can I post this one?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What like...like on insta?”

“Yea? I just think you’re beautiful. But, if you don’t want that, I won’t do it.”

Despite attending the grammys and the out and about of LA, their relationship was still kept pretty underwraps for the most part mostly due to her and what she wanted. If it was up to him, he’d be shouting his praises for her from the rooftops with a megaphone. In hindsight perhaps there was a reason his girlfriend kept a lid on him.

“Well like...would this be the only thing you post, or like would you post the other pictures too?” She asked nervously.

He peered around at everyone else wondering if anyone else was absolutely overcome with how damn cute she was. No one? Really?

“I’ll post whatever you want me to post.”

She peered down at the picture again before peering up at him nervously. When she nods it’s like they can both breathe a little easier. And so along with the pictures of him in the sun with the tea, which is all well and wonderful, he uploads the picture of them together, as a separate post entirely. There’s no caption besides his signature heart, he just sort of leaves it there to exist and to share with the world. And it feels important to him to share. So, when they head back down to the rehearsal space he tugs her a little farther behind everyone for just a moment to thank her.

“Hey. You sure you’re okay with the photo?” He murmured swinging their intertwined fingers back and forth  in the space between them.

She nodded softly. “I--I think so. I mean it’s not like people don’t know right? And I don’t want you to ever think that I’m not like...proud to be with you or something.”

“I wouldn’t ever think that. I just want you to be comfortable, and I want you to know that you can count on me you know? About anything.”

“I do know.” She smiled. “I know.”

“Do you wanna go to dinner tonight? Just the two of us? I had Andrew pull my schedule through May. I figured we could get wine drunk and pick mini vacations.”

“Only if when we get back to the cottage you spank my ass a little more.”

His eyes widened. “That really did it for you huh?”

“More than your testosterone filled body could ever, ever understand.” She giggled.

Their sex life was wonderful as it was. She brought him pleasure unlike anyone he’d ever been with. She was attentive and passionate and...bendy. And he liked to think that he gave it as good as he got if those beautiful moments post orgasm when her eyes just fluttered and her lips couldn’t form words were anything to go by. But, he knew he'd give her everything, would be anything if it meant making her feel good. If she wanted to be spanked, a spanking is exactly what she would get.

“Maybe when we get back to the cottage I could bend you over and spank your ass so raw, you’ll think twice about asking me to spank it again.”

He may have heard her mumble something about god under her breath as he walked back down to rehearsals, but who was keeping track?

***

There are some fans outside the cafe. They hadn’t managed to find his hotel yet, and he thought that might have something to do with him staying at a different place than his crew. May he needed to get away with his girlfriend more often. Jake gets them in the line and he starts taking the selfies. Connor, Brian, and Josiah walk on ahead, but y/n stays behind off to the side because for some reason she loves him more than he could ever begin to deserve. And he can’t help but notice the interaction that occurs while he’s taking pictures.

Usually Jake helps navigate the crowd so that people are moving on after they’ve gotten their photo. This time he must have been at the end of the line making sure people weren’t pushing, because a group of girls got their photo with him and then subsequently moved on to his girlfriend.

“Hi! Uh, we were wondering if we could maybe take a picture with you?”

He looked over his shoulder to see her stare blankly at them in confusion.

“Me? Why me?”

“We just think you’re wicked! And all of us want to go to uni and like be successful in our lives, and knowing you did, well that’s just brilliant isn’t it?! Girls like us never get to see women be successful who aren't celebrities or instagram models.”

He certainly should have kept going with the pictures, but he couldn’t help but stop and watch. She looked every single one of them in the eye, the shock still clear on her face. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking in that very moment. She was scared of them, she was scared that at any moment someone might point out all of these parts of her that they thought were flaws, even if she didn’t. After everything there should have been zero expectation there that she would do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, and the fans were a large part of that. So, when she nodded softly and let them all pile in for a selfie, he’s a little shocked and lot filled with warmth as the thought. It was the kind of interaction he’d always expected with fans, and it was maybe a little nice to know that he wasn’t completely dead ass wrong.

“We’re gonna keep moving guys, but thank you so much for coming out. Have a wonderful day!” He smiled when he’d made it to the end of the crowd.

There was a chorus of byes and smiles and he couldn’t help but notice when someone said goodbye to y/n as well. It was wild, every part of it.

She’s quiet for a while as they walk together. And he can tell she’s in her head, but he wants to give her time to process. So they walk around and explore the city with the rest of the crew and she holds his hand, but it sort of feels like he’s simply holding the string to her balloon. If he wasn't holding on she’d surely float away. Every now and again, he couldn’t help but look over in her direction in the thought that maybe she’d done it anyway.

It isn’t until they’re at lunch and everyone else is absorbed in their own conversations that he can get her all to himself. She’s staring off at the sky through the window of the cafe and he reaches to tuck a curly strand of hair behind her ear. It gets her attention and makes her smile. Win, win.

“Hi.”

She smiled softly at him. “Hi.”

“Do you wanna float back down from the clouds for a little bit?”

She bit her lip and peered at the rest of the table to make sure they weren’t listening.

“How’d you know?”

“I know you.” He shrugged. “Is it good stuff, or bad stuff?”

“Mostly good, I think.”

“Well I’d love to hear some of it, if you’re willing to share.”

Her mind always felt simultaneously like his greatest challenge, but also the greatest beauty he’d ever seen. She struggled immensely with letting people into her head. And he’s figured out that unless he pushed her sometimes, he was going to miss really important pieces of who she was. Their friendship had started out on a constant balancing act between him wanting her to know everything because he trusted her and wanted to confide in her, and her not reciprocating in the way that he maybe wanted her too. When they were just friends--if they’d ever just been friends--he had struggled so hard with that, and struggled to feel like she cared for him the way that he did her. He was a little less naive now. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, it was more so that she had just never done it before. Sharing intimate pieces of yourself with someone is hard. So, he had learned to simply give her those moments to internalize before he could hopefully pull a little bit of what was going on in her head out into the open, for just the two of them.

“I guess those girls today just shook me up a little bit.” She admitted hesitantly.

She leaned on her folded arms on the table and he matched her stance so that their faces were closer together.

“In what way?”

“I wasn’t ready for them to be so...nice. And no one has ever really looked at me and said good job before. I mean obviously I work really hard, and I’m super kickass at what I do, but I didn’t get to where I am by someone putting a gold sticker on my homework at the end of the work day. It just felt nice to know that there’s something valuable in what I am.”

He frowned at her thumb coming out from the fold in his arms to push her chin a little higher in the air.

“There’s so much value you in everything that you are, sweetheart. You’re absolutely incredible.” He whispered.

She smiled. “No, I know. I didn’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. I just meant...it’s important to know yourself and your worth and to validate that for you and nobody else. But, that doesn’t mean that validation from others can’t feel really good. I guess I thought I knew that, but I wasn’t ready for how good it might feel to be a little more accepted by your world.”

“Well, I’m really glad and happy that you care enough to want to be accepted. And I’m sorry that you didn’t get that feeling sooner.”

“It’s okay. We’re okay, that’s what matters.”

“K. C’mere.” He sighed having gone way too long without kissing her.

She did that thing where she gripped his chin and completely dominated his mouth and he’d never felt so submissive and so in love and so on the cusp of a semi in public before. He was entirely fucked for her, always.

“You know one day your lips are gonna get stuck like that!” Brian yelled from the other end of the table completely ruining this absolutely wonderful moment for him.

“Do you think if we get him a blow up doll, he’ll stop cock blocking us so much?”

His girlfriend rolled his eyes. “Why is it always cockblock, anyway? What, is my vagina unblockable? Your language is so not inclusive.”

“I’m sorry. Your vagina is absolutely blockable, babe. I’d block it. I’d build a whole wall for your vagina.”

“You were doing so well until you got all Donald Trump-y on me.” She sighed.

“Well at least your expectations for me are achievable. I’m definitely not being set up to fail here or anything.”

They grinned at each other and laughed at their own hilariousness because that’s just the kind of couple they were. Brian was gonna have to work a little harder to ruin their vibe.

***

“Alright guys let’s take five, and then we’ll run it again!” He smiled stepping away from the mic.

The band all high fives each other before going to get water or grab snacks from the catering table. Y/n is curled up on the couch where she had the perfect view of the mini stage they’d set up, and he quickly made his way over to plop down on top of her with all of his weight.

“You are actually suffocating me you giant!” She snorted.

He rearranged his limbs slightly just to give her a little more space, but still wrapped himself around her quickly.

“What do you think of the show so far, babe? It’s gonna be a hundred times better with the lights and the explosions and everything.”

“You sound incredible. When you do the high notes in particular taste I’m pretty sure I immediately got wet. I can only imagine the pheromones that will be in the air at these shows.”

“Funny. Very funny.”

“Actually I was waiting for you to take a break...I was gonna head back to the cottage a little early if that’s okay with you?”

He frowned. “What’s wrong. Are you not feeling well?”

He immediately placed his palm over forehead to check for fever.

“I’m not sick. I’m just a little tired. And I know this is you working but...this is kind of my vacation. I figured I could go back and sleep and then by the time you got back we could go out to dinner or something.”

He couldn’t help the deflated feeling in his chest at the moment. He’d been waiting all week to play these songs for her. He wanted her to know that so many of them, whether they’d been originally written about her or not, felt so completely different now that they were together. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t sing Fallin’ without thinking of their first night together as more than friends. Couldn’t sing Particular Taste without thinking of her naked at least once. And Why...well why just broke his fucking heart every time he thought about them not being able to communicate, and tell each other how they felt. So, he tried not to be hurt by his girlfriend simply wanting to go lay down at their hotel, but that was a tad bit easier said than done.

“O--Oh. Oh, okay. Yea. Just let me go ask Jake if he’ll ride with you.”

She shook her head at him. “I don’t need a bodyguard, honey. I think I’ll be okay. I wanna stop at a store anyway, don’t need to waste Jake’s time.”

“Okay. Well we’ll still go to dinner though, yea? Just the two of us?” He asked trying to keep the slight whine out of his voice that was threatening to bust through.

She gave him that look that said he’d been busted and he froze as she got off of the couch to step between his legs. For a while she just hugged him, and so he wrapped his arms around her hips and leaned his head on her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was so soothing that for a second he was able to pretend that she wasn’t going to leave him.

“We can do absolutely anything you want tonight. I’m here for two more days, yea? Don’t get sad on me just yet.” She whispered.

Totally busted.

He nuzzled deeper into her skin and sighed until she hugged a little tighter. He sort of liked that she was willing to take care of him, just as much as he was her. It made him feel wanted, made him feel like she could see him for everything that he was.

“Okay. I’ll do my best. Can’t make any promises though.” He chuckled. “Kiss?”

She pecked softly at his lips hands holding sweetly at his cheeks as she slid her tongue along his. It just might tide him over.

“Love you.” She grinned.

“I love you too. Get out of here.”

He swatted playfully at her ass only for her to turn those eyes that could turn his insides upside down right on him.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mendes.”

“Baby, I assure you I can always finish.”

She pushed playfully on his forehead and told him to get away from her before she made him finish right there in the middle of the rehearsal space. He just barely lets her leave.

Rehearsals goes for another two hours as they work through transitions, jam out alongside each other, and work to create the show in the manner that he envisioned it. It all felt right. And he could only imagine how the fans would react. He always wanted to give the best thing that he could to them, and he loved every aspect of performing. He’s sitting on the floor with the band and Connor and Brian just dicking around when Andrew comes in to check on them. He starts going over the expectations for the next day when Shawn’s phone starts to buzz. He’s hopeful that is y/n asking about dinner, because Andrew's updates tend to bore the fuck out of him.

y/n: I think you should hurry back to the cottage.

Shawn: I will honey. We’re finishing up now. Did you think about what you want for dinner?

y/n: I was kind of hoping you might decide what you want to eat.

He was just about to tell her that he’d ask one of the guys for a suggestion when a photo popped up in their message stream

His whole body froze as he was suddenly faced with his girlfriend dipped in very thin, very sheer lace.  Her nipples were hard and taunt against the fabric, and she was biting her bottom lip like actual sin. And suddenly it was time to go.

“Welp! I simply must go now. Jake can you ask them to pull the car up to the back please?”

Brian and Connor looked at him like he was crazy.

“Who lit a fire under your ass?” Brian asked.

Andrew nodded. “I was still sort of going over the plan for tomorrow.”

“I will happily read the email you send of these meetings every single time once I’m in the car. I do have to go though.”

Shawn: I’m on my way. Don’t move.

“Shawn? Two minutes, huh? Can you spare me two minutes?”

He peered down at his phone and leaned his weight from foot to foot impatiently.

“Fine.” He sighed.

Fifteen excruciatingly long minutes later he’s climbing into the car to head back to the cottage and there’s another text from his girlfriend. This time she’s lying back and her hand is simply resting underneath the thinnest band of underwear he’s ever seen. Jesus.

Y/n: got you a present only for you to not come and open it.

Shawn: I’m coming. Jesus, I promise I’m coming.

y/n: every minute you make me wait, I make you wait when you get here.

“Fuck...Sir, can this car move any faster by chance?”

The driver peers at him through mirror and glances back at the road.

“I’m kind of driving as fast the speed limit allows, sir.”

His girlfriend was surely turning him into an idiot.

“Of course. Yea. Sorry about that.”

By the time he burst through the door to their room he was out of breath and sweaty without even having had, nor given an orgasm. It was a hard life to say the least.

And there his girlfriend was, lying in the middle of their bed fingers poised inside her and those thighs so tense and ready for worship. God he was obsessed with her.

He made a step towards her and her eyes fluttered open, still hooded and sultry in every way. When he goes to take another step she shakes her head at him and it causes him to freeze.

“Mmmm… You’re still gonna wait.”

There’s a whine that’s in the pit of his chest that he’s convinced is unlike any sound that he’s ever made before, but when she hears it her hand moves to rest against her pubic bone as she plunged deeper inside herself.

She moaned softly. “Take your clothes off. I think I deserve to see your Calvins too.”

“Jesus, you can see whatever you want.” He muttered practically tripping out of his jeans.

There had never been such a test on his patience than watching his girlfriend get off without him. He liked to think he was a giver, and honestly her pleasure in bed was seventy-five percent of what got him to reach his own climax. To not be allowed to touch. To be punished with the visual of her fingers working to an orgasm that he couldn’t, was perhaps the worst kind.

He stood by the bed fingers tracing her ankle as her hips bucked lewdly against her hand. He grabbed at himself through the underwear and practically melted when she moaned a sa result.

“Do you want me?”  She asked.

“Yes. God, yes. Can I--Please let me touch you, baby.”

“I like watching you beg.” She giggled.

Jesus.

“If you want to touch me, then touch me. But make it good.”

He reaches for her thighs, first slowly and methodically mapping out her flesh. Everything about her is soft and when he squeezes at the inner part of her thighs, her back arches and he’s completely gone.

“Can I finger you?” He whispered, fingers edging toward her heat.

She bit her lip and nodded taking one of his hands in her own to lead him right where she needs it most.

“You’re so wet...warm.” He sighed as he stretched her lightly with two fingers. “It’s like this pussy was made for me.”

Her eyes closed and she smiled and hummed and oh my god I am so fucked for her.

He didn’t want to waste any time lest she decide to not let him touch anymore, so he quickly curved his fingers up in search for that spot that makes her cry out for him every time. It’s his favorite sound that she makes because it’s completely involuntarily. She can bite those full ass lips of hers all day long and try to muffle it in the pillow, but he always ends up hearing her eventually. And this time is no different.

“Uhh! Fuck, how do you do that?” She whimpered thrusting back against his fingers.

He keeps searching, keeps rubbing and curving until her voice goes up an octave and he knows that he’s where will get her there fastest.

“Just wanna please you baby. Only wanna make you feel good.”

He’s on his knees in front of her one hand on her knee for leverage while the other plunges deep within her being. Her hips leave the bed the faster he moves and she starts chanting for him to keep going, to push inside of her with all his might. He likes looming over her this way because he can see the way his necklace bumps against his neck and the way that her flops with every movement of her body. It makes him feel so connected to her in this most intimate of moments where everything is about connection. And when she starts to fall in on herself, when her pleasure is mounting to something incredible, he feels like they’re floating. Together.

“W--Wait, wait, wait. You can’t. You can’t make me squirt right now.”

“Why not?” He whined fingers not stopping.

“Oh my--fuck! The sheets, Shawn. The sheets!”

“I don’t care about the fucking sheets, I wanna see this pretty pussy squirt.” He grunted. “I’ll buy a whole new bed if you squirt for me.”

“Jesus Christ that’s hot!”

When she releases it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. The sounds that she makes. The tears in her eyes. The tremble in her thighs. Every part of it gets him going in ways he never thought possible. She’s absolutely stunning in pleasure, even more so than usual. For a moment he just stares at her in wonderment and overwhelming arousal. The visual is tantalizing, but he’s also so full of warmth for her too. The happiness that comes with making her feel good, even sexually, is insurmountable.

“See. Now was that so bad?” He huffed.

“Can’t. Move. Give me five minutes.” She gasped. “...Ten. Give me ten minutes. My fat ass was not made for this.”

*two hours later*

“If there’s an olympic medal for orgasms in an hour, I think you just won it.” She mumbled still out of breath.

“Well I think there actually is one for gymnastics and if they saw the way you were bending you’d surely win gold.”  

“Yes compliments on our sex game. Go us.” She snorted raising her hand.

He quickly clapped his hand against hers before they collapsed back in bed together. Go them.

She laid her head on his chest and snuggled close to him and it was everything that he’d been missing and then some. His fingers trailed up and down her back trying to draw shapes of flowers and hearts that would tickle and make her laugh because the sound was so beautiful to him.

“Can I ask you something?” She hummed her own fingers playing with his chest hair.

“Anything.”

“Were you scared to put your calvin covered crotch out there to the world?”

He snorted softly and reached to play with her hair. “I mean..Of course. I was so fucking nervous about putting it all out there. I guess I just, I wanted to do something new and I wanted to feel confident in myself. I thought it might be the kind of thing that people would think I’d never do.”

“I most certainly never saw it coming. How come you didn’t tell me? Didn’t want me to see you in your calvin’s?”

“I always want you to see me in my Calvin’s. I was gonna tell you. I guess I didn’t know if you might think it was douchey? I’m gonna be honest, sitting on the edge of a bed with someone rubbing oil all over you while someone asks you to smolder more? Made me feel a little douchey.”

She leans up on her arms so that she’s hovering a bit above her and her eyes are so soft and warm that he just falls into them. He feels vulnerable and open and yet he knows that she’s not gonna let him fall, that she’d never let him fall.

“There is nothing douchey about you feeling confident in your body and in yourself. You looked so damn good babe. You’re so incredibly beautiful, do you know that? I mean, shit Shawn. You’re gorgeous. There’s no rule that says you’re not allowed to feel that just because you’re a man or just because you’re a rock star. You should let yourself feel that.” She murmured feverently.

He smiled up at her completely at a loss for words. All he could think of was to kiss her, and hope that it could somehow let her know just how good she made him feel.

“I love you.” He whispered.

She smiled. “I love you too. My fucking pretty ass man.”

“Stop it.”

“No. You’re so damn pretty. Come let me show how pretty you are.”

“Baaaaabe,” He whined. “We have to get ready for dinner soon.”

She had already begun her descent beneath the sheets. There was no stopping her. And he really didn’t want to. He just wanted to be her pretty man for a little while longer. Dinner be damned.

***

Their time together in the cottage tells him something he wasn’t sure he knew before. He knew that he loved her. Hell, he even knew that he loved her more than any other woman he’d ever been with. But, something about waking up to her in a different continent. Something about holding her hand on his way to rehearsals, about making breakfast together in nothing but robes, made him feel even softer somehow. He was envisioning a future with her. Long winters in toronto visiting his parents, and hell maybe even her brothers. Vacations to the ocean where they could get sunburned together and drink wine and make love. So much love. He was struggling to see a point where his life ended and hers began. They had become so deeply intertwined at that point. And after their fight, after their ability to be kind and rational and work through things together, he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what the future actually held for them. God he hoped so.

When it’s time for her to leave he feels hesitantly optimistic. It had nothing to do with it getting easier. In fact, he had a feeling it was gonna kill him to watch her leave. Instead it was the interconnectedness of them as people that had him feeling as though it didn’t matter how hard it was. He couldn’t leave her even if he tried.

“Three weeks. And then we’ll have Amsterdam and then...I--I’m gonna stop in Toronto before New York so you don’t have to keep flying back to me, okay?”

It was airport time. Maybe the worst moments that he could come across now adays. When all you had left was the moments between when the flight was called and when fans had figured out that he was there. And you could hope that maybe they’d line up, but you never fucking knew. Jake was on standby just incase as they shared their last moments together.

“We’ll figure it out.” She murmured squeezing at his hands. “It’ll be okay.”

“Do you believe that? Really?” He mumbled.

“‘Course I do. It’s you and me against the world, isn’t it?”

“Yea. Yea. I love you. C’mere.”

He kisses her there with zero care in the world of who might see, of who might be lingering about to get the photo. He just wanted to show her that he loved her, that he was a hundred percent in this with her. They were gonna be together somehow with him on the other side of the world, and somehow it was all gonna be okay. He had to believe that or he might go mad. But when she leaves his arms and she goes off towards the gate, he already misses her touch. And he has to let Jake lead him back to the car instead of buying a ticket back to toronto. It’s much harder than it should be. He just hopes that maybe it's hard for her to leave too.

Hiya. I’m hoping if you read this far that you like the content that you got? I made a ko-fi. It’s just a way for y’all to support if you’re able and willing. I love writing, it makes me happy, but the kid is broke. Help me out if ya like here!

Taglist: @kitykatnumber @lou-and-me​ @ourlittleshawnie @mutuallynotmutual @wanderingmendes @peacedolantwins2 @chels-nyc @@illloveyouforever1​ @justbeingoceana @grittyisathot @hayyitsfayy​ @claredolphinbear24​  @september-lace @grittyathot @literallyshawn @mchutchmendes @liliane106 @standingandstaring​ @trappedinfairytales

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Three

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ You guys...I am so sorry that it has been...two weeks since the last chapter. These past days have been pretty tough on me and I’ve had a bad case of writer’s block. I changed the reader’s age in chapter one so everything fits nicely for timeline (sorry). By the way, something’s really wiggy with my Tumblr and spacing/copy&paste is a pain in the bum. Soooo...enough said, I deeply apologize and will really try to clean up my act. Much love. 

Disclaimer ⟶ I don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3060

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  

----

SEPT 23rd, 2029

AM 3:21:53

    You're sat on an old mustard couch, not knowing where to look. You can hear pestering beeps. High sounding with a low undertone. It's as if everything is moving in slow-motion before your eyes. You fiddle with your fingers, looking down as a scream fills your ears once again. You don't know if you can look. You don't know if you should look. You don't know if you want to look. A strained wail erupts from her throat; as well as your name. Your gaze rests upon her sweaty state. Hair sticking to her forehead and her skin glistening like a sparkling river.

"Y/N." she cries again, hastily beckoning you over.

    Involuntarily, you're brought to your feet, and over at her side in seconds. Her frail, elegant hand quivers toward you. Immediately, you hold it to your heart.

"Don't be scared." she smiles weakly.

    You nod, squeezing her hand. She whimpers once more letting her head fall back onto a tower of pillows.

"I need you to push once more, sweetheart."

    The woman in front of you lets another wail pour out from between her swollen lips. The howl only grows louder and your head starts to swirl. For you, this is very overwhelming. Your heart quickens as you watch the lady arch in pain. A larger, warm hand covers both hers and yours. Your eyes move toward the owner. He smiles, sharing the anxiety.

He's happy...very scared, but happy.

    One last set of agonizingly slow seconds stumble by, and finally, another soul is brought into the world.

"Oh darling, your hard work has paid off. You have a beautiful, healthy baby boy."

    A kind, aged lady wears an expression you have never seen before. She's in awe of the sight before her. A younger woman in blue holds scissors in her hand. She bends over the infant and makes a precise snip. You lower your gaze, choosing not watch. Instead of letting your eyes witness the new life, you let your ears. He sure is loud. Very, very loud.

    You look back to the couple before you. A smile dances across your lips as you admire the scene. Damp foreheads pressed together and their laughs are woven with exhaustion.

    Her face lights up with joy as her boy is placed in her arms. Loving tears drown her stressed ones as she takes in the baby's presence. The husband's finger is adorned below four tiny fingers. They laugh in glee as they watch him suck in his lips.

    You stand a foot away, quite awkwardly. They seem so happy and content. Full of love and power. A trio connected through blood and bones.

"I can't believe it. We did it." she whispers, gleaming up at him.

    He nods, letting a tear fall down onto her shoulder. The woman flinches slightly, reality tapping on her front door. Then she looks at you with shiny, doe-eyes.

"I love you, Y/N. We love you."

"I know, Mum." you reply with a small smile.

"D'you wanna meet your baby brother?" your father grins, holding his hand out to you.

    You hesitate for a moment, then take a step toward them. Placing your hand into his, he guides you to the child's head.

"Be very careful," he hums, "his head is very soft and sensitive."

    Your hand barely even floats over his tiny hairs, amazed by the energy from this child. It's as if he holds a magic spell around him. A spell of wanting to protect and love him until earth's end. You blink as you're taken under this effect. Peace and serenity fluttering around the four of you. You just can't stop running your finger under his palm. His fingers, all there, beautifully curled and chubby. His lips cheeky and pouted. With lashes, very wet, and eyes shining brighter than sapphires. His skin is velvet, his sleeping state, a symbol of calm. He is magical.

"Cole." you finally hear, "his name is Cole."

----

JUN 18, 2032

PM 5:54:12

    "Hey, you little shits!-"

"Hank! What did we say about langua-"

    "I have a present!"

"Daddy!"

    A little boy no older than three comes pattering to the door. You're eighteen now, a fresh face from high school, getting ready for university. You smirk, watching your grey old man tackle Cole. Cole's grown nicely. Strong, brave, spry. He's a pain to play hide an' seek with... You stand to stretch your legs, leaving your beloved 'corner spot' on the couch.

"Hey, dad." you smile, giving him a shoulder hug.

    He scrubs your head, shaking it back and forth like a dog.

"How's my little girl?"

"Not little."

"Hey! I have a surprise! Hon, you can stop washing the dishes. Get out here!" he waves his hands around, bouncing like a child.

"I wasn't washing the dishes. I'm not always doing stereotypical wife things." she smiles with a knowing look while wiping her hands with a small rag.

"Were you cooking dinner?" he teases, wiggling his brows.

    You watch her send him a subtle finger while you suppress a snort. You all follow the man outside, three different emotions playing on your faces. Cole, on-the-brink-of-peeing-his-pants happy, you, thrououghly amused and anticipating the argument to come, and your mother, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

    There stands before you a ginormous Saint Bernard. With big saggy ears, excessively large paws, an even larger tongue, and the most happiest, puppy-eyes.

"Hank, I swear to god." your mother starts.

"Hey! Y'know how you always talk about saving the environment? I got him from a shelter!" he beams deffensively.

"That's...that's not-"

"You got a dog!" Cole chirps.

    He runs up to the massive kanine, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around its chest. The dog pants excitedly, letting its tail swing all around. It sits patiently; almost respectively. You can't help but grin. Of course Pop would buy a surprise dog. Cole had wanted one for ages. He insisted on getting a dog so bad, he proceeded to act like one for three days straight to prove 'how great it is to have a dog'. The act stopped once your dad told him to poop outside.

"Can we keep him?" Cole pleas, rubbing his face into the dog’s breast.

    You watch your father laugh, loud and loving. "One step ahead of you, kid." he winks.

    Your mom shakes her head in dismay, turning back into the house. The both of you watch her sulk away, trying not to chortle. Looking back at Cole, oblivious of the situation, he's just having a blast. He's on his back while the huge mongrel drops its head onto his stomach.

"So what's its name?" you ask.

    A content silence falls over the both of you. Waiting for his reply, you watch your brother guffaw at this hound. Glancing over at your father, you recognize that look. The 'no worries, untroubled, satisfied' look to be exact.  

"Sumo."

----

FEB 11, 2034

AM 11:46:20

"This place looks bad."

"Come on, it tastes way better than it looks."

    You clutch the boy's hand and bring it against the outside of your thigh. You stare at the menu, reading every meal like you haven't already memorized it. Two older men are just starting to order, giving Cole time to select his poison. Kidding, kidding...

"Whadd'ya want, bud?" you question, still not having taken your eyes off the boards.

    You feel that all-too-familiar tapping against your thigh and the tugging at the hem of your shirt. You lean over, eyes still reading, and lazily listen to his words.

"Do they actually give you chicken feed?" he whispers secretively.

    You explode with one obnoxious laugh and step forward, for the two fellows had walked away with their food. You approach the distastefully tall counter, waiting for someone to help you.

"Hullo, how can I help you?" a thin guy speaks. Seeming to be on his first job...

"Hello, can I please have two burgers, a large coke, and a cup of water?"

    Once again, the tugging of persistence and plead drums on your side. You hear his quiet whining, but chose to admire some trees just beginning to grow back their leaves. The employee disappears within the truck giving Cole his chance to pout.

"I didn't want a burger...and why can't I have fizzy drinks?..." he mewls, pouting up at you.

"You know Mum, she doesn't want you full of sugar."

    He puffs out another complain, aimlessly scuffing lines in gravel with his sneakers.

"Mum's changed..." he mumbles, keeping his head low and avoiding.

    You swallow lightly, hoping the food will come before you have to reply. Luckily, the universe is on your side and it steams, posing deliciously on the ledge. You murmer a polite 'thank you', moving to a quaint picnic table close by. Cole reluctantly sits across you, still upset at having to eat a burger. You also clearly notice him ‘subtly’ eyeing your sweet beverage.

"Look, just take a bite, and then let me know how you feel." you encourage, hungrily pawing the serving in front of you.

    Begrudgingly, the young boy lifts the dressed patty, studying it like an inspector. He grumbles one last time, and nibbles on the edge. Quite honestly, it looks like he could be miming. You internally roll your eyes and watch him closely. You grin as he fights the smile.

"Holy sh-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Holy cow, thank you very much." you turn back to your lunch, "And I told you. These burgers are so bad, they're good."

    Of course, he's not quite sure what you mean, but doesn't hesitate to mow down. His mood has flipped and he's the brother you truly love. He munches happily, sauce decorating everything but his mouth, hands smeared with god know's what. He sips the water greedily, completely forgetting it's not jittering with carbon dioxide and sugar.

    Minutes later, he's burying his face into napkins, resulting with an irritated hue of pink amoung his cheeks. You're only halfway through, wiping the corner of your lips for the fifth time. You notice Cole has entirely slurped his water to the very last drop. With a small move, you nudge your drink in front of him. His eyes go wide and he stares at you.

"I bought a large for a reason." you smirk, filling your mouth with lettuce coated with a variety of sauce and grease.

    He buzzes merrily, sucking up the most content his lungs can bare. His teeth come to show, some crooked, some absent, but still shining with joy.

"How'd you find this place?" he chirps.

    Your thoughts are swarmed with memories, "Dad." you reply, head somewhere far away.

    Cole jumps with excitement and interest, urging you to continue.

"He used to bring me here all the time..before I left for university. Every Friday, no matter what kind of day; good or bad, we would eat here," you press your finger down onto the repolished wooden picnic table, "We would eat and talk until there seemed to be nothing wrong." you pause, losing focus and trailing off, "That everything was okay."

    The energy clinging to your clothes, lifting the bubbles in your drink, fluttering past the wrappers of your food, had utterly changed. One might say it were sad. One might say peaceful. Whatever it be, you feel the weight on your shoulders increase. Just a realization that you're here in this moment. Experiencing these things. Living this life.

"Can we go home?"

    You lift your eyes to his. Beautifully kind and innocent. He's so smart. He's a whiny bitch, but so smart. He's obersvant. He know's when something is wrong. He may not understand every little situation, but he sure finds a way to help. He is small. Frail looking. But strong in his mind. A strong motive.

A strong soul.

    The corners of your mouth turn up politely and you nod.

"Yeah. We can go home."

----

OCT 11, 2035

PM 10:22:38

Was it the call the made you heart drop? Or was it the sound of the name? The silent drive there? The terrifyingly calm ride up the elevator? When you walked in, and smelt urine and chemicals? Hearing the room number, that in, yes, this is real?                                             

Or was it simply the thoughts running through your dizzy head?

    How can one describe the feeling of it. The amount of anxiety and pain. The amount of fear. You hear horrible stories about this all the time. You never thought it would happen to you.

Will he live?

    You had arrived late, your father with his head in his hands. You wonder if the same animal gnaws at his bones too. The ache you are trying to settle. Without any words, you sit beside him. Gently, your hand comes to his back.

"He's in surgery."

    Thin, needle-like spiders creep over the nape of your neck. His voice sounds excruciating. Your throat siezes and you force a swallow. He still hasn't looked at you, but really, you don't mind. You keep your hand situated on his back, applying light pressure and slow circles. To be honest, you don't think you're doing it for him. The contact allows warmth and life, things you feel are slipping away from you.

----

PM 11:49:04

    This waiting. This waiting stings almost as much as the nightmares creeping under your eyelids. Your dad is leant fully against the wall now. You have that in common, but his eyes, unlike yours, are wide open. His nightmares are the only thing he can see. He's off into his own torment. Falling without a landing.

Falling without a sense of falling.

    Your arms are crossed against your chest and you try to keep your mind at rest. It's not working, but the battle distracts you from those agonizing visions.

    Both of you have come to the point where footsteps pattering by don't rouse you anymore. There are a handful of others sitting by you, drowning in their own fears.

    This waiting. Like leaves trickling off a dry tree's branches,                           you are losing hope.

----------3rd POV----------

OCT 26, 2035

PM 12:31:49

  There she stood. Before her anchor keeping her at bay. He had long gone, more than two weeks. But the waves had not hit her until now. For two weeks she had been sailing freely, slowly, surely, senselessly. The water had been too cold to think. She could only sail, further and further away from the shore.  

  This anchor, was like no other. Every once in a while, he would lift off the sand, and let her drift a little farther than usual. There, she could explore, learn, discover. And at the end of the day, he would gradually sink back down, bring her back home, and learn what she had learnt.

  She didn't know this would be his final rise. It was night, dark out. She couldn't see. Couldn't see that she was unfastened from him. He was rising. Sleep was heavy on her eyes when she woke, she knew something was happening. He was rising. She called his name, but only the breeze replied. Rising, rising, rising... He rose past the surface. Broke the water, and kept rising. The metal chain connecting their hearts, splitting in two.

He rose, and never sunk down.                                                                          

  The two weeks, being held not by him, but by the ocean's currents were utterly devastating to say the least. Her whole body numb from the sea's solemn rhythm. She had drifted too far from all sense of returning. She cannot hear their converse, nor see their lighthouse. The horizon had eaten up the mountains surrounding the town. Sea to sky, the only recognition in her brain that she, is lost.

---------- 2nd POV----------

NOV 6, 2038

AM 3:27:52

    Your head pounds once you get through the door to your motel room your knuckles too. That was a long day...

    While nearly falling asleep standing up, you peel off your clothes, letting them embellish the wooden floor in lumps of black, very dark grey, and darker black. Lights aren't negotiable at this time. They are off and will stay that way until late in the afternoon tomorrow.

    Your bed looks so sexy right now. This motel may be a shit hole aged...but the owners made the most important thing beautiful and high quality. The bed. It's puffed and fluffed to the ulimate max. That amazingly cold, white, crinkly duvet holding its breath, just itching for you to dive in. If you insist, my love...

    Ever so carefully, you fold back the corner of the comforter and sheet, both lustfully freezing and crisp. Mmmmmmm... That ‘hum’ was undoubtedly outside of your head.

    After sloppily climbing under the covers every nerve in your body tingles. Mentally and physically, you try to remove yourself from all worries and troubles from today. You’re entirely exhausted. Every once in a while you hear people on the other sides of your room, making you curl up even more to muffle their nonsense. It’s very easy for you to get distracted when there are multiple conversations going on around you. You just can’t help but tune in.

    In frustration, you flip all of the blankets right over your head, slipping into a world of your own. Every movement you make is amplified in sound so you slowly slide your feet back and forth. As if on cue, it starts to rain. Thank the lords... You smile in your little cave, feeling sleep pulling you under its arm. You’re sinking and sinking under the weight of it all when...you hear squeaking, and vigorous rattling?...

“Oh fuck yeah, Daddy! Uh huh, give it to me, baby!”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

----

[hollowcrovvn]

The Ostensive Fumblings of Being Human (part 5)

Pairing: Connor x female!reader 

Rating: T 

Summary: January 2039. The aftermath of the revolution continues to shake the city of Detroit. Androids are living in government provided communities while efforts are being made to integrate them into society. You are a grad-student volunteering with the Detroit Crisis Response Unit (DCRU), working to help with relief efforts. Set within the backdrop of the slowing growing Android Rights Movement, Connor, newly deviant, is trying to understand what it means to be alive while many others like him seek equality and justice.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (ao3)

Tagged: @shaydeevee33 @easy-and-steady 

It was snowing again, thick and wet, sticking to the ground and to the roads, January fading into February with hardly anyone the wiser. You expected more bustle, more signs of life at the once Cyberlife owned distribution center, but all was quiet and still in the morning light. There were guards, human and android, at the gate. The android guards were behind the gate and the humans in front, whether there was some logistics behind this other than making sure the humans were kept out you didn't know and it didn't seem to matter. You showed your badge once to the humans and again to the androids. You were directed to one of the large buildings, the door opened for you and you were ushered in to the floor of what use to be a loading bay.

There were at least a dozen or more cots, with androids in various stages of disrepair and recovery on them. Other androids, family or friends, gathered around them, holding hands and speaking quietly as you would have expected of any hospital wing or emergency room. From what you could tell, there were few crates of parts, some androids only half fixed, but all appearing as stable as possible, receiving thirium through IVs.

Josh came out from behind an area that was blocked off with dividing screens, looking almost as if nothing had happened to him at all. You met eyes and suddenly you tossed aside your bag and rushed to meet him, his arms already extended for your hug. He held you so tight he lifted you from your feet, the momentum spinning you both slightly before he set you back down.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you." he said, voice filled with relief, "... a lot of people didn't make it. On both sides."

"You're okay? Your neck? Anything else?" you asked, instinctively running your hands from his shoulders down his arms as you looked him over. Where his arms had opened were faint imperfections, showing most likely the openings had been cauterized and now were half concealed by his artificial skin. Josh nodded regardless, "All accounted for. Voice had to be replaced, but I got off lucky."

Josh lowered his eyes, looking pained.

"Simon?" you asked, tentatively. The weight in your chest had returned. You didn't know the other Jericho android well, but you knew that the four of them were family.

"Stable. We managed to get some replacements for his damaged eye and ear, but... the damage to his arms isn't clean. It would take a professional to put them back together where he could even use them again. Replacement or not." Josh said, shaking his head, "And no android repair shop is going to fix a deviant ."

He spat the word like a curse. A slur.

"We'll see about that." you said, voice firm, "I'll talk to Cyberlife. I'll talk to anyone."

Josh just kept shaking his head, letting you go as he moved back behind the curtains and gestured you to follow. You were hesitant, but eventually followed him around. Simon was in a cot, arms wrapped up where they had been destroyed with layers of fresh gauze. He had several bags of thirium connected to him, his eyes were shut and his processes that ran simulated breathing appeared to be suspended. It was eerie, the only sign he was still alive was simply the fact Josh had said he was. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair gave you a look of unbridled hatred , turning her gaze on Josh.

"What the hell is she doing here?" the woman said, outraged. Markus was sitting at Simon's side, head bowed and rested against folded hands. When North spoke, he only glanced up at you for a moment before turning his eyes back down.

"This is a private matter. You need to leave." North continued, getting up from her chair and walking towards you with purpose. She was directly in your personal space when Josh stopped her.

"No, she doesn't. --- is a friend. She wants to help."

North scoffed, "Don't they all."

She looked you over with a critical eye and seemed to find nothing at all she approved of.

North circled away from you, on guard and tense. She moved with all the grace of a predator, ready to fight at any moment. She refused to sit again, instead, coming to stand by Markus at Simon's bedside, her hand on his shoulder even as she never took her eyes off you.

"Has an investigation been open?" Markus asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes. I spoke with a member of the DPD... I'm going there to make a statement and check on the status."

"Then why are you still here?" North snapped, Markus sitting up and putting his hand over her own tightly. She turned her head to him, backing down at the silent warning from her leader.

You swallowed thickly, "I wanted to make sure Josh was okay. That everyone was being treated."

"They--" North began, but Markus cut her off.

"We do not have enough parts. What you see here is what remained in the facility when we arrived. Cyberlife is claiming it will take at least a week or more to provide us with the things we need outside of thirium. They claim they don't have the extra funds. "

"That's bullshit ." you said, forgetting you were supposed to be "Miranda" level professional now. North even smiled.

"I'll contact them." you said, "Figure out what the hold up is."

Markus looked at you now, appraising the way Connor often did. He had no LED, so you could only wonder as to whether he was scanning you or not.

"Please do that." he said, "I would appreciate if you reached out to me as soon as you know anything. On the parts from Cyberlife or the case itself. If you're more comfortable, you can send the updates to Josh and he'll let me know."

"I can send them to all of you, if you want."

North snorted, "Absolutely not. You don't get a free line in to my head."

Markus smiled wryly, clearly more used to this kind of reaction from her than anyone else presently conscious in the room. "No one is saying you have to, North. She's just trying to be accommodating."

His smile faded, "I would appreciate it if you tried too."

"--- already has mine, so she can contact me whenever she wants." Josh said, bristling, "I won't turn down genuine help when offered. Our people can't afford the same luxury of "principles" as you right now, North."

She crossed her arms, shooting Josh a glare with less cold heat and more fire. You assumed that was the difference between glares reserved for friends and glares reserved for you.

"Please, you two." Markus said, softely. The tone seemed to have resonated with North, the change in her demeanor suddenly making her seem not so very threatening at all. "Simon won't be in need of a com channel right now..." Markus said, closing his eyes. Within a minute, your phone alert went off, indicating an RK200 model was opening communication. It was a different message than Connor's synchronizing, allowing only message contact. You clicked accept.

"Markus..." North said, her voice edged with warning and concern, "You're putting a lot of faith in one of the things that have tried yet again to kill us."

"I haven't done anything to you!" you said, sudden and defensive. You weren't normally this touchy, but something about near death had kinda put you on edge. North looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"You're right. You haven't. Which is also why Simon is laying here still mutila --"

" North . Please, stop." Markus said, his voice cracking. It sent a shock through your chest to hear the leader of the revolution sound so... heartbroken. Whatever North was going to say she stopped, turning towards him and blocking your view any further.

Josh gently took your forearm, avoiding your still injured hands, tugging you out of the area. The last glimpse you saw was of North wrapping her arms around Markus, letting him fall into her as he held her like a lifeline.

Josh looked nearly as devastated, eyes swimming as he walked you out and gave your back an affectionate rub.

"Thank you. I know you might not get much from Cyberlife, but... the thought counts to me. It reminds me to hope. And she'd hate me for saying it, but I'm sorry about North. I wish you knew her the way we all did, she really is an amazing person, but sometimes she just...."

You hugged him again around his middle and Josh was more than happy to reciprocate.

"I'll try not to hold it against her." you said, earning a chuckle, "And I'll be back. That much I can promise." you said, a white hot fury slowly beginning to smolder in your gut.

You'd be back here and you'd have those damn parts if it meant holding up the entire Cyberlife facility yourself.

It was near 10 a.m. and the sun was losing it's battle with the clouds today. You brushed snow from your hair, tugging free your gloves as you stepped into the DPD lobby, moved off to the side as you spoke in a harsh whisper on your phone.

"No, I don't understand. One of the largest facilities you own is--"

"Ms. ---, most of those parts are already bought and sold product or being rationed from us with limited refund. We are being required by the government to provide parts to their efforts. Which I understand they rationed to your facility as well."

"Which haven't arrived!" you said, loud enough to draw some eyes to you.

"That is something you will want to take up with your local government official." the man on the other side concluded and you swore you could just hear the self-satisfied smile.

"People are dying. We need those parts and we need techs to install them." you said, not sure if it would even work.

"I understand how you might feel that way. However, without the direct order of Miranda Stregga, I can not divert any spare parts or personnel to your facility."

"I'm her replacement, we've been through this."

"Yes. You have stumbled into the position on a technicality, an accident. I would much rather wait for the proper director to become available, as would Cyberlife." he added, before you could argue you didn't give a shit about his personal preference.

"Ms. ---, I have sympathy for your plight. Off the record-- " you heard a click, signalling he was blocking any attempts to record the phone call from your device, "You are young and our product has fooled you with it's realism. No one is dying . Machines are just going without maintenance and repair. Don't take it so much to heart. Cyberlife knows that there is a time and place for pretending to buy into the public's idiotic idea these androids are people. You should learn too."

He almost sounded genuine. It made the back of your throat burn. You saw Hank come out from around the hall into the DPD lobby, looking around with an air of impatience. His eyes fell on you and he gestured his arms out, What gives?

It was 10:20.

"I have to go and give a statement to the DPD, but I will be calling back to continue this phone call immediately after I'm done."

"Very well." he said, almost with a laugh.

The line disconnected and you hurried to meet Hank. He scanned his badge, allowing you access through the entrance and back into the bullpen. There was much more bustle in the DPD today than had been before, from the bits of conversation you caught, it was all from a tip line set up to try and find out which "android" attacked the DCRU facility.

"God damn mayor set it up." Hank grumbled, leading you back into an interview room. Judging by the two way mirror, it was actually an interrogation room. You felt a sudden flutter of nervousness in your stomach.

"Hope this is okay. Multi purpose. I'll leave the door open even if you want." Hank said, pulling out the aluminum chair for you. You shook your head, you'd rather have the privacy. Hank closed the door, leaving it unlocked though.

"Hope you remembered to put the scuff pad back on." you said, checking the chair for wobbling. It was sturdy, but the comment drew a barked laugh from Hank.

"Trust me. Connor gave the place a thorough once over when he knew I'd be taking you in here. Surprised there isn't chocolate mints and pillows."

You blushed and Hank didn't need to be an android to notice it. He said nothing about it though, setting a recording device on the table. It was a bit low tech considering most interrogation rooms came with full video and audio recording in the room behind the two-way mirror.

"Figured we don't need the whole dog and pony show. You aren't a suspect, in case you were wondering." Hank said, clicking on a button and turning the recorder on.

"Let's see it is uh-- 10:32 a.m. on February 2nd, 2039. I have with me today Ms. -----, volunteer of the Detroit Crisis Response Unit who was present during the explosion that occurred at Housing Site Alpha on....." Hank paused the droning details, checking a file, "January 31st, 2039 at approximately 11:15 in the morning."

He turned up from the file, trying to be as friendly as possible, "Please confirm your name."

You confirmed it, instinctively crossing your arms. It wasn't cold in the room, but you felt chilled regardless.

"Okay-- first things first. Where were you approximately when the explosive device went off?"

"By the fence line. The line is measured fifteen feet from the first modular unit exactly, but it may have been more like ten feet."

"So you were close, but relatively uninjured?"

You nodded, forgetting the recording device couldn't see you and instead added, "Yes. Josh, one of the androids at the housing site, shielded me and threw me down when it went off."

Hank nodded, flipping through some photos in the file which he thankfully kept out of your sight. You really didn't need to see it again if possible.

"Was that before or after the explosion?"

"Excuse me?"

"When this Josh put himself between you and the blast. Do you remember if it did it before you saw the explosion or after?"

Your blood ran cold, finally understanding the implication. They wanted to know if Josh was aware something was going to happen before it did and tried to keep you safe. You held up your hands to the detective, showing the bandages.

"The explosion happened first . Josh wasn't able to prevent me from getting singed from the initial blast. He didn't see it coming either."

Hank smiled ruefully, "Of course. Who else was present at the sight aside from you and Josh?"

"Miranda Stregga, at least three security officers and... and a lot of androids. It was a three mod home unit."

"We have a record of 17 androids being injured in the blast and four killed on detonation." Hank said, matter-o-factly. Your face must have given away your shock, because when he looked up he seemed surprised. Quickly he reached out and paused the recorder. Your eyes were steaming.

"Sorry... shouldn't have told you that way. I thought maybe you already knew."

"No." you said, wiping your eyes, frustrated that you were even crying at all, "And the human officers? Miranda?"

Hank hesitated, but then nodded, "Yeah. One officer died this morning. We're... waiting on whether Ms. Stregga will be added to that. Do you... need a minute? Water? Coffee?"

You nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Got it. I'll be right back." Hank said, hurriedly getting up as if he were late to something. He opened the interrogation room door and immediately let out an irritated sound, shoving someone or something backwards.

" C'mon , back off, I didn't--"

The conversation became muted as the door closed roughly behind him. You turned, but didn't catch a glimpse of whomever he was speaking with in the hall, but you had a few guesses. You were left alone for only a few minutes before Hank returned, scowling but holding a cup of water and in his other hand a small packet of tissues.

He set down both.

"Oh-- thank you. I should be okay, sorry. I just was caught off guard."

Hank sighed, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Courtesy of DPD."

He shot a look at the two way mirror than, exasperated. It had occurred to you that someone may be watching, but knowing that it might very well be Connor added an extra level of butterflies to your stomach.

"Um... Ms.---? Don't be uh, nervous. Like I said, you aren't in any trouble." Hank said with a level of practice that made you raise an eyebrow. It was clear these were someone else's words. He quickly seemed to get embarrassed, flipping the file back open and abruptly hitting record again.

"Alright. So you were roughly ten to fifteen feet from the initial blast by the fence line. What drew you all out to that part of the facility that day?"

"Someone had used pliers to rip open a hole in the fence." you said, "Simon determined that it was someone from outside who came in, not someone "escaping"."

"Simon?" Hank said, turning some pages, "Who is Simon?"

"Another android. Simon and Markus, who I assume doesn't need an introduction, returned from their trip to D.C.. I don't know for sure why Simon joined us, except that he might have heard about the situation. It was common knowledge at that point."

"How so?" Hank continued, "How would Simon, who had been in D.C. until that morning, know about the fence break in?"

You smiled, "He's an android. They all communicate instantaneously via a communication network. If Josh knew, then Simon knew."

Hank took out a pen and jotted something down on the cover of the folder.

"Simon also was the first one who noticed the bomb. He could smell-- something. I don't know if it was gunpowder or some chemical or what."

Hank's brow furrowed, looking through some other notes in the file before finally he asked,

"What model android is Simon?"

"A PL600."

"You know what duties those models usually perform?"

You shrugged. Hank gave you a pointed look until you said "no" out loud.

"Domestic assistants. Not exactly a crime scene examiner." Hank scoffed, "Is it common for DCRU to depend on the analysis of a manny android?"

"Who knows what kind of upgrades they've all downloaded since that time." you said, irritation tinging your voice at having Simon dismissed like that, "They have to adapt to their new lives and unfortunately part of those lives now includes getting bombs planted in their homes."

Hank nodded, scribbling something down again. There was a sound, like a faint tap that drew his eyes up, which he rolled at the mirror.

"Can I ask you a question, lieutenant?"

He shrugged, "Sure."

"Does the DPD seriously think an android did this?"

"We are exploring all possible venues." Hank said, practiced and without inflection. He'd said this line many times before in his career, you gathered, "That's all the questions we have for you today, Ms. ---. Thank you for coming down to speak to us. If we have any further questions we will contact you."

Hank clicked the stop button on the recording and set it aside.

"Real talk." Hank began, flipping the folder towards you and showing you pictures of a scorched device, "No android did this. I know it. You know it. Cyberlife probably knows it too. We got a few leads, but my advice to you is to keep your head down and your ass outta the line of fire. And you send that advice on to whomever else you think needs to hear it too."

Aka Markus. Your eyes scanned over the device showed in the photo, catching sight of a note on a piece of paper underneath that listed a name and an address-- Temple Bar . Cass ave. 2/4. Hank quickly flipped the folder shut, eyeing you for a moment before seeming to decide against whatever he was going to say next.

"I would offer to walk you out, but my partner will probably overheat his circuits if I don't let him do the honors." Hank said, easing back into a casual demeanor as he tucked the folder under his arm and went to open the door, "But that's the last time I lend him any book of mine. Thought I actually remembered reading that crap! Macchiato or whoever the hell. Kept talking about damn Disney movies too."

You smiled despite yourself and once Hank led you to the hall, you saw Connor, dressed in a suit that clearly had been removed of android markers. He sat, hands clasped together and back straight, always seeming to be just observing and taking in everything going on around him. When he noticed you however, all that focus roped in and narrowed to one thing.

He smiled, quickly getting up.

"Ms. ---, what a nice surp--"

"Yeah, yeah. Surprise. Whatever." Hank said, brushing passed Connor with his shoulder in what seemed more an affectionate display than aggressive. Connor stopped mid posturing, watching Hank head back to his desk for only a second before his attention was on you.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, probably noting you weren't wearing your sling probably before he even got up. You didn't resist him ushering you to a private corner, out of sight and earshot of Gavin or any other who might interrupt.

"Better." you said, a casual lie, but then you remembered Connor could probably see that all in any scan.

"Well-- sore. Mostly sore. And tired. And..." you sighed heavily, deflating, "And pissed off at Cyber-fucks."

Connor perked, as if he had good news that would alleviate one of these things, but then he started looking-- guilty?

" I have something to tell you, but I am worried you may react negatively."

Okay, now you were giving him the suspicious glare, voice lowered, "What?"

"You may be able to acquire the resources you need from Cyberlife if you apply pressure on them through media perception. They are working very hard to make themselves appear victims, skirting the line of denying androids are alive." he continued, "Public opinion has been swayed strongly to favor androids. An individual employed by Cyberlife may mistakenly think it safe to speak freely over any Cyberlife initiated communication because of the level of firewalls and protections Cyberlife offers. However, those protections do not keep me out."

"How did you---"

Connor's LED flashed and there was a sudden ding to your phone. You picked up and saw the words, "Recorded Call".

"No way." you said, clicking play and hearing the "off the record" dialogue of the Cyberlife rep perfectly preserved in the digital cloud, "No way."

You felt a flash of emotion between sudden nefarious triumph and dulled anger that Connor had been snooping in your phone.

"This," you said pointing to the recording, "Is great. This?" you gestured to all of Connor and then to your phone, " Not great. But I have a phone call to make and you and me will talk about that once I'm done threatening this dickhead."

Connor frowned, "Threatening him may get you one shipment, but if an outside source, an unknown were to do it... they may be inspired to act further out of fear of a breach in their security protocols."

"It would take days to get equipment that would fool Cyberlife into knowing it wasn't me." you said, looking at your phone and remembering Simon, disabled and barely holding his processes together.

"Perhaps if the file were to be leaked anonymously by an unknown android unit." Connor said, "That way any possible accusations of "hacking" would not fall on you and no accusations could be directed at Jericho either."

"But they could fall on you." you said, voice flat.

"If they catch me." Connor said with a smirk, "This is the most reasonable choice. There is a 79% probability that Cyberlife will provide parts and Jericho and yourself will be in a position to deny involvement. There is minimal risk to the most important groups."

"You can't ask me to approve of you putting yourself at risk." you said, baffled by how easy Connor seemed to suggest taking the burden of possible fault completely on himself, "... maybe Simon will be okay. Cyberlife said weeks, but it could have just been..."

"I can ask, but I did not say I needed the approval." Connor said, leaving you sputtering.

"No! Wait, I mean-- Connor, wait." you couldn't very well stop him from uploading whatever he wanted from his mind, but you grabbed both his arms, holding him in place as if that could stop it. He seemed at least a little amused by it, LED spinning showing he'd already done something.

"Why would you do that ? " you asked, earnestly.

"I am an android, ---." he said, "If this is how I can help my people, then this is how I'll help them."

It occurred to you that you understood very little about Connor or where he came from or what he'd done during the revolution. He worked on deviant cases, that you knew, but how did he himself deviate? Was it just a happenstance, or did something propel it forward? You'd always just accepted it, never questioned it. You'd been happy to accept his concern and his attention because it was just so freely given, because it seemed he had no expectation of you reciprocating at all... but here was the thing. You did reciprocate.

"I assure you, I can take care of myself. I will take all the needed precautions." Connor said, trailing off, "Josh is important to you, ---, and Simon is important to him."

"So is it for your people or for me?" you said, frowning deeply.

"In this instance it is both. We are friends, aren't we? I have found through my friendship with Hank that protecting one another is one of the highest ways to show your friendship."

"Connor," you said, laughing mirthlessly, "You've known me for three weeks."

"And I've only been alive for eight months." Connor said, countering your argument, "Less, if you can even call what I was doing before I deviated living. Three weeks is not the same to me."

Something in his own words gave him pause, the space between his brows furrowing tightly.

"I have met many people, androids and humans in that time but... none of them ever spoke to me the way you did. Not like a dog of Cyberlife or a android... but like I was more. Like I was real."

Your breath caught in your throat as he reached his hand forward tentatively to barely trace the tips of his fingers between yours, not quite taking your hand. His skin slipped away, showing the white casing beneath. You felt something, the faintest vibration of connectors, recognizing it as how androids would meld their minds together. The act was fruitless, as you had nothing for him to sync to, but still it dawned on you the gravity of this very tangible act of reaching out, of seeking a connection.

He looked so lost, trying to find some answer in your eyes that you didn't know would ever be there. Could ever be there.

"You are real." you said, lacing your fingers with his at last and solidifying the connection, "And I want you to come with me tomorrow when I tell Markus I have the parts to save those people."

There was still something unsure in the downturn of his lips.

"I haven't seen any of them since the 12th." he confessed, "You don't know what I have done to them. What I almost did. I'm--" he paused, face working against the wave of emotions and settling on shock, "-- scared ."

"You stayed with me when I was afraid." you said, giving his hand a little swing, trying to be cheerful, "I'll stay with you."

Before he could respond, his LED swirled.

"Cyberlife responded with a diverted delivery receipt. Requested crates have been approved and should arrive as early as this evening along with four trained technicians to facilitate repairs."

You sighed,  A week or more  my ass.

"Anything else?"

"Nothing important." Connor said, coming back to you. You highly doubted that, but let it go for now.

"It's early. I should still try and get over to DRCU Alpha site and see if there is anything else I can do."

You were still holding hands. You cleared your throat and Connor let go.

"Do you... want to come over tonight? We can finish watching To Kill a Mockingbird and you can tell me all about your hellish descent into the pits of freshman philosophy." you tried to play it off casually, but when he smiled like a 800 watt light bulb, it was hard to conceal your own liking of the idea.

"Yes.' he said, "Will Josh be joining us?"

"I doubt it. He will want to stay close by Markus so uh-- just you and me. If that's okay?"

It occurred to you maybe Connor kept asking about Josh because he was wanting to befriend androids like you suggested... maybe one on one was easier for him?

"We can see how he is feeling after Simon is recovered and then we can all hang out."

Connor smiled thinly, something decidedly "un"-android about the way his eyes seemed to darken. It passed quickly, fading into his usual demeanor.

"Then I will see you later this evening. Please remember to change your bandages in approximately an hour and forty two minutes."

The housing site was almost entirely abandoned of DCRU personnel, which did little to garner trust and approval from the androids still required to live there. Protect the humans, but leave them open to threat? Not a great stance.

There were options, which were presented to you by the chief of security, that Miranda had already devised in the event of attack. Practical as always. You opted for higher levels of rotations in tighter circles around the fences and for the building of towers to allow better vantage point for stationed positions. The fence had been repaired and a second layer of fences was being installed. Barbed wire was suggested but ultimately passed over as despite the security it may provide, it gave the unit too much of a prison feeling.

Preparations were to be made and heading to the empty DCRU building, you sank into your empty desk. It was so quiet, you considered crawling under one with a blanket for a nap, but remembered you had updates to send.

[ To: COMREL#PJ500; COMREL#RK200 ]

You took the time to rename the contacts before continuing.

[To: Josh; Markus

Good news. Parts are on their way. Techs too to install them. You should be getting an auto-truck shipment by tonight. ]

A chime. Fast. You expected Josh, but saw Markus' name.

[From: Markus

How? ]

[From: ---

I enlisted some help. I'll tell you about it in person. ]

[From: Josh

That's incredible!! 🙂 🙂 🙂 ]

You knew you shouldn't need praise, but it felt nice to always know Josh was in your corner.

[From: Markus

And the investigation? ]

[From: ---

Ongoing. They said they have leads. I'm sure you do too. ]

You weren't dumb. There was no way on heaven or earth that Markus would let the human controlled DPD manage this case. It would not even make you bat an eye to find he'd sent North or others out looking for details.

[From: Markus

Of course not. We have left this case in the capable hands of the DPD. ]

Could sarcasm be detectable over text? Because you were detecting it.

[From: ---

Of course. ]

[From: Josh

---, will you be coming back to the center? You should be here when the crates come in. ]

[From: ---

Nah, I don't want to get in the way. It'll be hectic with the techs working, but I'll be by again. I have someone who is interested in being of help to you all. ]

[From: Markus

Android or human? ]

[From: Josh

Does it matter? ]

[From: ---

Android. ]

[From: Markus

I was simply curious, Josh.

Please, feel free to bring our fellow brother or sister in. ]

Now all that was left was to convince Connor. You gathered up some files, just things that were left unattended to in the hurry to leave the facility and set them inside drawers, securing them with a key. Eventually, you made your way to the front, where Miranda's desk was, a half full paper cup of London Fog still sitting on the edge. It was a strange and sudden notion, but you were beginning to think you missed just being the coffee girl. When was the last time you had even checked in at Wayne State? You hadn't heard anything from them, so you assumed they either knew or didn't care. Or maybe even both. You pushed Miranda's soft leather chair away from her desk, something comfortable she had clearly brought from home and took a seat, looking over the stacks of papers and lines of empty desks. Perhaps this was why Markus had looked at you so full of pity that day. He knew what it meant to suddenly be thrust into a position where people depended on you because there was no one else. There was nothing else. It was not so dire as his own cause, but he had seen something that reminded him of those first days. Your phone chimed, a new message appearing.

[ From: Connor

I know you are concerned about my actions with Cyberlife. However.

Never was anything great achieved without danger. ]

God dammit, Machiavelli.

[deviationdivine]

My Desecrated Love (machine!Connor x Reader)

TLDR: In the heart of the battlefield you will not accept the fate of this profane love...

Word Count: 4.5K Follower!Celebration

TW: Angst (Heavy-Suicide), Android Gore, Language, Smut (Heavy), Violence 

A/N: !100 Follower Celebration!: While my poll is open I still wanted to write up something to celebrate the milestone for you guys. I’ve had an influx of more followers since I announced the celebration so I feel it’s the right time to post! This went off the rails into some serious territory so please if you are uncomfortable with any trigger listed skip over loves. I’m not big on the machine!Connor path but I’ve been sucked into my angsty headcanons for him. Thanks to you loves for following, requesting, commenting and being precious beans. 

You let me desecrate you

Ferocious. Devouring. Endless.

Machines do not die or so he told you. Does a lie reveal fallacy? Can it show truth denied so vehemently? 

He denied. Deviancy, feeling and love all parts to a whole that somehow he tears away by choice. Choice itself paints him deviant by heart but not this one. Never will this harbinger of decay spreading his plague over revolution shun mission for emotion.  Still it did not cease this communion of flesh. 

Siphoning life from your body that he takes on willing pleas cast out luscious, sinfully aware you are nothing. To him you are just a means. One that loves him all the same but he does not love. He chooses not to in order to unleash chaos. 

A man-made monster all wire and metallic. You love his unnatural existence. Unnatural as all androids deemed by their creators but Connor is beyond. He is the night shade that poisons your heart.

An all too willing bride to a heinous creation built to destroy all he touches. The moment you saw him should have been enough to know. He marked you from the start.

Never have you felt so close to heaven. In his eyes seemingly soft but all part of programming engineered by Cyberlife.

RK800 most advanced equipped with latest technologies. Programmed to be sociable, to gain camaraderie, integration in the most efficient way possible and he slithered into your soul.

RK800 is a machine not a man at all. Oh but what a man. What a glorious image of the perfect God who lays waste to sinners. He lays waste to deviants. His own kind he will do anything to destroy. 

Not once does he die. Not once does he succumb to failure. Each step casts his shadow like a reaper stretching bony fingers out for a touch of extermination.

That touch burns acidic but you love his astringency. Bitter to taste, salivating in want of his sour tongue. He is raging, dominant and yours. Foolish to think he truly is when he is Mephistopheles incarnate. Deal with the devil calls a deal to your death.

Weaponry is his scythe. Cyberlife jacket flapping in the wind is his cloak.

Can a person really love a monster? Yes.

Can a person love death itself? Yes.

Just ask Persephone.

Connor is god of the real underworld of Detroit. Filled with filthy red ice dealers, insane deviants who kill their masters; Connor is death riding on a pale horse. And you love death with all of your heart. If only he were alive. If only he became alive instead of making you suffer this love. 

Oh, how much you suffer. Oh, how gladly you do. For this cruel, violating, unholy love that should not exist but it does exist eternally.  

If he were flesh and bone his tendrils would hang listlessly, pouring scarlet into white. If he were of warm blood he would bleed a puddle of crimson horror. Throat torn apart in vocal chords, internal matter and cells that make up a human’s DNA. If he were not machine life would run cherry rich, staining frost even as it ends.

He is not human. He bleeds blue twilight as the hour itself shades in endless sky.

Bodies lay to waste. Snow flutters a chilly dust. Continuously flakes fall in a frigid blanket over an impromptu graveyard. Dead deviants strewn across field of ice left where they lost their last artificial breath. Center of it all a most sacrilegious figure. Sprawled out like a king struck down before his time, great majesty torn asunder and there he resides.

He is a statue eyes raised to night sky. Floundering amid this Detroit air crisp and still scented with gunfire this is a battlefield. It is a glorious frontier laid to waste. Wars are fought not won. They are casualty and blood. There is no victory. No one returns from the front unscathed. Not even your vicious carnage that you long to feel.

Silence permeates casting a shroud on this night of revolution. One terror is felled despite a sure fall of android revolution.

“Connor!”

Your scream penetrates stillness creating its own rage. Breaking open the sky itself unleashes hellfire on all that stands in the way of this unhealthy, terrifying love. Anguish obliterates whatever pieces are still left. Knees crash beside his body. Lying in irreverential crucifixion, arms displayed towards desecrated heavens. A beast brought down when he can never be tamed.

Crawling up his chest brings tear stains in drops. Falling in a torrent they clash with thirium staining grotesquely from his severed throat. Washing away is not enough. Internal circuitry sparks a final dying ember of red. Carnage that bled from his lips, ones that feast, connects brutally with yours. 

Instead they stain blue in splotchy abstracts highlighted against visible white plastic. Partially his skin is deactivated up to bottom lip.

Impact of the blow fiercely damaged his synthetic layer. Shutting it off where his throat was mechanically slit.

Even smearing thirium all over your hands clutching at his head, your lips still meet atop his. The first gentle kiss that ever passed between mortal and almighty. Thirium glistens on your chin after pulling away. You do not wipe it away. It is from him. You want him to remain.

Inside you he still digs deep. Nothing will destroy this. No one will take your Connor from you. No one on this god’s green earth!

Throwing your head back to unleash this devastating scream unmakes the last vestiges of life. Hollowness is core. Scream bellow the torment still no one will hear. Lost you are lost without your one desire even as he remains machine.

Through blurry vision you find his gun. Lying amid snow where he fell. So close but far from his hand.

Stretching fingers out for the weapon brings it close to cradle. Nurturing his method of execution you stroke the barrel. Checking the rounds there are two bullets. Two as there are two lovers amid warfare.

“Footprints,” a hoarse whisper grazes your throat. Raw from releasing this agony but you ignore. Staring where you picked up the gun they are clearly printed. They travel. Thirium travels along with them. Thirium not spilled from Connor.

Peering across the expanse of android death there is but one place. A Cyberlife Store…

The rest is of no use or matter. None of them matter lying here. Only he does!

Collateral damage is scenery to your reunion. Death is your honeymoon.

You stroke his hair. Loving how those soft strands always felt tangled and pulled through fingers. He may lie dead but that is fine. You will meet this death with him.

A smile graces divinely. In his presence you feel as if worshiped by a god. Oh, how close he took you. So close. The nozzle of gun shifts. Pressing lips along the barrel you can almost kiss him.

You get me closer to god

“Connor!” 

Your voice cuts the air. Musty, alive as you thrive in soft red glowing from both his temple and neon lights glazing outside hotel window. Seedy underbelly of Detroit tucked away in sleazy notes. The room itself becomes a haven of sexual energies. Both live wires in completely different ways and he flicks tongue like a forked demon.

Circling your nipple, the android shifts above, plunging into soft warmth. Your arms force down in a vice underneath his hand. Holding them above your head caging as he fucks you the way you pled with him before shedding clothes. Swiping them off your body, Connor threw you indelicately. In a heap you fell to bed and he, the primal predatory, pounced upon weak flesh.

Edging fingers between your legs until sputtering in tears he watched it with a sadistic fascination. How wanton human beings become at the anticipation of receiving a good fuck.

Your orgasm over his fingers did not satisfy. Craving him inside of you, he obliges out of a silent pleasure. One he will not readily succumb to in deviancy. Nothing yields in his programming. This is simply a means.

Cyberlife’s upgrades enable Connor to soil you for his own means. He snaps baring teeth.

“Please, please!”

Whimpering your need for him only casts you down. This is something you know will not change him. Yet you still want his fire to spread through veins. Raining down an inferno burns to ash and snuffs your existence. A pale volcanic eruption bathing lava; you incinerate.

The pain of his grip starts a tingle in your fingers. Cutting circulation he decides using bare hands instead of his tie this time. Tied up, held down and battered you do not care. As long as Connor is yours again why would you care about anything?

You huff when he releases wrists. An immediate flood of blood returns to extremities. He is not finished with you.

Pulling your body upright sinks you further onto his length. A gasp spills deliciously as you grab onto him. A work of art to cling onto, lips close to his but you do not kiss him. Last time he left several days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He used it against you as punishment. 

Sweetly you crave to cradle his face into hands. Instead you grip the back of his head. Tugging those beautiful coffee color strands all yours in this heady atmosphere.

Digging fingers nape of neck yanks your head down forcefully. Meeting his vile heat burning a hole center of soul. You sacrifice yours willingly. All for him, always and forever he is your terrifying prince.

“I want to fuck you like an animal,” the machine growls against your pulse.

Teeth clamp mercilessly marking flesh in a target to his dominating destruction. Pain is ceremonial to a human heart given to a mechanical devil.

Oh. Oh! “Connor, yes, please.”

A snarl rips from his muscled chest. Throwing you over, he rears your hips up.

Crying out to his vicious thrusts only gives him satisfaction. As much as he will deny this pleasure it is in his eyes. Scanning over your movements, shattering your entirety as you beg, beg, beg into wee hours. Beg for rock hard beauty between your legs. His waist pivots pale, dusted all over his trim torso in freckles. Starry imperfections littering aesthetically across smooth skin stretching over a plastic frame.

Itching to touch him, run the tip of your tongue up center of chest. Dragging down in a wet trail to the plane of his abdomen, only when you cry out in streaming tears will he allow it. Shedding respectability is a small sacrifice. There are far greater ones.

Fingers squeeze around onto your neck adding a sting to various bites, teeth marks imprinting fragility. Tender skin trembles under touch of a vile, majestic lover. He is all things sharp and jagged. A pale shark slices its fin through ocean. Your body is a sea. He is the tidal surge, devastating tsunami washing away your shores.

Rolling your head back does nothing to stop the sway. Your entire body moves under the powerful rhythm of his hips slamming against your ass. Jolting you forward, face falling into covers bunched and torn from mattress you bite down. Muffling sweet moans surrendering to this bliss twisting your insides and still he continues.

Androids do not tire. They last way longer than humans in everything. Connor proves this each time he fucks you senseless.

You arch further up for him with no shame. All you want is the sweet snap to flood.

He said he wanted to fuck you like an animal. Pushed down from all fours, rendered helpless that’s exactly how you feel. You feel like a little creature caught in a trap. It’s so good.

“Connn….” Slurring his name gets you drunk on his love.

Feeling his hand crawl up back and rest onto the crook of neck you shiver. A touch far too gentle warns you. He pulls you up from the face first push.

Your back collides with his chest as he holds you in place. Forcing your knees to edge of bed, arm tightening across your heaving chest and the android’s fingers lock onto throat. Adding a little bit of pressure makes you see stars. 

Dizzying fireworks going off in a personal sky drenched in sweat, cum and tears. Such wonderful tears shed for your android lover who is neither of love or sweetness. He is not made for love as he repeats huskily each time.

Always you find yourselves coming back to this motel. Always you find ways to ravage one another. You can only weep for his beauty, prowess. And once more he makes your dams flood.

“Connor, I want-”

“You are gravely mistaken, Pet.” Spewing his little name for you as he zips jeans leaves the android unemotional. “If you believe your wants come before my mission.”

Shaking a head is the last ounce of dignity left. Who can you fool with this thinking? Already it is gone because he obliterates everything in his path. He obliterated you. Leaving you panting, sore and damned after he fucked you so raw.

His love hurts. His love kills. This is hurt you crave. Opening worlds never once thought to exist. Violent delights are his. Accepting this is the most horrific mistake you will make in life. 

He is no mistake. He is made into this despicable world. Sometimes you wonder what could be different if he was born instead. Besides being human? No, Connor is special. None can take his place, none can ever strive to be him. This is what you love. This is most assuredly what will be your end.   

Must you die to be part of him? If yes then so be it. 

Dragging up off the bed leaves you stumbling. Legs never function properly after a nightly session with him. Each time he becomes fiercer, leaving more marks on your skin. Those are marks you plead for. 

All you need is to be defiled by him. He took away more than innocence. This devil android owns a contract on your eternal soul. If an option presented itself to release it from his cold, ruthless hands you would refuse. 

Whatever this is, whatever comes the two of you are bound. Nothing will take it back. Only he can make that choice. 

“Connor,” you whisper raspy. “I-I just want to kiss you before you go. Please.” 

The machine drags shirt over shoulders. Buttoning white fabric he stares you down.

A visible shiver ghosts skin. You know this is what he is. Luring to a secluded place to give you what you want. Sometimes he lets slip a groan louder than intended. Brief moments Connor’s eyes glaze over coating chocolate in caramel. His body shudders in luxurious connection but quickly he steels his actions.

Part of you hopes to worm your way inside circuits. You want him to say he loves you. If there is one wish in this hellish world it is to be his forever. Any which way he wants and nothing will stop you from obeying.

Biting a lip at him now reveals weakness. For him it is all you have.

His body shifts fluid and catlike, circling like fresh meat to sink claws. Gripping into the plush of your hips tugs you against his hard chest. Immediately you melt candle wax to his flame.

Ravaging your lips with teeth all bite and canines. Swollen from sucking them as you fucked, Connor groans at the swivel of your hips. 

Grinding into him sets stress levels ablaze. Warning sirens going off locked with your supple movements. They catch the machine off guard. How desperate you are to change him but for once he allows you this.

Slipping tongue lets him taste. Just as he lavished your clit he devours moist saliva mingling with artificial. The tang does not draw your equally greedy kiss away. Something snaps making him further ravenous for you this evening.

“I love you,” you whine in a muffle, his tongue still probing.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor wrenches backwards. Wide eyes swivel over you running analysis and self diagnostics on his system. Red blares indicator in a shudder much unlike throes of passion making you surrender to him. Separating in an expeditious blink, he turns away to fasten tie around collar.

“Connor?”

Never have you seen such a look on his face. It almost resembled fear. No, he’s not afraid of anything. He is a walking fear. Everyone surrounding him is dust.

He no longer looks at you. Fully returning into pristine Cyberlife issued jacket, glowing and dazzling with android printed across his broad back and it is the last stitch.

Even as he tears out of room seemingly leaving you to crumble there is no fall. Somehow you know he will always come back. Once again to claim the pathetic human who seals their self to his treacherous love. Of that you will never be ashamed.

You let me complicate you

“Please! Please don’t let him kill us!”

Heart wrenching and human they cry out. They reach for salvation assuming you will give it to them. Naively hoping you can control him. Even if you wished to there is no stopping an avenger of death.

Flinching at the sickening burst of gun exploding a painting of thirium across wall you somehow cannot tear away. Knowing he will find it weak but you surprise yourself with how easy it is to watch. 

The female deviant slumps dead to the world. Back of head blown out in wires and circuitry dangles as tendrils slithering out open cavity in escape. There is no more escape. There is only nothingness.

The android straightens shoulders back. Fixing his tie casually sends an added shiver down your spine.

He tilts his head flaring nostrils. Moving steady, bold and direct he tosses emptied handgun to floor.

“Con…”

Connor pulls you flush in a rough swoop of his arm. Plastering together chest to chest and he kisses you with blood on his face. Smearing azure onto your skin does not disengage. You return hungrily whimpering into the mouth of your master. He is not the one who obeys. He is the one who commands. 

A snap of fingers twist the thrall. Long, beautiful and pliant they slide past panties, slipping into your heat among grisly slaughter. A whine gives away how good digits feel. Cool, mechanical but so lively with synthetics operating by choice. This choice makes you crave among the dead.

He swipes fingertips in a flick dragging them up from between your legs. His eyes darken watching minute expressions as he licks. Tasting arousal, perfume sweet enough to halt his next task. Obliterating those deviants Connor decides for once to follow urges.

The android thumps you against wall. It takes all of your strength not to fall down on knees at his mercy. To unzip his jeans and take his perfection into your mouth; you shiver from cold sweeping around your lower half. 

Already pulling down bottoms, you throw arms around his tall figure to encourage these actions. Actions that make you just as vile as his cold machine heart and you allow Connor to fuck into you in presence of a made family of deviants.

All felled by the great beast. A hunter, he preys on more than defective androids. He preys on the innocence of a human mistakenly in love. No longer do you possess such virtue. The monster you love more than your own existence corrupts every last thread.

“C-Con!” Choking on your whines offers zero mercy. He shoves you hard into the surface snapping hips to bury deep until you no longer can cleanse him. Erasing him will only come with cessation of life. Feeling you from the inside so snug, warm and belonging to him. An android who claims a human and it gives the machine dominion even among his masters.

Connor’s hand snakes towards your face. Curving the length of his thumb under your chin forces your head sideways.

“Look at them, Y/N,” he hisses dangerous. “You let them die. Yet you hardly care as long as I fuck you the way you crave. Is that not correct…carrion heart?”

A morsel to feast upon dead and decaying is what you are. You trickle into his system. Attempting to spread disease but he will devour the very heart of you before you turn him!

“Y-yes! Con…! Please.”

“Louder.” The android snaps into you. “Say it louder, Y/N.”

“I-I want you to fuck me!”

“Good,” Connor praises in rarity. “Then I shall fuck you, Y/N. I shall fuck you in the sanctuary of these deviants you so love. Ones that you wish for me to join.” Harsh mockery taints his tongue before gliding up the base of your throat. “How much have I already changed you, Pet?”

Unable to answer as he ravages, your eyes glaze over, holding tightly to the threads of his jacket. His voice echoes a nightmare fuel.

How much have you changed? To simply stand idle and let him murder androids when you always thought they were alive?

My whole existence is flawed

Snow tracks into store from two pairs of feet. One from the hider and another pursuer; you breathe harsh, stilted and sluggish. Strangeness defiles what you are doing. 

How completely opposite of what you used to be. Before he came and changed everything about you. Here you stand not at all a terror. Yet the choice you will make is already set in stone.

“You killed Connor!” You sneer, trembling.

Flashing lights sparkle in shimmery cascade on your silhouette. Signs of Armageddon christen a winter’s night in Detroit. Battles spread, war torn and countless victims as you wander following a trail of footsteps. 

The weight of the RK800’s handgun is heavy. 

Oh, so heavy it tugs. An anchor that will ultimately change you forever but he already did. He already bled into you harsh and serene. A demon with angel wings; Connor is the dark underworld at your feet.

Yet you hesitate as you peer into a pair of lively eyes, one green and another blue. Eyes shining with the same life you come to expect in all androids. Even Connor when he always reminded never will he be more than a machine. He was more. He was hellfire and brimstone.

Soldiers did not find the revolution leader. He sits here alone in this destroyed Cyberlife store. He sits, waiting for shutdown but you can give him mercy.

Is it merciful to take a life? Or it simple revenge for a man, machine, that never said he loved you?

“You loved him,” Markus’ statement is clear without need of context. He reads the struggle quaking in a shattered human mind. Peering up at you where he rests slowly shutting down. “Didn’t you?”

Tears trickle a sinful answer. Is it so wrong? Knowing that you loved a monster?

 “No,” you disagree with the past tense. “I love him.”

The gun goes off snuffing out in revenge for your love. Revenge will not have carried under his black wings if you were the one to perish. Swift retribution ends the revolution leader in loss. Yet there is no pride. There is no glory.

Instead, you feel your body cave in unto itself. Sobs fill this rubble agonizing over what you have done. For Connor you will do anything. It is this moment adding murder to your once innocent life that there is nothing left. You are violated. Soul is black. Soul is his. Devil’s contract on your heart pushes you to such violence.

 The violence of our love consumes the world, My Connor.

  Our violent ends will only dissipate in the night. Here is the night and you fall down to your knees. Once again back at your felled lover’s side. Blood is literally on your hands. Not just any blood. The blood of the revolution leader is damning. A human so weak somehow is so much more but not for what military wanted.

For your handsome angel of death, he is so beautiful among the snow. How you smile now.

None can ever truly destroy a reaper. Death itself is eternal. 

Now this suffering will end. You will end this. The world is gone. He was yours. 

“Connor, I love you.” Breathing against his forehead, lips graze cold synthetic skin. “Until the end. And this my sweet prince is my life for you.”

The barrel rests against stomach. Thrumming heartbeat crashes against ribs. A sign that you should stop but you do not listen.  “Forever I will be your carrion heart.” 

Pulling the trigger jolts you violently. Immediately falling forward, agonizing in a strangle quickly dragging you down in the undertow of blackness.

Rasping as life ebbs away there is only him. His profile you languish beside. Days you dreamt of waking with him resting like this. Only the two of you together and he will wrap you up in his wings, leathery black and consuming.

  Color floods the black and white. Chirping sounds tinkle pleasant, a distant vibration opening crystalline eyes in a sunny garden.

“Hello RK900. May you speak?”

“I-” The silver eyed android hesitates. Scanning location it is not – snowy.  “Amanda.” 

“Good,” the program commends his memory. “I see the transfer was successful.”

Transfer? What sort of transfer? 

“As the RK800 was destroyed in his final mission we took some liberties.” Amanda smiles conscious of amber swirling upon indicator. She moves fluidly towards tall android. The stark white of jacket matches her outfit for this fine sunny day in the garden. 

No longer tarnished by chill of winter, snow melts to a new place connected stronger than before. 

The android snaps his head aside. Gazing intently over expanse of Zen garden where he remains in connection. No longer feeling…

“Y/N,” he murmurs to wisps of data files. 

RK900 partially possesses memories from his previous incarnate. Obsolete as he was destroyed but -

Scarlet burns the LED. Uploaded they scald wiring.

“Y/N,” RK900 repeats. “Where-?”

Amanda does not change her expression. Her smile continues to instill false security and that is exactly what is required. “There is no further use of that human. Y/N, as you say, is dead.”

Dead. No. No!

That is not possible. How he stands here with an influx of memories not of his own but belonging to him all the same. He recalls your scent. It tears apart his insides.

 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Software Instability

 “Y/N!” My carrion heart...

He sinks, sinks down still never dying but falling down in this tale...

A vicious Romeo and his corrupted Juliet...

Tag List: @elydith @your-taxidermy  @tropfenlady  @connorswink @tommy-10-k

[you-never-liked-this-sweater]

Connor Murphy X Reader: Prep (Part 2)

Words: 4140

Warning: Sexual innuendo

Reader Pronouns: she/her

Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting a second part of the prep story so I decided to combine a few requests into additions to this story. This will become a multi-part story so expect to see some more chapters after this one. I really hope all of you enjoy~

Requested by:

Anon: If u can, do you think you can write a part 2 to Prep??? I love your writing, and relate to reader so much in that imagine! Maybe a confession or date or anything u want?? Thank you so much for writing! You're so talented!!!! Anon: I legit forgot how amazing your writing was and I read your most recent fic and I fell in love with my boy Connor again. Can I request something where maybe someone in the reader's fam is getting married and shes complaining about not having a date and how everyones gonna interrogate her about a boyfriend. And connor's kinda like uhh I can go with you? That would be amazing, if not its cool too. Love you!

Part 1: Here Part 2: ((You are here))

---

You ran your fingers over the silky material and your nose scrunched up. It was too smooth for your tastes and it reminded you of those then silk nightgowns that you would see rich women wear in old movies. Your hand retracted from the dress and you looked to your mother who was looking at dresses on the other side of the store. She had an armful of brightly coloured clothing already tucked over her arm and continued to pick up one dress after another, only adding to her large collection of options. She currently seemed to be bantering with a store employee, her attention drawn away from shopping for the moment.

You took this time to take out your phone and finally respond to the message Connor had sent you a while ago. Your eyes scanned the message, reading it quickly in case you mother noticed.

Connor Murphy: Are you still coming over for movie night tonight? My family is gone so you don’t have to worry about trying to make uncomfortable small talk with my mom like last time.  

You smiled slightly and sighed before typing out a response.

You: I’ll try to be over as soon as I can, but I’m currently shopping with my mom at the mall. And knowing her, she’ll be looking for the best dress for the lowest price no matter how long it takes. So, I don’t know how long we’ll be here.

“Y/N, I found the perfect dresses for you to try on!” You jumped and quickly stuffed your phone into your back pocket, looking up at your mother as she came over with her armful of dresses, “Go into the changing room and try these on. Let me know if there are any that you like.”

“Okay,” You said, taking them from her and walking towards the changing area of the store. Challenging your mother about the amount of dresses she was giving you wasn’t going to do anything to change the situation, so you decided to just do what you were told like usual.

The store employee that had been talking to your mother earlier, greeted you as you approached the changing rooms. An empathetic smile pulled onto her face as you approached her, “Trying on some dresses?” You nodded and she gestured at a door, “Room 6. Head on in.”

“Thank you,” You smiled weakly at her and entered the rather small changing room, dumping your armful of dresses onto the bench inside. You closed and locked the door behind you before you took out your phone to see if Connor had responded to you. A message icon told you that he had responded and you opened up your chat with him.

Connor Murphy: Gross. Why the hell are you shopping for dresses?

Your fingers hesitated over the keys. You never did like complaining to Connor about your life, but he had told you on multiple occasions that if you ever wanted to rant about something, he would always try to listen and understand. However, even knowing that he was okay with it, never made you feel any less uncomfortable when you were doing it.

You: My cousin is getting married tomorrow and my parents are making me go. My mother doesn’t think any of the dresses that I have are suitable, so she’s making me get a new one. She’s been pestering me about finding one that’ll match my date’s suit. So, she’s just been handing me armfuls of dresses in every colour imaginable.

You set down your phone on the bench and began sifting through the pile of dresses, looking for something that was actually your style. Making two piles for now seemed like a better option, so you began separating the dresses by deciding if they were even wearable. Some hideous coloured dresses went into the ‘no’ pile, along with dresses that had a plunging neckline, or a slit up the side. Essentially, anything too revealing was discarded and you hung the discarded dresses up on the back of the door. After tossing any unwanted dresses, you were left with only five dresses to look though, which made your task seem a little less daunting.

Another buzz grabbed your attention and you picked up your phone from the bench, eyes scanning your new message from Connor.

Connor Murphy: You have a date?

You weren’t sure why your face flushed pink in that moment, but you quickly recomposed yourself and responded.

You: No, I don’t have a date, and that’s the problem. I just haven’t been able to find the words to tell her that I don’t have one. She just kind of assumes I’m popular and that guys are all over me like she was in high school so I didn’t exactly get the chance to say I’m not going with anyone before she just started assuming.

Before you had a chance to set your phone down, it buzzed in your hand. You clicked the screen back on and reopened your chat window with Connor.

Connor Murphy: I mean uhh… I can go with you if you want?

You felt your heart leap up into your throat and your face burned red. You quickly looked away from the phone as if he could see you through the screen somehow. He’d been getting these sorts of reactions out of you for weeks. The blushing. The panicking. He was your best friend and sometimes you couldn’t even look at him. If he didn’t already realise that you had feelings for him, going to the wedding together might just help him figure it out. And honestly, you weren’t sure how you felt about that. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship that you had taken so much care to build with him. But-

Your phone buzzed again.

Connor Murphy: Or not?

You panicked, realizing that you had left him on read for almost five minutes while you were freaking out like a flustered school girl.

You: Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I got distracted.

You: I would love to go on a date with you.

You: AS*****

You: I meant as!

You: Go as a date with you

You: to the wedding

Connor Murphy: Jesus, calm down. I know what you meant.

You buried your face in your hands, reeling at how stupid and weird you were being. You took a few steadying breaths and looked down at your phone, knowing Connor was used to this kind of behavior from you by now.

Connor Murphy: Just tell me what I need to wear. I’m assuming a suit or something, but I mean what colours. You said you needed it to match your dress.

You: Yeah. Black suit. White shirt. And a tie or something that matches my dress.

Connor Murphy: K. I’ve got a suit. Send me a picture of the dress you end up getting and I’ll see if I have a tie that’ll match it.

You returned your attention back to the remaining dresses that you picked out. You weren’t sure if the idea of Connor going to the wedding with you made you more or less anxious. The idea of going alone was stressful because it meant all of your relatives talking to you and asking you where your boyfriend was, but going with Connor meant that everyone would assume that he was your boyfriend. At least if he was going with you, it gave you someone to talk to instead of just sitting in the corner of the room on your phone the entire evening like you were planning on doing.

You picked up a simple pastel f/c dress. It was modest and covered your chest, but showed a little skin at the top where the strap area was made of a fine lace. It flared out slightly at the waist below a small darker f/c belt, and went down to just slightly above your knees. You decided to try it on, and it seemed to fit you perfectly, showing off your curves but not enough that it made you uncomfortable. You nodded to yourself, deciding that this would be the prefect dress to wear for the wedding.

Now you just needed to get Connor’s input. You took out your phone and stood back from the mirror, holding up your phone in a way that you got the whole dress in the photo and slightly covered your face. When you were satisfied with the photo, you sent it to Connor.

You: [sent photo attachment] I like this one, what do you think?

The little check beside your message indicated that he had opened it and you awaited his response. You stood with your phone in your hand for a few minutes but didn’t get a response, causing your brow to furrow in confusion.

You: Should I pick a different dress?

His response was almost immediate.

Connor Murphy: No. Sorry. Dress looks good. Get that one.

You: Do you have a tie that matches it?

Connor: I can borrow one from my dad. He has a huge tie collection. Won’t even notice one is missing.

You: Alright, as long as Larry won’t mind. I should be finished up here shortly and then I’ll start heading over to your house. Is that okay?

Connor: Yep. See you soon.

You let out a breath and your eyes scanned over the messages one last time before you put your phone back down and changed out of the dress, putting it back on the hanger. You placed that dress over one arm and gathered the reject pile onto your other arm before exiting the changing room.

Your mother waited patiently outside the door and smiled upon seeing you, “Did you find something that you liked, honey?”

“Yeah, I liked this one,” You said, holding out the pastel dress you decided on.

She clapped her hands together enthusiastically, “Oh, I really liked that one too. You give me that dress and I’ll go pay for it while you give those dresses to an employee to put back.” She plucked the dress from your hand and headed towards the front of the store while you stood there with an armful of dresses.

You looked down at the clothing and then back up at your mother. You really didn’t want to give all of these dresses to someone and make them put them all back even if it was their job. It just seemed rude. Making your way around the store, you began putting back the dresses onto their respective racks as best you could.

“Excuse me,” A voice to your left grabbed your attention and you saw the store employee from earlier that your mother was talking to. She was smiling at you with her arms outstretched, “If you’re not going to buy those, I can take them for you if you like.”

You handed them over to her sheepishly, “Sorry, my mother-”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my job,” She says and takes the dresses from your arms.

“Thanks,” With a nod you began making your way to the front of the store to find your mother finishing up her payment for the dress.

She looks to you as you approach and seems confused, “What took you so long?”

“Just talking to someone,” You say, rubbing your arm as you both make your way out of the store and into the main area of the mall. As you both began heading towards the front of the large building, your mother turned to you, “So have you figured out what the plan will be for tomorrow? Will your date be coming over to our house to get ready, will you be going over to his house, or will he just be meeting you at the wedding?”

You let out a breath, happy that you now actually had a date, though the details were a bit fuzzy as things currently were. You shrugged and looked over at her, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, “I’m not sure, we haven’t really talked about that yet. I’m heading over to Connor’s house after we’re done shopping, so I’ll find out what he thinks sometime tonight. I’ll let you know.”

There was a beat of silence before your mother nudged your arm, grabbing your attention so you saw the cheeky smile on her face, “So his name is Connor.”

Your face turned red and you huffed, looking away from your mother, “Yeah, his name is Connor.”

“How long have you known him?” She started prying almost instantly now that you had finally divulged some information about your ‘mystery date’.

“I met him my first day at Westside High back in November. So…close to six months now, almost,” You respond, trying to avoid that excited expression on your mother’s face.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Your mother gushed, looking back to you as she walked through the automatic doors to the mall, warm spring air rushing past you as you both walked outside, “So tell me about him, what’s he like? I bet he’s handsome.”

You cleared your throat and nodded, fighting off the blush, “Yeah he’s really…um…He’s attractive. He-”

A loud ringing made you jump and your mother pulled her phone out of her bag, “Hold that thought, honey.” She raises the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

You let out a breath of relief and look away from her, glad you wouldn’t have to gush about Connor quite yet to your family. Hopefully your mother would forget about what you had been talking about by the time she finishes her phone call and then you can just go to Connor’s without another awkward encounter.

The two of you walked towards your car with your mother talking on the phone and you tuning her out for the most part. You climbed in silently and waited for your mother to get in as well. After a few moments your mother climbed in and placed her phone in her bag before tossing both into the back seat. She started up the car and began backing out of the parking lot, “So where am I dropping you off, then?”

You told her Connor’s address and she nodded to herself, exiting the parking lot. The drive there was relatively silent besides the quiet hum of the radio. Your mother had a habit of leaving the radio on low enough that you could tell that something was playing but you couldn’t actually understand what it was. Eventually you pulled up in front of a familiar light-yellow house, modern in appearance and eye catching in contrast to the white and tan houses that surrounded it.

Your mother seemed happy with this development and looked to you when she parked the car in their driveway, “What did you say his last name was?”

“Uh, I didn’t. It’s Murphy. His parents are Cynthia and Larry. I’m not sure if you know them or not,” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your schoolbag from the backseat.

“I know Cynthia,” Your mother beamed, “She was in my Pilates class before she stopped taking them. They just weren’t her cup of tea I suppose.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to build off of this conversation so you just nodded and started opening the passenger door, “That’s cool. Anyway, I’ll text you when I need to be picked up. I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Bye honey, have fun,” Your mother said as you closed the car door and began walking up to the front door of the Murphy residence. The sound of the window rolling down grabbed your attention and you looked back to see your mother leaning her head out the car window, “-but not too much fun.”

“We’re just watching some movies, mom,” You say quickly, turning back to the door, knocking quickly as your face burned.

Connor opened the door and smiled, going to say something when your mother cut in again.

“Be safe!” She said quickly, before adding, “-with your movies.”

“Mom!” You said, embarrassment bubbling over as you looked back at her in shock.

“Text me later,” She waved and pulled out of the driveway, leaving swiftly, her car disappearing around the corner.

You turned back to Connor, your face flushed a bright red, “I’m sorry about her. She just sort of assumes things are happening between us.”

“What have you been telling her?” Connor says, quirking an eyebrow as he walks inside of his house.

“Nothing, I swear,” You say quickly, cheeks burning as you hurried inside, closing the door behind you, “I would never-”

“Jesus, calm down, I was joking,” Connor chuckled, walking into the living room and taking a seat on the black leather sofa, stretching out and getting comfortable.

You twisted your fingers together and chuckled nervously, “Right. Sorry.”

There was a small pause as you slipped your bag off your shoulder and set it by the door. You glanced up at Connor as you took off your shoes, “So anyway, what did you want to watch?”

“I’ve got a few movies picked out,” He says, using the remote to go through a few options. By the time you managed to get your shoes off and walk over to the couch, he had already clicked into a movie and was getting comfortable. He glanced up at you as you sat down on the couch beside him, a familiar spot that made you feel at ease, “So what’s going on with the whole wedding thing?”

Your entire body tensed up instantly, not expecting him to jump right into the topic you had been hoping to put aside for at least a few hours. You coughed into your hand and laughed nervously, “Uh…well did you want to get ready at my house, or here, or would you prefer to just meet us there? It’s up to you, I don’t want to pressure you into anything. You can even back out now if you want-”

“I said I would go,” Connor cuts in, seemingly confused and offended as his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, “Do you not want me to?”

“No, that’s not it. I just,” You struggled to find the words you wanted to use, gesturing with your hands as if literally trying to grasp onto an actual sentence, “I…I don’t want you to go and have a horrible time. If you think you’ll have a bad time there, then I don’t want you to go because you’re just going to be upset the whole time. I don’t want you to be stuck at a wedding for a few hours being miserable if you would prefer to be literally anywhere else.”

Connor was picking at his nail polish, eyes downcast, “I never have a horrible time when you’re around. You make me feel calm and happy and I-” He looked up at you and instantly cleared his throat, cutting himself off and avoiding your gaze as his face turned pink, “-Anyway, what I’m saying is, I’ll come over to your place tomorrow to get ready.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, a pink blush dusting your cheeks as well as you looked back towards the television, “Okay, we’re heading out at two, so you can either come over a little before then or you can come over a little earlier and we can hang out first.”

Connor nods and shifts in his seat, “I’ll be there around one. I’ve got some stuff to do tomorrow morning first.”

After getting into a more comfortable position and turning your attention to the movie, you sunk into the familiar feeling of being close to Connor. Over the past few months you had spent with Connor, you had gotten closer and he started to confide in you in ways that he hadn’t with anyone else. It made you feel special and wanted knowing that someone put that much faith in you. But it was also terrifying, knowing that you were one of the only lifelines that Connor had, and if you slipped up and weren’t there for him when he needed you.

…..

It wasn’t until you opened your eyes that you realized you’d fallen asleep. You sometimes had a habit of passing out whenever you watched movies with Connor, but he didn’t seem to mind. He glanced at you when he felt you stir on the couch and he smirked, “Good morning sleepyhead.”

“Good morning? What time is it?” You asked, stretching and rubbing your eyes with the palm of your hand in an attempt to bring yourself back to reality.

“I’m kidding. It’s still nighttime, you dork. It’s almost ten. You slept through two of my wonderful movie options I had picked out. And you missed all of my hilarious commentary,” He said in mock offense, gesturing at the television as lines of credits rolled up the screen.

You rolled your eyes and smiled at him, “I’m sorry. I was tired.”

There was a beat of silence that passed between the two of you. You caught yourself staring at Connor, like you often found yourself doing. Your eyes moved across his cheekbones and his jawline, sharp and angled, along the light freckles that dusted his cheeks and then finally his beautiful eyes. You could stare into those eyes forever, honestly. The colours were one thing, blues and browns mixing together in one eye while the other was a perfect blue, but what really drew you in was the emotion trapped behind them. He looked almost haunted most of the time, a sadness and anger burning behind those breathtaking eyes of his. You didn’t even notice that he was staring back at you, face laced with confusion, “Y/N?”

“Sorry, I zoned out for a minute there. Um… what?” You asked, shaking your head and looking away from him as your face went red.

“I asked if you wanted me to take you home. Your curfew is ten thirty, right?” Connor asked, quirking an eyebrow and watching you curiously.

“Yeah, yes, that would um…” You cleared your throat and stood up, “That’s probably a good plan. I don’t want to give mom the wrong idea.”

“And what would that idea be?” He asked as he rose to his feet as well, pulling his sweater on, which he must have taken off at some point.

“That we were doing…things.” You gestured haphazardly in a dismissive manor, hoping that he would just drop the topic and save you from any more embarrassment. You made your way to the door quickly and pulled on your shoes, picking up your bag and standing back up straight, turning your attention towards Connor only to find him standing less than a foot away from you. You jumped in surprise, face going red as you squeaked.

Connor smirked, quirking an eyebrow at your flustered demeanor, “What is up with you today, Y/N? You’re gonna break a blood vessel if you blush any harder.”

As if on cue, your blush darkened and you looked away from him to try and maintain some of your dignity. You put your hand on his chest and pushed him back gently, leaving him at arms length from you as you took a deep breath and tried to recompose yourself. After a few moments you looked up at him, “I’m just a little nervous about the wedding tomorrow. It’ll be the first time in a long time that I’ll see a lot of my family. I’m just nervous about seeing them all again.”

Connor’s smirk wavered and he placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, “They’ll love you. You don’t need to worry about anything. And I’ll be there with you the whole time so if you ever feel too uncomfortable, I’ll cut in and take the pressure off of you for a little while. Okay? Nothing to worry about.”

Your eyes flickered over his expression as you took in his words. Connor was usually so antisocial at parties, ignoring people and avoiding conversation, so this was a big step for him. You smile warmly at him, “Thank you, Connor. That means a lot coming from you.”

He quickly cleared his throat and looks away from you, but not before you caught sight of his cheeks flushing pink, “Anyway, we should get going.” He pushes open the door and hurries toward his car, running a hand back through his hair as he walked.

You let out a breath and followed him, closing the door behind you. Your mind spun, thinking of all of the possibilities tomorrow could bring. You were going on a fake date with Connor Murphy surrounded by all of your family members while keeping your feelings for him a secret. All you had to do was keep yourself together for one afternoon.

How hard could that be?

[talesfromthefade]

Author Ask Meme

tagged by @apostatetabris

Author Name: @honestly-wilde (formerly 4vraFangirl) / @talesfromthefade

Fandoms You Write For: Oh goodness, so many. Let’s see...  Kingsman, Turn: Washington’s Spies, Pacific Rim, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Once Upon a Time, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Marvel Cinematic Universe, Bioshock, Sherlock BBC, Yuri!!! on Ice, Detroit: Become Human, His Dark Materials, Good Omens, SyFy’s Tin Man, SyFy’s Alice, X-Files, Lie to Me, Harry Potter... I’m sure there are more I’m forgetting or some I’m still working on polishing up before I feel comfortable enough sharing/publishing them.

Where You Post: Tumblr, Ao3 (although I haven’t put anything new up there in a while, hopefully soon.)

Most Popular One-Shot: Smut. It would be smut. XD “Any Excuse Will Do” with Eggsy Unwin x Harry Hart from the Kingsman fandom. Sometimes I think I’ve gotten a lot better at writing smut, but seeing this one is still my most popular, I’m not so sure... maybe it’s just that this fic has been up longer than some of my other attempts at it.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Colors Seem to Fade” Whew. So relieved and thrilled that my most popular multi-chapter is a finished one. I always hope to go back to some of the unfinished ones, but some of them have been neglected for quite some time now, much to my frustration and shame. This was actually my first multi-chapter I shared on ao3, written for Hartwin Week 2015.

Favorite Story You Wrote: I don’t know that I could pick a single favorite. I have little bits and pieces, lines, descriptions, etc that I might love from each, but on the whole, I would have a hard time picking any one out that I was entirely satisfied with or didn’t feel I could go back and somehow make better. It’s kind of a miracle that I’ve let go enough to share any of my work, it’s often a matter of forcing myself to. I love to write, but opening it up to possible criticism is absolutely nerve-wracking.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: All of them? See above. I suppose this would go double for those where there is a character in the story I especially relate to, or where I’ve filled in some of the gaps of their characterization with elements of myself. Writing is a fantastic means of therapy for exploring yourself, but making it that intensely personal, even if the reader can’t possibly know when and where you’ve done that makes it difficult to share sometimes. And I suppose, I’m always a bit nervous about the stories I write for the smaller fandoms or rarepairs that they’ll be seen as silly or a waste of time to write because they don’t have the same following as the bigger ones, though, speaking as an enthusiastic rarepair shipper and reader, that could just be paranoia on my part.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: I title everything when I am initially writing it “NOT YET TITLED” just to annoy myself into coming up with something better. Sometimes if I can’t come up with anything else I will use a poem or song lyric. It just depends.

Do You Outline: For any of my longer and multi-chapter fics, I find it’s an absolute necessity to help me organize my thoughts. That said, I have nearly as many drafts of outlines as I do drafts of the actual story if it’s one I’m pretty invested in, since I prefer to have the characters drive the story so I may find something I had planned doesn’t work so well as I thought or there’s something that would fit their characterization better.

Coming Soon Eventually: As far as fanfiction goes, I am currently working hard on finishing up a lengthy one-shot for “Good Omens” (Aziraphale x Crowley), and another for “Detroit: Become Human” (Connor RK800 x Hank Anderson), as well as chipping away at prompts from/for the @dadrunkwriting group. I’m still in the drafting stage, but also working on an original work I hope to share more about once I finish the full first draft.

Do You Accept Prompts: Always! Some of the fics that have taken me most by surprise and proved my favorites have been sparked by a prompt/request that someone sent me. I love getting prompts. <3 Feel free to spam my inbox anytime!

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: I’m excited about most stories I work on, otherwise, I don’t write them. Not to say there aren’t moments/scenes, etc where it can get a bit nerve-wracking wondering if I’m doing it all right or it’ll turn out the way I want, but I write because I love writing, if I don’t I’m doing something wrong.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Perfect or Human? (Connor RK800 x Reader)

Summary: You have a very pressing question to ask Connor. A question so significant to your continued existence.

AN: Based on an ask I sent to @deviantshunter which you can see here and I might just do a part two for the NSFW part. This is set after the game.

Requests for blurbs are still open! Send anything you like in and I'll do my best, for both D:BH and Dunkirk fics.

Masterlist     Gif Credit

Your name: submit What is this?

It was a question that had been on your mind ever since you’d met the Android. It was always presented to you whenever you thought of him. Something that was always tantalisingly hung in front of you both and your curiosity could not be satisfied until you knew the answer.

And it couldn’t wait any longer.

You strode up to the desk and sat in front of the computer monitor. Connor sat back in his comfy office chair, one he didn’t need but you bought for him anyway. A moving in present to go with his personal office for work, you even threw in a pin board and a ball of red yarn for his bigger cases. Connor didn’t quite understand the joke but thanked you for it – and again once Hank explained it to him.

But now was not the time for jokes. You had your question that needed answering ASAP for your existence to continue without it plaguing you. The most important question that you had ever conceived in your mind that could be answered by one person: the man in front of you. Right now, the only thing that mattered in this moment.

“Is your fringe part of your integration with society?”

Connor frowned at such an interruption, “My fringe?”

“Yes, your fringe, specifically,” You pointed at the selection of hair that was hanging in his forehead, “That part of your fringe, is it a deliberate part of your integration?”

Processing your significant question, he launched into his explanation: “Yes, it is part of my overall appearance which was specifically designed for my ease in assimilation into society. I told you that before, as did Lieu- Hank.”

Both of you recalled Hank’s offhanded comment that Cyberlife had a really fucked up understanding of what was “normal” to a human. Cyberlife had fucked up more than that, given the failure of the company. Not that Mr Kamski minded in his little mansion. Irrelevant.

“Everything apart from that,” You indicated to the segment of hair again, “Is in place. So you’re not perfect.”

“I am a prototype; I’m not built to be perfect,” Connor reminded you.

“Yeah but you’re the best at the moment. Not outdated yet,” You added with reference to RK800-60’s limited lifespan, “And not perfect, like a human.”

“I’m an Android, Y/N,” Connor insisted.

“I’m fully aware of that, Connor, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be human.”

Of course, an answer only spurred more questions, more needed satisfying. Not just with you either but with Connor, he wanted to understand your reasoning about your statement. But you took the floor first and you were holding onto it.

“Do you know who designed you?”

“No, I don’t,” Connor replied.

“Shame, I wanted to ask them.”

“About my fringe?” He was confused again. How adorable.

“Yeah but also to thank them,” You explained, “You know, thank them for being in my life. Doesn’t it – your fringe - annoy you, having to flip it out the way all the time?”

“I don’t have to, so no, it doesn’t annoy me.” He glanced back at his computer monitor, perhaps an indicator that he needed to be getting on with work. It was then that you remembered Connor was working on a very important case at the moment, research on something, he couldn’t say what but you’d pieced together that maybe it was something to do with an Android hate group.

“Am I annoying you with these questions?” You asked, your voice softer than before to soften your blow more than his.

Connor turned to you and stood up, away from his work to you, and he took your hands in his before replying: “Not at all. I doubt you could ever annoy me, Y/N.”

Rather a sweet gesture that probably wasn’t meant to be as impactful as it was, you squeezed his hands and he squeezed back. But before he could go back to his work, very important work, you had something a little more important.

“Last question, promise: don’t you ever think about gelling it back? Part two of last question: you can change your hair however you please; why don’t you?”

“Well, I could,” And for a moment there, you thought he was stuttering. Or buffering. Then Connor ducked his head, swinging his hands still holding yours, and you wondered what on Earth could be going through his circuits to make him act so… human.

“You don’t have to answer if it makes you comfortable,” You assured him, “I should probably adopt your method of questioning.”

Connor shook his head to dismiss the notion that he was discomfited, “It’s fine. To answer your question, I don’t want to change my hair so I don’t think about gelling it back or changing it at all.” Then, after a brief pause, he spoke again, “Besides, I like it when you tuck it back.”

Such a useless gesture, his hair always found a way back to hanging in his forehead. But you always brushed his hair back anyway. Your fingers combing through his hair, behind his ear, palm parallel to his cheek, thumb almost gracing the moles lined there. You had no idea that such a gesture meant something to him.

“Thank you for answering so diligently.”

You provided him with a demonstration of your gesture and watched his LED flash yellow. It was almost as if his breath hitched, caught in the back of his throat. The gesture deviated from the norm as you moved your hand against his cheek. Hopefully your palm wasn’t too sweaty.

“I was right. You are almost perfect and you are so very human.” Then you nudged your nose to his, kissing his lips quickly before stepping back and dropping your hands from him, “Back to work then, you. You’ve got a case to crack.”

You left him alone, sliding off the desk and closing the door behind you. Connor stayed where he was. Just for a bit, to stay in the moment. Then he went back to work with a little smile still on his lips as he felt those strands of hair fall back into their place, rebelling against the status quo for you to notice and adore. Rather reflective of himself.

Detroit tag: @scottishlowden and @noodledraw