#tried a couple electronic toys but they don’t like them

[femenaces]

In need of recommendations for unusual or creative cat toys. My cats are spoiled and have grown bored by the ones they have

[medusapelagia]

02 Creel’s House

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Ghost) and @au-gust (Prompt: Colorless) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve & Robin, Steve/Eddie if you squint TW: AU, Major character already dead, body horror, monsters, ghosts, homicide, spiders Words: 1688

Homicide suicide.

That's what every newspaper titled the article about Eddie Munson's death. And they weren't totally wrong. Someone actually killed someone else and then killed himself, but both the police and the newspaper assumed it was Eddie who killed Chrissy before killing himself. The truth was the contrary.

Maybe it could sound unrealistic that a cute blond teenage girl killed a young man, but they didn't know that Chrissy was possessed by an evil creature. A creature that even years after his death, Eddie is still hunting down.

He has done his best to keep everyone away from Creel's house. He has screamed in the night, turned on lights and electronic devices, and left messages on the fogged glass of the shower. And it has worked every single time! For almost forty years nobody has stepped inside Creel's house, which is why the entire building is decrypted and full of mold. Totally unsanitary. But this doesn't seem to worry the young couple that just made an offer to buy the place.

They want to renovate it and sell it even better, and in the meantime, they'll take temporary residence in the living room, the only room that still maintains the appearance of a room because it's the room where Eddie and Chrissy died, and Eddie is still waiting for the monster to creep through the wooden cracks and makes his appearance.

Eddie never saw the monster that took the girl he loved so deeply, but he saw the effect he had on her, puppeteering her like she was a toy and not a person. He remembers her white empty eyes and the low growl that came from her mouth before she hit him with a poker in the back of his head. After that he has no idea of what happened, his memories are blurred, and all he knows is that he woke up in a colorless world and quickly found out that's true what they say about ghosts: you become a ghost when you have some unfinished business, and Eddie's business is find the monster that took Chrissy. Exorcize him if he has to! No idea how, but he knows he'll manage somehow.

It takes Eddie a couple of days to understand that the young couple isn't a couple at all. They are joined at the hip but they don't share any physical contact, like Eddie and Chrissy.

It makes Eddie sad remembering Chrissy, but he finds comfort in knowing that at least she's not there, trapped between life and death, so her soul must be resting somewhere else.

The young man, Steve is his name, is really good-looking, totally Eddie's type if he wasn't a ghost. Eddie spends hours studying him. Right now Steve is kneeling in the basement, trying to get enough water pressure for Robin, the girl, to take a shower. Little does he know that Eddie broke all the pipes years before.

Eddie chuckles, amused at Steve’s stubbornness, and Steve turns toward him.

For a little moment, Eddie wonders if Steve can see him, they are eyes into eyes and he’s stepping closer enough that Eddie could touch him if he was still alive.

Steve's hand reaches out toward Eddie and he freezes, staring at the hairy arm… that passes through him to grab a screwdriver from a metal shelf.

Eddie screams, angry and frustrated, and the entire house shakes. Once the earthquake stops, Steve runs upstairs, screaming Robin’s name and dragging her out of the house.

They’ll find out soon that the mysterious earthquake was only at their place and that everyone knows that Creel’s House is haunted.

***

After the basement incident, Eddie decides that it’s time for Robin and Steve to leave, so he tries his old scheme: noises in the night, flickering lights, and whispering in the night. Surprisingly, neither of the two of them seems to be scared by Eddie’s efforts. Instead of running for their life, screaming from the top of their lungs, they start filming the weird things that keep happening in the house and post them on their socials. They get a great number of followers, that’s a new word Eddie just learned, that quickly transforms into a pilgrimage of curious people who want to live the experience of meeting a ghost.

Eddie never shows himself when those outsiders come to Creel’s House, but every single one of them swears they felt his presence. 

The bright side is that finally, after almost forty years, the presence of so many people in Creel’s House attracts the monster Eddie was waiting for. 

It starts with a cold feeling that both the humans and the ghost can feel even if it's August.

Robin says it's the old wall, but Steve seems not convinced. He keeps filming around the house, finding spiders crawling from under the wooden floor and moving toward the attic, the only room Eddie never managed to explore and whose key was lost ages ago.

Finally, the two humans are starting to feel scared.

"I think we should leave. Like right now." Robin says, looking at the creepy row of insects that keeps marching toward the attic.

"Ok. Wait for me in the car," Steve replies, but Eddie can tell that something is wrong. His body language is different, and when turns toward Eddie he seems to have the same white empty eyes Chrissy had when she killed him.

"Hello, Edward." Steve says with a voice that's not his, but it's Creel's.

"Did you say something?" Robin asks, turning just in time to see the empty look on Steve's face. She starts to scream, running toward him, but Eddie concentrates all his energy and manages to push her out of the house, closing the door behind her.

The woman keeps screaming Steve's name, punching the door with desperation, but Eddie won't let her back inside, no matter what.

"Forty years and you never left this shit hole?"

"I was waiting for you!" Eddie snarls back.

"Oh, do you think I didn't have any other place to be, Edward? Your energy is attractive, but the world is full of people whose lives a living nightmares and who are an easier prey. If it wasn't for this young man here I would have never set foot back in here and you would have waited for eternity." The creature with Steve's face cackles.

"Leave him alone!" Eddie yells, trying to shake the possessed body.

"Why should I? His desperation is so tasty. He hides it under a fake smile but his life is a mess. He's lost and I can make all of this end. I'm a savior."

"You're a fucking killer!"

"That's just a consequence. When I feed from them I free them of their demons. Sadly. They die. Humans are so fragile, you know?" Creel says, snapping Steve's arms like it was a toothpick.

"Let him go! Let him go or…"

"Or what, Edward? What are you going to do? Huh?" Creel's voice asks, amused.

Eddie tries to hit the creature inside Steve's body, but his punch passes through Steve's body without hitting him. Still, that gesture isn't completely futile because for a fraction of a second Eddie sees the inside of the attic, a room made of reds and blues with a huge pumping machine. He doesn't really know what he saw, but Eddie knows it is something important because Creel freezes.

"No!" he screams, but Eddie is already sprinting toward the attic, taking a few shortcuts through the walls that Steve's body can't take.

The sturdy wooden door is still standing in front of him, like an impenetrable wall, but there's a tiny hole the little insects are using to get inside. Eddie never tried to change his form before, he just used to run through the walls, but he concentrated, making himself small enough to finally break through into the attic.

On the other side, Creel, still in Steve's body, is trying to break down the door, but Eddie's eyes are pinned to an old body, almost mummified, connected to so many tubes, and lying inside a sort of pentagram.

A body trapped between life and death.

Eddie stares at the fragile body with pity, and finally, he remembers why Chrissy and he went to Creel's house all those years ago.

All the kids in town knew the story of the crazy Doctor Victor Creel who made experiments on homeless people to cure his ill child and Chrissy wanted to write an article in the school newspaper about it. She has done tons of research in the public library and all she needed was to get into the house and take a few pictures to add them to her article, and for doing that she needed Eddie's lockpicking skills.

But they never managed to get any pictures. Chrissy was attacked by Creel as soon as she got inside, she killed Eddie and then she killed herself, all because of the creature lying on that rusty bed.

With a last push, the wooden door finally yields and Steve's body falls on the ground, one arm broken and the other badly bruised. Creel stares at Eddie, and then he leaves Steve's body to get back to his own and protect himself, but this time Eddie is determined to put an end to the murderous story of the family.

He gets into Steve's body, something he never did before, and uses his good hand to erase the chalk pentagram from the floor.

The body lying on the rusty bed writhes and shrieks, staring with his white eyes at Eddie, cursing him one last time, before dying.

For a moment Eddie remains in Steve's body, enjoying the feeling of being alive once more, but then he sees Steve's memories. Creel was right, the young man's memories are full of pain and sorrow, but also of joy and friendship, and Eddie can rob him of his own life.

"I hope I'll meet you in the next life," Eddie whispers, and for a moment their soul connects and that's enough for Eddie to be sure that he'll find him again soon.

[sskim-milkk]

In honor of sweet bebo omega getting a toy in tbb premiere, here is what imagine going to Space Walmart would be like for this chaotic family because I’m sure as soon as Hunter saw how happy it made his girl he wanted to add to her slowly growing collection.

For @a-lil-perspective because all of your scenarios and little fics with the batch never fail to put a smile on my face I hope I can at least reciprocate that a lil bit 🥰

First of all, with Echo being The Mom ™️ of the group, he’s immediately grabbing a cart and dumping the ecosystem of items from his bag, car keys and sunglasses onto the tray in front of the cart handle. He’s settling in for a long time here. There also happens to be a Space Starbucks next to the store so you best believe Echo’s going there for coffee to keep him sane during this outing. He’s given each of his brothers a list of things to get and NOTHING MORE. They’re coming for the things on the list and nothing else.

Hunter has Omega on a leash because this kid will wander off a heart attack-causing amount of times in this damn store. He’s working with Echo to try to keep the others on task but he is also eyeing the camping and hardware section of the store even though they don’t need anything from there. Maybe he can make a quick pit-stop in those aisles after he gets Omega a toy. Stealth is key.

Omega hates the kid leash and just wants to ogle at everything in passing. Her only goal today is to walk out with the coolest toy ever to help keep her occupied while they’re in hyperspace. She may even team up with Wrecker to convince Hunter to let them get one big toy because “they’d be sharing.” She looks so adorable looking at everything in awe throughout the store. In the toys, she would probably go for something shiny and pretty like another kaleidoscope, or maybe a Lego set or something else involving building. She might also like a strategy game. So many options!

Wrecker would definitely lose Echo’s list for him within seconds and get side-tracked by all the yummy snacks and the sports section. He definitely tests all the weights in the sports sections and grabs a few too many snacks. He tells himself he’ll share. The snacks may be gone by the time they get back to the Marauder though. He joins Omega and Hunter in the toys and does indeed to try to convince Hunter to let them bring a giant Lego set on board. It doesn’t work, but Wrecker does get a couple of cool action figures.

Tech would predictably be in the electronics section. He would ask a lot of question about a new tablet he’s thinking about purchasing and would probably be flirted with by the cute employee helping him. Once all of his questions are answered he joins Omega in the toy section and tries to convince her to buy a strategy game or even a puzzle (though that’s more for himself).

Crosshair separates from the group immediately and no one sees him again until they go to check out. He would spend an annoying amount of time in the mens clothing section finding a jazzy new outfit before he goes back on the battlefield. Looks good, feels good, he’s ready for anything. He would definitely point finger guns at himself in the mirror. He would ask an employee a ridiculous question like, “is this scarf cashmere?” What can I say, he’s a fancy guy.

…oh, and one more thing. Echo is the one who ends up getting everything they need anyway while the other lallygag. He asks himself why he even tries to maintain some order in this family.

[black-dragon1998]

Life at castle Dimitrescu

Summarry: reader (half-human/ half-demon) living at castle Dimitrescu. her interactions with the lady of the castle and her daughters. 

Autor note: I haven’t played through the whole game (Resident Evil Village) but I have played through castle Dimitrescu and know what happens to Alcina, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela. I am not going to follow the canon universe in my fics about RE8 unless specified otherwise. The Dimitrescu ladies deserved more.

Likes and comments are always welcome.

The sound of your heavy boots running over the marble floor almost drowned out the sound of the person chasing you. Unlike you, they weren’t running but still. Your chaser was catching up to you. In your head, you could imagine Lady Dimitrescu casually walking behind you, her tall frame allowing her to cover more distance. This all forced you to be smarter and hope to outsmart them.

In the main hall, you took 10 seconds break. Go up the stairs and to the bedroom halls or go via the courtyard to the music hall. Hearing the buzzing sound coming from upstairs made that decision for you. So you ran to the dining hall. It was winter so too cold for the girls to go outside so you only had to keep an eye out for Lady Dimitrescu outside.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer you got to the door. In your head, you had already reached the safe zone but you willed yourself to stay focused. From pasted experiences, you had learned not to get ahead of yourself when Lady Dimitrescu was involved in the game. The moment you wanted to open the door it opened, revealing Lady Dimitrescu making you stop in your tracks. falling on your ass and skiting forward.

“Well, well little one it seems I have cut off your escape route.” Alcina mocked with her signature wicked smirk. Not giving up just yet you scramble back onto your feet and try to get back to the main hall, hoping the girls had already moved on from the second floor. A hand clamped around your ankle as you reached the threshold, hoisting you up into the air upside down. You can’t help but frown that is forming on your face as Alcina lifts you to look at your face.

“we promised no powers, If I can’t shift then you guys can’t teleport.” Your frown had now turned into a full-blown pout. Alcina couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you were when you pouted. She wouldn’t admit it but she had developed a soft spot for you. Ever since Daniela brought you back to the castle after finding you in the town beaten and bloody. Her youngest daughter had chased away the Lycan that had hurt you before bringing you back. All four Dimitrescu women had became intrigued when they noticed your black blood and only hours after you entered the castle all your wounds were healed.

Almost a year had gone by since your first entered the big castle and over that time you had really warmed up to the Dimitrescu ladies. The girls liked to play hide and seek with you and when they learned you were half-human, half-demon they practically squealed. They didn’t have to be careful when they were playing. Sometimes Alcina joined you and the girls in your little games, but when she joined you always lost.

“no little one, you made that deal with my girls, not me.” Lady Dimitrescu says while letting go of your foot. You make an elegant turn so you land on your feet.

“and don’t think I wasn’t on to your little plan. Going through the courtyard where my girls can’t follow.” Alcina continued raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you. Having no reply, that was your plan so you didn’t have a comeback so you stayed silent. Alcina took this as confirmation.

 Before the conversation could go on Daniela materializes into the room and latches onto you. Instinctively you pull her closer and drive up your body temperature, making sure she didn’t get cold, handy perk you could do. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela liked to snuggle up to you on cold nights like this.

“did mother find you?” Daniela asks to giggle just sounding a little too sweet. Knowing what it meant if you said yes.

“you already know the answer to that darling, she always manages to find me.” You replay while following lady Dimitrescu further inside, leading Daniela to the fireplace. She was feeling too cold for your liking and you wanted to warm her up.

The moment you sit down on the couch Infront of the fireplace Daniela was immediately on your lap. Bela manifested on your left and Cassandra on your right. Before either of them could strike you warned them.

“each gets one bite. Remember I do bite back.” Each of the girls gives you an affirmative sound before they take a chuck out of you. Bela bites into your arm, Cassandra does the same but on the other side. Daniela decides she wants a taste of your blood and sinks her fangs into your neck. After a few tugs, you give Daniela’s side a little pinch telling her to knock it off. Bela and Cassandra already retreated.

“I said one bite, Dani, not suck me dry.” You grumble as you pry her off your neck, Bela and Cassandra giggled among themselves. The only thing you caught was Cassandra’s reply to Bela.

“I think Dani would love for (Y/N) to take a piece out of her. They are always all over each other.” Cassandra giggles seeing your face heat up. Instead of denying anything Daniela just throws gasoline on the fire.

“they aren’t wrong, I do love it when you leave your marks on me,” Dani replies in her most sluttery voice she could muster, making your face flush and a couple of fires pop up around the room. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the sisters who couldn’t help but laugh at your expense. You wanted to be mad at them you did but at moments like this, they looked the most human and happy. So if it had to be at your expanse so be it.

 The night went on, with the sisters talking under themselves. Dani not leaving the spot on your lap. Lady Dimitrescu came checking on the four of you once in a while but mostly kept to her chambers. As a mother, she baskets in how happy her daughters and she admitted at least to herself that part of it was because of you and she was forever grateful for it.

 When they kept on teasing you, you threatened with tacking away their toys and forbid them from going into the village the moment it became warmer. Lady Dimitrescu herself had given you that privilege and the girls knew this. The threat alone made them stop.

You basket in the silence that emitted around you, knowing it wouldn’t last long. The girls were good at many things, staying quiet and sitting still wasn’t one of them. Only minutes later the sister started begging you if they could watch a movie on your laptop.

The only electronics meant for entertainment were in your chambers after you asked, begged Lady Dimitrescu to keep them. After that, the girls were hooked on Disney movies and occasionally one of them would ask to get them something. The only reason lady Dimitrescu allowed it was because it was the only activity the girls could do without bickering or fighting.

Even though the girls wanted to watch a movie. The moment you were all installed and sat down on the bed, the girls scattered around your bed. The moment it came to choosing they couldn’t decide. When the bickering became too loud you made the decision yourself and put on Beauty and the Beast. Relaxing into your cushions in the middle of the bed.

Bela was the first to notice it and stopped bickering with her sister to snuggle into your side. Daniela was next , she laid down on your other side and rested her head on your chest. Cassandra eventually laid down next to Bela and rested her head on your hip.

 That is how Alcina found you the next morning. She was happy with how affectionate you were with her daughters. Even though you and Daniela shared a lovers bond you never forgot Bela and Cassandra. You tried to give all three the same amount of attention and Alcina couldn’t be happier. Deciding to let the four of you sleep for a little while longer she retreated to her chamber letting the maids know not to disturb you.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like “i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

[twstdreams]

Tamagotchi Dorm Leaders

Author’s notes: No I have not caught up on the latest update, but I have seen the tamagotchis that were released and I could not help myself

New tamagotchis allow you to pick and customize a character! How do the dorm leaders react when you model it after them?

Riddle Rosehearts

He’s slightly taken aback, mostly because he’s caught off guard. That’s one way to spend your money, he supposes! He’s not judging but when you told him you wanted to show him something cute, Riddle was thinking something along the lines of a hedgehog

Riddle definitely does not keep up with trends and growing up he was told games were kind of frivolous. However, seeing that you went out of your way to get a character modelled after him makes him both embarrassed and touched

His words may not convey all his emotions on the topic but you can bet he’s sporting a blush across his cheeks and perhaps the tips of his ears too depending on how much you ramble about your cute tamagotchi!Riddle

Riddle tries to surreptitiously check if you’re taking good care of your tamagotchi version of him. He won’t blame you if life gets in the way, but if you regularly visit it, his heart does an unexpected flip flop. 

You better not neglect him for an electronic version, though! You might have a grouchy or pouty dorm leader on your hands

Leona Kingscholar

“Look this one actually thanks me!” You don’t hesitate to point this out when you drop off lunch and barely get acknowledgement, “He’s worth feeding.” Yeah, technically this character dies if you don’t, unlike Leona, but it beats him in manners

“Treats me better than you.” The tamagotchi is your new source for snide quips. Appreciative and no talkback? It’s a brand new world.

Be careful! If you bring up your cute little tamagotchi version too much, Leona will threaten to turn it into sand or chuck it across campus

He doesn’t see the appeal. It’s a boring toy with neither strategy nor anything mildly entertaining. I mean, you have the real thing right here? There’s no way Leona is inferior to a basic tamagotchi. If it keeps you from bugging him while he naps or plays chess, he won’t complain

Azul Ashengrotto

Shouldn’t he get some sort of profit off this? Though he supposes his identity isn’t copyrighted and his fashion isn’t so unique that it’d guarantee a win in any type of court

If he keeps musing about money, feel free to smack his arm and threaten to change it to someone else

You will create a tamagotchi!Floyd friend for tamagotchi!Azul just to torment him. Even in tamagotchi form, he will not know peace

Truthfully he thinks it’s a little cute, though last time he checked this isn’t common practice? Though Idia sometimes talks about matching outfits of characters and changing mods during boardgames club.

It’s not strategic nor with a clear winner so Azul doesn’t think it’s something he’d personally indulge in, but well now he has a gauge for your affection for him and he knows every time you smile at your tamagotchi it’s partially because of him

Kalim Al Asim

A bit confused at the beginning but he’s very supportive! You made a mini version of him? That’s adorable! What does it do? What happens if he presses this button?

Kalim gets one of you but it is not well taken care of. He tries! But Kalim will place his tamagotchi somewhere and then forget where he left it forget to feed it

Oh well, he indulged you in this is his own way. He promises to treasure the real thing!

Vil Schoenheit

Given his celebrity status, Vil is used to paraphernalia of him but this is kinda new. He’s seen lots of fanart but not robust pixels of himself!

A little flustered but he won’t tell anyone. He didn’t expect you to essentially model a virtual pet after him! 

Not something he’ll partake in, but when you comment about how it keeps you company while he’s away, Vil understands more. To you, it’s like a token of him to keep with you at all times. He thinks it’s endearing in a slightly quirky way

Vil is touched by how dedicated you are to taking care and feeding it. Even if it bears no grand significance in real life, you are dedicated to that which makes you happy

Idia Shroud

Idia is flaming red and you’re surprised a smoke alarm hasn’t gone off yet! All he can think is “You got one of him!!!!”

It’s very old tech, but he appreciates it because you can carry it everywhere and you basically got a separate gaming console just to have a mini version of him

He’s not into Tamagotchi’s personally but you can bet he has a couple characters that are carbon copies of you. You’ll have to coax him to ever show you though. Or you could get Ortho to spill the beans!

Malleus Draconia

HE DID NOT HEAR ABOUT THIS? He never knew you could do that! Truly technology has many wonders he has yet to discover. He feels like it makes venturing outside of the Valley of Thorns and learning about others worth it

Malleus gets one of you as fast as possible for him. He might have to enlist the help of his dormmates or someone more tech savvy but Malleus plans to return your gesture by getting one and modelling it after you

The two tamagotchis will be friends, no questions asked

He treasures his Gao Gao Dragon-kun, so Malleus is pretty happy and a little flustered too. Congrats on wiping off that smug smirk and getting a peek at him behind the royal veil! If his tail was out it’d probably whack someone due to his excitement

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon. 

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!! 

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Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile. 

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them. 

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly. 

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning. 

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious. 

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place. 

You tried not to let your heartbreak show. 

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him." 

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up. 

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better. 

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line. 

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being. 

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice. 

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards. 

You introduced yourself with a small bow. 

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this. 

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?" 

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him. 

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs. 

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed. 

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him. 

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands. 

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?" 

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way." 

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left. 

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him. 

The room sounded quiet. 

You counted to three. Knocked. 

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted. 

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks. 

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold. 

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances. 

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else. 

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done. 

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room. 

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point. 

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him. 

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest. 

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that. 

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw. 

"I still have my heels on." You replied. 

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked. 

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem. 

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long. 

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered. 

You allowed him. 

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly. 

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball. 

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle. 

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes. 

It was fried chicken. 

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered. 

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him. 

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back. 

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome. 

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it." 

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway. 

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh. 

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway. 

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously. 

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other. 

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system. 

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite. 

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side. 

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty. 

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call. 

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though. 

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented. 

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers." 

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm. 

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on. 

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this. 

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences. 

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones. 

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips. 

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate. 

"Joon." 

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded. 

He laced his hand with yours. 

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly. 

It felt like a slap, his full name. 

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all. 

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else. 

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder. 

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him. 

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show. 

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh. 

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank. 

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama. 

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby." 

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra. 

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out. 

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal. 

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes. 

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval. 

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain. 

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly. 

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you. 

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined. 

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?" 

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged. 

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again. 

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch. 

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast. 

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness. 

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped. 

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding. 

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there. 

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

���Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined. 

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command. 

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees. 

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane. 

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked. 

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix. 

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach. 

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle. 

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner. 

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting. 

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile. 

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips. 

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour. 

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth. 

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely. 

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp. 

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever. 

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it. 

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way. 

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth. 

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked. 

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs. 

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice. 

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks. 

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps. 

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim. 

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause. 

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could. 

"Why should I, uh?" He teased. 

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain. 

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking. 

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him. 

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused. 

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you. 

"Yes, daddy." You replied. 

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him. 

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy." 

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles. 

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress. 

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream. 

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy. 

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes." 

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him. 

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod. 

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?" 

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle. 

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?" 

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly. 

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?" 

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up. 

This would be the last time, he decided. 

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did. 

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured. 

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?" 

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded. 

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place. 

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?" 

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him. 

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead. 

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling. 

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined. 

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times. 

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap. 

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears? 

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed. 

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed. 

"Stop." You murmured. 

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me." 

He shook his head. "I can't." 

"Namjoon." You reprimanded. 

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame. 

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you. 

You quickly decided what to do. 

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?" 

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate. 

"What is it?" You asked again. 

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper. 

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused. 

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice. 

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?" 

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed. 

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued. 

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—" 

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears. 

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words. 

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified. 

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated. 

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you. 

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him. 

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face. 

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked. 

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child. 

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling. 

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful. 

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him. 

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck. 

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan. 

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass. 

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out. 

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?" 

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?" 

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back. 

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…" 

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured. 

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you. 

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up. 

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained. 

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close. 

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark. 

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high. 

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you. 

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him. 

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa. 

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered. 

"Blanket?" You asked. 

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face. 

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him. 

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself. 

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face. 

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave. 

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation. 

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat. 

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage. 

"Sorry." He murmured. 

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk. 

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights. 

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass. 

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it. 

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on. 

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?" 

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?" 

You hummed in confirmation. 

"Let's go." 

[babbushka]

Wreck The Malls: Flip Zimmerman and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

6.2k ; cw: mentions of gun violence, blood and injury ; NSFW (shower sex, injured sex, PIV, oral sex)

Available on AO3

                                                ----------------------

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But it is also universally acknowledged, that a lucky man in possession of a good wife, should want to get her something special for the holidays.

This is the story of how one Detective Flip Zimmerman of the CSPD, goes on a journey through hell and back to obtain such a gift, and might just learn the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

Now, though this story takes place on Christmas Eve, it should be noted that our Mr. Zimmerman does not actually like Christmas. He doesn’t celebrate it, and he thinks the entire holiday is one big headache. Does it bother him that his own holidays always seem to be overlooked in favor for the goyishe celebrations of December? Yes – but that’s not the reason he dislikes it so much. If you were to ask him, he would say something akin to;

“I just don’t know why the fuck everyone makes such a big goddamn deal.” He huffs and puffs on his cigarette in the parking lot. Flip rolls his eyes, “All month long, stores have been playing this shit music since the day after Thanksgiving.”

Sitting in his car with Ron – the only one of his friends patient enough to listen to him complain for an hour straight – Flip turns the radio down just low enough for Jingle Bell Rock to sound. They’re outside the big mall, something shiny and brand new, just in the nick of time for the holidays. Ron shrugs, going over his last-minute shopping list.

“We can go home, no one will know.” Ron points out for what must seem like the eighteenth time.

Flip had asked Ron to accompany him both for emotional support, but also to get a second opinion on the gift he was picking up for you. Flip loves you more than anything else in the entire world – yes, even more than his buc-wheat cereal and Greek yogurt – and even though you had already exchanged presents during Hanukkah only a few days prior, that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Of course we can’t go home, I want to get her something nice.” He says as much, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the car window, the oppressive commercialism of the mall looming ahead.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like Christmas either though.” Ever the practical voice of reason, Ron tries giving Flip one more out, one more chance to turn back now, “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know.”

“It’s not a Christmas present,” Flip shakes his head, finally turning the car engine off entirely, and silencing the radio once and for all. He steels himself, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, “It’s a just-because present. I already have it all picked out and everything, I just need to go in and pay for it.”  

“You’ve got some real brains underneath those flowing locks of yours man.” Ron smiles, gets out of the car and stretches out his muscles for what he’s sure will be a ton of walking through angry mobs, “Minimizing the amount of time in there is probably for the best, considering.”

It’s the way that Flip hesitates that clues Ron in that maybe, Flip didn’t have as many brains as he had thought.

“Considering what?” Flip asks, the second clue.

“Flip, it’s Christmas Eve.” Ron spells it out plainly, and wishes he had a camera to capture the exact moment that the next thought enters Flip’s mind, and subsequently spills out of his mouth:

“…Oh fuck.”

Shaking his head fondly, Ron claps a hand on Flip’s shoulder as he rounds the front of the car, and the two of them brave the great unknown together.

 Flip was not nearly as familiar with the mall as he likes to think, but he knows where the jewelry store is, and really that’s all that matters.

They make their way down to that section of the enormous space, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the sheer abundance of Christmas Cheer that surrounds them. Nearly every store had something in its window display: lights, statues, mannequins modeling holiday attire, some even had moving animatronic animals that gave Flip the shivers. Every pole and railing and kiosk in the place was covered in garland and lights, and in the grand atrium, enormous ornaments were suspended from the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment and looking up at them, Flip wonders what the likelihood would be for them to all come crashing down.

He’s so caught up in fact, that he nearly misses Ron branching off in another direction.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Flip jogs a couple paces to catch up, a frown already forming between his brows.

“I need to pick somethin’ up for Patrice.” Ron explains, holding up his little shopping list. Flip gives him a mildly panicked look, but Ron only reassures him with, “We’ll meet up at the food court?”

I can do this, Flip thinks to himself, it’s one store. How bad could one store be?

“Sure, don’t take too long.” Flip eventually agrees, swallowing down the feeling of impending doom – otherwise known as “acid reflux” according to you – and squaring his shoulders.

He didn’t need Ron, he was a grown man after all. He fought in Vietnam twice! Surely he could go to the jewelry store…right?

Making his way over to the escalator, Flip has his eye on the prize; Goldsmith’s Jewelry is just off to the left, he can see it coming. Playfully taking the five golden rings theme and running with it, large decorations spin gently in the window, glittering in the light. Flip’s relieved to see the place relatively empty.

Not completely dead, but definitely not a line out the door the way that the toy store had. As a matter of fact, when Flip walks through the glass doors, he’s greeted by less than ten people, including the owner himself, who lights up when he spots his friend.

“Philip! Good to see you son. Here for those earrings you were looking at?” Carl, a fabulously eccentric man with no less than fifteen pieces of jewelry on at any given time practically jingles when he comes around the counter to give Flip a hug.

“You bet Carl, how much am I layin’ out for you?” Flip has to bend himself nearly in half to reach the kind gentleman’s embrace, already reaching for his wallet.

Carl was one of those men who could reminisce and catch up for hours on end, and as much as Flip would love to listen to the story about how Carl lost his dentures in his shoe for the hundredth time, he would rather listen to you instead. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t seem too pressed about it, and he only beckons the detective over to the register counter.

“Tell you what, since you’re practically family and helped out Darlene with her car troubles, I’m taking half off.” Carl announces with a twinkle in his eye, making Flip feel a little guilty about wanting to scram as fast as possible.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that Carl really – ” Flip tries, but Carl is having none of it.

“I want to!” He smacks at Flip’s hands when he tries to offer him the full amount of cash, fully turning his back on Flip to go into the little employees only room. “You stay right here, I’ll just go into the back and get it wrapped up real nice for you.”

Left alone once again, Flip has no choice but to let his eye wander. The entire place was sensory overload, really, and Flip wishes he could have a fucking cigarette. Was the music at the mall always this loud and discordant? Chewing on his lip instead of the butt of a cigarette, Flip looks around the store.

He makes uncomfortable eye contact with a man who is clearly picking up something for the wife and something else for the girlfriend, and he looks away when he realizes. Training his eye on the great big mirror up on the wall instead, Flip frowns.

Is that…no, it couldn’t be.

Santa Claus wouldn’t be taking a break from the Workshop near the foodcourt to stop into a jewelry store, would he? Flip shakes his head, he’s probably just being paranoid. The guy is probably on break and looking for something for Mrs. Claus. Flip cracks himself up with that thought, and is about to turn around and joke with the guy about it – when he notices through the mirror that the Santa is ever so cautiously reaching around the counter, looking for the lock mechanism.

“Shit.” Flip licks across his teeth, when he manages it open and begins pulling out necklaces with seemingly no one noticing.

Carl still hasn’t come back, so Flip casually reaches for the phone on the counter near the register, dials the direct line number to his buddy back at the station.

“CSPD this is Jimmy – ”

“It’s me, I’m at the jewelry store on the second level of the mall downtown. I think there’s a robbery about to go down, I’m going to need backup.” Flip mutters as quietly as he can into the receiver, keeping and eye on the Santa.

Sure enough, he’s pulling out a sack, and it looks as if this guy has already hit up quite a few stores, if the brand new boxed electronics filling it are anything to go by.

“Is he armed?” Jimmy asks immediately, and Flip tries to get a good look.

“I can’t tell, he’s in a Santa suit.” He explains, and then scowls when the line goes silent for a moment.

“…Flip are you serious?” Jimmy tries to start some bullshit but Flip doesn’t have the time for this.

“Yes I’m fucking serious would you just tell Trapp I need backup? Ron is here somewhere but I don’t know where the fuck he went.” He hisses, teeth clenching tight enough that he can feel the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“Okay okay! I’m on it, keep him in your sight.” Jimmy replies, before hanging up.

Trying to steal a glance through the mirror again, Flip realizes he must have been a little too loud, because the Santa has bolted through the doors, sack filled with diamond and ruby and sapphires galore.

“Fuck.” Flip grunts to himself, before slamming down the phone near the register and rushing out of the store with a futile, “CSPD! Hands where I can see them!”

 This would be much easier, Flip reasons, if it weren’t Christmas fucking Eve. The mall is swamped with people, loud and slow like big dumb buffalo – no, he wouldn’t do buffalo the disservice of comparing them to these last minute mall shoppers who cannot decide if they want to walk on the left or the right side of the aisle. Santa, he needs Santa – but there are so many! Nearly a dozen guys in red coats and white beards ring bells or wave or laugh jolly hearty laughs, and Flip feels like he’s in hell.

No, he supposes, Hell must be the five-story Hibbard & Co., where he finally manages to catch sight of the Santa he’s after. Bolting across the large expanse of the mall and into the first level of the store, Flip trips and stumbles through displays of empty cardboard box presents and wooden nutcrackers, causing shouts and screams of distress to erupt around him from the patrons of the store.

The employees however, are entirely unphased, they continue to spritz the air with their perfume samples, directly into the face of Flip, who is scrambling and already breathing heavy as it is, his boots carrying him around the sharp corners of the mirrored kiosks in the perfume department.

“Oh – shit – fuck!” Flip’s blinded by the perfume, his eyes stinging. He’s choking on it, unable to breathe as rose water stings his vision. “I love my job, I love my wife, I love my job…”

He chants to himself as he blinks and coughs, to no avail; he’s so blinded that he crashes into a display of coats, which in a domino-like effect crash down all the other displays of winter clothing on their way down, but Flip can’t stick around to apologize, the Santa is getting away.

“Out of my way – Ron!” Flip shouts as he pushes and shoves himself through the large swathes of people, Christmas music blaring bright and cheerfully as he runs and runs and runs, shouting out, “Ron if you can hear me a little help would be appreciated!”

The Santa isn’t making this easy for him, Flip curses, as he runs down the up escalator.

Following suit, there’s real screams now when the Santa pulls out a gun and starts blindly shooting behind himself at Flip, making everyone on the escalator, and everyone in that area of the mall for that matter, scatter. If Flip thought the crowds were bad, a mob was even worse, and soon everyone is running in every which way direction, as this Santa gets off the escalator and sprints down towards the food court.

Flip wonders why the place isn’t on a lockdown yet, wonders what the hell is taking backup so long to get there already. Didn’t this place have cops? Weren’t the mall cops good for literally anything? What a waste of his time, Flip thinks, as he runs runs runs with his gun in his hands, trying to hold steady as he aims to shoot, the robber in his sight, he can see him, he can practically smell him --

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this – oh fuck me -- !” Flip collides hard with an unsuspecting dad who just happened to be grabbing lunch from the food court for his entire family.

“Watch where you’re fucking going pal!” The dad shouts.

All at once, a whole tray of pizza slices doused in red sauce and melted cheese, and four large cups of pepsi are flying through the air and landing all over Flip’s brand new shirt, the one that you had just given to him for Hanukkah. He wants to be livid, wants to choke this guy out but the robber is getting away, Flip’s losing visual on him, and after all the trouble, there’s no chance he’s letting him get away.

“You fucking watch it!” Flip scrambles up, which isn’t easy to do on freshly mopped linoleum floors covered in soda pop, his gun spiraling a couple feet in front of him that he lunges to pick up, muttering to himself, “Ruined my goddamn – ugh – fuck!”

He has to change, and he has to change quickly – scanning the nearest stores, the closest one in the mall that sells clothing. He runs over to it, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt, and grabs the first thing on the rack he sees, which happens to be the most hideous, tacky, terrible looking Christmas sweater.

Flip raises his eyes up to the ceiling, and can practically feel the universe laughing at him when he groans, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

There’s no time, he doesn’t have any other choice, so he yanks the ruined shirt over his head and throws the sweater on. It’s two sizes too small, and it’s itchy as all fucking hell, and of course, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse…the faux lights turn out to not be so faux after all, and they blink as he accidentally rips a tag off so not to trip any alarms.

Throwing money onto the counter as the employees stare at him like he’s a maniac and not just trying to do his fucking job, Flip’s chest heaves as he stands there, gun drawn, scanning the panicked swarms of people in front of him.

“Where did you go you motherfucker?” Flip growls, growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

A moment or two goes by, but then he spots him – the pet grooming salon.

Without any hesitation, Flip is chasing this man down with all his vigor, lungs pumping full of recycled mall air conditioning, blood pounding in his veins. The sooner he catches this guy and gets him cuffed, the sooner all this pandemonium will end.

“Hey!” He hears an authoritative shout from the other end of the mall, and lets out a sigh of relief.

The mall security has finally shown up, and he’s about ready to tell them that Santa is in the pet salon, when he notices they are not slowing down in their full force sprint towards him.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Flip realizes they think he’s the maniac! “I’m a cop! It’s not me – I’m – oh for fuck’s sake.”

Flip realizes he doesn’t have the time to explain, so he does the exact opposite thing you’re supposed to do: run.

Into the pet salon Flip goes, hoping that if he can just grab the Santa it’ll all be explained, but there is no Santa to be found. Instead, Flip is met by a dozen dogs that have been let loose. Big dogs, like Dobermans and Rottweilers, and small dogs like Poodles and Pomeranians have all been released from their cages, and for whatever reason, are baring their teeth at him, and lunging after him as he runs the other way.

“Heel! Sit! Stay – ow!” Flip feels teeth sink into his ankles, and doesn’t bother looking back as he kicks away one of the smaller dogs in the pack that is chasing him.

He can see the Santa, and now, chased by dogs and mall cops, Flip chases him down for hopefully the last leg of this race. He can feel steam shooting out of his ears, he’s never going to leave home again he decides, never is going to step foot in this fucking mall again, as he’s chased.

 Meanwhile, blissfully unaware over in the lingerie department of Macy’s, Ron Stallworth’s greatest dilemma is trying to choose between the red velvet bra and panty set, or the navy satin set. He’s been staring at the two sets for quite some time now, and is conscious of the fact that Flip must be waiting for him, so he calls over one of the employees for her opinion.

He explains that it’s for his girlfriend, and while red and blue are both colors she likes, he isn’t sure which would get the most use – when he sees a Santa Claus stumbling and tripping over himself, shoving people out of his way as he runs past the great big glass windows.

“Huh.” Ron frowns, putting the sets down and moving over to the windows to get a better look.

Ron hears the commotion before he sees it, but when he does see it – ‘it’ being his best friend bleeding, in a blinking fuzzy Christmas sweater, gun brandished, chased by dogs and security who are blowing their whistles and brandishing guns of their own – he grabs all his shit and makes leave.

“If you ladies will please excuse me – ” Ron gives a parting excuse to the employees, who only frown at him as he runs and runs and runs to catch up to, “Flip! Flip what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s about goddamn time!” Flip shouts, nearly red in the face from exertion and sheer unbridled rage as he points with his gun to the man in red a few yards ahead, “That Santa! Is! A! Maniac! I don’t know how many stores he’s stolen from, but at least from the jewelry store and is shooting at people – watch out!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, half a dozen men throw large plastic ornaments the size of cars out onto the floor as a means to blockade the hall. They’re dressed in green, with red and white stockings and pointed hats that have jingle bells on the end, but these were no innocent visitors from the North Pole.

“Of fucking course he’s got elves.” Flip grunts as he tries to run around them, tries his best to avoid getting hit square in the chest with them as they bounce and create a rampaging path of destruction.

“I’ll handle the dogs and the elves, and the mall cops, you catch Santa.” Ron slows down enough, until he’s far enough away that Flip can’t hear him, his own feet still on auto-pilot as he hunts down the Santa.

And then – then!

As if by some miracle, the Santa trips, and he and his sack full of stolen goods all come crashing down to the linoleum floor. In slow motion, Flip jumps using all the strength he has left, hands extended to grab the Santa, and as he flies across the distance between their bodies, Flip swears he sees his life flash before his eyes.

Thudding to the floor, he manages to get the Santa in a chokehold, letting out a triumphant shout of victory.

“Got you!” He pins the man down, rolls him over onto his back so that he can pin his hands behind his back, Flip fishing for his handcuffs that he managed to keep in his back-pocket this whole time, “I got you you son of a bitch!”

 Off to the side, a group of small children watch a grown man leap and tackle Santa Claus to the ground.

Little Stacey gasps in shock and horror, before her older brother Jacob can quickly cover her eyes with his own mittened hand. They, along with their friends – an assortment of ten to twelve year olds left unsupervised on Christmas Eve while their parents and gaurdians get gifts for in-laws they don’t like – immediately turn to one another, while Santa’s body jerks and writhes underneath the heavy knee of some strange man.

“What should we do?” Nicolas asks the leader of their group.

“Well there’s really only one thing we can do.” Dewey says with all the determination of a man about to walk into battle. The children exchange glances with resolution and with all the authority that an eighth-grader can muster, Dewey regards his friends, “All in favor of rescuing Santa and saving Christmas, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!”

It is this emboldened shout of unity that draws Flip’s attention – before he is promptly charged by six small children who proceed to punch, and bite, and smack at him.

In the chaos, Santa manages to slip out of Flip’s grasp. Thankfully he’s still handcuffed and he’s dropped his gun, but the children don’t notice that. No, they’re too busy beating the shit out of Flip, who can’t bring himself to fight back against the angry fists of fury that are descending onto him.

“Get off of me! Get – I am a police fucking officer get off -- !” Flip manages to shake them away, and they stare up at him with wide eyes when he wipes the blood away from his nose at being slammed to the ground.

“Don’t you assholes have parents – oh forget it.” Flip doesn’t bother, caring so little about anything anymore.

He’s is almost defeated, almost, but Santa is handcuffed and limping, he can’t get too much farther, he’s so close – he’s right there –

“Oh shit!” Flip jumps back, as suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron in one of the security mall-carts comes darting from around the corner and t-bones the Santa from the side.

Santa’s body slides across the floor, and seconds later, Bridges, Trapp, Jimmy, and a dozen or so other familiar faces flood the large floor, in their blues and with their walkie talkies loud.

“Flip!” Bridges darts over to where Flip has practically collapsed onto the floor.

He’s directly underneath those ornaments, and he practically wills one of them to unlatch from their suspension and crush him to death.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Bridges has the audacity to ask, looking Flip straight in the face.

His bleeding, swollen face.

There’s a moment or two where Flip can’t think of anything other than how badly he wants a fucking cigarette, but eventually he licks across his teeth, scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly?” Flip muses, before replying in the most dry deadpan way he can muster, “I’ve never been better.”

Blood drips onto the blinking Christmas sweater, and with that, Bridges claps him on the back and nods.

“Go home. We’ll get your statement after the holiday weekend.” He says, and sweeter words have never been spoken. “Don’t worry about Ron, we’ll give him a lift home.”

 Flip’s snowy home in the mountains has never, ever looked more beautiful, Flip can’t help but think. It was quiet, so quiet up here. Snow dusted itself along the length of the front porch, draped the roof and surrounding trees in a blanket of crisp clean fresh white. No dirt, no blood, no sweat – just white. It was purifying, to say the least.

But not so purifying as the front door opening and your stunning face lighting up to see him.

That is, until you notice him limping, notice him covered in blood, notice his hair destroyed and his face bruised. Then your smile melts into something closer to shock and terror.

“Phil! What the fuck happened to you?” You rush to him, trudging through snow that’s up to your calves. You’re not wearing shoes, and Flip can’t bear the thought of you getting too cold, so he hoists you up and holds you against his side, walking you back to the house.

“I…really…don’t want to talk about it.” Flip sighs, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers with you and never emerge.

“Holy shit, are you bleeding?” You push your hand up to his face and feel at his tender nose, making him wince.

“That sounds about right.” He mutters, slamming the door behind him with his foot when he finally crosses the threshold into the foyer of the house.

Flip puts you down and immediately shoves his entire face into your neck, trying hard not to cry. What a fucking day it had been, he can’t help but think as he lets the stress and frustration finally mount behind his eyes. His face hurts, everything about him hurts, his legs are exhausted, his back is fucking killing him, and worse of all, his ego is beyond bruised.

“I hate Christmas.” Flip hiccups, knowing that he’s smearing blood against your pretty robe. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he doesn’t want you to go away, doesn’t want you more than a foot away from him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Come on let’s go take a shower.” You card your fingers through his hair, and lead him up to the bathroom.

 In the light of the bathroom, you do your absolute damndest not to laugh. It’s not that you’re laughing at him, because you would never laugh at him of course, but you’ve never seen your husband look more angry in his entire life, and you’ve been there for a significant portion of it. You have a million questions that you know better than to bombard him with right now, knowing he’ll explain all in due time.

So instead, you peel away his layers until the both of you are naked. A Christmas sweater that blinks bright red and green is buried under blood-stained and ripped jeans, your robe, underwear and socks. Flip turns on the heat and waits for the water to not be so frigid, and in the meantime, you examine him.

“Were…did you get bit by a dog?” You frown as you see crescent bruises blooming underneath his skin. Thankfully, it looks like no actual puncture wounds – what a Christmas gift that would be, rabies.

“More like a pack.” Flip grumbles, making your eyebrows shoot up nearly to your hairline. You want to ask, but Flip dismisses it for now with a sigh and an, “It’s a long story.”

Finally the water seems to be good enough for him, and Flip leads you into the shower. At once, the water runs pink as it washes him clean of the day from hell. Your hands in his hair are heavenly, washing the muck and sweat and grime out of the locks, and Flip could practically cry.

“I know what you need.” You whisper, kissing at the side of his face that’s not tender.

Keeping heated eye contact, you slowly slowly slowly slink down to your knees. Water cascades down your shoulders as your hand reaches for Flip’s cock, as you pump it ever so carefully in even strokes until he’s fully hard.

Your tongue licks up a thick stripe of his shaft, and Flip has to lean fully against the wall so his legs don’t give out and he winds up in the ER with a concussion again. Your mouth swallows him down, feels the weight of his cock on your tongue, against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat.

“Bed, now.” Flip stops you before you can get any further, and you pull off with a smile, glad to see that though he’s in a bad mood, he’s willing to let you help him feel better.

Barely drying off with a towel, Flip kisses and kisses and kisses you as you both stumble to your bed, falling down on top of the covers. You’re giggling against his lips just because you love him so much, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s still in a proper pissed off mood, and you’re glad to let him do what he will with you.

Flip’s cock throbs as it slides in real easy into your cunt, the wet heat of your body welcoming him on the first thrust. Your eyes fall shut as your back arches off the mattress from the feeling of being so filled so fast, the breath punching out of your lungs.

“God you’re wet.” He has to groan, swipes a few fingers over your clit just to massage it and get your legs shaking, your shoulders squirming for him, “What – were you jerkin’ off missing me? Thinkin’ about me? I was thinkin’ about you.”

The thought makes him break out into a sweat as he starts to thrust, his limbs aching and sore from all the running and bodily contact, but too desperate for you to give a fuck.

“Yeah, yes Flip – I missed you, missed your cock.” You whine, giving him permission to, “Give it to me, take it all out on me honey.”

The flood gates open, and Flip’s ramming into you hard and fast. He’s bouncing the mattress, slamming the headboard from it, from the grip on your hips as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Spit strings down from his teeth as his jaw is clenched, savoring the feeling and chasing that feeling, of your beautiful body opening and squeezing around him.

“Fuck ketsl, fuck I – oh damn that feels good.” He grinds himself all the way up inside you, pushes you up the bed with the force of it. He grabs at your hair, yanks your head back so he can suck and kiss at your throat, can feel your fluttering pulse as you moan and sigh and gasp.

“Yeah? How good? Tell me.” Your hands don’t know where to go, you don’t want to accidentally touch a bruised spot, so instead they fist in the sheets as you push your hips up to let him rail into you from this new angle.

“I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, that’s how good it is, that’s how hard you make me ketsl, do that thing I like? You know the one.” Flip’s delirious, doesn’t know what he’s even saying, but you breathe out a harsh moan from the words, hands pushing your tits together.

“Like this?” Your voice wobbles from the fucking he gives you, breasts bouncing, nipples peeking through your spread fingers as you cup and hold them for him.

“Just like that – fuck, goddamn baby you’re so pretty, I could fuck this pussy all night long – ow!” Flip is about to lavish kisses onto your cleavage, when something twinges in his back, and his arms collapse underneath him and he falls square on top of your chest.

“Shit, Flip are you okay?” Your body tenses immediately, worried for him, the mood ruined.

“Yeah – yes, dammit,” Flip groans, never feeling more like an old middle aged man than he does right now.

“Okay maybe don’t fuck me all night long,” You chuckle, calming and soothing him with your hands in his hair, abandoning the hold on your breasts. Still, you’d hate for him to not even get to come after all of that, so you kiss the side of his tender nose and whisper, “Are you close?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m sorry – ” Flip rolls you onto your side, eases back into you that way, where he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Don’t apologize, just come in me honey, come in me.” You encourage, knowing that he’ll get a good few orgasms out of you once he’s feeling a little better.

Flip nods and kisses you, wet and hot and sloppy as he thrusts a few more times, your legs corralled over his, until he grunts out long and low, spills into your pussy.

He rides that high, rides the feeling of your sweet lips on his, until all he can do is groan from being sore.

“I think I need to see a doctor.” Flip grumbles, sounding so dejected.

“Yeah I think so too handsome.” You give him an apologetic smile on behalf of the universe, and he sighs.

You’re an angel though, striking up a cigarette for him. Passing it to him, Flip pulls out of you with a wince and the two of you starfish out onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You let him have a few minutes of silence, but eventually the curiosity kills you and you have to ask,

“Hey, how come you were even in the mall to begin with?” Peering up at him through your lashes, wondering what the hell he had even gotten himself into, “I thought you were just popping into work for something.”

At that moment, the cold dread of realization crashes through Flip, and despite his injuries and general exhaustion, sits straight up in bed and gasps out, “Oh fuck!! I’m sorry ketsl I was going to surprise you with – ”

Just then, the doorbell rings, and the both of you frown at one another.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come over, even though it was Christmas Eve, you didn’t have any plans to celebrate anyway other than with some Chinese food takeout and a good movie. Considering the state that Flip is in, you go to reach for your robe, but Flip shakes his head and grabs for his instead.

“No, let me. You’re not dressed.” Flip says.

You love him enough not to point out that he isn’t dressed either, but Flip deserves to do what he wants after the day he’s had, you think.

 Creeping down the stairs, Flip tries to look through the front window to see who it could be, but whether it’s the angle or something else, he can’t get a good visual. He pulls the robe sash tighter around his waist, looks through the peephole.

Strangely, there’s nothing there, no one to be seen. No car in his driveway, either.

How strange, Flip thinks, as he cracks the door open, wondering what the fuck else the day has in store for him.

Sitting right there on the front porch, is a small box. It’s wrapped in a golden ribbon, bearing the logo of Goldsmith’s Jewlery in a wax seal on the side. Frowning, Flip approaches it, picks it up. It feels like the right weight, but to be sure, he pulls open the ribbon and peeks inside.

Sure enough, resting atop the black velvet interior of the box are the diamond earrings that had started this whole mess.

Something about that, something about those earrings being there, makes Flip’s heart warm through. Even though it’s cold, he doesn’t feel the bite of the wind. All he can think about, is you, waiting for him upstairs in your bedroom. You, who care for him, who takes care of him, even on days when he doesn’t even want to take care of himself.

The earrings twinkle in the grey sunlight of the snowy day, and despite it all, Flip smiles to himself. What was another year of bullshit, really? He could go through anything, could do anything, as long as he had you by his side. Yes, Flip thinks, it’s all worth it, or at least it will be, when he sees your smile once again, when he gives you this little token of his appreciation, of his love.

And as he casts his gaze up to the sky, half expecting to see the real Santa Claus flying away in his sleigh, half expecting to see some friendly man smiling down at him behind a team of reindeer, Flip feels something that maybe…just maybe…might be akin to Christmas Spirit.

Until the moment passes, and he’s reminded of the day’s events by a twinge in his side from where he was donkey kicked by a twelve year old.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” Flip scoffs to himself after a shake of his head, locking the door behind him, “Ba fuckin’ humbug, and a merry new year.”

[arent-you-scared-lil-human]

Bølger (1)

Merman!Kae x Reader.

Words: 2,245

bølger means waves.

The first time you saw a mermaid, it was a merman, his name was Eros and he was huge, his tail longer than your entire body but he was only 15, eight years maturer than you. Since your aunt always spoke greatly about the magical creatures you supposed that all of them were kind -minus goblins, they are never kind-  each took you to the beach's sand nearing the waves. 

Eros had light blonde hair, eyes bluer than the water surrounding him, and his sharp teeth alarmed you. He looked at you up and down and wondered why a human so small was reaching him.

But he wasn't one of the nice mermen your aunt mentioned, the brave creatures that protect the oceans, he was a spoiled boy, that didn't like any other species than his own. Humans being the most he dispised.

"Why do you stare at me?"

"You pretty." Your seven-year-old speech not being very sharp to contain all the right diction.

"Yes. I'm Eros, who are you?"

"Y/N."

As the waves were almost minimal you walked further in the water to reach him, to touch his gills, or attempt to catch his hair. Eros discerned your steps and with malice in his eyes, he reached you, his stature nearly the same as yours since he had to be lowered so his tail would remain in the ocean.

"You are not afraid of me?"

"Merfolk are good creatures, they protect the oceans."

"We do, and do you know who we protect the oceans from? I mean who we fight to maintain very far away?"

Remembering the time your aunt said of some species of birds that sink in the ocean to find fishes made you thoughtful, after all in summer it was more than twenty million birds catching fishes. "Birdies."

"No, humans. Your species."

"But we protect too, I and aunty Betty clean the beaches and never toss trash in water."

"Uhu, tell me, little human, would you like to see the ocean? To see the fishes that grace it and even dolphins?"

Dolphins didn't go to the land side you lived in, and you only ever saw dolphins on movies or documentaries.

"Dolphins?!"

He nodded so you jumped excited, ready to see the fishes and luckily the dolphins. 

But Eros' idea was contrary, humans were nothing else than a virus slaughtering everything they reached, he knew by how much his grandfather said, that in a distant time ago the ocean was astonishing. It didn't have fallen boats, trash, sewers, nor industries discharging electronic garbage, much less the pharmaceutical ones pouring tons of medications in the water. So getting freed of a stupid human would maybe avoid a little bit more of destruction.

Extending his hand you held it and he pulled you with him a bit further in the water, your feet missed the sand's ground and you moved your little legs to manage to have air. Eros chortled before taking your body and pulling you down in the water, startled by the agile gesture you cracked your lips to gasp and lamented it when water began to fill your mouth.

He swam into the ocean making the beach farther from your, impossible, reach. Your small lungs were on fire when Eros approached a few of his friends, there stood Melin, Jaxi, and Kae. They were puzzled to see a human cub and swam up to the surface to reach the rocks near the mountains.

Eros rolled his eyes but accompanied them to reveal them his... toy.

"What do you think you are doing?" Kae was the first to speak up.

"This was stupid enough to swim alone in the beach over Walrey Coast, it even came to me telling tales." The mermen stared at your unconscious body.

"You cannot kill humans, you know that." Jaxi pointed and Eros rolled his eyes.

"What difference does it make? Our parents are always complaining about   them!"

Melin was quiet but shot Eros a look, it was forbidden to hurt humans unless they hurt you. 

And what a human cub would have done alone to hurt Eros? Since all of them were reaching puberty and were becoming stronger and faster? "Eros, you can't."

"Why is everyone bothering me with this? You know what. Done." He unfolded his arms and your body started to float backward in the water, Jaxi pulled you delicately to his chest and touched your neck before looking at Kae and giving a small nod signally that, even if weak, you still had a pulse. "You guys aren't considering of-"

"Killing an innocent cub is wrong, you know that, doesn't matter the species." Kae pointed.

Melin nodded and faced the rocks before glancing at Jaxi and Kae. "We can try to put the water out. It might not be different from saving a sea bear, we only have to press the stomach for them to spit the water."

Eros swam to Jaxi's side and pulled your moveless arm. "It is mine and will be killed and exhibited to our community." He closed his fist around your arm which made his nails pierce through your cold skin.

"She won't!" Kae affirmed and even Melin could spot a protective tone on his voice. "You'll go back and tell Ecthelion what happened, and that me, Jaxi and Melin are trying to save a cub that you tried to hurt."

Biting his tongue Eros looked at his three cousins before diving in the water and going to tell the colony elder. Kae gazed at the injuries and leaned to suck the blood of your wounds before it could touch the water and call any shark.

Kae retrieved his lips and placed his hand over -the less bleeding- wounds and told Jaxi to swim so they would follow.

Under the moonlight, Kae jumped in the rocks and made sure to only touch the polished parts so it wouldn't hurt his tail. Jaxi lifted you so Kae pulled you to his chest, and since you were smaller it was easier for him to fit you on his lap. Jaxi accompanied Kae by jumping in the rocks and touched your face trying to decipher if your color was a light purple or not. Melin dive in the sea to find some seaweed to place on your nails' cuts. It helped them with wounds so maybe it would help you too.

"Don't die now, human cub." Kae spoke and Jaxi touched your shirt taking it off to expose your belly, he ran his hand over the skin and looked at Kae. Human anatomy was different than polar bears.

Jaxi pressed and it only seemed to hurt you. "Here, hold her."

"Her?"

"It looks like a female right?" Kae asked.

"All of them seem the same when they are cubs."

Jaxi held your head on his lap while Kae extended your legs. He leaned and placed his hands over your chest and started to pump. 

He looked at Jaxi and they analyzed the lack of gills. "They breath only through the nose." Taking a deep breath and letting an annoying sigh Jaxi cursed Ers under is breath.

Kae paid attention in the way the air left Jaxi's mouth and had an idea. "The mouth."

"What?"

Kae leaned to touch your lips with his and moved his hand carefully to open your lower lip. Realizing it was useless he reached your nose pressing it together and tried to suck the water out of you. Jaxi was surprised by the gesture but didn't understand how that would possibly work.

Getting his hands back at your chest he started to press and kept doing the gesture. "That won't take the water out. They won't-"

Spilling water out of your mouth you coughed with the burning feeling in your throat. Opening your eyes you gazed at the creatures touching you and you yelled completely scared. Kae moved his head by the loud sound but Jaxi shushed you. "We will not hurt."

Crying you started to try to get up. "You will. He did."

Kae sighed seeing that you remembered Eros, you winced and Kae looked up to see you were gazing at the arm's wounds caused by Eros' nails.

Kae placed his hand on your forehead and almost whimpered when you cried completely scared of him. "Sleep." He whispered and you dozed off.

Some merfolk were blessed with gifts, Kae happened to be one of them.

Melin appeared in the water surface by Jaxi's side and lifted some seaweed in his hands so Jaxi could place it on the cuts.

"They didn't wake up?" Melin asked and Kae stole two seaweeds and rolled it around your arm.

"She did but its too scared to hear us." Kae explained, doing his best to prevent his nails to hurt you, again.

Melin gave Jaxi a look and shared a thought when they realized Kae was too worried about your wounds and cold body.

"Kae, we should take them back-"

"Her." Kae corrected.

"Right, take her back. She is too cold and will die here."

Kae looked at them and back at you a couple of times before nodding, but before he could move your body to Melin's arms so he and Jaxi could get into the water and take you to your land, someone broke in the surface.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ecthelion spoke and the young mermen looked at the eldest from their village.

"Eros explained to you?"

"Yes, and i want to know why this human cub is still here."

"Eros hurt her, pierced her skin with his nails and we tried to prevent the blood to call the sharks."

The wise creature understood their point and moved his hand so Kae could place you in Melin's arms and reach him.

They did so and while Melin swam to Ecthelion's reach, Kae and Jaxi jumped in the water.

Ecthelion tasked as he felt your body temperature. He touched your forehead and mumbled ancient words.

Feeling protective of you and afraid that Ecthelion was sacrificing you, Kae reached your body and touched your forehead, prevent that the magic could reach your skin before touching his own. Melin and Jaxi felt anxious about the gest, Kae was the more peaceful of the cousins and the way he was intervening in something that the Ecthelion was doing was unusual.

"You will kill her?"

Gazing at Kae's hand and protective stance, he retrieved his hand and checked your body temperature again. "No, i am making her forget."

"Why? There are thousands of humans that know about us. She isn't like those thieves that tried to sell us."

Kae was decided, all of them could see that. "I know, but she was hurt by us. What do you think it'll happen when she tells her family about it? Or what her people will do if she tells them that merfolk are getting young children and killing them for fun?"

Jaxi cursed Eros under his breath. "They won't think this, it was only Eros that hurt her, we helped." Jaxi explained.

"She is a cub, she won't be able to recognize the difference. For our sake and hers, give me space." Melin touched Kae's shoulder and the young merman swam away allowing Ecthelion to work in your memories.

Seeing a light blue smoke touched your forehead, the old merman retrieved his hand and called the boys to hold you. "Take her home, I'll tell in the docks across there what happened, so Tony can find her and take her to their healers. Go, she doesn't have much time." Kae pulled your body to his and watched as Ecthelion dive in to warn his human friend that lived in the docks about you.

Jaxi touched your arm, which got Kae's attention. "Come on, she doesn't have much time."

Accepting the departure Kae dive in and they swam fastly till they reached Walrey Coast.

There Kae went further he could reach, trying to place you in the dry sand, but his tail would get hurt if he pressed it to harshly so he extended his hand and neared you in the wet sand, the waves still touched it but your nose was safe from water and by the car lights in the distance, he knew your kind was coming to reach you.

He looked behind his shoulders and saw Melin and Jaxi farther and since their eyes weren't focused on him, he took that advantage to kiss your forehead. "Bye, little human. I hope Neptune will keep you safe, and if I'm lucky enough, we will see each other again."

A car stopped and a man with a uniform came running, Kae turned back and swam before they could see him. 

In a distance, he reached the surface and watched as they pulled you out of the water, a small golden ring falling from your finger, Kae felt sad that you lost such pretty thing, a cloth was placed around you and the humans ran away to save your life.

Finally, when the car left Kae had to swim in his previous spot where he have left you to search for the ring, duo his better vision it didn't take too long for him to find it.

Kae held the small thing that only served in his pinky. He held the golden bijou and went home.

Sad that you forgot about him, he hopes Neptune will hear his prayers and that he will find you again.

One day.

                        🧜🏻‍♂️

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

[fan-art-ic]

By Chance | DT Secret Santa 2020

A writing gift for @zestyquetzalcoatl who requested a fic with Gladstone and Donald getting along and use of Paperinik for the @ducktalessecretsanta2020 event! Despite how the rockiness of everything that’s happening, I hoped I conveyed that they care about each other. Even moreso, I hope you enjoy this!

Posted on archiveofourown here

Summer, 1999

Gladstone and Fethry’s parents wanted to go on a wine tour through Calisota, so the two of them were dumped on Scrooge McDuck, their barely related ‘uncle’. However, since Scrooge had taken in Della and Donald as his wards, the geezer had become a bit more approachable, a tad more indulgent of his young family. Part of that was giving in when Della asked her uncle to let her cousins stay with them for a couple of weeks during the summer.

Gladstone considers Fethry more brother than cousin given how often their parents had the other family over. Fethry is a good kid, silly but reliable. Della is whip-sharp with all the subtlety of a rocket, but she’s the only one who can prank Gladstone without his luck saving him. It’s unfortunate for his wardrobe, but it makes seeing her so much fun. Donald…

He’s easy to rile up, is all Gladstone can really say. Or is it? That certainly hadn’t been the case earlier.

Scrooge was stuck in meetings the whole afternoon of their first day in Duckburg, so Della and Donald showed their cousins around town. While walking around, they passed an electronics store with a window filled with televisions tuned to the same channel. On the screens was a Kiwi, the name Angus Fergus - Channel 00 visible on the subtitle banner. The breaking news headline was DUCK AVENGER: ENEMY OR FOE?

Gladstone laughed. “Enemy or foe? What kind of question is that?” He watched briefly as a news clip of a dark duck-shaped figure jumped a fence. His cousins stopped so he wouldn’t be left behind and turned to face him.

Donald frowned, saying, “It’s not a question.”

Della jumped in at that point. “That’s the top reporter on the Duck Avenger,” and as she said the name, she moved her voice up and down and wiggled her fingers. Gladstone and Fethry laughed at her antics, and Donald’s shoulders hitched up.

“Top reporter?” Donald scoffed. “The Duck Avenger is only a menace to those who need menacing, and that reporter is a joke. He can’t even write a byline.”

“Do you even know what a byline is?” Gladstone joked and Donald started to grow red. Della jeered at her brother and Fethry mimicked her. Donald’s face darkened.

“Yeah, didn’t you fail that English test, Don?” Della brought Donald in for a noogie, but he escaped it easily. He nearly swung at her, but stopped mid-way, grimacing.

“You okay, Donald?” Fethry asked.

Gladstone watched as Donald looked at the groups of people walking past them on the sidewalk before blowing his emo-long bangs out of his eyes with faked nonchalance. The duck rolled his shoulder and all he said was, “I got clipped by some ninny on a unicycle earlier. Don’t worry about it.”

“A unicycle?” Gladstone and Fethry questioned at once, but were steamrolled by Della’s reply.

“Wow, Don, if a unicycle can take you out you better let me take point on the next adventure,” Della laughed. She then tacked on, “Do you wanna put an ice pack on it back at home?”

“Nah, let’s just keep walking. That new arcade Funzo’s is a few blocks away,” Donald brushed Della off.

While going to Funzo’s had been awesome, especially because Gladstone tried the Big Bass wheel and won the 10,000 tickets (and he played the claw machine, successfully grabbing a toy each time), Gladstone feels...

There’s this niggling emotion in his chest, and as Gladstone tosses and turns in his bed, he can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with Donald.

Gladstone huffs and drags his luxurious pillow down his face. “This is stupid,” he tells the dark of his temporary room. He flops onto his side and pulls the down comforter over his head. Underneath the blanket, it is pitch black and with each exhale it becomes stuffier and hotter and more unbearable.

He bursts out and pushes the comforter away. Gladstone grimaces and closes his eyes. He opens them and then sits up, grabbing his pillow and pummelling it a few times. He lays it and then himself back down. Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

“Argh!” Gladstone gripes out loud and he beats his fist into the mattress. Why couldn’t he go to sleep? “This sucks.”

This is fine, though. He’ll just drink some water and then fall right asleep like a baby. That’s it, right, his luck won’t let him go to sleep because he’s dehydrated, no problemo-

He turns to the nightstand, where no matter Gladstone stays there is always a glass of water, there’s no glass of water.

“Seriously?” Gladstone squawks at his luck. “Seriously?”

He sighs heavily and glances at the door. “I guess I’ll just go get my own water.” Luckily, by the door are a pair of shamrock green slippers. Gladstone shrugs his bathrobe over his pajamas and finds the slippers to be exceedingly soft when he slides them on.

The door opens quietly on oiled hinges, and Gladstone slowly makes his way out of the guest wing of the mansion to the main steps. He’s certain there are closer stairs that would take him to the kitchen, but he’s yet to learn them. He could probably ask Della or Donald about it tomorrow. He passes by a suit of knight’s armor and the moonlight pouring in from the windows glints off the poleaxe menacingly.

Gladstone shivers and shuffles faster. He can’t imagine living in such a creepy place with creepy things all year. Would make him bananas. All these magical artifacts and mystic doodads must be at least half responsible for Scrooge’s weird habits, Gladstone thinks and then laughs at his own thoughts.

“I’m hilarious,” he says out loud and definitely doesn’t startle when a hushed wailing emanates from a collection of strangely-shaped clay. He shivers again, “Eugh.” Soon he’s at the main stairs and not a single step groans as Gladstone walks down.

A sharp creak snaps through the still air.

He freezes on the stair landing and he looks toward the sound. Towards the steps on the other side of the landing that lead to the west wing of the house, where he was told Scrooge, Della, and Donald’s bedrooms are somewhere located. Gladstone grimaces. On one hand, it’s probably nothing, just some treasure acting up a bit how that pottery had. On the other hand…

Gladstone can’t help but imagine his cousins and their uncle in trouble and somehow unable to yell for help, that creak being the sole sound to alert anyone, and Gladstone had just happened to be nearby to hear it. His hands fiddle with the bathrobe tie, and his head swings to look back-and-forth between the ground floor, just down the steps, and the other side of the mansion, up the steps.

“That didn’t happen, I didn’t hear anything,” Gladstone murmurs to himself.

Thud.

Gladstone glares incredulously. That sound was so soft and distant, but he undeniably heard something thud in the house. Right after he said...nope, no more tempting fate, Gladstone decides. He turns to walk down the stairs, but as soon as his foot touches the first step, he hears another creak. Gladstone huffs and the moment his other foot touches the next step, there is...

Nothing. He didn’t hear anything. That’s good, right?

Gladstone makes it halfway across the foyer before he whips around and races up the stairs. He speed-walks down the hall of the opposite wing, feeling silly as he cups his hands to his ears. He hopes he hears something. He hopes he hears nothing.

There! A muffled yelp pierced the still air and was cut off not even a second later, but Gladstone had heard it. He stops in his tracks, and as luck would have it, he’s in front of a branching off hallway. Gladstone sees a few doors down it, but the main one that draws his attention is wrapped all around in bright yellow CAUTION tape. As he reluctantly walks closer, Gladstone spots a tiny boat sticker on the door jamb.

He nearly sweat drops. Gladstone loves his cousin, but he knows it’d be tempting fate to knock on the temperamental teenager’s door in the middle of the night. And what would Gladstone have to say for himself, that he was worried? That there were some weird sounds that scared him? He’d be very lucky if the only thing that happens is Donald waking up, telling him he heard some spooky artefact, and closing the door in his face.

Oh wait, it slowly dawns on the teenager. He is that lucky! He’s incredibly lucky every single day, why would this be any different? All he needs to do is knock, lay his fears to rest, go to bed, and lay himself to rest. Everything will be fine. He'll go back to sleep and the sun will rise and everything will be fine. Gladstone sucks in a deep breath and exhales in a whoosh. He knocks four times, just enough force to catch attention if Donald is awake, but not raucous enough to wake him. A muffled curse filters through the door. Gladstone frowns and folds his arms awkwardly. The door opens a few inches to reveal the sleep-squinting eyes of his cousin.

“Gladstone?”

He laughs weakly. “Ah! Donald, just the duck I wanted to see…” Gladstone means to say more, but is distracted by the dark shadows under Donald’s eyes. Or, more, around the eyes…?

“Did you need something?” asks Donald. His eyes are looking away from Gladstone’s, and his fingertips around the door are flecked darkly.

Gladstone blue screens for a second before finding some words to say, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the pottery near my room! Such fascinating pieces of, uh, artwork.”

The door shuts without answer and the goose scrambles. “Wait! No, I uh, I actually was, I’m worried,” he stammers out, and the door opens back up, a little more than before. Success. If only it wasn’t at the sacrifice of his dignity. “You see, they’re really freaky, and were making some weird moaning wailing noises? And I just couldn’t get to sleep!” Gladstone grins bashfully. The door opens fully, and there stands Donald, rumpled and grumbly but definitely awake.

“Move to a different room tonight. Tell Uncle Scrooge in the morning about it, he’ll give them a lecture,” Donald advises him, actually more helpful than Gladstone thought he would be. “Go back to sleep, Glad.”

“Well, uh, sounds good,” Gladstone says. The door begins to shut and Gladstone blurts out, “Why are you wearing boots in the middle of the night?” He had barely noticed them at first, but now it’s striking him as super weird.

Donald squawks. His eyes flick down and then back up to meet Gladstone’s. His cousin goes to slam shut his bedroom door, but before it closes Gladstone shoves his hand in between and blocks it. He hisses loudly in pain and Donald’s eyes go wide. The door reopens and Donald starts to reach out to Gladstone, who’s withdrawn the injured hand and stuffed it in his mouth to muffle his yelps, but then the duck aborts the gesture. When Gladstone finally lets go of his bruised hand, Donald flicks the side of his beak.

“Idiot,” he rasps. “Don’t put your stupid hand in the door.”

Gladstone declines to respond because with the door open more, he has a better view of his cousin. Donald’s feathers are badly ruffled, his tee-shirt oddly bulky on him like he’s wearing something big underneath, his black boots dirty and scuffed. Now, Gladstone can tell that his eyes aren’t swollen with only a lack of sleep but also with bruising.

He whistles lowly. “That’s a hell of a shiner, Don.” His cousin’s shoulders jump to his ears and he snarls at Gladstone.

“Shut up! You didn’t see any of this!” Donald stands taller and moves to block Gladstone’s view of the room, but Gladstone uses that to push him out of the way and walk in. As he walks by, he spies a thick piece of blue fabric spilling out the back of Donald’s shirt. He quickly reaches out and grabs it, pulling it closer to inspect. It has more weight to it than Gladstone expected and the underside is a deep coal black.

“Is this a cape?”

Donald whirls around to face him, and man, oh man has Gladstone messed up. If looks could kill Gladstone would be worm food. The duck’s shoulders start to shake and Gladstone can practically see steam whistling out his ears. Oh man.

“Get out of my room! You didn’t see anything! GET OUT-” Donald’s volume exponentially rises and Gladstone rushes to clamp the duck’s bill shut before he grows loud enough to wake up everyone else. Donald shakes in his grasp for a few seconds but regains his calm quickly enough that Gladstone feels somewhat certain he won’t start yelling again. Donald breathes heavily and with a dark look at Gladstone, he turns his back on him and stalks over to his bed. “Get out of my room,” his cousin orders, pulling his blanket over his head. As if that would be enough to dissuade a curious (not scared!) gander. Gladstone eyes the haphazard mess around the room. Piles of clothes, overflowing trash, an open window letting in an unusually cold summer draft. He shivers. Then he looks closer at the window.

Dark, two-toned smudges litter the windowsill. The floor below the window is oddly clear of any mess in a rough circle. Gladstone knows for a fact that there is a climbable trellis right outside Donald’s window. Della had pointed it out during his and Fethry’s first tour of the manor grounds, bemoaning the fact that lame straight-lace Donald got a sneak-out-able window and she didn’t.

Gladstone had laughed then, but now he was severely doubting the idea that Donald never snuck out.

“Donald? Is this…” Gladstone walks closer to the window and bends over. He picks up something small and black, rough in texture and sort of sticky. Spread out in his hands, he can see it’s a domino mask like the ones comic book superheroes wear. His trailing off must have been telling because after a few seconds Donald forcefully tumbles out of bed and snatches the mask from Gladstone’s hands.

“It’s for a school play,” Donald says harshly before shoving him towards the door. “Get out of my room.”

“Is this blood?” Gladstone asks as he stares at the reddish residue on his fingertips. “Donald, I want an explanation.”

“Yeah, well I want a thousand dollars, and you don’t see me getting it,” the duck says brusquely.

“Do you want a thousand dollars? I can give you it.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in his savings with how his parents make him deposit all the twenty-dollar bills he finds and cash prizes from sweepstakes he unwittingly wins.

Donald’s feathers fluff out a bit, and Gladstone realizes that was the wrong thing to say. “I, uh, well I mean, are you okay?”

His cousin gives him a disbelieving look and pauses in his attempts to push Gladstone out. The goose notices a small patch of darkened feathers on the side of Donald’s head. He reaches out to poke it. “You’re hurt?”

Donald bats his hand aside. “Just leave, Gladstone. Forget all this and I’ll let you get away with as many jokes as you want tomorrow.”

Tempting. Very tempting, in fact. For a second, Gladstone wavers. He and Fethry are in the works planning a prank on the Duck twins for the next day, and it’s a doozy of one that definitely would result in getting chased up a tree. His tree climbing skills are lacking…

“Nope!” Gladstone replies. “C’mon cuz! What’s the big secret? Some adventure you don’t want your sis getting in on?” His response gets him a tired look. Gladstone frowns. He’s just getting nowhere tonight. How untypical. This calls for drastic measures.

“Look, Donald,” he says seriously, and steps aside and away from the door. He levels a look at his cousin and is returned with an exhausted, stony stare. “I don’t want in on…” Gladstone gestures around the room, “whatever this is. I was worried earlier, but, eugh, this pains me to say, but I was worried about you.”

His cousin’s stunned expression is enough to make Gladstone continue. “You seemed off earlier, and this is like, REALLY wildly weird, whatever you’re up to, and, I don’t know, are you actually okay?” Donald stares at him, his face closed off and blank. Gladstone fidgets a bit awkwardly; bald-faced honesty is not his usual policy and the longer this silence drags out the heavier the sinking feeling in his stomach gets.

Finally, his cousin sighs harshly and looks him in the eyes before glancing around his owm room. Donald sighs again, but reaches out and closes the door with a click. Gladstone backs up to give him space and sits down in the desk chair to the left of the bed.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Donald begins quietly. “Not Fethry, not Della, not Scrooge, not your folks, you tell anyone and not even your luck will save you.” Teenage bravado or not, a shiver runs down Gladstone’s spine.

“Okay.”

“You promise?” Donald marches up to him and sticks a pinky finger in his face. Gladstone curls his own pinky around it and swallows roughly.

“Promise, Don.”

Donald breathes in and it’s like all the tension in him had been cut in two. With a deep sigh, his shoulders sag and the duck stumbles a few steps backward to sit heavily on the bed. He awkwardly draws up one leg and encircles his arms around it, and scratches at his elbow. In the soft moonlight pouring in, Gladstone can just make out a bandage clip peeking out of feathers. What craziness is Gladstone stepping into this time?

Donald mumbles...something into his elbows and knee, his face too buried for Gladstone to hear. “What?”

Donald mumbles again.

“What?”

Donald’s fingers clench. Unclench. He lifts his head to glare at the goose. Reluctantly, as if the very words pain him, Donald says, “I’m the Duck Avenger.”

Gladstone’s eyes bug out.

“WHA-” Donald moves lightning-quick, lunging forward and clamping a hand around Gladstone’s beak. He lets go after a second. Gladstone continues, volume adjusted, “-what do you mean you’re the freaking Duck Avenger? You’re saying you’re a vigilante? Did you hit your head?”

“Yes,” says Donald. “At least several times.” Gladstone has no response to that.

His cousin...is a vigilante. What did Gladstone know about the Duck Avenger? Not well-liked by news reporters, not well-liked by police, not well-liked by criminals. Criminals. His cousin regularly goes out and sneaks around at the dead of night getting...who had Gladstone heard about? The mayor?

“What was the deal with the mayor?” Gladstone asks. Donald frowns and seems a little caught off-guard.

“He was embezzling funds from Duckburg taxes,” explains Donald. “Using people’s money for his own fancy, schmancy pool at his big fancy, schmancy mansion, instead of fixing potholes or funding something worthwhile!”

“You live in a fancy, schmancy mansion with a pool,” Gladstone points out. Donald glares at him.

“It’s not the same!”

“Okay, okay!” Gladstone raises his hands in surrender, and he changes the topic. “So, like, you go out and expose politicians and punch robbers and stuff? Like Superdog or Wonder Warble?”

Donald scratches the back of his neck. “There’s a bit more to it than that, but uh, yeah.” The duck sits taller. “I avenge. I avenge on those taking advantage of those not in power. Or is it I avenge those not in power…” the teenager trails off.

“Neat!” Gladstone interjects as he can empathize with being brain fuzzy late at night; this is all so confusing without thinking about grammar of all things. Ugh, grammar.

“Wait, so how’s being a mysterious vigilante going to work when summer is over and school starts?” asks Gladstone. He starts to spin himself in the desk chair. “Are you going to just ‘avenge’ on weekends and holidays or…?”

Donald shakes his head and then yawns so big Gladstone hears a joint pop. He shivers. Eugh, gross. Whoa, he’s dizzy. He stops spinning the chair and realizes he’s missed half of what Donald has said. “Wait, back up, can you repeat that?”

His cousin rolls his eyes but obliges. “I was saying that I’m gonna go out whenever I can. If I’m not unconscious from the latest adventure or I don’t have a huge exam the next day, I want to be out there,” Donald turns his head to look out the window, “making a difference.”

Gladstone is seeing all sorts of hidden depths to his cousin tonight. Yikes, what to say to that kind of statement, jeez. “We got plenty of time to make a difference, Don, we’re not even out of high school,” Gladstone reasons. “Right now, we’re just learning the ropes and being crazy kids, no need to really stress about it that much. Making a difference is for adults.”

Donald shoots him a sharp glare that settles into a deep scowl. “Of course you’d say that.”

“Of course I’d say what?”

“That we should let the adults handle it. That we should wait to become adults to handle it. Some of us-” Donald visibly bites off the end of his sentence. Gladstone frowns. The duck continues, wrestling with his words. “I,” he stresses, “I am not waiting to do something. That’s not...It’s not something I can do.”

Gladstone stands up from the desk chair and starts pacing. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four-

“Glad?”

The goose stops pacing and stands still for a moment. Gladstone ignores his cousin for a second to inspect his hands, where they’d held the mask earlier. He rubs his fingers together and some of the light brown, dried blood crumbles off his white feathers. He turns to look at Donald.

“Donald.” Gladstone hesitates before repeating himself from earlier, “Are you okay?” He hopes his cousin sees it for the out it is. Let Gladstone win once tonight. His cousin frowns and scratches at his elbow. The bandages shift around the arm. Gladstone looks away.  

“Am I…are you okay?” Donald deflects instead.

“I’m peachy keen,” Gladstone replies with pronounced cheer. He rocks back on his heels. “So, you are okay? You’ll live to the morning?”

Donald catches on, frowning at first before finally saying, “Yep, all good. You can go back to bed now.” Gladstone laughs weakly.

“Good to hear! Good to hear…” Jeez, now the duck almost looks downcast because Gladstone wants out of this frankly strange conversation. His stomach churns uneasily and Gladstone really just wants to dart out the door and chalk this all up to a weird dream. He turns and begins to walk toward the door, but before he crosses the threshold, Gladstone spins around and rushes up to the duck.

“Gladstone?” Donald says and then groans, “Mind the ribs!” as Gladstone quickly, tightly wraps his arms around his older cousin. He holds the hug for four seconds before letting go and stepping away immediately.

“Well, goodnight, Don,” Gladstone says. Donald looks back at him.

“Goodnight, Glad.”

The goose nods and then makes his way out of the room. Just before he closes the door, he hears Donald’s tired voice ask, “You won’t tell anyone ‘bout me?”

Gladstone swallows roughly and it takes him a moment to respond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“ ‘Kay...goodnight…”

“Goodnight, Don,” repeats Gladstone and he closes the door with care. He walks back to the stairs and goes down to the kitchen. He remembers that reporter, asking if the Duck Avenger is the enemy. The shadowy silhouette of the Duck Avenger jumping a fence. Gladstone pulls a glass out of the cabinet and pours water into it from the pitcher. He sets the pitcher down and there’s a slight brownish tint on the white plastic that hadn’t been there before. Gladstone wipes it away and drinks from his glass. A mayor embezzling funds, that would require breaking and entering to figure out, getting into secured files or going onto the mayor’s, well, ex-mayor’s property, trespassing. That’s just one thing Gladstone knows about, and who knows how long Donald will keep superheroing? If he ever gets caught…

Gladstone finishes off his water and rinses the glass, setting it to dry on the mat beside the sink. He walks back to his room and slips under the covers. He stares up at the ceiling. His cousin the vigilante. Out there, trying to make a mark and fixing injustices. Although Gladstone isn't quite sure his cousin is really old enough, when he thinks about it he can find it pretty cool of Donald. Hopefully, he won’t have to think about it all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to talk to Fethry about changing their prank plans. Maybe something with not quite as many roller skates.

Gladstone closes his eyes and waits for a new day to begin.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 3

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Summary:  Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite​ for being the fastest and best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 3 . . It takes more courage to 

dig deep in the dark corners 

of your own soul and 

the back alleys of your society 

than it does for a soldier

to fight on the battlefield.

(W. B. Yeats)

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Many, many years ago, 

in another solar system.

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Arcadia was Killian’s place. His home. Not a happy one, but the only one he had ever known. Growing up as a mechanic slave of a greedy merchant was not the best childhood one could hope for, but at least he wasn’t alone, his older brother Liam had always been by his side. 

An unexpected explosion in the factory where they used to work put an end to the merchant's life when Killian was only a teenager.

The brothers were finally free. 

Liam worked as hard as he could to ensure his brother had a decent life. Killian wasn't as disciplined as his older sibling; he was more of a hothead who often had to be rescued from a whirlpool of rum and games, if not fights. But Liam never gave up, he was always there to remind his younger brother of what was important and to keep him on the right path. 

When they both came of age Liam managed to enroll them in the Royal Army. A few quiet and happy years followed. The boys worked and studied hard and they soon reached high ranks. Liam was nominated captain of The Jewel of the Crown, the fastest spaceship on the planet, and Killian was his lieutenant. 

Everything seemed to run smoothly.

Until one day their corrupted King put them in charge of a suicide mission, just for his need for power. Killian was skeptical about it, but Liam was stubborn and loyal in his duties and he accepted the mission.

On the way back home Liam died in his brother’s arms, and Killian swore to himself to not to obey another order for as long as he lived.

He took the heart of his beloved brother and fixed it on the inner part of the ship system: connected by electrodes Killian managed to keep at least his brother’s conscience alive and speaking. A poor substitute for what Liam was, but a constant reminder of how much he lost. 

Killian then kept the ship and renamed it The Jolly Roger, and flew away from his planet in search of adventures, living every day as his last, and never giving a damn about anything else but his own survival.

In the beginning, Liam was the voice of wisdom and rationalism; he tried to talk his younger brother into not throwing away his life, but Killian didn't want to listen. It was too painful. So he started a life of selfish revelry, while not wallowing in self-pity and drowning his sorrows in every local tavern. As time passed Liam went quieter and quieter, until the day he stopped talking to his brother.

One day, on a strange armored planet Killian had landed, he met a beautiful and strong woman, Milah, and he fell in love with her almost at first sight. She was already married, but she wanted to leave her husband, and she chose to live a life of adventures with Killian. But her husband was jealous and resentful, and unfortunately, he was also a very rich and powerful business owner.

Killian took Milah back to Arcadia, to show her the places where he grew up. It was an unpleasant surprise to find out that his planet had been absorbed by the Lepka Industry, a company that, for its benefit, had depleted all the planet’s resources until it was no more able to produce anything useful, and left the planet inert. 

Mr. Gold, leader of the Lepka Industry and also Milah’s husband, had found out where Killian was from and had started to enact his revenge: slowly but successfully. First Killian’s origins, then his love.

Gold showed up one day when the two lovebirds were having a night walk together, and he started a fight with Killian that ended with the latter one losing a hand and with Milah's death in front of Killian’s eyes.

While his destroyed planet was disappearing in the distance from his rear-view screen, tears were running down Killian’s face. Tears of sadness for everything that could have been and wasn’t; tears of rage and frustration for being powerless in front of such an evil creature; tears of longing... “I miss you, Liam.” He whispered to the silence of his spaceship cabin.

The red LED started blinking again and the cold metallic voice spoke: I'm right here little brother. I will never abandon you.

Tears ran even harder down Killian's cheeks.

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 ~·~·~·~

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Present time.

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The rest of the day passed quietly, well almost. Henry was eager to discover everything he could about the spaceship, and he made Killian answer a lot of questions about the control system, the mechanical parts of the engine, and more specific stuff. He learned how to read the radar and that you need an extra tank of fuel, in case the planet you want to go to delays your permission to land.

Dinner was a pleasant relaxing moment for the three of them. The meal was simple. Given that not every kind of food was going to survive an intergalactic trip, they had had to limit their choices between some dehydrated vegetables and frozen spicy cream, but Killian soon found out that it was one of Henry’s favorite desserts.

“Can I have some more, please?” Henry asked after emptying his second bowl. 

“You’re going to explode.” His mother pointed out.

“Oh, but I’ll die happy, mom.” He answered with a big grin.

Killian smiled and gave a mischievous look to Emma “The lad is growing up.” 

“Killian, don’t.” She admonished him. But he ignored her and handed another full bowl of cream to Henry with a wink. “What…?” She started, but then: “Do you ever follow an order?”

“Only mine,” Killian answered matter-of-factly.

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head, while Henry and Killian were sharing a laugh.

“I'm not sure I enjoy the idea of you two as best buddies,” Emma stated.

“He’s my father, of course we’re going to be best buddies!” Henry exclaimed.

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~·~·~·~

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The morning after Killian woke up early, as usual. They weren’t supposed to land before another four or five days at least, but he was used to long driving journeys. He had slept only a few hours, while he could use the help of the autopilot, resting on a hammock he had previously hooked behind the two leather seats that stood opposite the dashboard so that he could easily take control of the ship in case of emergency. But he didn’t feel tired, quite the opposite, he was feeling excited and curious towards what the day with his guests was going to offer him. He distracted himself preparing breakfast, and soon after the table was ready for the three of them, Emma appeared from her cabin, followed by a suspiciously silent Henry.

The boy sat on his chair and devoured his meal with his eyes fixed on his bowl. No word came from him and as soon as he finished, he stood up and went back to his cabin, closing the door behind him. Killian had the impression that if the door wasn’t automatic he would have probably slammed it.

Emma was still savoring her tea and she seemed quite concentrated on the liquid in her cup.

Killian sat back on his chair and crossed his arms; he tilted his head and kept looking at her for a few minutes, but when he understood she had no intention of having a conversation, he cleared his throat and asked: “Have I done something wrong?”

“It’s not your fault.” She stated and then finally looked at him. “Yesterday, before Henry went to sleep, I told him the truth. Or at least part of it. He now knows that you’re not his father. But he’s not upset with you.” And after a pause, she added: “He’s angry with me, for lying to him for so long.” 

“Plausible.” Killian nodded. “Henry seems a perceptive boy, give him some time to let it all soak in.”

The rest of the day was much more boring than Killian expected. Neither Emma nor her son were very talkative, and after dinner, Killian wasn't sure if he was more upset by the long hours flying or the tense atmosphere in his ship.

Emma and Henry were sitting at the table, each one immersed in their own electronic screens, reading… whatever damn things they were reading. 

Killian snorted, he put the autopilot on and stood up from his seat.

“If you would excuse me, I have a part of the turbocharger to check.” But as soon as two pairs of worried eyes looked at him, he hurried to explain: “Oh, it’s nothing serious, but better not to leave loose ends, right?”

Killian started his way down the stairs that led to the engine room, but after just a couple of steps, he stopped and looked back. “Henry, would you like to come with me? I may need a hand.”

Henry nodded and ran past him down the stairs. Killian smiled to the ever characteristic enthusiasm of the boy, and before resuming his descent he gave a side look to Emma and winked. She furrowed her brows in question. 

Down in the storage room, Killian found Henry waiting for him. The lad was probably wondering why they hadn't entered the engine zone yet. But Killian ignored his silent question and went directly to a locker from where he retrieved a little box and something that looked like a toy sand mill with a switch on the upper right side and a glass flask at the bottom; he deposited everything on the small table in the center of the room.

“Wanna hold a bright star?” He asked the boy.

“That's impossible.” Henry was skeptical.

Killian hummed. “I wouldn’t say that. Given the many places I’ve visited and everything I’ve seen in my life, I’d say that there are just a few things that are not possible.” 

He lifted the upper lid of the mill while saying: “We need to generate enough energy for the turbocharger.”

Then he opened the box and took a plastic bag with some grey powder in it. “You see this? This is stardust.” He said and immediately knew he had the boy’s attention.

“Did you collect it?” Henry asked.

“I like adventures, but I’m no fool. It's extremely dangerous to go near a star, especially one which is going to implode soon.  You would not come back to tell the story.” Killian shook his head. “I bought it some time ago in an exotic market. Now, all you have to do is to pour some of the contents inside the grinder. But be careful, it's a rare item, don't spill it.”

Henry took the bag with reverential care and started to put some dust into the mill. “Like this?”

“You're doing great. That should be enough. Now switch it on.”

Henry closed the upper lid and turned it on. The sand started to swirl faster and faster until it began to shine so intensely that the mill could hardly be seen through the amount of light.

“This is awesome! It totally seems like a shining star.” The boy was staring in awe with wide-open eyes.

“Aye. I thought you would like it.” And after a pause, Killian added: “You can keep it if you want.”

“But what about the turbocharger? You will have to make another one.” But just after Henry said the words, he clearly understood the truth behind it. “Oh... you don't need stardust energy. You didn't even need my help, did you?”

Killian nodded. “You're a clever boy.”

Right at that moment Emma entered the room. “It’s time for you to go to sleep, kid.”

But Henry ignored her. He switched the mill off and the light softly disappeared. Without averting his eyes from it, he whispered: “It would have been cool if you were my real dad.”

Killian swallowed hard, a strange lump was forming in his throat, but that wasn't the right time to analyze it. 

“You already have an amazing mother, as far as I know.” Killian briefly looked up at Emma, who smiled slightly at his poor attempt to mediate.

Henry shrugged.

“Just because someone helped in…” Killian searched for the best word to describe it, “creating you, it doesn't mean he's your father.” 

“What about your dad?” The boy asked. 

“Not the best example. My mother died when I was still a wee lad and my father, well, he did the best he could to raise my brother and me. At least he tried for some time. But he was addicted to games and he liked to bet more than he could afford. One night, surrounded by his creditors, he ran away. Never knew anything about him after that. My brother and I... uh... we were the ransom for his misdeeds. He sold us to a merchant.”

“Sold? You mean you were a slave?” The astonishment in the boy's voice was visible.

“Aye.” Killian sighed.

Henry wrinkled his nose in repugnance: “That's awful!” 

“Aye. But I had my older brother with me. He was probably a much better father figure to me than my real papa. He taught me everything I know.” 

Henry thought about it for a few seconds then he nodded. He took the mill in his hands: “Thank you, Killian.” 

“No need. Now, be a good son and go to rest as your mother said.”

The boy turned around towards the stairs. Emma waited until he was almost upstairs then she looked at Killian and mimicked a voiceless thank you before following her son.

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~·~·~·~

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Later that night, Killian was concentrating on flying when he heard the sound of the sliding door behind him opening and closing. Emma soon appeared in his peripheral view. She slumped down on the seat next to him.

“Henry is finally asleep.” She let him know. 

“You should rest as well, Swan.” He had happened to address her using her surname lately. He liked the way it sounded, and he thought it suited her. Swans were quite rare on any planet he had been, and they were known for their purity and beauty, but also their fierce temperament, especially when protecting their offspring. 

“What about you? Shouldn’t you get some sleep too?”

“I usually don’t sleep much.” Was his evasive answer.

“Are you going to be at the helm all night?” She asked, a bit concerned.

“As soon as we are out of this group of meteorites I’ll put the autopilot. No need to worry. If there’s any problem, my ship will wake me up.” He reassured her.

But she didn’t move from her seat. She stared at the sidereal starscape; her gaze appeared to be lost somewhere far away. “It’s more than an automatic voice. Isn’t it?”

Killian fixed his sight to the horizon, as well. Emma thought that she may have trespassed some unspoken boundary, that the question she did was probably far too intimate to receive a proper answer. But after a few minutes of silence, he sighed “Aye. It’s my brother Liam.”

“How...?” She started to ask, and he could hear the wonderment in her voice, but then she changed the question: “What happened?”

“We were serving in the Royal Army, back on our planet. Liam was the captain of this spaceship. I was his lieutenant. Our King entrusted a perilous mission to us; I knew it was a suicide mission, but Liam was stubborn and very strict when it came to following orders. He didn’t make it. He died in my arms. I…” Killian breathed deeply. “I put his heart in the innermost part of this ship’s system. Powered by strong hydrogen electrodes I somehow manage to preserve his… soul? Being? I don’t even know what it is, but at least I still hear his voice.”

She didn’t react immediately to his story. She was probably assimilating the new pieces of information about him. Killian internally cursed because he couldn’t stop concentrating on the outer path, while he would have liked to have given her his full attention, to understand what was brewing in that beautiful head of hers.

When she kept silent for longer than he could bear, he couldn’t help avert his eyes from the meteorites just enough time to see her smiling at him. That was unexpected. 

“I’m sorry for your brother, but now I understand your rejection of royalty.” She chuckled softly: “and your troubles in following orders.”

Killian found himself smiling too.

It was nice to spend a few moments with her sitting next to him, it reminded him of when he used to sit exactly where she was now, just to keep his older brother company during the night travels. A feeling of long-forgotten joy at the domestic situation warmed his heart. 

They managed to pass the group of meteorites without any major consequences, and now there were only stars and distant planets in their sight. “This is beautiful,” Emma stated.

“Aye. It is.” Killian agreed, then he pushed a couple of buttons and lifted a lever in front of him activating the autopilot. “And now, I can finally stretch my bones on that hammock.” 

“How can you sleep on that thing?” 

“You wouldn’t say it, Swan, but it’s quite comfortable.” Then, wagging his eyebrows, he added: “I could show you how to relax on it?”

What was he doing? Was he flirting with her? But the shared moments before had left them in a bubble of closeness, and he was feeling audacious.

His attempt gained him a roll of eyes from her. “Thank you for the offer, but not tonight.” She stood up and Killian expected a strategic retreat from her. But she went closer to him and bending down she whispered in his ear: “Maybe another time.”

Killian’s jaw dropped open. Was she flirting back? While the door of his cabin was sliding close he could only mutter “Bloody Hell!”

.

[pokegeek151]

By popular demand, what if Orion was well written part 2/??

Previous   Next   Bonus

Orion was settling into a more comfortable position in his chair, seemingly oblivious to Holly’s nervous energy across from him. Argon, somewhat desperate to talk to Artemis after he’d missed over a month of sessions in favor of letting Orion handle them, had agreed to step out at the young man’s request. The doctor decided that leaving him alone for this exercise was a bad idea, though, so Holly was called in to babysit.

“I don’t think I’m qualified to do this,” she said.

“You’ll be fine, love,” Orion said with what he hoped was reassuring confidence. “Though you know I adore being around you, your presence is mostly a formality.” As he spoke, he placed his hands facedown on his legs, allowed his limbs to relax into the gel-supported cushioning, and let his eyes fall closed. “Expect to be bored.”

“If you say so,” she said. As Orion’s motions stilled, Holly spoke up again. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Difficult to say. If Artemis is agreeable, only a couple minutes.” He opened one eye and grinned. “Though Artemis being agreeable is not something I would place money on if you’re not in the habit of losing.”

Holly grinned as well and allowed Orion to begin his meditation. Despite herself, she leaned forward curiously. Though she had of course induced a few switches herself, they were all violent and came after long periods of electroshock-induced unconsciousness. She had never seen them do a voluntary switch.

Orion spent a few minutes focusing on his breathing and observing his body in physical space. Artemis had taken up mediation and mindfulness as a hobby years ago, and that knowledge had sunk into Orion’s consciousness, as well. Eventually, the world around him slipped away and the light of Artemis’ mind office became visible in the distance. At this realization, the image of legs formed beneath him, and he walked towards it. By the time he arrived at the office, Orion was fully formed in the mind space.

“Artemis, can I come in?” he asked, though it was unnecessary. The mind is a funny thing; though Orion as the conscious alter had to focus on the arrival into the office, to Artemis, he simply appeared already inside. Orion was nothing but a gentleman, though, and he always asked for an invitation into what he considered Artemis’ space.

“Of course,” Artemis answered. His desk had changed since Orion had last visited; there were stacks of paper and what appeared to be a rudimentary circuit board and other electrical materials arranged atop it. Of course, rudimentary was relative, and the board on the desk was actually quite advanced on an objective level, but Orion knew that it was practically a child’s toy to Artemis.

“What’s that?” Orion asked, genuinely curious. He had never seen anything like it in the mind office.

“I’ve been doing experiments,” Artemis replied. He stepped aside and allowed Orion to examine the device. “It’s quite a simple circuit board, but I have perfect knowledge of its construction and properties.” He reached over and pressed a button on the board, and the device buzzed to life. “It took quite a bit of mental effort and focus, but I have actually created a working piece of electronic equipment in my own mind.”

“Astounding,” Orion said, awestruck. It was incomprehensibly impressive. “A perfect recreation of a physical object.”

“I knew you’d have a proper appreciation within the mind space,” Artemis said. While together like this, the edges of their personalities started to blur and mix. They were still separate, but perhaps not as distinct as when one of them was fronting. Some of Artemis’ intelligence and scientific awareness bled over.

Orion nodded, though something about the discovery bothered him. “But why?” he asked, gingerly placing the device back onto the desk. 

“I have no intention of spending the rest of my life simply watching you pilot my body,” he said. “So I came up with something to do. I plan to experiment with oil paints next, then move on to something more complicated. My goal is to be able to invent from within here and run accurate tests on new discoveries.” He sounded genuinely excited, his willingness to show emotion enhanced by Orion’s presence.

Orion wasn’t sure how to react. A certain detail Artemis had mentioned was making it hard for him to get as excited as his alter. “That is…very impressive, Artemis,” he said. He hesitated, trying to phrase his concern delicately, then decided not to beat around the bush. “Do you really expect to spend your whole life in here?”

Artemis, who had started to fiddle with the circuit board, paused. “Well, I suppose not,” he said noncommittally.

Orion stepped around him, partially blocking his view of the desk. “You can’t stay in here forever, Artemis.”

Artemis stepped back, away from Orion. “And why not? Who are you to dictate my life?”

“It’s my life, too,” he said, taking a half step closer to Artemis, who moved away the same amount. “And there are people out there waiting for you.”

“People whom I will push away once I lose myself to the disease.” There was a rising anger in Artemis. Orion could feel it. 

“People who will stand by your side while you recover,” he countered. This wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go.

“When I’m outside, I am not the person they know. I cannot control my own thoughts.”

“They know that, and they love you.”

“And what do you know of that?” It was Artemis’ turn to move forward and Orion’s to retreat. “They tolerate you, at best, and you know that.”

“You’re wrong, Artemis.”

Artemis continued his approach, forcing Orion towards the view wall inch by inch. “Am I? You are delusional; the world to you is a storybook.”

“That’s not fair, I’ve been getting better—“

“You have no respect for Holly’s personal boundaries. She is disgusted by you.”

“That’s not true. I’m learning, and she—“

Artemis stopped as Orion’s back was about to touch the gel of the wall. “And worst of all, you are trying to replace me, and they know that.”

Orion planted his feet and met his alter in the eye. “I’m not trying to replace you. You’re stressed, and your paranoia has infected your haven. Allow yourself to calm down, and you will see you are thinking illogically.”

Artemis also planted his feet. “Get out of my head,” he said, and pushed Orion into the view wall.

Artemis, ever unathletic, had telegraphed his action, so Orion wasn’t surprised when he was shoved, but he allowed it to happen anyway. He knew that Artemis was too agitated to be reasoned with at the moment, a once rare, nearly impossible occurrence that was happening more and more frequently as Artemis continued to lock himself inside his mind. Orion thought perhaps that allowing Artemis to shove him might offer some cathartic relief, at the very least. 

The gel fizzled on his skin, though the golden fours that made the substance buzz with electricity ignored him. Because he was allowing himself to resurface, the wall gave him almost no resistance. 

In the real world, his body jolted in the chair. Holly rushed to support him immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder to help keep him upright.

“Artemis? Are you alright?”

“I am fine, princess, though the fair prince remains trapped within his accursed tower.” Ah, there was the fairy tale, right on schedule. The stress was exacerbating his delusions. “I fear a witch has hexed him. Perhaps we can brew a potion to negate the enchantment.”

Holly frowned but didn’t contradict him. “I take it Artemis wasn’t feeling agreeable?”

Orion rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “No. He pushed me out. Literally.” He was exhausted from the ordeal. Entering the mind space with Artemis was not itself a tiring activity, but the mental energy he expended in their fight, as well as the rather ungraceful exit, had drained him.

“What happened?” she asked, shifting from sitting on her heels to kneeling beside his chair.

“He’s inventing,” Orion said. “He built a circuit board.”

“Hunkering down,” Holly realized. “He’s in it for the long haul.”

“Indeed. He got angry at me. He yelled at me, forced me out. As I told the good Doctor, he’s scared. He fears you’ll reject him, princess.”

Holly looked almost offended. “I wouldn’t dare,” she said.

Orion smiled sadly. “I know. I told him as much, but he was beyond reason.” Holly opened her mouth to question, clearly confused by the very notion, but Orion explained before she could ask. “Within the mind space, our characteristics…mix, a bit. Though I am made from that which he had repressed, when the two parts are put together, we begin to combine. There is no risk,” he added quickly, seeing concern flash across her features. “Just a bit of blurring at the edges.”

Holly looked around the room, giving her eyes something to do while she processed all of this. “If asking nicely won’t work, we’ll have to come up with something more aggressive,” she decided. “He can’t just stay in there forever.”

Orion nodded. “We will save him from the dragons that plague him.” He tried to shift his posture to evoke the stance of a knight, but he only held it for a moment before the exhaustion hit him again and he tilted forward into Holly, who had moved to catch him before he even realized he was falling. The chair was comfortable, but he had no desire to sleep in it. “Though perhaps we should return to the castle first. I would appreciate some time to recover before we begin our quest.” Holly helped him stand, and after an uncertain moment, Orion gained his balance. 

><

In the hall, Argon was pacing, waiting for the pair to finish. He turned excitedly when the door finally opened.

“Artemis? Holly? How did it go?” he asked, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Orion is exhausted,” Holly said bitterly. She wanted Artemis to spend some time outside his own head as much as the next person, but Argon’s blatant disregard for Orion was insulting. “Session’s ending early.” Without waiting for approval, she led Orion down the hall.

Argon scurried after them. “But there’s still nearly half an hour left!” he cried.

“Session’s over, doc,” Holly called over her shoulder. Even with an exhausted Mud Boy in tow, they were able to easily outpace the squat doctor.

Butler was waiting for them outside the clinic. There was nowhere inside for him to comfortably wait, though Foaly had said something about an oversized chair being put on order. He glanced at the door on habit as it opened, checking for security, but he did a double-take when he realized Holly and his charge leaving the building half an hour ahead of schedule.

“Is everything alright?” he asked as the pair approached.

“Argon is letting him go early, today,” Holly said in a tone that told Butler it was likely not Dr. Argon’s decision.

“And why is that?” he asked casually, falling into step with them as they headed towards the nearest shuttle station. If Holly had forced Argon to end the session, Butler was willing to trust it was for a good reason.

“Because Artemis is stubborn as a hungry troll,” she answered.

“He had no interest in making an appearance,” Orion added, confirming his identity for Butler.

Butler had, of course, known about the plan for today’s session, and he’d been quietly hoping Artemis would finally come back to them. Artemis and his alter looked a lot alike when tired, and Butler hadn’t been certain who was fronting. He must have let some of his disappointment show based on the way Orion’s features tightened, though the young man didn’t comment. Butler instantly felt guilty, though he also said nothing. He hadn’t meant to hurt Orion, but Artemis was still his priority. 

“I see,” was all the man offered.

The trek to the shuttle station was uneventful, though the group got more stares than usual. The regular commuters through this part of Haven had gotten used to seeing the massive Mud Man in this time of day, but the half hour difference was enough to mix up the crowd.

The shuttle ride was similarly uneventful; the one shuttle large enough to carry Butler had been co-opted by the LEP and served as private transport for the humans 3 days a week, so there was no need to wait for a ride or concern themselves with citizens being in their way. Orion dozed lightly during the ride, his head against Butler’s arm. He looked peaceful. As peaceful as Artemis did in his sleep, Butler noted.

Orion roused himself as the shuttle landed, though he fell asleep on Holly’s shoulder once they were in the Bentley. She nudged him awake once they arrived at the Manor.

“That really took a lot out of you,” she said as he unfolded himself from the car.

“More than expected,” he said. “I think I am sad,” he added, “for sadness is a tiring emotion.”

“What’s making you sad?” Holly asked. She had heard enough about his therapy sessions to pick up on some things. He still struggled with identifying his emotions at times, and encouraging him to explore what he was feeling helped with that.

“Artemis.” He held his hand out in front of him and turned it over and back, studying the surface and the way his fingers moved. “He is in anguish.”

Holly nodded. “I’m sad about that, too. And frustrated.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she forced herself to uncurl them.

Orion nodded. “You can’t punch your way through this.”

“As much as I want to,” she agreed.

The sessions with Argon were at the beginning of the day in Haven, but fairies being nocturnal creatures meant that it was dark above ground when they were done. There were footlights along the paths on the estate, but to minimize light pollution, they were on specialized motion sensors that were fine-tuned enough to differentiate between wild animals and humans (and fairies, of course). As such, the world around them was a shroud of gloom for a few seconds until the lights clicked on, giving everything a unique, almost unsettling glow from below. On hard, tiresome days like today, the unnatural underside lighting seemed mystical in a way Orion was growing better and better at determining to be part of his delusions. This was something he knew, and at Argon’s suggestion, he used this knowledge to practice grounding techniques after sessions.

Today was no exception. As much as he would love to go straight inside and collapse into bed, practice and consistency were important, so he took a few minutes to breathe deeply and take inventory of his senses and his thoughts. Holly and Butler both waited for him, silently exchanging slightly worried expressions. They knew what he was doing, but his mental health was still a concern, especially after a particularly trying therapy session. And of course, they were always thinking about Artemis. They had both returned their expressions to neutral by the time Orion was done, though, and the trio finally escaped the cool, humid night air so Orion could get some much needed rest.

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 16: The Video Call

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 1909

Warnings: Smut, video sex, nudity, mutual masturbation, Daddy!Kink, Dom!Steve, sub!Reader, dirty talk, cussing.

A/N: Two smut chapters in a row... I feel very sinful.

Being a man from the 1940s, Steve Rogers was definitely not an expert at modern technology. All the new ways of photo sharing, video watching, and other electronic communication went right over his head. Steve was still baffled that phones didn’t have to be attached to cords anymore. So you can imagine that when his girlfriend recommended having sex over video chat, he had been a bit reluctant.

It had been a simple thing, a little comment that Y/N made when they were lying in bed together. Steve had just visited her at the Tower, and they both had been so sexually deprived that the first thing they did was hop on top of each other. So yes, Y/N gave him a suggestion. Video sex.

Of course, Steve understood that being in a long-distance relationship had gotten Y/N a small bit worked up. And ever since he moved to Washington D.C., he’s felt the same way. Going from having sex about every other night, to having it about once every few weeks was a huge change for the pair.

But video sex? Really?

Steve had been long ago informed of the everlasting life that things have on the internet. Private pictures and videos were always being leaked to the public. How could he and Y/N be sure that their own wouldn’t? He could practically see the news article right in front of him.

‘Captain America? More like Daddy America in this explicit video of Steve Rogers and actress Y/N Y/L/N that has recently been leaked. Sources say that the Captain’s laptop had been secretly connected to S.H.E.I.L.D. files, and it was one of the many agents who released it. Looks like he’ll be saving the world one “Cum for me, baby girl,” at a time.’

Even the thought of something like that happening gave him nervous chills.

Not even to mention, the fact that having sex over technology was childish, juvenile, immature, and whatever other synonyms that you could come up with. It was also completely ridiculous. He was Steve Rogers, Captain America, leader of the Avengers, and yet he was expected to stare into a computer monitor while rubbing his genitals? Ya, right.

But the moment that Y/N had texted him a picture of her in a bra and panties, all of those negative thoughts went straight out the window.

It was during a mission debriefing that Steve’s phone decided to vibrate. He mistakenly opened the chat, only to see the sexiest photo that he’d ever seen in his long, long life. The sight of his girl wearing nothing but a lilac coloured matching set, biting her bottom lip just so, was enough to change his stubborn mind. The caption ‘Missing you, Stevie.’ decided to taunt him for the remaining forty minutes.

So that evening, Steve put all of his many worries and good principles aside, choosing to text his girlfriend that their session would be in order.

‘9:00 P.M.’ He sent her. ‘Don’t be late, young lady.’

And that’s where Steve could be seen right now. Sitting on his bed, overtop of the covers, clad in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxer briefs. His laptop was perched on his thighs, the mouse hovering right on top of the button that would soon call Y/N.

He was hesitant and almost certain that she felt the exact same way. But who could blame them? They’d never done anything like this before.

Though with a deep sigh, Steve took the leap and finally pressed the button.

The line continued to ring for several seconds, and he began to get confused. Was she not picking up on purpose? Did she change her mind? Was all of this too weird for her?

His nervous thoughts were interrupted by the computer making a small ‘whoosh’ noise, and a familiar cheery face popping up on the screen.

“Hey, Stevie!” Y/N beamed.

“There’s my favourite girl.” He smiled, starting to get more relaxed with the comforting sound of her voice. “How are you, doll?”

“I’m alright.” She shrugged, making one of her thin spaghetti straps fall down by accident; a fact that Steve definitely picked up on.

“What are ‘ya wearing, baby?” He asked, the camera angle not allowing him to see any further than her collar bones.

“Oh.” She faked innocence, adjusting the view a little lower. “This?”

The sight in front of Steve made his mouth begin to water. There Y/N sat on their once-shared bed, wearing a little babydoll nightie. The colour was baby blue, with a tiny baby pink bow at the bottom of the v-neck. The silk looked absolutely beautiful against her skin, and the thin material barely managed to contain her breasts. Steve swore that he could see her nipples poking right through it.

“‘Whattaya think?” She spoke, breaking him from his trance.

“I think,” he licked his lips, “that you look good enough to eat.” A predatory gleam started to appear in his eyes, and he gave Y/N a smirk. “Too bad that I’m not there to do so.”

She shook her head, ponytailed hair swinging left to right. “Steve-”

“Steve?” He chided with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Daddy,” Y/N corrected herself, watching his lips quirk up even further. “I miss you.”

“Awe, darling.” He looked at her through the monitor sincerely. “I miss you too.”

“M-Miss your hands,” she continued, “miss your lips.”

Steve sat up straighter on his bed, getting more and more into what she was saying. “Miss my tongue, N/N?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded, having flashbacks to all of the days that he got her off with his mouth and his mouth alone. “I really miss it.”

He could tell how hot and bothered all of this talk was making her. The way Y/N kept squirming around on the bed, the way her lips were slightly parted, letting out heavy breaths. Steve could almost smell her arousal from hundreds of miles away.

“You look so pretty, baby girl.” He told her, watching her cheeks become even redder. Seeing her so flushed under his gaze only made Steve’s confidence grow, all of the nerves from earlier starting to disappear. “Why don’t you take off your little nightie for me? Can you do that for daddy?”

“Yes, daddy.” Y/N smiled before pulling the babydoll over her head, making a show of dropping it to her side.

Steve grinned at the sight of her naked breasts, it having been way too long since he’d last seen them. “So beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out in lust, his deep voice going straight to her core. When Y/N suggested doing this many weeks ago, she had no idea that it would turn her on so much.

“You getting wet, sweetheart?” He questioned with a sly grin, seeing her nod once again. “Why don’t you dip your fingers down, then bring them up to show me?”

Y/N gulped at his request. “Okay.” She brought two fingers down into her underwear, rubbing her slit and collecting some of the fluid. She brought it up to the camera and felt proud at the satisfied look on Steve’s face.

“Mmm, baby.” He hummed and bit his lip, wishing that he could just reach through the screen to suck off those juices himself.

“What do I do with it, daddy?” Y/N asked, purposely using the special innocent voice that got him so turned on.

Steve sucked in a breath, trying to decide his course of action for the evening. 

His strategic skills came in handy for more than missions, you know.

“Rub it on your nipples, sweetie.” He told Y/N, seeing her gasp in response.

She followed his instructions and rubbed the sticky substance on her pert breasts, shuddering at her own touch.

“Do you like that, little girl?” The man spoke huskily.

“Yes.” Y/N answered with deep breaths.

Steve was amazed at the effect he still had on her, even being so far away. “Play with your tits, darling.” He instructed.

The girl nodded her head, bringer her hands up to her chest and beginning to knead. Y/N tried to imagine that it was Steve’s much bigger ones doing the job instead, but the fact that her’s were so chilly didn’t help.

Steve himself was getting more and more turned on by the second. Just seeing his girl in nothing but a pair of baby blue panties, rubbing her own breasts and throwing her head back was the best sight in the world to him. Something that his younger self could’ve only dreamed of.

Feeling his dick getting even harder, Steve threw his shirt over his head and tugged off his boxer briefs. He rubbed the thick beads of precum over his erection, beginning to stroke it. His eyes never strayed from the beautiful sight on his laptop screen, imagining that he could be there with her right now.

“D-Daddy, I miss your cock.” Y/N whined as she rolled her nipples between her fingers. “I miss you fucking me.”

“Damn, doll.” Steve groaned at her words. “Take off your panties, N/N.”

She did what he asked with no question and spread her legs even further, giving her boyfriend a nice view of her dripping pussy.

“Fuck yourself, kitten.” He ordered, continuing to rub at his boner. “Daddy wants to see you.”

Kitten. That was new.

Y/N brought down her right hand and began to feel at herself, finding her hole and shoving in a finger. She let out a moan before starting to thrust the digit in and out.

“Just imagine it’s my cock, sweetheart.” Steve told her, hand running up and down his erection even faster.

The girl tried to do what he told her, but knew in the back of her mind that no amount of her fingers could ever measure up to his cock. “I-I ‘wanna cum.” She moaned out, left hand still toying with her left breast. Y/N gave the nipple a pinch every know and then, trying to imitate the way that Steve would. “Daddy, m-make me cum.”

“Fuck, babydoll.” He threw his head back, imagining that it was her pussy around his member instead of his own hand. “Play with your clit, baby.” Steve told her, watching the screen as she did what he asked.

With a couple of small circles around the sensitive bud, Y/N was crying out like a hot mess, cumming all over their nice white sheets.

“Good girl.” Steve cooed, the sight of her creaming herself bringing him even further to the edge.

Y/N, also knowing how close he was to an orgasm, needed to do something about it now. “Cum, daddy.” She breathed out, eyes trained on the sight of him. Captain America was naked and masturbating right in front of her, of course she was going to stare. “I want to see your big cock cum.” She continued, voice getting all whiny and high. “I want to imagine licking it up.”

And with those final words, Steve finally came, the semen being so powerful that a drop even landed on his computer screen. Right where Y/N’s chin was projected.

She giggled. “Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” He chuckled along.

The couple laid in their respective rooms and continued to catch their breath. Neither of their eyes separated from their laptops, treating each other as if one was actually present.

“Alright,” Steve spoke out, finally grabbing a tissue to clean up his small mess, “maybe technology isn’t so bad after all.”

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Not as it Seems

A Horror Septics Story

(This is not what I planned to post today, but things came up and I had this in the works. Enjoy reading the next series of events that happens to Stacy and her family, and also this weirdo called “John” who seems to know a lot. It’s pretty long, but not as long as the last one fjdskafh)

—————

There was a good few inches of snow on the ground, courtesy of the blizzard last night. Luckily the roads had been plowed quickly, or Stacy would’ve had a hard time driving. Still, the roads were slippery, and she elected to park two blocks away from the coffee shop and walk the rest of the way, braving the cold instead of risking driving the rest of the way.

Thus, she was even more relieved to step inside the warm, coffee-scented air of the cafe. She sighed, unwinding her scarf from around her neck as she scanned the shop.

“Stacy!”

Someone was waving at her from a table by the cafe’s front window. Stacy smiled, and walked over, sitting at the same table. “Hey, Jaqueline,” she said. “Sorry I’m late, driving was a bitch.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Jaqueline said, leaning back in her chair. “I knew you’d show up eventually. You want to order?”

“Sure.” Stacy noticed the table was empty of drinks. “You didn’t order already?”

“Nah, I wanted to wait.”

“Aw.” Stacy smiled, touched. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.” Jaqueline shrugged. “Besides, it’s no problem.”

The two of them went up to the counter and ordered. Stacy got a mocha latte with whip cream and Jaqueline got an americano. They chatted while they waited, just general small talk about the surprising blizzard last night, unusual for the area. The barista quickly filled their orders, and the two of them sat back down at the table.

“Y’know, you should really be wearing a coat, Jaq,” Stacy pointed out, taking a sip of her latte.

“Oh, I have a coat right here,” Jaqueline said. “I just took it off. Which you could stand to do, it’s warm enough in here.” She settled back into the seat. “So, how’s the job hunt going?”

Stacy sighed deeply. She shouldered off her coat, draping it over the back of the seat. “Not good. I keep getting denials online. Y’know, the whole ‘thank you for your application but we don’t think you’d be a good fit here,’ that whole shebang.” She tried not to let on how worried she was about it. She hadn’t gotten a job once since arriving in this new city of Rysbuwich. That was insane; surely she should’ve found something by now?

“Maybe you’re being too picky,” Jaqueline said, as if reading her mind. “You’re only going for food-related ones, right?”

“Well, I mean, that’s where all my expertise is, so yeah,” Stacy nodded. “It’s what’s on most of my resume. I’d prefer baking, like my old job, but I’ll take anything similar.”

“Hmm.” Jaqueline nodded. “That’s understandable. But, y’know, there’s only so long you can support two kids on unemployment. Maybe get a job you’re less qualified for, but one that’ll take anyone.”

“Yeah, I’ve started to do that,” Stacy agreed. Really, she’d only sent about two applications for positions like that,and both had been rejected. “I wonder if there’ll be a lot of those online...I’ve been seeing some help wanted signs around town, maybe I should just walk in.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing.” Jaqueline chuckled. “Where have you been seeing them?”

“Uh...a bookstore, an arcade, a couple fast-food places, I think there was a toy store…” Stacy had been making a mental note of every place she’d seen one of the Help Wanted signs, but she couldn’t be sure she was getting them all. Staring out the window, she stifled a yawn.

“You seem tired, Stace,” Jaqueline said. “Long night?”

“Yeah, had something with my other friend,” she replied. “It went late.” She paused. “Y’know, I mentioned you, and he got real weird about it. Asked me if I knew your last name.”

“Really?” Jaqueline raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little weird. We only just met, and it’s not like people go around introducing themselves as So-and-so Last Name.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Stacy laughed. “And, I mean, I don’t even know his last name, so it’s not really fair. Do you know my last name?”

“Yeah, it’s Allen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Guess I told you.”

Jaqueline smiled. “Yeah.”

Stacy paused, taking another sip of her coffee. “So, what’s yours?”

“Wait a sec, I just realized something.” Jaqueline frowned. “Your friend is a guy? And he got real weird about you seeing me?”

“Uh-huh.” Stacy nodded. “It was...it came out of nowhere, honestly.”

“Hmm.” Jaqueline pursed her lips. “You don’t think he could’ve been...well, protective of you? In like a...y’know. ‘Has feelings’ way?”

“Um...I don’t think so.” Stacy cast her mind back. “I mean, John’s a little...weird. Kind of crazy. Don’t tell him I said that,” she hurried to add. “‘Cause I know he has reasons for acting the way he does, even if I’ve never asked. And besides, he knows I’m still not over my, uh...he knows I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Which is totally understandable,” Jaqueline assured her. “But I’m just saying, I’ve known some guy ‘friends’”—she made air quotes with her fingers on that word—“who would act weird and suspicious when their female friend started getting friends outside them. Just consider it.”

“I will, don’t worry,” Stacy took another drink. She really didn’t think John was the type to do something like that, but then again, she didn’t actually know that much about him. He helped her out back in the last town, Bronainise, with that...thing in her house. And she knew he had experience with things like that. And she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him after seeing him have that nightmare last night. But...she didn’t really know that much about him. She didn’t even know his real name. Stacy shook her head, putting those thoughts away for now. “Anyway, enough about me, how have things been going with you?”

* * * * * * * * * *

She arrived back home in a significantly better mood than she had been when she left. Being with Jaqueline always did that. They’d only met up twice since their initial meeting a few weeks ago, but Stacy could already tell she really liked her. There was just something about her that left Stacy feeling happy; like she was just full of energy and it rubbed off on her. She was really glad they’d met each other.

Walking into the house, she was greeted by the sight of Larkin lying on the couch, reading. “Hey, Lark,” she said. “What book is that?”

“Hi Mom!” Larkin said. He lifted up the cover for her to see. “I got it from the school library. It’s one of a bunch of series, The Magic Tree House. Mr. Teller said I’d like it.”

“Oh? And do you?”

Larkin nodded. “I like Annie.”

“That’s great!” Stacy smiled. Larkin was doing a lot better in English in this new school. Apparently all he needed was an encouraging teacher, who would point him towards books he would enjoy. He started to put more effort into trying to read, and had leaped ahead to be one of the best readers in the class. “Do you know where Mathew is?”

“Uh, I think he’s in the backyard.”

Stacy headed out back. Mathew wasn’t actually out in the yard, but she could clearly see him. Over the small brick wall. In the empty lot behind the house. She hurried over, snow crunching under her boots.

It appeared Mathew was talking with John, who had cleared a spot in the lot free of snow and was now trying to set up his tent. Stacy picked up their conversation as she approached. “—and I’m told that you get the true ending if you do a pacifist run, so you don’t hurt anyone, but I never got around to playing it when it came out,” Mathew was saying. “But I dunno...should I get it on my Switch?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” John said, busying himself with trying to set up some of the tent poles. “I played it, and I loved it. It’s seriously really good, totally worth your allowance.”

“You did?” Mathew asked skeptically.

“What, just ‘cause I live in a tent and don’t own anything electronic now doesn’t mean I never did,” John joked.

Mathew smiled a bit. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for asking, though.” John glanced over, noticing Stacy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. “Just checking on you two.”

“We’re good, Mom,” Mathew said, with a hint of what she called the “duh” tone that teenages sometimes used. “I just wanted to talk to John about games.”

“Nice.” Stacy nodded. “I’m going to make lunch. You good with sandwiches and chips?”

“Sure.”

“Um...John, do you want lunch, too?” Stacy asked tentatively.

John shook his head, not looking away from his tent. “I’ll get something somewhere.”

“Where?”

John shrugged. “You know.”

Stacy frowned. “Alright. I’ll make an extra one, if you change your mind.”

“...thanks,” John says softly. He managed to pull one of the tent poles into a standing position, using a spare rock to pound a stake into the ground. “So, Stacy. You, uh...saw your friend today?”

“Yes, I just came back,” Stacy said. Mathew, sensing the appearance of adult small talk, turned and hopped back over the wall into the yard and then the house. “It was nice.”

“Good. Good.” John sounded a bit curt. “Had fun?”

“...yeah.” Stacy narrowed her eyes. “You sound a bit, um...is everything okay with you?”

“With me, yeah. What about you?” John finally looked over at her.

“I mean...it’s going alright,” Stacy said haltingly. “I’m still looking for a job, but at least I’ve made a friend.” A friend, being key. Jaqueline was the only person she’d met in town who’d seemed interested in...well, meeting up with her more than once. Though it was hard to meet up with people when you didn’t have a lot of places to go. No job to socialize, and Larkin and Mathew were still making friends of their own so she couldn’t even chat with their friends’ moms.

“Hmm…” John pulled the other tent pole into place. “How’d you meet...her? She goes by Jaqueline, right?”

“Yes, that’s her name. We, uh...met in the grocery store.” Stacy smiled awkwardly. “I was shopping, she was shopping.”

“She approached you and started talking, then?” John drawled.

“Yeah.” Stacy couldn’t quite remember their first conversation, but Jaqueline had been so friendly it had left a good impression of her. “That’s how most conversations work. Usually you don’t walk up to someone and go ‘hello, there’s a demon in my house, can you help me?’”

“It really, really isn’t a demon in that house,” John said, frowning. “I told you why I don’t like that word for them.”

“Mm-hmm.” Stacy watched for a bit, just long enough to make sure John got the tent up. Then she turned around. “Well...I’ll be around.”

“Wait!” John suddenly stood up.

Stacy spun back around. “What? What is it?”

“I…” John now seemed to be regretting calling after her. “You, uh...really like this friend, huh? Y’know you should be, um...you should be careful about talking to strangers.”

“Yeah...I know.” Stacy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not seven years old, I know all about stranger danger.” Evidently she was feeling a bit sassy today. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I know. You’re, uh. You’re smart.” John shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Very careful, I could tell when I saw you. Just, uh...remember to be careful, okay?”

“...okay.” Stacy backed up. “Talk to you later.” She turned and left, glancing back over at John as she hopped over the wall. John still seemed to want to say something, but she walked away before he could.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, she went driving around town while the kids were at school, looking for a few of those Help Wanted signs she’d seen throughout the town. Retracing her usual routes, she was sure she’d run into one of them. But to her surprise, there wasn’t a single one. Strange...she wandered around for a while, glancing into store windows, but still saw nothing. After a bit, she stopped outside a bookstore that she distinctly remembered had a Help Wanted sign in the window. She would go in herself, talk to an employee, and see if they were still hiring.

Walking in, she was greeted by the small tinkling of a bell and soft music. It was a big enough shop, but still had the sort of atmosphere of a small bookstore. Stacy immediately thought that this wouldn’t be a bad place to work. She walked up to the counter, looking around. There was an employee with their back to her. “Um...hello?” she called. “I have a question.”

The employee straightened, and turned to face her. “Stacy?”

“Oh!” Stacy blinked. “Jaqueline! I didn’t realize you worked here.”

Jaqueline chuckled. “Really? I could’ve sworn I told you. Thought you were checking up on me.” She frowned exaggeratedly. “Aw.”

“I mean, if I’d known I might’ve,” Stacy said. “Are you guys, uh...hiring?”

“We were, but the position was filled yesterday,” Jaqueline sighed. She pointed down the shelves at a young man. “New guy right there. Sorry. It would’ve been great to work together.”

“Yeah.” Stacy sighed. “It seems nice. Looks like they have a lax uniform code to start, if they let you wear your jacket.”

“Hey, it’s cold. Management understands that.” Jaqueline smiled.

Stacy smiled back, but it quickly faded. “I just...I could’ve sworn there were more people hiring in town.”

“Well, jobs at places like this tend to get snatched up quickly. High turnover rate, y’know. I’m even new here.” Jaqueline reached over the counter and put her hand on Stacy’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, y’know. Someone with your skills is sure to have many opportunities.” Jaqueline withdrew. “Most organizations actually favor online applications over in-person ones these days. Keep trying there, and keep talking to them about the application. It’ll get you somewhere eventually.”

“You think so?” Stacy asked.

“I know so,” Jaqueline said, reassuring her.

Stacy breathed out. “Thanks.” She already felt a bit calmer about the situation.

“Hey, you want to meet up next week? Maybe on Friday?” Jaqueline asked. “We could spend an evening together.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I don’t have anything else to do.” Stacy paused. “Well, I’ll see you then, then?”

“I’ll meet up outside your house,” Jaqueline said.

Stacy frowned. “Do you know my address?”

“Yeah, you told me. And I told you mine, remember?” Jaqueline shook her head. “Sometimes I worry about your memory, Stace.”

“...huh.” Stacy considered this. Maybe her time back in Bronainise with the thing in her house had messed with her memory. Who knew? “Well, see you.”

“See you.”

Stacy left. She didn’t bother to check any of the other places she thought had hiring signs. Evidently all those posts had been filled.

* * * * * * * * * *

The week passed quietly, without change, and soon Friday arrived. Stacy was about ready to go out to meet Jaqueline when she got a call from the babysitter.

“Are you absolutely sure you can’t make it?” Stacy asked.

“Sorry, Ms. Allen,” the sitter said. “Nobody could’ve seen this coming. And it is an emergency.”

“It is, it is,” Stacy said, nodding even though nobody could see her. “Sorry to hear about it, by the way. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Ms. Allen.”

As soon as the sitter hung up, Stacy sighed, staring at the phone screen. It froze for a moment, the image freaking out briefly before settling to normal. She filed that away in her mind, to be worried about if it came up later. The more pressing concern was what she was going to do now. She’d promised Jaqueline she’d meet up with her, and though she trusted Mathew to be able to watch Larkin and himself for a day, she worried about the two of them being left alone for the night. Should she...just leave and trust the kids for the night? No, what if something happened?

Just at that moment, she heard a knocking sound. She jumped, and spun around, peering into the kitchen where the sound came from. John was standing at the glass door at the back of the house. He knocked on the glass again. 

Stacy walked on over and opened the door. “Hi. What’s up?”

“I really need to talk to you,” John said.

“Oh, um. Okay. I was actually planning to go out—”

“With Jaqueline?” John interrupted.

“Yeah,” Stacy said, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

“Just a guess,” John said. “Look, that’s what I need to talk to you about. She’s not what you think she is.”

“You’ve never even met her,” Stacy muttered.

“You’re right, I’ve never met Jaqueline,” John said. “But—”

“Well, then, why do you care if I’m going out with her?” Stacy asked.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt!” John slammed his hands down on the kitchen table. “Look, you barely know this—this person.” He spat out the last word like he couldn’t come up with something better, and thought the one he’d found didn’t quite fit. “For all you know, she could be  a serial killer!”

“I barely knew you when I gave you a ride to this town,” Stacy pointed out. “You were in the car with my kids and me for two hours, and you didn’t take the opportunity to do anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m different!”

Stacy blinked. “Wow. That sounds...kind of…” Entitled, if she was being honest.

“Okay, maybe I could’ve phrased that better,” John admitted, backing down. “What I mean is that...I-I know what she is.”

“A woman?”

“No!”

“Oh wow.” Stacy took a step back. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you, as a man, have the right to judge someone on their womanhood. Especially someone you’ve never met before—”

“What—how the fuck did you jump to that conclusion?!” John gaped at her. “Look I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Um, kinda sounds like you did—”

“No shut the fuck up and let me talk!” John blurted out the words, and immediately his expression shifted to regret. “...sorry.”

Stacy took a few steps backwards. “I think we both need some time to cool down,” she said after a while.

“No, look, this is important, I have to tell you before you meet...your friend,” John said, approaching as Stacy retreated. There seemed to be genuine fear and concern in his visible eye. “I-I—what I mean to say is that, this friend of yours isn’t actually your friend.”

Stacy sighed, irritation rising. “You still don’t even know her. I’ve barely told you anything.”

“You’ve barely told me anything because you barely know anything!” John’s voice became hushed. “If I asked you what her eye color was, would you be able to tell me?”

“Of course, John.”

“Alright, what color are her eyes?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Stacy snapped. “Look, she’ll be here any minute. I gotta go.”

“Just answer the question!” John suddenly lunged, grabbing onto her wrist as she turned to leave.

Stacy yelped, and instinctively slapped him across the face, startling him enough to get him to let go. Immediately, she backed up and then turned and ran. She was at the front door and heading out before John even had time to call out to her.

There was a car outside the house. When Stacy approached, she saw Jaqueline inside, who rolled down the window. “You okay, Stace?” Jaqueline asked. “You look a little shaken.”

“I’m fine,” Stacy dismissed. “Tell you about it later.” She rounded the car and got into the passenger side door. “Let’s just go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Jaqueline ended up driving the two of them to a part of town that Stacy wasn’t too familiar with. When the car pulled into a parking lot, Stacy looked out at the nearby building and immediately frowned. “Is this a bar?”

“Well, no, it’s a restaurant with a bar inside it,” Jaqueline said. “Why, is that a problem?”

“Um...I don’t drink anymore,” Stacy explained uneasily.

“That’s alright, we’ll just get food,” Jaqueline said. “This place has great chicken.”

“...well...I do like chicken,” Stacy said slowly.

“I know! You’re gonna love it here, just give it a chance.” Jaqueline smiled, and stepped out of the car. Stacy hesitated, then followed.

They ended up sitting at the bar area, but that was because the place was packed. It seemed that this was one of the most active places in town, and on a Friday night that meant there was barely any room to sit anywhere. It also meant the wait for food was long, so Jaqueline suggested they ordered drinks to start. Stacy agreed, but stuck with just water while Jaqueline jumped straight into ordering a martini. After their drinks arrived, Jaqueline asked, “So, are you gonna tell me why you were so shaken when I went to pick you up?”

“Hmm? Oh, I did say I’d tell you later, didn’t I?” Stacy sighed, and took a big drink of her water. “Nothing, it’s just...I had a fight with my friend.”

“The same friend who started acting weird when you mentioned you were hanging out with me a week and a half ago?” Jaqueline asked.

“Well...yeah,” Stacy admitted.

“Hmm,” Jaqueline hummed. “What about?”

“Uh...well...you.” Stacy muttered the last word into her drink. 

“Oh. Well, then.” Jaqueline sipped her martini through a straw, finishing the whole thing in one big drink. “That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“I mean, it’s not a coincidence,” Stacy said. “He just...really thinks I shouldn’t be hanging out with you.”

“I see. You ever ask him if he, y’know, liked you? In that way?” Jaqueline flagged down the bartender again, ordering another martini.

“No, but I can tell it’s not just that.” Stacy took another drink. “He’s paranoid. I think he thinks you’re gonna be, like, a murderer or something.”

Jaqueline laughed. “Wow. We’ve never even met! What have you been telling him about me?”

“Nothing, really. Just the normal stuff.” Stacy paused. “I mean, I understand why he is the way he is. Something happened to him that made him so crazy. And, well, at this point, it is a little crazy to be so paranoid about someone you don’t know. But there’s a reason, and I know it’s a bad one.” She sighed. “I feel kinda bad for fighting with him.”

“Hey, no matter what someone’s past is, that shouldn’t lead them to interfering with other people’s lives,” Jaqueline said.

Stacy nodded. Slowly at first, then she sped up. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.” She took a sip of her drink through the straw.

“Honestly if he’s bothering you this much about it, it sounds like it’s a problem that needs to be addressed,” Jaqueline said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re right and something happened in his past that made him like this, it sounds like any paranoia on his part is kinda just a reaction because of how, like, his mind formed or something,” Jaqueline said. Her voice, though it wasn’t any louder than anyone else’s, really stood out against the background chatter of the restaurant. Its familiar tone was soothing. “Maybe he should talk to someone professional about it. Sort out these issues.”

“Huh. That’s a good point.” Because John clearly had some sort of issues. Stacy had noticed them. He was paranoid about everything, about people with phones, about strangers, and about so much more. He lived in a tent, and she got the feeling that was because of a choice he made and not because he had no other option. Or maybe it was both. And she hadn’t forgotten how he had a criminal record back in Bronainise. For petty things, like pickpocketing and minor vandalism, but still. He had a past of being a bit...disruptive.

“Maybe you should just, like, remember that,” Jaqueline suggested. “I’m not saying you do anything about it unless it gets bad. You want a second drink?”

“Huh? Oh sure.” Stacy waved the empty martini glass she was holding. “Didn’t even realize I finished.”

“I’ll get you another one of those.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The next thing Stacy knew, she was waking up on a cot in a holding cell at a police station with a pounding headache.

“Wh…?” Stacy tried to sit up, and immediately winced as the ache intensified. “Um...hello?”

A uniformed police officer outside the cell turned to look at her. “Oh good. You’re awake.”

“What...am I doing here?” Stacy asked, looking around.

“You don’t remember? Well, it doesn’t surprise me.” The officer shook her head. “With a BAC of 0.21, I’m surprised you were even able to keep walking.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?!” Stacy tried to stand up, but instead ended up rolling out of the cot onto the floor. “Th—that’s impossible, I don’t drink!”

“Well, you did last night,” the officer said, raising an eyebrow.

Stacy shook her head in disbelief. This was impossible. She’d sworn off drinking. “What happened? Why’d I get arrested?”

“Disorderly conduct,” the officer explained. “You and some other lady were making a ruckus on the street, walking all along Fleet St. for a couple hours. Ended up throwing some bottles and tipping over wheelie bins.”

“Oh my god…” Stacy whispered. “This other lady, where is she?”

“Some family member of hers posted bail an hour ago. She said she’d be back to post yours. Should be any minute now.”

Stacy nodded vaguely, muttering another “Oh my god…” before settling down on the cot. She put her head in her hands and started to wait. She’d sworn off alcohol. After her husband died, she fell pretty hard into that rabbit hole. She hated it, but she’d hated remembering what happened more. She was lucky enough to pull herself out of it. But it seemed that last night she relapsed. She’d thought she was doing pretty good...but now,the whole town will only know her as the lady who caused some crazy drunk disturbance.

It must’ve been ten minutes later when Stacy heard, “Wow...you don’t look good.”

Stacy looked up, and sighed. “Thanks, Jaqueline.”

“No problem.” Jaqueline flashed a smile of teeth, then nodded at the police officer, who unlocked the door of the holding cell. Stacy quickly left. “Wow, crazy last night. I’ve never been arrested before.”

“Really?” Stacy asked idly.

Jaqueline shrugged. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home. God, that whole thing last night must’ve been crazy. I walked out of the station and all the officers were staring at me.”

Stacy winced. Then the first statement really registered. “Oh my fucking god, I need to get home! I left the kids!” She hurried out of the station, Jaqueline following close behind.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Jaqueline dropped her off at her house, Stacy immediately rushed inside. “Mathew?! Larkin?!” she called, running into the living room. Upon not immediately seeing either of the boys, she ran down the hall, tripping over her own feet. She cried out, catching herself by grabbing the wall.

“Be careful, there.”

Stacy paused, then backed up, glancing into the entrance to the dining room. John was inside. He was sitting on the floor, back braced against one of the dining room chairs, one of her books in his hands. “How’d you get in here?” She asked, startled.

John folded over a corner of the page and set the book on the chair behind him. “You let me inside last night, remember?” He said, standing up. “And when you left, I figured, y’know, nobody was here to watch your kids for the night.”

Stacy flinched. “I-I didn’t mean to leave so suddenly. The sitter quit, she had a call from her mother in the hospital—I was going to stay, really!”

“Hmm.” John folded his arms. “I do agree it was...most unlike you. You must’ve really, really wanted to meet up with your...friend.”

“Well...yeah, but I wouldn’t have—!”

“Yeah, you would’ve,” John muttered. “When in this situation, anyone would’ve.”

Stacy blinked. “What?”

“Tell me, Stacy.” John took a few steps towards her before stopping and leaning on the nearest wall. “Why do you hang out with this...person?”

“Wh...Jaqueline?”

“If that’s what you want to call—yes, fine, Jaqueline.”

Stacy frowned. “John, you really shouldn’t be so concerned with this. You’ve never even met her, why do you care so much about me—”

“Because you just up and left your kids!” John suddenly shouted. “Overnight! In a town you’ve only lived in for a month and a half! For what, this thing?! Stacy, we haven’t known each other that long, but I know you wouldn’t ditch your kids without supervision to go out with friends. I can tell you care about them too much to do that. So maybe you should think about why you left them last night and I had to stay in your house with your fucking computer and electronics just so I could make sure nothing happened to them!”

Stacy bit her lip, holding back an immediate response. She took a few deep breaths before continuing.  “John...I didn’t mean to leave last night. I was angry and not thinking clearly, but I know I shouldn’t have left all night.” She paused. “I...actually got arrested.”

John blinked, then his eye suddenly went wide. He ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “What did you do?! What did it make you do?! How are you back here now?! What does it plan to do next?!”

“Jesus christ!” Stacy grabbed John’s wrists and threw his hands away, taking a few steps back. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?!” John suddenly calmed, shaking his head. “No, of course you don’t, I was talking to you earlier and you still called it by that name, but what’s it going to do next? What is it planning? This isn’t normal, it’s moving too fast.”

“John…” Stacy said softly. “Are you alright?”

“What?” His head snapped up. “Well, technically no, but as of my current standard of ‘alright,’ yeah, I guess.”

“Look, it’s very weird—no, that’s the wrong word, I mean...I know you’re aware that this way you’re acting isn’t normal,” Stacy emphasized.

John laughed. “Nothing about me is normal anymore.”

“It’s, um...it could be harmful,” Stacy said delicately. “To yourself, or others. Maybe you should talk to a therapist about it.”

That just made John laugh harder, bracing against the wall. “Oh, that’d be a great idea! Y’know I don’t really feel like being put in an institution again! Honestly, what I should be doing at this point is be fucking dead, but no way! Not gonna let that happen! It’d just love that!”

Stacy took another step backwards. “Look, I know it seems a bit ridiculous, but...I’ve been thinking recently, and you...well, you need help.”

John’s laughter suddenly cut off, and he leveled her with a single-eye stare. “Did your Jaqueline tell you that?”

“Look, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Stacy said, exasperated. “You’re so focused on someone who didn’t even do anything.”

“Oh, a lot of people would disagree with you on that,” John muttered.

“Jaqueline is the one person who’s been friendly to me in this town!” Stacy shouted, her voice cracking. “She’s funny, gives great advice, always wants to hang out—”

“—makes you so happy to be around that you can’t wait to meet up again,” John jumped in. “So happy that you probably don’t even remember that you’re still looking for a job, or that your kids sometimes need help with school, or that you’re running out of food in the fridge—yeah, I checked that. A happiness so intense that it’s basically an addiction.”

“You don’t get addicted to people, John,” Stacy said flatly. “Look, I gotta check on Mathew and Larkin. I don’t...can you leave? By the time I get back downstairs?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and went back down the hall. She felt John’s gaze on her the entire way, but when she came back down, he had left, just like she’d asked.

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days later, she finally found a place with a Help Wanted sign in the window. Her mood immediately lifted. She’d been applying heavily online, calling businesses just to make sure they were absolutely sure there wasn’t a spot open, but had got no results. This could be the game changer. She walked inside; this place was an arcade, so she was instantly hit with a wall of beeping electronic sounds and flashing lights. She walked up to the counter and asked, “Hi, I noticed you had a hiring sign? Is that still applicable?”

“Oh, yeah,” said the employee at the counter. “Hang on, let me get my manager, he’ll talk to you about it. Brenda? Can you man the till?”

Only a few minutes later, Stacy was sitting at a table in a back room, talking to an older man who identified himself as the manager and owner. An interview! Finally. And so quickly, too. Maybe she’d finally get a new job. And from there, she could continue her search on the side, but at least she’d have a source of income besides unemployment and her savings.

“Alright, just one more question, I have to ask this for security reasons,” the manager said, writing something down. “Do you have any sort of criminal record?” He asked the question like he already knew the answer.

“Oh...um…” Stacy tried not to squirm. “I mean, I got...arrested once.”

The manager stopped writing and looked up at her.

“It wasn’t for anything bad!” Stacy hurried to say, before it suddenly occurred to her that this would seem super suspicious. “I just—it was really recent, it was just for disorderly conduct, I got drunk—” The manager frowned slightly. “—but it was just a few days ago, and it was just the one time!”

“I see.” The manager wrote something else down. “Well, thank you Ms. Allen. Can I get your phone number? We’ll be in contact.”

Stacy gave him her number, but walked out of the building with a heavy heart. ‘We’ll be in contact’ was what employers said when they weren’t really considering you.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hey, Stace!”

She was in the grocery store, three days later, and her lingering gray mood hadn’t faded. But then she looked up and saw Jaqueline approaching. Her mood suddenly lightened, and she beamed. “Hi, Jaqueline.”

“You looked a bit down before I showed up,” Jaqueline said in a joking tone. “What’s up?”

Stacy sighed heavily, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms from the shelf—it was Larkin’s favorite, but harder to find in this country. “I just...still haven’t had luck.”

“With the job hunt?”

“Yeah, and just...life.” She put the box in her cart. “I swear, people keep staring at me.”

“Me too,” Jaqueline said, tone sympathetic. “I think someone filmed us last Friday night and shared the video online, so we’re pretty well-known now.”

“Oh…” Stacy groaned. Of course it would be like that. Of course life would add another scoop of ice cream to the bad-luck sundae that was the past few years of her life. The metaphorical bowl must be overflowing by this point. “So now we’re both known as the crazy drunk ladies.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Jaqueline sighed. “But, y’know, you look even more upset than that would warrant.”

“I just...still no job. Mathew and Lark are having a hard time making new friends. And now nobody’s gonna want to talk to me…” Stacy sighed again, this time blinking away tears.

“Maybe you never should’ve moved here,” Jaqueline said.

“Maybe I never should’ve moved here,” Stacy repeated. “Yeah...I mean, why’d we have to leave the whole town? The thing was probably only in that house, we could’ve just got a new one. The kids would be a lot happier, too.”

“Wait, you want to leave?” Jaqueline asked.

“I mean, nothing’s been good ever since we got here,” Stacy said. “I can’t work, I’m fighting with John all the time, I got drunk for the first time in months...yeah.”

“Aw, but I’ll miss you!” Jaqueline whined. “But...I understand. It’s for the best of everyone.”

“Yeah…” Stacy nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s for the best.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She started idly making plans to move back to Bronainise. She didn’t book a moving van, or go online to look for houses like she had upon initially moving away, but she did bring it up with the kids. Larkin seemed vaguely okay with it, like he didn’t really care, but Mathew was confused about moving back when they’d only been there for a little under two months. Stacy had explained that she could tell the town wasn’t a good fit for any of them, but he’d still been a bit upset about so many moves in such a short time. But he relented.

Stacy was a little concerned about what to do with John. He probably wouldn’t want to move back, but should she ask him anyway? After all, if it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t even be in this town in the first place. Maybe she should at least offer to give him a ride. But then again, she hadn’t been seeing much of him lately.

Until about four days after she’d initially gotten the idea to move back. She pulled into the driveway after picking up the kids from school, and was greeted by the sight of John, wearing a backpack with his rolled-up sleeping bag attached, carrying a full duffel bag, rounding around the side of the house. She stepped out, followed soon by the kids. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused.

John stopped, letting go of the duffel bag. “I’m moving. I packed everything up, and I’m leaving.”

“...oh.” Stacy said. “Um...why?”

John rolled his visible eye. “Because you clearly don’t want me nearby, of course.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Stacy said. Behind her, she heard Mathew and Larkin climb out of the car and walk up the drive to the front door, going inside. “I’ll be in in a minute, boys!” She called after them.

“Look, I think it’s best for both of us if I leave,” John said. “I never meant to hang around anyway. But I’m human, we get attached. Unless we’re pretending.”

That was an odd statement. Stacy stepped forward. “If this is about something I said, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not just that,” John interrupted. “Look, before I go, I just want to straight-up tell you what I’ve been trying to get at for the last three weeks. Apparently just hinting at it hasn’t worked.” He paused. “Your friend, Jaqueline? Is not human.”

After a long, quiet moment, Stacy sighed deeply. “John—”

“I know, you think it’s your friend, your only friend,” John pressed forward. “But it’s making you think that. You haven’t talked to anyone else because it’s made you focus on it. You’ve been acting weird because it’s been influencing you. You shouldn’t trust it.”

“John,” Stacy said sadly. “I really do appreciate you helping out with that thing in the house, but not everything is tied back to something supernatural.”

John laughed. “Oh, you don’t know my life. But trust me, this time, it is. I’ve seen this thing in action before.”

“John…” Stacy could only shake her head. He must’ve been so immersed in this world, so affected by whatever happened to him, that he saw it everywhere. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’know, I believe you, in some way,” John interrupted. “But this just proves I should go.” He picked up the duffel bag again. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.” And he started walking down the sidewalk, snow crunching under his feet.

Stacy watched him go. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of what. After a few seconds, she turned, and went inside.

She didn’t see the way John froze, stopped walking, and looked back.

* * * * * * * * * *

Inside the house, Stacy was dialing a number on her phone. She waited anxiously while it rang.

The other line was soon picked up. “Hello?”

“Jaqueline?” Stacy asked, already her mood brightening.

“Yeah, Stace? What’s up?”

“I just...I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Aw, that’s great! Hey, why don’t we meet up tonight? What about seven, in the park?”

“Sounds great.”

“You should bring your kids, too. I’ve always wanted to meet them.”

“Alright.”

“And we might be a while, so like, grab some entertainment for them. Books and stuff, y’know.”

“Yeah, they’ll get bored soon if we’re gonna go do something.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

Jaqueline hung up. Stacy realized she’d been smiling the whole time. Well, that would be something to look forward to.

* * * * * * * * * *

Just before seven, Stacy gathered her kids and their entertainment and piled them all in the car. Of course, Mathew and Larkin questioned it. She explained that her friend wanted to meet them, but that they might get bored. Neither of them seemed too happy about that explanation.

“Mom, isn’t it a little late?” Mathew complained. “Larkin has school tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind staying up,” Larkin piped up.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Stacy assured them. “Jaqueline’s great, you’ll like her.”

Mathew groaned. “Do you want us to call her ‘Aunt Jaqueline’?”

“Of course not!” Stacy said. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Mom, I can watch Lark for the evening, it’s fine,” Mathew insisted. “You can go.”

“It won’t take too long,” Stacy repeated. “You have your Switch, fully charged. What would you be doing at home? Playing on your Switch.”

Mathew grumbled at the accurate statement. Meanwhile, Larkin was staring out the window, frowning. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the park, honey,” Stacy replied.

“I don’t wanna go,” Larkin whined.

“Why not? It won’t take too long.”

“I dunno,” Larkin said. “But I don’t wanna go.” He slumped in his car seat. “It feels...like this isn’t good. A bad idea.”

“It’s just a short meet-up, Lark,” Stacy said gently. “If you still want to leave after, just let me know, and I’ll drive you back home.”

Larkin still looked a bit upset, almost nervous, but accepted this. The rest of the drive was silent, and soon Stacy pulled up to the city park. “Alright, here we are,” she said, opening the car door and stepping out. It was a bit darker than she’d expected, the sky a dark, dusky blue. It was cold too, but luckily she and the kids had thought to bring their coats. Snow covered the grass in spots where there would’ve been shade in the daytime, and it crunched under their feet. There was a hole in the park, marked with stakes around it, attached with tape. A large shovel was shoved into the ground, standing upright. Stacy glanced into the hole. There was a pipe running along the ground. It appeared this was maintenance for something or other, probably a water pipe. Stacy ushered Larkin away from the hole, just in case.

“Hey Mom?” Mathew asked. “Is that your friend?”

Stacy glanced up. There was a figure standing nearby, underneath an elder tree. She instantly recognized the red hoodie. “Yes, that’s her,” she said, smiling. “C’mon.” She grabbed Larkin’s hand and walked on over, Mathew following close behind. “Hey!” She called.

“Hey, Stacy,” Jaqueline said, waving. “Glad you could make it. These are your kids?”

“Yep.” Stacy closed the distance between her and Jaqueline. “This is Mathew, and this is—Larkin, what’s wrong?”

Larkin had stopped walking, and now looked very pale. He pulled on Stacy’s hand, backing up.

Mathew, noticing this, frowned. “Lark, what’s up?”

“Moooom?” Larkin said in a whisper-shout. “I think we should leave. I don’t think your friend is coming.”

Stacy blinked. “What are you talking about, sweetie? She’s right here.” She pointed at Jaqueline.

Larkin whimpered slightly, and tried harder to pull Stacy away, causing her to stumble.

Jaqueline laughed. “Wow, he must get his sight from his father.”

“What? I mean, if you mean he has his father’s eyes, that’s not right, you can see he takes after me there…” Stacy trailed off. What an odd thing to say.

“Ah, I’m sorry, it’s dark,” Jaqueline said dismissively.

“Oh. It’s okay.” Stacy turned her attention back to Larkin. “Honey, what’s wrong? Do you want to leave?”

Larkin gestured for her to bend down. She did so, and he got up on his tiptoes to whisper in her ear: “Mom, we need to leave soon, before the monster catches on.”

The genuine fear in his voice made Stacy’s heart stop. This wasn’t even the sort of fear she’d heard in his voice when he was younger and scared of monsters under the bed. This was raw, real, life-under-threat fear. “What do you mean?” She asked quietly.

Larkin glanced back over at Jaqueline. “Mom,” he whispered. “I think the demon is tricking you.”

Slowly, Stacy straightened. She slowly looked back over at Jaqueline. This was...this was wrong. Why would Larkin be so afraid of her, call her a monster and a demon? She was perfectly normal.

But...

John had warned her away from Jaqueline. And...and he would know, wouldn’t he? He had a lot more experience with this kind of thing. He’d straight-up said that she wasn’t human, that she was tricking her. And Stacy had brushed it off as paranoia. Which...was sort of true, John was a bit paranoid, but he also knew his stuff. Wasn’t it a good idea to listen to the expert, even if the expert was a bit strange?

Jaqueline laughed. “I’m not good with kids,” she said dismissively. “Maybe he should wait in the car or something.”

“Alone?” Stacy asked, frowning.

“Of course not! The other one can go with him to make sure everything goes okay,” Jaqueline said, her tone soothing. “It won’t be too long while we talk.”

Stacy found herself relaxing, but then it struck her that she shouldn’t be relaxing. She wasn’t about to leave her kids alone in a car while it was dark out! Why would Jaqueline suggest that? Didn’t she know that wasn’t something you were supposed to do with kids?

Wait...had she ever told Jaqueline that she had kids?

She couldn’t remember...

In fact, she couldn’t really remember the specifics of most of their conversations. When she tried to recall how she’d met ‘Jaqueline,’ she only came up with a vague, fuzzy memory of being in a store somewhere.

She squinted at Jaqueline. “You’re just wearing a hoodie. No coat? There’s snow and everything,” she said slowly.

“Oh, I had a coat. I left it in my car cause I didn’t think this would take that long,” Jaqueline said dismissively.

But there wasn’t another car nearby. Actually, she couldn’t even remember what Jaqueline’s car looked like. “And...the hood up?” she asked. “It’s dark.”

“Oh, it’s not too dark.” ‘Jaqueline’ laughed. “What is this, an interrogation? I thought we were just gonna talk.”

Stacy didn’t say anything. She was too busy thinking. Had she ever seen Jaqueline without the hood up? In fact, had she ever seen her without the hoodie?

She then remembered one of the very first questions John had asked her about Jaqueline: What color are her eyes?

She realized she didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t picture Jaqueline’s eye color in her mind. She couldn’t even picture the shape of her features, or recall the pitch of her voice.

Eyes wide, Stacy took a step back.

Jaqueline tilted her head, and took a step closer. “What’s wrong, Stace? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um...Mom?” Mathew asked, confused. Suddenly remembering her kids, Stacy pushed Larkin behind her and went to stand in front of Mathew.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Jaqueline said. Her voice was soothing...intoxicating.

“I just remembered—we left the lights on,” Stacy said casually. “Don’t want to run up the bill. We’ll be right back.”

“It won’t be that bad if you leave them on for a couple hours,” Jaqueline said in that lovely, luring voice. “Don’t worry about it. You worry too much, Stace. I just want to tal—”

WHACK!

Jaqueline’s head whipped to the side as she was hit with enough force to knock her over. Stacy blinked, stepping back, pushing her kids behind her. She looked to the side, and then she saw him. “John?” she whispered.

John backed up, holding a long shovel in both hands—the one from the hole she’d seen earlier. He was breathing heavily, at first looking a bit panicked, but then he turned his eye to Stacy and the kids, and his expression softened with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Stacy said. “How’d you—”

Crack.

The noise drew her attention back to ‘Jaqueline.’ She watched as she—it—slowly stood up. Its head was twisted to the side, far more twisted than it should’ve been. Stacy gasped softly. It rolled its shoulders, the movement accompanied by snapping, crackling sounds. The sounds of bones and stiff flesh. Its hands reached up and grabbed its head, twisting it back into place with one more Crack. A smile stretched its face, just a bit too wide. “Well. That was rude.”

Larkin cried out, burying his face in Stacy’s side. Mathew’s eyes widened. “What the fuck?!” he shouted, staggering backwards. Normally Stacy would’ve chastised him, but in this case, she’d allow it, as she pushed him back behind her.

Before anything else could happen, John stepped in front of Stacy and her kids, holding the shovel in both hands like a weapon. “Back off,” he said, voice firm.

The thing that looked human laughed. “Or what? Are you going to hit me with a shovel again?”

“If I have to,” John retorted. He glanced over his shoulder at Stacy, his eye darting between her and the surrounding areas before turning back to look at the thing.

The smile stretched wider still. “Wow. Good luck with that. This has nothing to do with you, øħŐÁê. Unless...oh, oh you’re the friend she keeps talking about, aren’t you?” John didn’t answer, but the thing gasped like he had. “Oh, you are! She’s calling you John, I suppose you don’t object because it’s not too far off. You’ve been warning her away from me, but she hasn’t listened, has she?”

“Hey, I mean, it paid off in the end.” John glanced back at Stacy again, who was frozen in place, trying to figure out what that one word the thing had called John was. “Here we are, she’s on the other side of you. You failed, so go. Isn’t that sort of your thing?” John looked around the surrounding areas again, glancing back at Stacy with some urgency in his eye. What was that…? Stacy realized he was glancing back towards where she’d parked her car. He was telling her to run.

“So you assumed I wanted her for myself?” The thing sounded amused. “Oh, no. I’ve found humans with children are more resistant than the ones with no family. They have that connection.”

Stacy glanced back at Mathew and Larkin, squeezing Lark’s hand. She also glanced in the car’s direction, and luckily her kids were a lot quicker on the uptake than she had been. Mathew nodded firmly, and Larkin squeezed her hand back, biting his lip and straightening.

Confusion crossed John’s face. “...what?”

“Humans know each other, do you not think that things like us know each other?” The thing smirked. “Misery loves company, and I’m willing to do it a favor.”

The confusion gave way to realization. “Oh my god…” John whispered. Stacy tensed, her eyes wide as she reached the same realization.

“Gods have never been any help to you,” the thing said tauntingly. “Now, if you’ll just step aside—”

John stood up straight. “No.”

The thing’s mouth curved into a scowl, and for a moment its teeth seemed a bit too sharp. “Move,” it growled.

“No. What’re you going to do, kill me?” John smirked, suddenly confident. He gave Stacy one last look. She nodded imperceptibly. A part of her wanted to ask what he was going to do. She didn’t want to just abandon him. But...she had her kids behind her. They were practically everything she had left. She had to protect them at all costs.

Oddly, the thing seemed reluctant to move forward with John in the way. It stepped to the side, only for the movement to be shadowed by John. It hissed, and looked over his shoulder, gaze landing on Stacy. “Hey, Stace,” it said, tone shifting into something more human than not. “Maybe we should—”

Stacy turned and ran, grabbing Mathew by the arm and pulling him and Larkin behind her. She heard a decidedly inhuman shriek, followed by a few sounds of footsteps, then John yelled, and there was a heavy thump! Mathew tried to look over his shoulder, but stumbled and faced forward again.

They reached the car quickly. Stacy pulled open the driver’s side door. “Get in, get in!” She shouted, and Mathew and Larkin climbed into the car through the driver’s door. Larkin tumbled over into the back seat while Mathew smushed against the passenger side window and tried to untangle his legs and sit. Stacy turned the keys—which she just now realized she’d left in the unlocked car—and the engine started. Without even bothering to put on a seatbelt, she hit the gas and threw the car into reverse. It shot out of the parking space, and after a moment of squealing and turning, darted off.

“Mom…?” Mathew said slowly. “What’s going on?”

Stacy glanced at him. “It’s...a long story, Mat. Just...remember how our last house had a ghost?” Mathew’s eyes widened, and she looked away again, back into the park. She could make out two figures rolling around, one apparently pinning the other to the ground. Hitting the brakes, she watched, trying to make out details. But they were...fuzzy. Her eyes were going out of focus, her vision doubling at times. She backed up, pointing her car towards the fighting pair and turning on her high beams. Light flooded the scene, just in time for the figure being pinned to throw off the other and back up. That one was wearing a red hood…

Instinctively, Stacy hit the gas and the car lunged forward, surging over the curb, across the sidewalk and onto the grass. The red hooded one stood up, and seemed to look in her direction, surprisingly unbothered. But perhaps she was making that up, since it was only a few seconds before the front of the car slammed into the red hooded thing. Stacy shouted, Mathew yelled, and Larkin screamed as they all felt the four wheels bump over something. Stacy quickly hit the brakes again, jolting forward. Pain burst in her face, and blood started to trickle from her nose. “Ow! Fuck!” She shouted instinctively, then turned to look at her kids. “Is everyone alright?”

Mathew sat up straight, rubbing his forehead where it had hit the dashboard. Larkin poked his head around the back of Mathew’s seat, looking shaken but unharmed. “We’re okay, Mom,” Mathew muttered, and Larkin nodded.

“Good,” she muttered, and then she rolled down the window and poked her head out. “John?!”

John was standing a mere six inches away from where the car had barrelled forward. After Stacy called for him, he grabbed the back car door and threw it open, climbing inside. “Jesus fucking christ, Stacy!” He shouted.

“Look, I panicked, I didn’t want you to get hurt!” Stacy said.

“Fucking hell!” John slammed the car door closed. “Drive!”

“Drive?” Stacy repeated, puzzled.

“Drive!” John twisted over and pointed out the back windshield. 

Stacy turned around to look, as did Mathew and Larkin. There was a crumpled form laying on the ground, but soon it began to move. Bones audibly snapped back into place, and the thing in the red hood arched its spine, lifting itself up onto its hands and feet in an extreme backbend. With another jerking motion, it elevated onto the tips of its fingers and toes, balancing its whole bent weight on those small points. Its head cracked to the side and back, and its smile widened.

“Oh fuck!” Stacy hit the gas again, just as the thing rushed at them, still in that bizarre bent-backwards position. Stacy swerved to the side and back onto the sidewalk, then off the curb onto the road again. As soon as she hit the road, she sped up even further.

“What was that?! What was that?!” Mathew cried.

“Mat, it’s a monster! Demon!” Larkin said. “Duh!”

“Don’t tell your brother ‘duh,’ Lark,” Stacy said automatically. “And yes, it’s a monster.”

“It was doing like, the crazy thing from The Exorcist!” Mathew shouted. “I thought that was Mom’s friend, was it possessing her?!”

“I don’t think so, honey,” Stacy said. “I think it was always like that, but it made me think it was a human, a-and it got close to me, and—wait, when did you watch The Exorcist?”

“Mom, I think there are more important things to think about right now!” Mathew protested.

“Yeah, I gotta agree with him,” John jumped in. “Keep driving!”

“I’m not stopping!” Stacy snapped. “Why don’t you drive?!”

“I don’t know how,” John said casually.

“You know what that was,” Stacy said to him. “You warned me against it. Then you hit it with a shovel!”

“I would not recommend anyone else to do that,” John said. “That’s just my special circumstances.”

Stacy laughed hysterically. “What special circumstances would let you wrestle an—an eldritch horror to the ground and walk away unhurt?!”

“What, do you want my whole life story?” John asked defensively.

“No, but maybe just something! I’m so sorry for doubting you,” Stacy hurried to say. “Really, I am. But I really don’t know—well, anything about you! I don’t even know your real name.”

John laughed. “I told you my real name! Guess you forgot, too.”

“When did you do that?” Stacy asked, confused. “Did that...thing mess with my memory? Can it do that?”

“Slightly, I think,” John said. “Really it just...it’s really good at suggesting things, to say the least. You lose track of time. Want to spend more time with it. Will do anything it asks. Last time I saw it, it had wormed its way so far into someone’s head that it made him lose his fucking mind, the guy was so out of it and just screaming for this thing to come get him.” He shivered a bit. “Anyway—”

Slam!

Stacy screamed as something hit the back of the car. Something red that rolled right off the back windshield, leaving a long group of five scratches. The kids screamed in unison. “Holy shit! What the fuck?!” Stacy started to hit the brakes, then glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a figure in a red hood standing up. She then decided to speed up instead of slow down. “How’d it get here so quickly?!”

“Oh, what, you think the laws of space govern these guys?! No! If anything, it’s the other way around!” John looked out the back again. “Fuck, you need to get out of town. There’s no time to get anything from your house.”

“What? Noooo,” Larkin protested.

“Lark, honey, do you want the demon to find us again?” Stacy asked.

Larkin closed his mouth, and silently shook his head.

“It doesn’t usually follow people who get away,” John muttered. “This is weird…” He glanced at Stacy. “Did you get the same feeling that I got?”

“That this thing was somehow working with the thing in that house?” Stacy asked.

John nodded.

“Well, if we get out of the city, it’ll leave us alone, right?” Stacy asked hopefully.

“Uh...no.” John sounded almost apologetic. “I know this one. It’s not bound to one place like the house thing was. It’s a wanderer. It’ll be able to follow us anywhere we go.”

“What?!” Stacy slapped the steering wheel. “Where are we supposed to go, then?!”

“Uh…” John trailed off. “I mean...you can always do what I do and...go around. Not stay in one place too long.”

Stacy paused. “Wait, is this thing the thing that…?”

“Ohhhh, no.” A slightly unhinged smile grew on John’s face. “Definitely not.”

Stacy fell silent for a while. She appeared to be concentrating on the road and not hitting anything at high speeds, but she’d still glance back at John every so often.

“Look, what do you want me to say, Stacy?!” John suddenly snapped, picking up on the glances. “That I clicked on some random video online that I thought was just an ordinary scary Internet video like fucking Blair Witch and then the video freaked out with glitches and my life went to shit from that moment on?! Cause, y’know, I don’t feel like talking about my time in literal hell!”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Stacy said. Then she sighed, and repeated, more sincerely, “I’m sorry. I’m just...we can’t just wander around. The kids need stability, and to, you know...not be in danger.”

“That would be nice,” Mathew muttered.

John nodded silently. After a moment, he said tentatively, “There...might be one place it won’t follow us.”

“Where?” Stacy immediately asked.

“It’s a town in Ireland,” John said. “It won’t go near there.”

Stacy paused. “Why?”

“Uh...well.” John hissed, sucking air through his teeth. “More...supernatural shit. But if you don’t go into the woods, you should be okay. And at least you can, y’know, stay there. Instead of travelling all around Europe, afraid for your life.”

Stacy thought about it for a while. It was either this, or constantly flee. She sighed. “Alright, fine. How do we get there?”

“Uh, well, first you need to get to Ireland, so head west.” John glanced out the car window. “We’ve left town already, I see.”

“West. Okay.” Stacy awkwardly dug her phone out of her pocket—difficult under most circumstances, more dangerous when she was going this fast. She handed it to Mathew. “Mathew, can you use my GPS, please? Tell me how to head west.”

Mathew nodded, opening up the Maps app. Then he suddenly gasped. “I left my phone in the house.”

“We left a lot in the house,” Stacy sighed.

“I mean…” John piped up. “I grabbed your handgun.”

Stacy jumped, then coughed as Mathew and Larkin stared at her. “You...did, huh? When?”

“That night you left the kids alone and got arrested,” John explained. “I found it in your room. Wanted to make sure you didn’t...have anything that could hurt anyone. So I, uh, confiscated it. Put it with the rest of my stuff.” He paused. “Uh...then, earlier today, when I started to leave, I, uh...decided I couldn’t just...y’know, leave...you alone. So I, uh...put my stuff in your trunk.”

Stacy blinked. “Oh...I didn’t lock it?”

“You did. I picked it.” John smiled faintly. “Handy trick I figured out.”

“...huh.” Stacy bit her lip. “Maybe you can teach us how to do that.”

The car sped through the dark night, heading west, not stopping for as long as possible. And somewhere else, a thing in a red hood eventually stopped following. If they were heading where it thought they were heading, it would probably be for the best if he stayed away.

Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat. And more things hidden in the darkness that would be willing to help.

[threeminutesoflife]

Flaying a(n Albert) Fish

Pairings: Clint x Dark!Reader x Steve Summary: Reader extracts revenge against a monster. Warnings: 18+, dark reader, blood/gore, serial killer similar to Albert Fish- mentions of sexual assault and death against children- no description, home invasion, kidnapping, cannibalism, body parts, murder Word Count: 4.5k

Halloween Challenge- Are You Afraid of the Dark @barnesrogersvstheworld  Thank you for hosting! Hope you have a fantastically Haunted and Happy Halloween!

prompt: #20 monster

“I would say sorry for not having smaller hands, since that’s what you prefer... and this’ll be the last time you feel anything warm on it...” you snarled at him coldly, “but we both know I’m not.”

Taking a step away from him, you twirled the hammer in your hand.

“Don’t forget to scream- just like they did. Because this is going to hurt,” you reeled the weapon back behind your head. “So. Very. Much.”

Deafening screams filled the house as you connected again and again, bludgeoning his depravity. 

Bursts of air flared from your nostrils, while you tried to collect yourself and settle your breathing.

Blood dribbled down the end of the hammer adding to the growing puddle of inside-out remains between you both.  Adrenaline slowed and your knuckles cracked as you jerkily loosened the grip on the hammer.

Tossing the weapon to the side, you eyed the new bastardized art piece. Blood spilled out, a waterfall between his legs. Tormented whimpers, broken sobs and dying struggles for breath; all his suffering brought a sense of warm achievement in your chest. 

The police scanner bounced off your old Tower bedroom walls again.

You knew FRIDAY could simply stream the chatter, but there was something nostalgic about pushing buttons and twirling knobs.

You’ve listened to scans and phone calls, examined emails and files, plotted an idea of homegrown justice, and researched possible suspects. It was a haunting police case taking up your attention in between the missions. Maps and photos hugged your wall with notes crisscrossing over other various notes.

FRIDAY recorded the scans and police emails when you were away. Ever vigilant to highlight any details or new findings from the police mainframe about the intruder, who was preying on families with young children.

Which is where you read that the gags he placed between the children’s teeth- were all torn from what they determined to be one main source, a blanket. A dark line of all the better to hush them with came to your mind.

According to the notes, the gags' frayed ends matched each other when lined up. FRIDAY displayed the crime photos that showcased how the arrangement made an old, faded cartoon character emerge. Police thought the sexual intruder, dubbed the boogeyman, was ripping up his own childhood blanket to use in his assaults. One detective scribbled a possibility that the intruder's gags meant he was sentimental- and this was a way to intimately share himself and be closer to the victims.

You hoped the sentimental criminal slipped up on a small detail, perhaps overlooking the copyright year by the licensed character design. A small something to help narrow down his age, but unfortunately no. The print design was too timelessly popular and none of the victims left living could describe him.

And with no leads, the crimes continued. The boogeyman kept breaking into homes in the middle of the night to preform heinous acts. He threatened to kill the parents and siblings of the terrified children to keep them quiet and pliable.

Families were terrified for their children, scared their homes would be next. If victimizing the children out of their innocence wasn't monstrous enough, he'd hog tie them with duct tape and hide them away in their closets or stuff them into toy chests. Then he'd ransack the homes, randomly pocketing worthless items before leaving.

It was a grim thought you always had when reviewing the crime photos, it was like the children were his play things and he was simply plucking them off the floor, clearing them away when he was done with them. This monster needed to be stopped before he broke more toys and threw them away completely.

But it was always the same- until it wasn't.

Michael Robertson's small body recovered from river.

Steve was well-aware how this case was taking over your attention. From the smaller missions you traded or tried to give away to other teammates- to the many nights you kept the middle of his and Clint's bed empty.

Both men clearly remembered the cold shoulder you served them when Steve sent you out on a two week mission, pulling rank and ordering you to comply. Clint sided with him believing a break away from the case would help. As begrudgingly as you felt at the time, it did help to be away from the white noise of the scanners. Until FRIDAY sent you an urgent message- another child victimized a few days into the mission, this one resulting in death. His body found a day before you got back.

Breaking News: CHILD TAKEN, BODY FOUND.

Michael Robertson, age 6, kidnapped from home while parents slept. Killer removed boy's pajamas and laid them out on child's bed for parents to find next morning.

You knew you were losing yourself more and more in this police case, but with the hysteria emerging on the streets now that the boogeyman claimed another victim, one resulting in death, you expected additional branches of law force to step in soon. And you didn't want to deal with another player on the field.

You wanted this guy. He gave you something to sharpen your attention on and the want grew in you to strike him down. It was a tumor-like revenge. The team noticed you pulled away from evening dinners and movie nights. They began murmuring their concerns among each other and then to Steve and Clint. 

While looking over more crime scene photos about the Robertson case, FRIDAY announced Wanda would be making cottage pie for dinner tonight. Glancing at your watch, 3pm, you mindlessly mumbled a 'no thank you' and then froze. Slapping the desk, you knocked an empty cup over onto mission reports you've been avoiding to fill out much to Steve's annoyance.

“FRIDAY, please bring up the old police notes about cottage- about home repairs or work crews. Wait, how far back did the police look?”

“The officers went back three years, Miss. No common links appeared.”

You scanned over the photos of children and their similar ages of 6 and 7. Would he have waited for more than three years to attack? He would have known the homes' layouts, he broke in so easily to each child's bedroom. If he did wait, for how long? Why wait so long?

Your gut was rarely wrong, and the home repair angle felt like something solid, “FRIDAY, please run all the family's credit cards and bank accounts to see if there were any repair companies or purchases done within the last five years.”

Looking at the youngest victims' age, Gabrielle Reyes with her toothy smile just turned 6, “If nothing, please try six.”

An electronic chorus poured in your room as computer alerts went off, reports fired across the screen.

A description and photo of self-employed contractor photo, Randall Williams, looked back at you.

FRIDAY ran off the newly found information. The victims' families hired his company in the past four to five years. Rachel Collins' home was his last before heading out of state. He was recently released five months ago from an out of state prison for a buffet of reasons, one being incident exposure.  

“Miss, I took the liberty to run his payment history. He's been paying for a storage unit over the last eight years under a different name and P.O. Box number.”

You scoffed with a mix of thankfulness for Williams' laziness of leaving a trail and a curse that the repair history was not run back further in the beginning.

“Send me the address for the storage unit and his current address please, FRIDAY. And don't forget you're beautiful!”

Snatching your leather jacket and utility bag, you ran past Steve and Clint, who were folded against one another on the couch.

“I'll be back tomorrow. Don't wait up, my loves!” You called out to them over the action movie.

Clint and Steve stared at your figure fading quickly out the door, both pairs of eyes zeroing in on your large utility bag. They turned back towards each other and exchanged a knowing look. Steve dragged his hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

Unfolding himself from Steve, Clint kissed his cheek and patted his thigh, “I'm on it.”

Picking up his keys and jacket, Clint paused and took in Steve's concerned expression. “Hey, don't worry.”

Steve only sighed again as a reply and let his head hit the back of the couch. The sound of the door locking behind Clint drowned out the explosions on screen.

—

A fresh tank of gas, a new box of protein bars and a couple bottles of water later, you pulled into the storage facility. Stretching your limbs from the two hour drive, you took in the old property. It was run down with no foot traffic or desk clerk. The only camera you could see around the buildings was pointed at the office door, lens broken.

After grabbing your leather gloves and pulling the crowbar from the trunk, you went to work on the unit's lock.

Randall Williams reminded you of New York's grandfather serial killer, Albert Fish. Breaking into the storage container and shifting through his boxes, the incriminating photos he had of known and unknown victims were simply too hard to look at.

This man, this thing, was something that needed to be put down. The police were right in calling him a boogeyman. But they didn't know the accuracy of the nickname especially since it was once bestowed to Albert Fish himself.

You hoped Williams wasn't a cannibal, yet.

The young faces looked out at you from the photographs, some with tears and others with defiance. There so many, so many unrecognizable faces. You could feel the acid burn starting to rise in your chest. For a second, you wanted to talk yourself into believing these newly discovered victims were fake snuff photos he collected along the way, but you knew better and you saw the gags. Some with the same design used on the recorded victims. This was the man you’ve been looking for, and this man was a monster. 

Eyes watered and the taste of bile rose in the back of your throat. With a shaky hand, you read a recipe of brown butter and sautéed onions with human flesh. A list of spices and measurements. Your memory flashed to the little Robertson boy with questionable wound and knife markings.

Flipping through the journal you read Williams’ comments next to the favored recipes and the preferred cooking techniques.

How long has this been going on? Your eyes darted to the stacks of photos with mystery faces.

There was a strange recipe of your own growing within you; ingredients of anger, sadness, disgust, revenge.

Laying the photos out on the cement floor, you surveyed the expanding collection of tragedy. You shuffled your feet across the ground and paused before each photo. 4x6, 5x7 and 8x10’s created a paper train of frozen mementos from each child’s nightmare. On the shelf, another box of negatives caught your eye. 

Monster.

Your body felt heavier with each photo; guilt and sorrow for not stopping these events from happening, even if you never knew some occurred until now. You sent out an apology and prayer in your mind for them all. 

“I’m fine. Be back in a few days. Love you, see you.” You quickly sent the text to Steve and Clint. Leaving you the grim photos on the ground, you pulled the storage door closed behind you. Pointing your car west, you drove off to deliver revenge and extract other things.

Randall Williams lived outside of a small town on a neighbor-less dirt road. Parking your car a safe distance away, you quietly made your way to his neglected looking home.

The house was quiet, dark and smelled sour. The sliding door was unlocked. Flipping the safety off your gun, you slowly slid it open. Suppose monsters don't have a lot to worry about.

Closing it behind you, you immediately covered your nose with back of your hand and tried to save your sense of smell from the pungent stench. The kitchen reeked of moldy food and ignored trash. You would have thought the home was abandoned, except the mail on the counter was stamped with this week's date.

Walking around, a calendar caught your attention. Next week's dates were circled and marked, Growing Dreams Day Care- install shelving. Biting your cheek, you tried to bury down the rage.

Creeping quietly in what you assumed to be the direction of the bedroom, you gingerly opened the door with your fingertips, gun ready in your other hand. Bathroom.

Squaring your shoulders, you made your way further down the hall. The second door held the right answer. There laying on his stomach, snoring in a pair of dirty briefs was the small statured, unaware boogeyman.

Three quick fast steps into the room, you came up to the bed and kicked the mattress. “Hey! Devil's Reject!”

Randall's eyes shot open and he flipped himself over to sit up.

CRACK!

You slammed the butt of your gun on his jaw. “Hurts, don't it?”

He let out an unearthly growl and groggily scrambled up, attempting to right himself to lunge at you. Bringing your boot up and kicking him back in his sternum, his head slammed against the wall and cracked the stained plaster.

“Nighty-night, fucker,” you smashed your gun against his face again.

Grabbing his legs, you pulled his unconscious, dirty body down the hallway. Dragging him through the kitchen, you were about to set him up at the kitchen table when you saw another door.

The door creaked open and basement steps greeted you, “Bingo.”

Bringing Randall's body around, you positioned him by the stairs and let him topple down the steps without a care.

Skipping down after him, you heaved Randall's body into position. After securing him to a chair, you took the time to exam the basement and survey his workspace until he woke.

You stared almost uninterested at the bound man before you. The toe of your boot lifted the lid of his unlocked tool box and knocked it open.

“So how’s the carpentry business?” an air of indifference in your question as you reached in and pulled out several hammers before spying a box of nails.

The man only muffled and grunted against the material wrapped around his mouth.

“Yeah, sorry about that gag I suppose,” you examined the different tools in your hands, flipping them from side to side testing their weight.

“Not the same blanket you tore off for your victims, but I did make sure to grab your dirtiest work rags. So please, wet it down real good and enjoy the taste.”

Standing up, you swung the hammer around, “Ah, this is the one.”

He eyed you with hatred as he rocked and rammed his body against the ropes in hopes to loosen them. Frantic sounds erupted deep from within his chest only to be stifled by the gag, when he realized the restraints wouldn’t give. 

You hummed in pleasure at the trapped animal before you.

“Girl Scouts,” you nodded toward the knots on his body, “Don’t let the cookie sales fool you, asshole. Us little Daisies grow up to be Venus flytraps later in life.” 

He rocked his body forward again as you bent down and picked up the box of nails.

“Not interested in what you want to say. Plead innocent, plead guilty. Shit, I don't even care if you regret every monstrously thing you've ever did. Actually, don’t give a fuck if you don’t regret it either. All that matters is that it ends here, that you end here. I know you checked out those homes you worked on, picking out the children and then coming back for them. Like some twisted human layaway plan. That was a hell of wait, but I bet you had nothing else to think about when you were locked away. ”

Reveling in his fear, you circled him. You could practically smell the panic ooze out his pores. “Ever hear about the serial killer, Albert Fish? Preyed on kids, ate them even. You both had common interests, similar ways- he your inspiration? My gut told me within time, you'd be like him.”  

Dancing your fingertips across the tops of his shoulders, you emphasized each word with a tap, “And. You're. Already. There.”

Williams knocked his head side to side, trying to shake off your touch. He glared in your direction but refused to make eye contact.

“But there's a thing you’re missing from being so very much like him. A subtle difference to some, but devil's in the detail- am I right?”

You shook the box of nails up to his ear as you leaned by his other.

“He stuck pins in his groan, 29 to be exact. They have x-rays of it. No, no, I shit you not. So we're going to improvise with these nails and recreate it on you,” you bopped him on the nose. “Artistic interpretation and all.”

Driving the nails into him with a hammer, you randomly picked spots along his inner thigh and pelvis. “Do you like astronomy? Should I make the Little Dipper?”

He howled against his restraints. Drool and hatred running down his chin. Randall passed out on nail number eight, when it was jammed into his testicle, but came back around for the thirteenth nail while you slapped him awake. He passed out again on the twenty-third nail and you carried on without your audience.

“Oh good! You're awake- again,” false happiness laced your voice. “Take a look at the new additions!”

Swiftly grabbing the back of his head, you forced him to crane his neck awkwardly downward as he tried resisting.

“Oh good god. Stop bawling already,” walking around to his front, you brought the hammer down and smashed it against his left kneecap.

More cries of anguish poured out of Randall.

Reaching back into his toolbox, you crouched down in front of him, “you only have yourself to blame- for all of this. But also because you kept passing out on me- and that… well that, gave me time to think.”

You delivered a Cheshire grin and held up a pair of pruners.

His body shook and he screamed at you through the gag as you painfully pulled down on his nailed testicles. You quickly shoved the pruners around one sweaty ball. His right nut rested between the tool's blades, the nail stuck out below. His body convulsed in pain as you smiled and began cutting into him.

Randall's shoulders involuntarily shook as he wailed incoherently. After a few minutes his shoulders fell down around him, making him smaller with the weight of defeat.

Pressing the toe of your boot into his broken kneecap, you slowly and gradually applied more pressure, “Pay attention, fuckface. There’s still more I can cut from you.”

Blood painted his cheek as you tapped his face with the pruner’s blades, You pulled down his gag and he reeled his head away.

You plucked his testicle off the floor, “Hm. Kind of looks like a weird party appetizer, meatball and blood gravy. Gore gravy? You think that sounds better? Here. Want to try?”

Twirling the hammered nail between your thumb and finger, his detached ball freckled his cheek and forehead with blood. Threads of veins and skin twirled on the air like streamers. 

“Blow on it, might be hot,” you cackled at your joke.

“Fuck you!” Randall cursed through shaky, chapped lips, gaping in pained disbelief at his removed appendage.

“Tsk-tsk,” you snapped the meatball appetizer back and forth on front of his eyes. “That bad, lousy fucking attitude and those actions is what got you here, motherfucker.” 

You sneered at him coldly. “Don't make me get creative. Could always skin away pieces of you and wrap them around other parts,” you dramatically cut the air with the human hors d'oeuvre and pointed at his crotch with it, “like pigs in a blanket. Foreskin's optional, you know.”

He started paling between your words and the blood loss, silently staring wide-eyed when visualizing your threat.

“Now,” you stepped between his bounded legs, “Open up, fucker. Time to try, then die.”

Pinching his cheeks, you forced his mouth open and scrapped the nail against his teeth until his ball rested in the back of his mouth. Horror filled Randall's eyes as the taste of warm iron hit his tongue.

Quickly grabbing the sides of his head, you abruptly raised your knee and slammed it up against his jaw. “Enjoy.”

A mixed sound of wet squishing and teeth cracking sang throughout the basement as Randall sobbed. The deflated testicle and pieces of teeth fell from his mouth between his hysterical wails. You leaned against the wall until his banshee screams subsided, a mask of boredom across your face.

When his shoulders stopped shaking and he settled to broken whimpers, you punched him again and slid the gag back in place between blood-coated teeth.

“And now, for our final act,” you callously taunted as you eyed his maimed and bloody crotch. Locking eyes with Randall, you jerked your chin in to the direction of his tools, “Ready?”

—

Standing before Randall's crumpled body, you heard your name float down from the top of the stairs, “Sweetheart, it’s time to go now.”

Clint silently made his way over, stepping between you and Williams’ broken corpse.  

He pulled out a plastic bag from his utility vest and held it out to you with his own gloved hands.

“Meet you back at the car?” you inquired as you stuffed your bloody gloves into the bag he always provided.

“Always,” Clint kissed your forehead and tucked the soiled bag away. “Go on now, gonna do a once over here and I'll meet you. Love you.”

“Love you,” you backed away and made your way to the car.

Clint pulled out several photographs of Williams’ victims and scattered them around his corpse. Picking up the bloodied hammer, he cringed when seeing a few pubic hairs stuck to it. He promptly dropped the tool on top of the victim's photos.

When he followed you to the storage unit, he figured the photos would come in handy for what he knew you'd do next. As he resumed to tail you from the warehouse, he decided to make an anonymous tip to the police about the storage unit when you were done. He didn't want to risk any evidence showing who Randall Williams really was could be overlooked.  

Back at the car, you turned up the volume and resumed listening to your audiobook. You didn't have to wait long, soon Clint tapped on your passenger window asking you to unlock the door.

Dropping into the passenger seat and assessing your appearance, Clint raised your hand to his lips for a quick kiss, “You look more content already.”

“Only because it’s over and I get to go home to you and Steve,” you smiled and cupped his face. “Thank you.”

“Never have to thank us, sweetheart.”

He rolled his cheek into the warmth of your hand. Your fingers skimmed through the top of his hair. You liked to tease that his hair felt softer with the mohawk. 

Blessed is what you felt. You found a home with Clint and Steve. And they accepted your need to play judge, jury and executioner. 

Clint tapped your thigh and gave it a squeeze, “Let’s get home to him, sweetheart. He’s been worried.”

He reached behind your seat and pulled out the unopened box of protein bars, “See, you plan well but then forget details like this.”

Ripping the box open, he freed a bar from its wrapper, “Eat.”

You wanted to object for a moment and say you were fine, but Clint's tone was laced with a plead, not a command.

“When we get back he'll want to feed us, you know. No one was happy you skipped another dinner.”

You chuckled at Clint's reminder about Steve's concerns and opened a bottled water, “What about your car?”  

“Had FRIDAY drive itself home.”

Humming at his answer, you capped the water, “Ready?”

Clint nudged your arm and took the bottle for himself, “Yes. And tomorrow we'll have a long talk about you being more aware of your surroundings. You were so blindly driven, you didn't notice me following like you usually do.”

—

When FRIDAY announced your return home, Steve felt he could breath easy again. He knew what these kills meant to you and the sense of serenity they brought.

Determined to make your and Clint’s return as smooth as possible, he put on your favorite playlist and he spread out the 24hr takeout menus.

He heard you before seeing you, smiling at the sight of you and Clint rounding the corner. Your legs swung back and forth, head tipped back with laughter, humor staining your expressive lips as Clint gave you a piggy back ride. A smile of Clint’s own beamed across his face at Steve as he set you down. 

“Hey, doll.” Not hiding his admiration for you, Steve scooped you up into a tight embrace.

“Hey, handsome.” With a kiss on his jaw, you nuzzled in closer to him. 

Opening up your embrace, you both pulled Clint into the hug.

Steve pressed his forehead against Clint's temple, “Thank you for being careful and bring you both back safely.”

Clint leaned into Steve's words, “Never have to thank me.”

Steve kissed Clint soundly and turned his gaze on you, “Give me everything you need burned.”

You nodded at his request and pulled out the bloody bag.

“Weapons?”

You turned your head shyly towards Clint, and he slightly shivered as he replayed in his mind what you orchestrated in the basement. 

“She used his own. Left them there with some incriminating photos. Less things to carry back,” Clint explained to Steve.

Tilting your head at Clint's mention of photos, you truly realized then just how absorbed you were for not noticing him at the storage unit. Hearing Steve call your name, you gave Clint a soft smile before turning back around.   

“Alright, doll. You know the next part. Strip.”

Without a second thought to his request, you swiftly slipped out of your jacket and boots, followed by your top and pants.

“Always love this part, sweetheart, ” Clint murmured behind you.

“Me, too. She looks so pretty with that new sense of accomplishment. Don’t you, doll?”

You laughed at your boyfriends’ praises, “Gonna go shower now. We eating soon?”

“Pulled out some menus when you two got back. I was thinking that little Italian place.”

“Sounds delicious,” you left for the shower after gifting both men a slow, appreciative kiss. “Maybe come join me before the food arrives?”

Both men hummed in appreciation as they watch you walk down the hall.

“I’ll get hers. Gotta wash mine, too.” Clint offered, collecting your soiled items from Steve to bring to the laundry room and incinerator. 

Clint stepped into the elevator but froze suddenly when he saw Steve holding the Italian menu.

“Steve!” Clint frantically called out, forcefully pushing the elevator doors apart. “Order mine without meatballs!”