#do NOT come into my ask box over this argue with a fuckin brick

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

if I have to see one more ‘dabi is irredeemable in the narrative and therefore has to die’ post I’m gonna commit arson

[ickymichi]

KNOCKOUT!

h. shinsou

warnings: swearing, fighting, vulgar talk, slight toxic behaviour.

things to know: underground fighter au, no quirk au! shinsous kinda ooc ig

word count: 1.5k

note: didn’t know how to end this as per. but was originally gonna be a lyric fic but then i said no. also pls do not be afraid to send on anything about this shinsou cause he’s currently clouding the membrane! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

underground fighter!shinsou who came home 3 hours after his fight supposedly ended. unfortunately you couldn’t attend this one as you had your own work shift overlapping the fight times. you stayed up until the devils hour waiting for the tall male to trudge through the door, his usual large duffle bag either full of winning money or spare clothes slung over his shoulder.

“where were you?” one the bag hit the floor you spoke first, leaning against the wall while watching him toe off his air force. “what dya’ mean? i was at a match, you know that” he grumbled with a slight roll of his eyes and walked past you to the stuffy kitchen—silently noting another small hole in the wall—. “yeah i know that,” you said with a ‘duh’ tone, “but that ended three hours ago. where have you been in that time.”

shrugging his shoulders he finished off his water and lent on his elbows against the counter. “at the bar with the guys, what? i cant celebrate a win anymore? jesus” you looked at him like he told you he’d just grown an arm and three legs. “so you just didn’t think of inviting me, but every other bitch you kno-” “you were at fuckin’ work, i’m hardly gonna ask when i know the answer.”

again he rolled his eyes to the man above while lifting his hoodie over his frame and into the washing machine leaving him in his white wife beater, finally making his way out to the balcony while pulling a cigarette from the box in his pocket. “you know i finished just after the match was over, you couldn’t of just asked? was it to hard?” hitoshi blew the smoke in your opposite direction and looked towards you. “i cant have one night with my friends without you you attached to my hip all night huh? christ i’ll invite you next time if it annoys you that much woman” “so you think i’m clingy?” you scoffed with your arms crossed over your chest. hitoshi dryly laughed and looked down to the dark streets, people yelling and some coming home from night clubs and bars alike.

“maybe sometimes i think i do (y/n), listen to yourself right now.” your lips fell into a thin line at his comment, making you sigh and push yourself off the railing. “fuck you shinsou” you heard him kiss his teeth and turn to follow you through the narrow halls. “so i’m the bad guy again? all i said was that i didn’t want you hanging off my hip,” hitoshi went to follow you into the bedroom but was met with the door slammed in his face. “(y/n) baby please, c’mon i’m sorry i didn’t mean it in that way okay? just open the door please,” he waited another few seconds before hearing you shuffle then swing the door to show your glossy eyes. “one more chance hitoshi, one more and i swear if you pull shit like this i’m gone”

The bright lights, constant shouting, stuffy crowds and the smell of blood was something you grew accustomed to over the past year and a half. Thankfully, you didn’t have to get lumped into the huge crowd, being shinsous partner you you a seat at the ringside beside his trainers.

Tonight he was up against a rather tough opponent, one who played as dirty as the sport itself. And Hitoshi was feeling the effects of his foul play by the third round. His chest heaving, the hard muscles covered in sweat and a mix between his own and the other guys blood. You could already see that he would have a black eye and bruises along his cheek, aswell as a busted eyebrow.

Even with all his current injuries, it wasn’t like the fighter opposite him wasn’t feeling it either. Anyone could see he was just as tired as Shinsou, a limp in his step showing a particular hit to the stomach had him doubling.

“keep going ‘toshi one more hit and he’s out!” your lilac haired lover perked up slightly at the sound of your encouragement, brining his tape wrapped hands back up from his side, flexing them to feel the hard guard on his knuckles press against his skin. “oh? That your own little supporter?” the tan male taunted at shinsou, making him raise an eyebrow for a split second until he realised what the comment meant.

“yeah? What of it?”

“she looks like she’s taste real nice, bet she does huh? Probably wouldn’t put up much of a fight if I tried to get a taste myself” Hitoshi felt his blood boil at his words. “fuck off and just focus on what’s infront of you jackass” he chuckled darkly at Shinsou’s words and let a lopsided grin take over his beat up face. “ah c’mon sh must be sweet as if your gettin’ all tough. c’mon just once taste of that little kitty ca-”

Shinsou didn’t let him finish his vulgur sentence before he brought his leg up aiming his shin to kick into his unprotected rib cage. The minute his opponent hit the floor Hitoshi was on top him landing punch after punch to his face. “He’s out Shinsou! He’s out!” both his trainers lept up into the ring to pull him off the man who was now out cold. As they held him back Shinsou spat down onto the other fighter before raising a fist in the air.

—

“you did so good out there ‘toshi. ‘m really proud” you leant more into his side seaking the warmth you needed as you walked through the dark city streets. Hitoshi winced slightly as you pressed against a growing bruise, but of course he wasn’t going to tell you to get off him so he kept quiet. “thanks babe. did it all for you of course” he said the end of his sentence in a playful tone while pressing a kiss to your cheek. Knowing that the both of you find those lovey dovey parts of relationships too funny to take serious.

“how ‘bout we go celebrate in the bar, we can go alone or meet up with the others.” You hummed as an indication that you were thinking of an answer to five before letting a teasing grin grace your features. “we can do that, but I kinda wanna take my winnings first.”

He didn’t know exactly what you meant until you were leading him to the darker alley at the side of the path, falling against the cold brick. His eyes trained your face for until you brought your hands to his bruised cheek to pull him down, meeting his split lip halfway.

Hitoshi only pulled away until he felt his lungs beg for air. Once he did he took your smaller face in his large hands, holding you as if you were a fragile piece of fine china. Looking at you as if you were an angel sent from above for his viewing. He felt his chest tighten as you brought your hands to rest over his own, careful of the cuts and bruises along his knuckles.

“fuck, I fucking love you so much baby. Wont let anyone say shit or do anything to you. promise” he whispers as he brought his lips back to your own. Nearly Going against your claims of ‘hating the lovey dovey shit of relationships.”

“You ever think of quitting all this?”

Your voice was just above a whisper. Taking your boyfriend out of a slight trance he was in. “uh yeah sometimes I guess, why?” you shrugged at his question, really because you didn’t want an argument to start up. You know shit would hit the fan if you told him that you hated his job, how you hate that nearly every night you have to clean his beat up face in your cramped bathroom. You know he’d argue that it’s the only way to get money. Your job barely scraping the monthly rent if it wasn’t for his.

“i know what your thinking, and I can’t just quit because you don’t like seeing me with a few cuts and bruises” he laughed slightly at the soft pout now on your lips, letting his hands fall on your hips to rub against the exposed skin. “but sometimes it’s not just cuts and bruises hitoshi. Like 2 weeks you nearly broke two ribs for gods sake.” “yeah, but i didn’t. so I don’t see why your all mad about it. it’s not like I haven’t been taking beatings all my life anyway, what’s some weaklings that are only trying to make quick money.”

You couldn’t really argue with his point, and again, you weren’t going to because you didn’t feel like going to sleep in an empty bed. “isn’t that what your doing?” playfully, he slapped your ass and narrowed his eyes. “hey, i’m not some weakling. You see these guys?” you gave a noise of affirmation as you reached up to feel his bicep. “okay big guy calm it while I kiss your boo boos better.”

[babylooneytoonz]

A Gangster's Heart - Tommy Shelby x Reader

A/N : I just felt like writing this because I was feeling weirdly emotional when I woke up. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread it so please pardon me if there are some grammatical shits. I was on a Peaky Blinders hiatus and I just hadn't written in so long, please forgive me if this is bad .

Warnings : Just Angst , Mentions of vulgarity

You glared at the man in the Blinder cap that was leaning against the doorframe of your quaint little shop in Small Heath, Birmingham City. You pulled out a small brown box from one of the drawers and slammed it rather loudly against your desk, sliding the keys in as you twisted it around and the box unlocked with an unceremonious click. You looked at the bills that were securely resting inside, and a hollow feeling filled you up when you realized that you had been saving this to buy your mother that dress at the seamstress shop.

"I always pay my bloody rent. This month the business 's tight. I even told Finn that this month I need a relaxation on the bloody rent and I will pay it all with the next month's rent. Why are you here again asking for the goddamn money?"

"Listen, Miss, we really are in no fucking position to not do what Tommy asks us to, so if Tommy –“ the man you knew as Curly shuffled the weight of his body from his left foot to right, and his palm slid into the pocket of his pants as he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"So if Tommy asks you to jump off a fucking building, you are going to jump off the fucking building, yeah?' Exasperated, you slammed the box shut, and slid it back into the drawer again.

"I can come back tomorrow, Mr. Shelby won't ask me for the money until 9 in the morning. I can come collect it at 8."

You let out a loud groan of frustration, and involuntarily, your elbows came to rest on the desk as you buried your face into your palms. Finally taking a deep breath, you looked up, and your lips parted, your lower lip almost quivering, "Listen, I - I can't bloody pay Tommy the rent this month, the business is tight, and I barely made enough to pay my apartment rent."

Curly almost shook his head, scratching the side of his face as his hand mechanically flew up to his lips and he took a drag of his cigarette. Finally he nodded, and cleared his throat, "T's okay, Miss Y/L/N, I'll inform Tommy."

"You do that." You nodded and watched him leave. Almost instantly, you slammed your fist against your desk in frustration and let out an unceremonious groan, more so at the sudden onset of a headache at the side of your head. "Great, just fucking great."

An hour later, you grabbed your trenchcoat, throwing your arms through the sleeves in a hurried manner, and wrapped your scarf around your neck to keep yourself warm. These days, you were staying at your shop for longer hours, and this meant that you left from the shop at the odd night hours, mostly after 10. You grabbed your house keys, and walked out of the shop, your boots crushing the faint hue of ice that blanketed the streets of Small Heath, and you locked your shop.

Hugging the side of your arms, you started walking down the sidewalk, keeping your head to the ground, when you heard the sound of hushed whispers that made your head snap up in the direction of the voices. For the people of Small Heath, the men who belonged to the Peaky Blinders always stood out, perhaps it was because of how they dressed, and the unmistakable razorblade caps on top of their heads.

Of course, Tommy Fucking Shelby had sent them to probably collect the rent from you. You didn't know what came over you, but the nearest you could classify it as was a fit of rage, as you found yourself walking towards the men, your nostrils flared, and your fingers clenched together in a fist, balling the side of your coat.

"Listen here, I already told Curly that I'm in no fucking position to pay this month's bloody rent. You can all go and tell your boss that intimidating me by sending you lads is not going to fucking get me to pay the fucking rent."

One of the man took of his cap and stepped a bit closer, raising both his hands in the air, "but Miss Y/N, Mr. Shelby hasn't – "

"Oh, please lad. Don't justify the threatening acts of your boss, just because he runs your razorblade gang, it doesn't mean that I'm scared of him. Where the fuck is he anyway? I would rather settle this with him on his bloody face than stand around in the middle of the street at 10 at night and argue with you all." You huffed, as words shot out of your mouth like bullets raining down on them. The man who had began speaking stood there with his jaw slightly hanging, and no words came out of his lips.

"Well, I'm gonna go and settle this at the betting shop. Talk directly with Tommy." Before waiting for them to reply, you turned your tail, and started walking down the same street again, in the same direction from where you had come. But this time, your steps were confident, your head was raised as you found yourself walking towards the Shelby Betting shop.

•·················•·················•

"Miss, where do you think you are going?" Someone's voice called out as you barged through the front door, and pushed your way through a few men that were already on their way out, ignoring the voice of the man who had called out to you.

You walked up to the massive copper door that held a plate that read TS, and you abruptly knocked on the door. You waited a few seconds when you heard the muffled voices inside the room go off, and heavy footsteps began ascending towards the door on the other side.

You crossed your arms over your chest, and waited until the door finally opened, and you saw John leaning by the door.

"John."

Acknowledging him barely, you pushed past him and stepped inside, until you were striding towards Tommy who was standing by the telephone, speaking to someone. His icy blue eyes met yours and he slowly raised his palm towards you, asking you to hold on to whatever you had to say to him, while John just made his way to where you were and fixed himself by your side, giving you a confused look.

Finally, after about a minute, Tommy finally hung up and placed the receiver back, slowly turning to you.

"Is there anything –"

"Cut it, Tommy. If you think you can scare me off by sending your Blinders to do your dirty bidding for you, then you're wrong. Here– " Your fingers flew to your scarf, and Tommy just squinted his eyes, his confusion evident from his face as he turned to look at John and then back at you.

"What are you– "

You pulled off a gold chain that you remembered wearing almost all your life; ever since you were a little girl. It was that one piece of jewelry that you owned, and that you cherished, because it had been given to you by your father. You literally pulled at the chain, hissing slightly as it detached itself from your neck and you curled your fingers tightly around it, and finally slammed it on Tommy's desk.

"There. I hope this will be enough. I don't have anything else that I can give you. I hope to God that this settles it."

Turning around, not even waiting for Tommy to reply, and without sparing a look at his confused brother, you turned your tail and fuming, you walked out of Tommy's office, without giving him another look. Brittle tears stung in your eyes and your cheeks felt hot. You kept walking, ignoring the way your body was shaking, like an autumn tree shedding its leaves until you were outside and fixed to the wall, the back of your head resting against its surface. Finally, you broke down, your palm pressed to your trembling lips as you were taken over by uncontrollable sobs.

You didn't know how you calmed yourself; but somehow you did. You wiped your tear stained cheeks with your sleeve and looked up at the sky for a bit, staring at the moonless night, as you started walking back home, with your thoughts and your heavy heart. You were angry with Tommy Shelby, you were angry with yourself, and how you had to depend on the Peaky Blinders to run your little shop.

You kept walking, until the familiar silhouette of your tiny apartment was visible, it's dull grey white walls a striking contrast to the red brick buildings around it. A lonely flickering lightbulb illuminated the front door, and the windows of the building looked like they were about to fall off. It wasn't the best place to live, but it was home. You smiled to yourself when you saw your mother standing by the kitchen window, her frail little hands working on the dishes as she scrubbed them relentlessly. And just as quick the smile was, it vanished into thin air at the sight of her.

You lifted your foot, ready to walk towards her when a vulgar leer subjected to you made you freeze on spot, "Oi look what we've got here, eh lads, what a pretty little thing she is." You could only look at them, with bewilderment and fear in your eyes, as two men stepped out of nowhere, and fixed themselves on either side of you.

"Yeah, leave me the bloody hell alone," you mumbled as you tried to manoeuvre your way through the space between them, in an attempt to walk away, but one of them grabbed your arm, and pulled you back with a rough tug, "Now who the fuck asked you to leave eh? Fuckin' whore."

The man stank of booze and sweat, and it made you want to throw up. You threw him a look full of disgust, and anger as you placed your palm where the man was gripping your arm and tried to pry his hand off you, "Get your fucking hands off me. Don't you dare touch me."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, you whore. I didn't ask you to leave. Where's a pretty little thing like you headed when I can show you, yeah, a bloody good time?" He only laughed, while his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the hem of your coat, his fingers now dragging it up so he could reach your skirt. You smacked at his hand, hard enough for the slap to echo back into your ears and tried to move away.

"Maybe you need to be taught a fucking lesson." The man spat at the ground beside you, and the other man grabbed your other arm, as they started dragging you towards the dumpster by the side of the street, on the sidewalk. You screamed, as loud as your throat could, thrashing your feet and trying to get away, but they were two, and you were a woman, nowhere as strong as their grips on you were.

The men somehow managed to drag your protesting form to the dumpster, and they pushed you over it, so you had your front pressed to it, your body bent over it at an awkward angle. You hissed, your eyes closing as reflex when you felt a slithering hand latch itself to your thighs, underneath your coat and the hand started moving upwards, forcing you to try to press your legs together to stop him from going any further, "Quit whining you bitch, and let me show you what a real lad takes a whore like. You must like it rough yeah? You must love to have our cocks smashin' into that tight little cunt of yours?"

You closed your eyes, your throat now parched from the screaming, but you knew, deep down that no one was coming. You were on your own.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" That voice enough was enough to tell you that the men had their death sentences already laid out. Maybe it was Tommy's voice, or maybe it was the realization who he was, the hands that were seconds back trying to grope you immediately pulled away.

"We were, uh, just having fun."

"Would you still have fun if I decide to fucking cut your throats and leave you to bleed to your deaths?" Finally, he stepped closer to you, and that's when the men saw who he was, and the realization finally sunk in, as the pale moonlight now illuminated his face, his emotionless eyes and the vein that popped over his eyebrow.

"Mr. Shelby, we .. we.. oi, get the fuck out of here, Jack.." He screamed at the man that was accompanying him, and the two of them turned around immediately, pulling you by your arm and thrusting you into Tommy's chest, to buy them time to escape. The minute your body collided with Tommy's, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, his hand coming to hold you from the low of your back to steady to your feet. Once he was sure that you were okay, he roughly shoved you towards the wall, and his form stepped in front of you, shielding your vision from what he was going to do.

"Look away, Y/N," his voice commanded.

"Tommy, please get me out of –"

"What bloody part of look away do you not understand?" He practically snapped at you and the crudeness in his words made you almost whimper and press yourself against the wall, as you turned towards the wall and pressed your face to it.

Your body shuddered, even more so when you heard the two shots that were fired from a gun, and suddenly it went silent.

"Come on, love," you felt someone place his arms over either of your shoulders , almost pulling you towards him and slowly, numbly you turned around, tears freely spilling down your eyes, the shrill ringing sound buzzing through your ears. Tommy pulled you close, almost into his chest, as he protectively wrapped his arm around your shoulder and nudged you to walk with him.

"You killed them, you fucking ... killed them." Words began spilling from your mouth as tears began spilling again from your eyes, and you didn't stop mumbling, it was like your mind was blank, and your lips were moving on your own. It was only when Tommy's index finger pressed to your lips, that you stopped mumbling those barely incoherent words, and craned your neck to look at him as you mouthed, in a low voice, "you killed them, Tommy."

Tommy kept you pressed to himself, his arm holding you as he began walking down the street, and you moved along with him.

"This is who I am. Yeah, I fucking killed them, and I would do it again, and will not feel a bloody ounce of regret if they tried to do that again."

It was as though your mind had frozen out, you couldn't think straight. You were still shaking from the aftermath of what you had just witnessed. When you didn't reply, he slowly let go off your shoulder, and you stepped away, almost immediately. He didn't say anything though, as his hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out his box of cigarettes, "I'm going to walk you home."

"No, I need a fucking drink. Just walk me to a place where I could get a fucking drink."

•·················•·················•

Tommy Shelby brought you to the Garrison. And now you were seated on a couch, in the private room of the pub that Thomas Shelby owned. You had already drank two glasses of Irish Whiskey and Tommy was pouring your third glass for you, when you finally looked up at him and reached out, roughly grabbing his other free hand that was laying on the table. He immediately looked up, his eyes meeting yours halfway, as you tilted your head and questioned him silently with your eyes, "I appreciate what you did for me, Tommy, but you didn't have to shoot them."

Tommy leaned forward, sliding your glass towards you and he sat back again, his hand mechanically moving up to his lips as he inhaled the smoke from his lit cigarette.

"Listen, there are things that I do, I do them for a fucking reason, I didn't want you to see which is why I asked you to bloody look away." His voice was cold.

You curled your fingers around your glass and lifted it up, bringing it to your lips as you took a small sip of the drink, letting the burning liquid rush down the canal of your throat. When you didn't reply, Tommy leaned forward, his fists clenched and his lips pressed together.

"I can see that you want to say something, Tommy." You almost whispered.

"This is the fucking reason why, I don't like you working at the shop after the sun sets."

You almost snorted at his words, and instantly your glass flew to your lips, and this time you gulped down two mouthfuls of it and placed the glass back, giving Tommy a look that reflected the annoyance you felt at the situation, "Are you telling me it's my fucking fault, that I wanted this to fucking happen?"

"If I wasn't there on time," Tommy almost began, but his voice was incredibly low, and he immediately stopped his words from spilling out, thinking that you hadn't heard, but you had heard him nonetheless, "Where the hell were the boys when this happened?"

"What?" Your head snapped in his direction, as you gave him a look of confusion.

"Nothing. Come on. I'm gonna walk you home."

"Thomas –" You stood up almost immediately, your eyes burning a hole at the back of his head. "What did you mean about the boys?"

Tommy took a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it into the ashtray as he stood up, and slid his hand into one of his pockets, before placing your gold chain on the table.

"Curly told me of the word he had with you today. And I told him that it was alright." He pressed his palm against the chain and slid it towards you, pulling his hand away. You kept glancing at the chain for a few seconds before you slowly lifted your gaze, fixing it on him.

"I don't understand. Then why were your Blinders following me?"

"They weren't. They were just doing what I had asked them to do."

You stood up, striding towards Tommy until you had placed your palm on his arm, and yanked his head towards you so you could stare into his eyes. "You asked them to follow me. So you could get the fucking money."

The man in front of you shook his head, and pulled his arm away, without uttering a word. You watched as he walked up to the door and fixed himself by the doorframe , his back turned towards you.

"Harry? Where the fuck's Curly? Send him in, yeah?"

He cleared his throat, and turned back towards you, not meeting your gaze.

"I won't accept that chain. You should keep it. And as for the rent, Curly can collect it next month."

You opened your mouth, but at that exact moment, a rather flustered looking Curly knocked on the door and Tommy's attention drifted away, "Curly, can you please make sure Miss Y/ L/N gets back home?" Without giving you a second glance, he walked off and you were left to look at Curly, wondering what you had said to him for him to react the way he did.

"Curly?"

"Yes? Miss Y/N?"

You walked up to the doorframe, and looked out, your eyes scanning for Tommy but you didn't see him anywhere. You craned your neck back so you were now looking at Curly, "If Tommy was okay with me not paying you today, then why were the Blinders following me?"

His hand flew to the back of his head and he gave you a sheepish smile, before flicking his glance away and then back at you.

"It's not really my place to say."

"Curly."

"Oh alright! Tommy sends the Blinders everyday. He just wants to make sure that you safely reach home from the shop and no one bothers you on your way."

•·················•·················•

"Harry! Have you seen Tommy anywhere?" You were literally out of breath as you slammed both your palms against the counter and the bartender looked at you.

"Mr. Shelby just left a few minutes ago."

You didn't even listen to anything else, you had already turned your tail and were practically running out of the Garrison, not bothering as your shoulders knocked into people on your way out.

Stepping into the cold, brittle street, your arms reflexively flew to the side of your arms as you ran down the street, ignoring the way the people were looking at you and murmuring whispers amongst each other. You weren't bothered what they were thinking about you, and your eyes were fixed on the man who was now inches away from you, smoke coiling around him and his back turned towards you as he walked down the street.

"For fucks sake, Thomas Shelby, are you really going to make me run after you like this in the dark?" You called out, watching him freeze as he turned towards you.

"Does that man never listen? I thought I asked Curly to take you home."

Immediately, your hand shot up, and you almost placed your palm up so you could let him know you were speaking. His cold, emotionless eyes moved from your hand to your face, his expressions unreadable.

"I was wrong. But you are worse than me. You send in your fucking Blinders to make sure that I get home safe but never once bother to tell me why. You secretly care about me, but never let me fucking find out. Thomas Shelby, I really don't understand why you do the things you do. You see, from the day I've known you Tommy, the only impression you've given me is that you probably hate me. Or, I don't exist. And then you secretly do this. I am tired of playing these games Thomas Shelby, and I am done begging you to answer. What is wrong with you?"

You watched as Tommy parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of those lips was the foggy winter air before he clamped his mouth shut again. He almost took a step closer and suddenly all you could feel was a weird tension lingering in the air.

"You know what your problem is? You think too much, you bloody assume too much. You're telling me you think I fucking hate you, when all I've ever done is to make sure you're okay."

"Why would you even fucking care about me?" Your voice sounded weak, but you didn't care. You hadn't realized when your lips had started trembling and hot tears had started skimming down your cheeks. Tommy let out a barely audible sigh as he brought his palms closer to your face, his reluctance to hold you pretty evident. Finally, after fighting with himself for so longer, he let his palms cup your cheeks as he pled your face to his, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Some things are best left unsaid, love. I will always care for you, whether you like it or not. Who knows where you'll be tomorrow, who you'll be with, but you will always mean something to me." You smiled when you felt Tommy's lips press against yours, and in those few seconds he kissed you, he gave you all the answers that you wanted, and he didn't even have to say a word.

Permanent Tommy Shelby Taglist ( Fill the form here if you want to be added ) :

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @really-dont-forget-it @thepeakygurl @baumarvel @nyotamalfoy @peakyfooky

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Flirtation and Fistfights

Supernatural/Criminal Minds

Word Count: ~2940

Warnings: Drinking, pot smokin’, and (in case you couldn’t guess from the title) a fistfight. Somebody is giving a homeless woman a hard time, Spencer and Dean do not appreciate it.   

A/N: This is part of the Rockstar AU! It’s also for my Rockstar AU square on my Criminal Minds Trope Bingo card. Convenient, right? 

Lemming line inspired by an Ao3 tag. Continued cheerleading for this series provided by @stunudo​, who is wonderful. 

Spot the “It Takes A Village” reference! 

The post-show adrenaline rush is made even sweeter by the fact that there’s a hot tub and a couple easy days in Dean’s near future. The first L.A. show is in the bag. They have another tomorrow — same venue means minimal gear-schlepping and setup, thank fuck — followed by a full day off. 

Neither band has played L.A. in a while, and Dean’s seen a few familiar faces milling around already. It’s nice, aside from the small talk, but he’s used to that; the way he travels, he rarely has time to stay in one place and get to know people beyond the basics. He’s perfected the spiel: “tour’s been great, we’re going into the studio when it’s over, how’s your kid/spouse/dog?” etc. There are a bunch of those conversations happening around him, but people are starting to trickle out slowly, friends and acquaintances heading home or closing out. 

While they’re here, they’re staying at Casa de Pop Star, and Dean can’t lie, he’s looking forward to some poolside naps, movies on a decent-sized screen, and various other creature comforts. 

He’s getting another drink first, though. He leans up against the venue bar and looks around. 

At the end of the bar, Spencer is talking to a blonde, and it takes Dean a second to place her: Lila Archer, movie star and all-around hottie. Dean gapes at them for a second. He can’t see Spencer’s face, but she’s clearly flirting, standing close and putting a hand on his arm. Dean had no idea the kid had game like that. Granted, he and Spencer aren’t exactly close, but. 

Dean hasn’t figured him out yet. Dean is usually good at figuring out what makes people tick, what they’re hiding behind their masks, but he can’t make heads or tails of whatever the fuck happens in Spencer’s head. He has this way of looking at Dean as if he’s an alien species, or something, all bemused and vaguely perturbed like he can’t make sense of the words that just came out of Dean’s mouth. 

Then again, Spencer’s high more often than not, and they don’t exactly have a lot in common, and he’s a goddamn space cadet even when he’s sober, so... maybe he just really doesn’t know what Dean’s talking about half the time. 

He’s not like that with everybody, is the thing; Sam and Spencer got along immediately. They have this whole quirky dork thing going on where they talk in half-sentences that don’t make sense to anybody else. 

Not that Dean’s jealous or anything. Whatever.  

Dean’s drink arrives and he’s distracted for a moment, but when he looks again, Spencer’s shaking his head. Lila’s face falls. A second later, he’s giving her an awkward little wave, and she heads for the door. 

Yeah, Dean’s not usually one for gossip, but he really wants to know what the fuck just happened. Maybe Spencer’s one of those geeks who’s just completely fuckin’ oblivious when chicks are hitting on them? Dean can set him straight. It’ll be a bonding exercise. 

He weaves through the crowd to where Spencer is downing the last of his drink. 

“Tell me you did not just shoot down Lila Archer.”  

Spencer makes a face. “I could tell you that, but I’d be lying.” 

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean laughs. “Did she just march up and introduce herself? I didn’t know she was coming to the show.” 

“I met her at a party a while ago,” Spencer tells him. He’s looking up at the ceiling pensively, avoiding eye contact as he shreds a napkin. “In New York, when she was still in school. I, um. She’d been talking to this skeevy guy, and I saw him slip something in her drink, so.” 

“What did you do?” 

“Grabbed it and threw it in his face,” Spencer admits sheepishly. “And then I got punched, and she offered to, um, take me home and thank me, but I was kinda bleeding a lot. She gave me her number instead.” 

“That’s… actually pretty badass,” Dean comments. Spencer gives him half a smile. “So you guys kept in touch?” 

“She moved to L.A. not long after that. We’ve hung out a couple times, when I’ve been in town, but… I don’t think we’re interested in the same thing.” 

Dean almost smacks himself on the forehead. “I didn’t realize you were into dick, sorry.” 

“Oh, I’m not.” 

There’s a pause. Spencer doesn’t seem mad; his mouth is quirked in something resembling a smile, like he’s laughing at Dean for not asking the right questions. 

Is Spencer just like that, or is he not offering any more information because he wants this conversation to be over? 

Whatever. Dean’s curious. 

“So, you’re into chicks but not Lila friggin’ Archer? Are you telling me she’s not your type? 

“It’s not that,” Spencer says, smirking. 

Dean blinks a couple times. Emily told him the other day that everybody in the band except Hotch was single, so… he’s coming up blank. 

“You gotta give me a hint or something.”

“I’m not into sex,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh.” Dean hesitates, taking a drink to hide his surprise. “Huh. Is that… huh. Are you — are you out, or whatever?” 

“I’m not not out.” Spencer shrugs. “Most people just assume, one way or the other, and I don’t bother to correct them. I just… don’t really care what people think about me, so if they don’t ask, I don’t bother. I’m not hiding anything, though.” 

“Huh,” Dean repeats. He has no idea what to say. 

“If I do tell them, most people argue with me anyway,” Spencer says wryly. “Tell me I’ll change my mind when I meet the right person, or whatever. I tell them they’re probably right and change the subject.” 

Dean huffs out a laugh. “That doesn’t piss you off?”

“Sorta, but…” Spencer grimaces, fidgeting for a second. “I don’t like confrontation, or whatever. It’s not important. I’d rather just… not talk about myself.”  

“Sorry for… y’know.” 

“No biggie.” 

Dean still feels awkward, but Spencer doesn’t seem bothered. He just sits there, tapping out a rhythm on the bar top, smiling to himself. 

Dean doesn’t do well with silences. 

It occurs to him that he has a peace offering: “Wanna come outside and smoke a joint with me? Could use some fresh air.” 

“Hell yes I do,” Spencer says, brightening immediately.  

They make their way backstage and then through the labyrinthine venue hallways until they come out at the back lot, where the buses are idling. Hotch is on his phone across the lot, and a bouncer near the fence is saying something into a walkie-talkie, but for the most part, it’s quiet. 

Dean lights the joint and offers Spencer the first hit, leaning back against the brick wall. 

“Y’know, nobody’s ever actually asked me about my sexuality,” Dean tells him, and he’s not in the habit of volunteering information like that, but it seems to get Spencer’s attention. 

“Really?” 

“I didn’t ever think about it, until… recently. But it’s true. A fuckload of interviews, over the years, and like you said, everybody just assumes.” 

“Because you don’t contradict people’s ideas of what a man should look like, or talk like, or dress like,” Spencer says bluntly. “As long as you fit within a certain box…” He shrugs, blowing smoke up at the sky. 

“Yeah, my dad was big on that box,” Dean says ruefully. “Wouldn’t he be proud?” 

“Bet it won’t take long for them to start asking. Not if you keep wearing nail polish.” 

Dean takes the joint and frowns at his hands. He hadn’t even thought about that. 

“Really? That’s all it takes?” he asks. 

Spencer just snorts. Dean’s stomach does a nervous flip-flop. 

He’s got an interview with Spin scheduled for next week, and he doubts anybody will comment right away, but eventually... eventually there will be questions. What will he say, if they ask? 

He’s still lost in thought, looking down at his free hand, as he exhales and passes to Spencer. With his eyes on the chipped green polish, it takes him a second to realize that Spencer hasn’t grabbed the joint. 

Dean looks up. Spencer is staring intently at something off to their side, and Dean follows his gaze over to the chain link fence and roll-away gate that separates them from the road. There’s a homeless woman there, hands over her ears, pacing back and forth. The security guy is saying something to her, his voice raised, as he starts to pull the gate open. 

Spencer moves abruptly, striding away from Dean without a word, and Dean hesitates for a second before pinching out the joint and following him. 

As he gets closer, Dean can make out what the bouncer is saying, in a loud, condescending voice like he’s talking to a toddler: “Move. Away. From. The. Gate. Jesus Christ, can you fuckin’ hear me?” 

The woman is muttering to herself agitatedly, and she flinches away from the guy’s voice, but she doesn’t look up from her feet as she paces. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer snaps at the guard. The edge in his tone makes Dean hurry to catch up. 

“She won’t get outta the way,” he says, rolling his eyes. He turns to the woman again and shouts, “Hell-looooo, anybody home?” 

“Have you tried speaking to her like she’s a goddamn human being?” Spencer says, low and clipped. 

“Whoa, hey,” Dean says uneasily. Not that he doesn’t want to head-butt this asshole, but Spencer’s a quarter of the guy’s mass, at best.

“You wanna give it a try?” the guy scoffs. “Trust me, she’s not getting the picture. I’m gonna call the cops.” He directs the last words at the woman, who’s still pacing, more and more agitated: “Crazy bitch.”

“You should apologize now,” Spencer says, sharp and quiet and ice-cold. Dean puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer shoves it away without looking at him. 

The bouncer has the nerve to laugh. “Calm the fuck down, buddy.” 

“This is calm, and I’m not your fucking buddy,” Spencer snaps, taking another step closer. 

“Dude,” Dean interrupts. “Spencer, c’mon.” 

Spencer’s frozen for a moment, shaking with anger, but after a second, he steps back reluctantly. He reminds Dean of a hissing cat with its back arched and its claws exposed. 

“There you go, listen to your boyfriend,” the bouncer laughs. 

Dean considers him for a half-second, works up some saliva, and spits in his face. 

Everything moves quick and blurry after that; the guy shoves Dean back, cursing, and there’s a shout in the distance as he winds up. Before Dean can duck out of the way of the guy’s fist, Spencer steps in front of him — only to go flying, because he’s a fucking twig and should really know better. Dean sees red. He punches back. 

Then Hotch has the guy’s arms pinned behind his back, hauling him away, and Sam is grabbing Dean’s wrist before he can take another swing. Spencer grunts something incoherent from the ground. At least he’s conscious. 

“Motherfucker,” Dean snaps. “I’m fine, Sam, get off me.” He shakes out his smarting hand and glares daggers at the bouncer’s retreating back as Hotch and Rossi manhandle him into the building. Spencer makes a pained noise; he’s cupping his hands over his nose, and there’s blood dripping between his fingers. 

“Dean?” Cas is jogging over, Morgan behind him. He puts a hand on Dean’s arm, looking him up and down anxiously. “What happened?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Dean says gruffly, and turns to Spencer. “You okay, kid?” 

“‘M fide,” Spencer mumbles. “Is she still…” 

Dean glances over. The woman is sitting with her back to the fence, curled up with her arms around her knees. 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. “What should I —”

“I got it,” Cas tells him, and slips through the gate, approaching the woman with an easy, open smile. 

Cas was homeless for a while. Dean hates hearing him talk about it — not because it makes Cas sad, but exactly the opposite; he’s so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it makes Dean sad. He tells stories, sometimes, and he’s completely fuckin’ blasé even when he’s talking about things that make Dean ache to think about. 

Dean hovers for a second. Sam is crouching next to Spencer, holding his balled-up flannel to Spencer’s nose, and Dean feels useless. There’s gotta be something he can do to help. 

Then he remembers something Cas said, once, and he turns his back on the scene and jogs off to the bus. 

He makes a beeline for the bunk under his, which is designated for storage. He’s got an almost-new backpack he’s been using as an overnighter, when he doesn’t want to lug his whole suitcase into a hotel; he dumps it out unceremoniously. 

He grabs a blanket first, the soft fleece one, rolling it up tight to stick it in the backpack. Then there’s a big hoodie, one Dean borrowed from their merch table the other day. He has a whole collection of tiny sealed soaps and shampoos from various hotels, and he runs to the kitchen to put them in a zip-lock bag. In the bathroom, he grabs a pack of wet wipes, the packaged spare toothbrush that Charlie keeps for “emergencies” — aka when she inevitably leaves hers at a hotel — and about half of their first aid kit. Then he ransacks the kitchen: several packs of ramen, a box of pop-tarts, couple bottles of water… he pauses, considering Sam’s nasty-ass granola bars, before tossing them in too. Sam can get more. He fishes the cash out of his wallet, shoves it in a zip-lock, and then closes the whole mess up. 

Then for a second he just freezes, looking down at the backpack, wondering if he’s being presumptuous or some shit. 

Dean’s always been suspicious of so-called “Good Samaritans.” Everything has strings attached. If it were him, he wouldn’t accept unsolicited help, but he’s been told that’s maybe a psychological flaw, not a virtue. 

Cas told him once about a woman named Hannah (he called her an angel) who gave him a backpack of supplies when he first ended up on the street. Said she probably saved his life. It’s one of those stories Dean doesn’t like to think about, but… he remembers. 

When he hustles back to the fence, Spencer is on his feet, Sam’s bloody flannel clutched to his face as he talks to Rossi and Morgan. 

Cas is still with the woman, who is on her feet, now, looking rattled but much calmer than she did before. Cas is talking to her in that direct, no-bullshit way he has; it’d be off-putting, from anybody else, but Cas is so earnest that it’s comforting instead. 

The woman looks wary, when she sees Dean approaching, so he hangs back until Cas comes to him. 

“I grabbed some stuff,” he says anxiously. “I didn’t know… is that weird? It’s just, like, shampoo and a blanket and — sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” 

Cas just stares at him for a second, his expression completely unreadable. Dean’s stomach sinks. 

“You remembered,” Cas says hoarsely, just as Dean opens his mouth to apologize.  

The back of Dean’s neck feels hot. “Yeah?” 

Cas gives him a quick, fierce, affectionate smile. He reaches out and squeezes Dean’s arm once before taking the bag. 

“There’s a shelter a couple blocks away. I’m going to walk her there. I’ll be back shortly.” 

He watches Cas go, and then he turns to see Spencer staring at them. Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. 

“Thanks, Schroeder,” he says. 

Spencer gives him that look again, like he has no idea what Dean is talking about. Maybe he’s concussed. He lowers the flannel, revealing a mess of dried blood and the beginnings of an impressive shiner. 

“Y’had my back,” he says thickly. Even through his rapidly-swelling nose, it sounds a lot like “Duh.” 

“The venue manager wants to talk to you,” Rossi announces. “Hotch saw enough to make it clear that the guy threw the first punch, so he’s most definitely getting fired, but just in case, they want it in your words.” 

“Fan-friggin-tastic,” Dean grouches. “Well, let’s get it over with. There’s a fuckin’ hot tub waiting for us, I’m ready to get the hell out of here.” 

“You sure you’re alright?” Rossi asks Spencer. “I swear, kid, you have the self-preservation instincts of a damn lemming.” 

“‘M’fide,” Spencer repeats, which is close enough to “fine,” apparently, that Rossi doesn’t push the issue. 

“You gotta be more careful with that pretty face of yours,” Morgan says, and Spencer flips him off. 

As he falls into step with Dean, heading back to the venue, Spencer mumbles, “Why d’I feel like I’b being sent t’the Princibal?” 

Dean chuckles, trying to imagine what a tiny (tinier) Spencer would’ve gotten in trouble for. 

“Hey, you mind tellin’ me why you just went feral on a guy who was the size of a fuckin’ hippo?” he asks.  

“Don’t like... bullies,” Spencer replies, clearly making an effort to enunciate. 

“Weren’t you just telling me how you try to avoid confrontation?”

“S’different.” Spencer shrugs. “Pisses me off. Don’t really care what happens to me, but —” 

“That’s healthy,” Dean needles. 

Spencer’s not looking at him, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to grin. “Takes one to know one.” 

Dean stops in his tracks and sputters for a second, turning a snort of laughter into a huff like he’s offended. Then he shakes his head and they keep walking.  

“Thanks,” Dean says again. “That was really fucking stupid, but thanks.” 

“You would’ve done the same for me,” Spencer says, like it’s a given.   

Dean smiles, because he’s right. Maybe he has more in common with Spencer than he thought. 

.

.

.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Met You Tonight: Kauri and Jack

CW: Electroshock, referenced abusive relationship, pet whump, dehumanization, referenced conditioning/brainwashing, frank references to prostitution, very brief reference to assumed drug use

This piece is a collaboration with @spiffythespook featuring Jack/Reid! Takes place immediately after Kauri escapes, five days after he gets away from Owen Grant. This collab has multiple parts, so you’ll see Spiffy and I posting them as we get them edited!

Tagging Kauri and Jack’s crews: @im-not-rare-im-rarr, @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @rivertamandspike​

It had been raining most of the day. It was the kind of pounding, pouring rain that hit hard enough to splatter and splash back up, collected outside sewage drains and ran like miniature rivers along the gutters.

By the time midnight came around, though, the rain had stopped, leaving the sound of water rushing through storm drains along the side of the streets and a heavy, oppressive humidity hanging in the air. The streets were shimmering wet, reflections from headlights bouncing right off the road, and streetlight circles looked more like puddles than actual illumination.

People found their way out onto the streets anyway. They came in cars and on foot, walking to bars or racing each other into clubs. They stumbled drunk or walked sober, congregated into clumps that giggled and talked and danced and laughed.

In rougher parts of town people still walked to the bars, but there were plenty who simply stood, too.

Women and men walked slowly along their chosen corners in the glow of streetlights or in the dark, hips jutted out or with a certain kind of stance that gave away what they were selling. The occasional car cut through the night, came to a stop along the curb. Sometimes the john got out - sometimes the woman or man on the corner got in - before the car drove away.

From one dark alley the sound of harsh, ugly laughter echoed from two or three voices at once. Underneath the laughter was scraping and whining, thumps and a soft pleading for them to please, just st-stop, I don't have any money, please.

Eventually, one of the three, a nondescript and muscular guy in a plain shirt and jeans who could have been anywhere from a rough 30 to a pretty good 45, stepped out, lit a cigarette, and glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, guys, that fucking tweaker doesn't have shit anyway. Look at him twitch, he probably spent his last dime on whatever shit he’s got in his system.”

The two others with him laughed, coming out into the light themselves, arguing good-naturedly over their destination before heading on foot towards the nearest bar.

Their noise drew the attention of a young man, clearly one of those who had been busy walking the streetcorner, still wet from the earlier weather. The young man stayed well out of view until they departed, eyeing the raucous group until the sound of the men’s voices had totally faded and they turned a corner.

From the alleyway came the sound of low, broken cursing. The young man blinked and headed a little closer to try and take a look and see what exactly had gotten the attention of the three men that had just left.

There was a boy curled up in the alleyway - a man but barely, and he was soaked to the skin. The expensive blue cashmere sweater he'd been wearing was ripped, torn, and bloody. Soft black pants were so wet they clung to his legs, and the flat slide-on sandals on his feet were at least two sizes too big.

Bloody and bruised, the boy began to push himself back up to standing when suddenly every muscle went rigid. He let out a cry and his back arched as he dropped with a hard crack of his knees back to the ground.

"Ow, ow, n-n-no, st-stop-... please, stop, pl-please," The boy begged no one who could hear him, clutching at a spot just below his neck on the right side, pressing hard with the flat of his palm. His other hand was flat on the alleyway ground, his black curls plastered to his forehead with a mix of sweat and rain.

He felt a throbbing pain in one eye that told him he'd be bruised by morning, but it was nothing compared with the agony racing through the nerves under his skin.

"Stop, I w-won't come h-h-home, stop it I w-won't," he pleaded, in his surprisingly deep soft voice, to no one, to someone, to anyone. "Y-you lied, you lied to me, you lied, I won’t...”

From the end of the alley, pressed into the shadow of the wall, the young man stepped out slowly and cleared his throat to draw the boy’s attention. His wet hair was pushed back, combed through messily with fingers and a couple wet strands hung in his face. If his tight, cropped shirt and jeans didn’t give away his profession, his naturally alluring posture did... but there was no desire in his expression, only concern.

“Hey, buddy. You look like you’re in pretty rough shape. Need a hand?”

Kauri flinched away from the voice, trying to scramble backwards, but his muscles were still so locked from pain that all he could manage was a foot or two before he froze again. He looked up, teeth ground together, to show wide, frightened blue eyes. 

He had a circle of red around one eye beginning to darken, and the young man in the cropped shirt put his hands up, trying to show he was harmless, taking in the other man’s disheveled, sopping wet appearance.

"N-no, pl-please!” Kauri’s voice was thin and strained, and his hands kept shaking, nerve endings twitching long after the pain had ended. “I don't have any m-money. I d-don't have anything! Pl-please don’t hurt me!”

He put his left hand out in some kind of supplication, sweater sleeve riding up his arm, the hint of a barcode tattoo on the inside unmistakable. "Please! Please, j-just, just ow, fuck-... aftersh-shocks, ah-”

“Did I ask for money? I don’t want anything from you, man,” the young man said. He froze at the sight of the tattoo, biting his lip anxiously and glancing over both ends of the alley to check that no one was nearby. He crouched down a couple of feet - a good safe distance - away. With his work boots on, he couldn’t quite lay his feet flat - instead, he perched on his toes. “Hey, it’s okay. Listen, um... I used to be a box boy, too, okay? I can’t prove it, they… my owner was pretty shady. The company took off my tattoo so they wouldn’t be associated with him. Anyway, I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t… believe in that shit.”

“B-Box…” Kauri’s voice trailed off, confused. “I d-don’t-... how do you-... Oh, fuck, the news, he told the news or something…” He moved back a couple of feet, nearly crawling on his hands and knees. “D-Did you see me on the news? Is, is that how you kn-know about me?”

“Shit, no. I don’t have cable or anything-” the young man said, almost laughing. The sound died as the boy’s muscles locked again, spine curving as his head dropped towards the ground, forehead nearly touching the dirty alley pavement.

Kauri whimpered, rocking back onto his knees, unconsciously bending forwards to move into Respect.

The young man grit his teeth and hesitated, an expression of mixed distaste and old fear on his face. Again, he moved forward - nearly on his hands and knees, too, now. “Hey. I know because I saw your tattoo. I’m not gonna turn you in, man, but I can guarantee someone’s going to notice if you’re this fucked up out here alone. Lemme help you out, I’ve got an apartment. What’s happening? Is that... electroshock?”

Kauri gasped in a breath and nodded without coming up from position, trying to calm his mind, to keep a single coherent thought through the sudden rush of pain. Just as quickly as it had come, it seemed to fade out, and his breathing changed, from shallow quick gasps to deep gulps of the humid air.

“It’s-... a n-new product, I just… here.” He pushed himself up and back, kneeling resting on his heels, slowly looking back up, searching the other man’s face for a sign that this was any worse a decision than anything else he’d done in the past five days.

All he saw was concern - genuine honest concern.

He pulled the neck of his sweater down on the right side, exposing his collarbone to nearly halfway down his chest. Along the bone ran a small line of perfectly spaced circular dots, glinting like metal in the light, glowing with a faint blue light against his skin.

“I ran away from my owner,” he said, a little hoarsely. “He’s trying to get me to come home.”

The young man’s eyes widened, brow rising at the sight of the… well, they looked like piercings, but he knew better. “Damn. That’s a fancy fuckin’ product, isn’t it?” He leaned back, sat on his heels, and sighed. “Good for you, for running and not going home. You got a place to stay?”

“W-Would I… would I look like this if I had a place to stay?” The boy flinched as soon as the sarcasm was out of his mouth, like he expected an angry reaction or even for the pain to start again.

The young man grinned, tilted his head, looking happy that the other guy had a bit of spunk in him. “...fair point. But if you didn’t want a place to stay, you’d tell me you already have one.” Kauri moved to push himself weakly to his feet, and the young man watched him closely, ready to reach out in case he stumbled.

Kauri swayed a little, pale and lightheaded, but he made it to standing, one hand on the brick wall next to him to hold himself up. Some of the aging brick crumbled around his fingers as he scratched into it. “I don’t have anywhere, I’m not… I don’t know anyone. I jumped out of, of a moving car, I just have…” He looked over his shoulder. On the ground behind him, mostly hidden in shadow, was a blue backpack. “I just have that.”

The other man nodded. “Okay. So...you want a place to crash for the night or not? In case your psycho master decides to lay it on thick again. ‘Cause, uh… lemme tell you… this district is not one you wanna be stuck in overnight unless you plan to have sex of one kind or another.”

“Psycho… Mr. Owen’s not psycho, he just-” Kauri jerked again, but it didn’t last this time and he was only rigid against the wall for a few seconds before he let out a shuddering breath and turned, scooping the backpack up by the straps. It hung with surprising weight off of him when he pulled it on over his shoulders.

Sure he’s not, the other man thought, but let it slide. The shock was bad enough without someone rubbing in how warped it was that you could have electroshock piercings… maybe they were even screwed into the bone. He made a bit of a face at that idea, feeling pain in his teeth like in response to nails on a chalkboard. The heaviness of the boy’s bag told him that the guy didn’t have nothing, but that was none of his business, either.

“Um.” Kauri shifted, a little uneasily, from foot to foot. “If you… d-don’t mind, I can st-stay? Just, just for tonight? I don’t have any money, I d-don’t have anything, I j-just…” His voice trailed off, considering. “I’m… I’m Kauri.”

“I’m Jack,” the young man responded, and then promptly grinned and quirked his head. “And I’m filthy rich tonight, so don’t worry about money. C’mon, let’s go. Wanna lean on me, or are you okay?”

“I’m... okay to walk.” Kauri’s teeth were gritted, his jaw set, and he walked with a pained stiff movement that made it clear the three in the alley had landed at least a few pretty good kicks while they were having their fun, but he stayed up.

For a second, they walked in silence, Kauri glancing sidelong at Jack, curiously.

“Hey. If you were, were really… like me… then you’re n-not rich,” Kauri said, but it was with a little bit of humor lacing his voice, a hint of resilience under everything else. “We can’t live on our own, we d-don’t know anything, it’s in all the… things they made us know, to say.”

Jack nodded, then shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I am the proud possessor of one month’s rent and enough grocery money for the next couple weeks. On a rainy day, no less,” he cocked a crooked grin. It faded after a moment or two. “I dunno, man. I think my order was really strange. I’ve got memory gaps from the drugs, but all my skills are intact… well. Except the writing, still.”

Kauri was a little slow, having to move carefully against the ache from the earlier assault. It gave him time to look at Jack and try to decide if he was just lying, if he’d just turn him in. Jack didn’t seem all that bothered by the pace. He shuffled along slow enough to stay right alongside him.

“I can’t write either. If I do, um-” He gestured at his collarbone again, the little glowing circles hidden now under the wet sweater. “These go off. But I couldn’t before… is Jack your before-name? Kauri’s my name he gave me, I d-don’t have another one anymore.”

Jack nodded in understanding. How they managed to tune an electroshock device to someone’s writing, he didn’t know. It was weird. Renford could do it if she wanted - she could do anything, as far as he could tell.

“Yeah,” he nodded, shuddering for too many reasons thinking of her face… being wet and cold was the least of them. “I had a, uh, a pet name. I don’t like it. Took me a while to remember myself, but the other guys in the district knew who I was. They helped. Sorta.” He snorted. “There’s some loyalty among whores, but us gay prostitutes have too much competition and too little market, so I still watched my back.”

Kauri stumbled to a stop all at once, turning to look at him again more clearly in the light that shone from a streetlamp above their heads.

He took in the cropped shirt and tight pants, the shoes, then slowly raised his eyes back up to the man’s face. “I-I didn’t…” His voice trailed off again, staring blatantly, but the look on his face was more like wide-eyed surprise, like a child that had never seen a dandelion before, rather than any kind of judgement.

Jack turned, surprised that Kauri had stopped. When he realized why Kauri looked so surprised, he grinned and put a hand on his hip, cocked it, and smirked. “You like what you see?” Kauri’s surprise was hilarious. But that was okay...he didn’t seem grossed out.

Kauri went red. “I, um, I just… I-I, you’re… you’re okay, I just-... you went from being a, um, a pet to being… on purpose?”

Jack blinked at the question, and then gasped in understanding and shook his head. “Oh, no. I started on the streets long before I was legal - don’t tell anybody that - and then one day they picked me up. Special order for Cori fucking Fisher. You seen him on the news? Bastard. They fixed up my looks and made me take an oath, then dumped me back here - home sweet home.”

Kauri bit down on his lower lip in thought, cocking his head to the side, trying to think. Finally, he shook it. “No, sorry. Mr. Owen doesn’t watch news, I don’t… I don’t know anything. You had a bad owner? I mean, not just to you, to other people?”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly.”

Kauri seemed to be thinking, taking Jack in. Then he started walking again, the heavy weight inside his backpack smacking against his lower back a little as he moved. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a, a gay, um, prostitute, uh… before.” Kauri’s face flushed red, visible even in the yellow streetlights they moved under. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything before but… I feel like this is new.”

“You probably have and just couldn’t tell.” He smirked a bit at the flush on Kauri’s face. Man, he looked cute.

“So when you s-said you were rich…”

“Oh, I said I’m rich tonight. I’m a tiny bit sore, but I’m paid up for the month.” If it was possible, Kauri’s face went even redder, and Jack’s smile wider. “Worth it. Means every night I can work for the rest of the month, I’m saving. It also means we can stop at the store for supper. You hungry?”

Kauri swallowed, eyes widening a little at the offer, looking at Jack sideways again like he wasn’t sure what he should say. There was a muffled sound from inside his backpack - a soft faint beeping - and he twisted back to look at it, jostling it a little until the beeping went quiet again. “I, um. Y-Yeah, I haven’t… it’s been a, a while since I ate. This guy bought me crackers, but… Do you… I don’t have any money. I took s-some cash from Mr. Owen but, um, some people took that like the, the first day I was out. I can maybe help you? Clean or something? I have some Domestic training…”

Jack glanced uneasily at Kauri’s backpack, but decided to leave well enough alone. “Don’t worry about it, man. Like I said, I made enough today to eat for a while. I’ll make enough after a day of recovery that I won’t even worry for next month. Anyway, I had Domestic training, too, so the apartment’s in great shape.”

There were others out - women and men, some Jack’s competition probably, Kauri thought, eyeing them in a whole new light. When he’d found his way here it’d been because he’d been kicked off a bus, he had no idea where he was. He hadn’t known he was in a bad neighborhood other than the worn-down buildings and empty storefronts.  

The bars all seemed to be doing well enough, at least. And there was no shortage of cars stopping at streetcorners to pick the men and women lingering there up.

There was one woman with hair that made Kauri stare as they moved towards her, hanging most of the way down her back in shades of purple, green, and blue, nearly iridescent. She was wearing a short, tight minidress that mirrored it, the sequins almost like fish scales. “She looks like a mermaid,” Kauri breathed, but then caught himself. “I… don’t know what a mermaid is, I don’t know why I said that...”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said softly, almost under his breath, already starting to steer Kauri away.

Too late.

The woman heard them, glancing over and tossing hair over one shoulder.. “Oh thank you, honey. I worked hard to buy a wig as nice as this one.” She raised two thinly plucked eyebrows at Jack, shooting him a smile that wasn’t quite kind. “Look at you, Jack-Jack, picking up strays. Takes one to know one, I guess. Adopt don’t shop, that’s what I always say. This one’s cute.”

Jack smiled tensely back, the look a caustic and distinct leave us alone that had a mean little smile twitching onto the woman’s face in response.

Kauri shifted himself a little closer to Jack, and when the woman’s eyes went back to him, Kauri moved until he was behind the other man completely.

The woman pouted, a little, as if sad that he would hide from her. “Geez, Jackie, where’d you find him? He looks like he’s been standing out in the rain all day long.”

Kauri fought the urge to mumble two days actually, and hid himself a little more thoroughly behind Jack.

“I found him in the rain. Duh,” Jack responded, reaching back with an open hand for Kauri’s, hoping he would give it. Kauri gripped tightly onto him without hesitating, twining fingers around his and stepping as close to him as he could get. “Speaking of, I hear it’s gonna start up again pretty soon. Torrential downpour. Might wanna get you and your wig inside, Stella. See ya tomorrow.”

As they moved away from her, Stella rolled her eyes at him, shifting on her very high heels and turning back to watch the cars moving past, one hip jutted out. “Didn’t think twinks were your type, Jackie!” She called after him, and Kauri twisted around to look back at her, confused.

Jack pretended he didn’t hear her. He kept his eyes peeled for more hazards and leaned close to Kauri, voice low and cautioning. “Don’t talk to these people - you’re an outsider. They’ll eat you… and not in the fun way like I would.”

Kauri nodded solemnly, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand a little more. “Like, like the guys in the alley,” Kauri said in a half-whisper, less a question than a statement of fact. “They thought I had money, and then Mr. Owen… wanted me to miss him. That’s, that’s why he set it off, I think…”

“Yeah.”

Kauri hesitated, and then whispered, “Jack? Can, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Um... What’s a twink?”

Jack burst out laughing and steered Kauri down a different main street. “A twink’s a skinny, young, hot guy. They usually bottom, but not necessarily. Stella’s wrong, though - my type is ‘has a dick,’” he grinned a bit.

Bottom. Has a dick, Kauri mouthed the words in echo but didn't say them out loud, his face a little red, still embarrassed. "I, I don't… I, um. D-Do I… am I… that?" He gave up on putting together a sentence that made any sense and followed Jack in embarrassed silence after that.

The convenience store was on the corner of this block, bars on the large windows but a view of the fluorescent lights and displays inside visible in between them, and Jack led Kauri in after taking a quick look around. “Hey, Bill,” he greeted the clerk, with easy familiarity and something like real affection.

“Hi, Jack,” the clerk, a man somewhere in his forties, responded without looking up from his book.

The shop had mostly canned goods, magazines, and junk food, but Jack took a basket and went right to the freezer section to pick up some meat first. Crappy meat, but better than nothing. He got a gallon of milk, some blocks of cheese, and a couple jars of pickles.

“Anything you want in here?”

Kauri kept himself close, nearly pressed against him, eyes on the floor. As far as he knew, he'd never been in a place like this before. Owen bought groceries or had them delivered, Kauri never went anywhere with him except a coffeeshop or to the Host's, or to the, the ski cabin, where he and-

Kauri cut the memory off before it could hurt, gnawing on his lower lip nervously, trying not to look like what he was - a runaway pet, something worth money. The clerk hadn't looked up but his bloodied face and ripped-up expensive clothes weren't exactly subtle.

"I, I, um… I, I don't-... whatever you want is fine, Jack," He said seriously.

There was a soft beep from inside his backpack and a muffled, slightly mechanical female voice said, Kauri pizza appreciate all kinds. Kauri sandwich appreciate but not mayonnaise. Kauri iced coffee appreciate milk.

Kauri's eyes widened back to the fear from when he'd first seen Jack and his already pale face went white.

Jack’s brow raised and he pulled Kauri behind one of the shelves, out of Bill’s view. “Please tell me you don’t have robot parts in you, too.”

Kauri’s eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders curving in a little. As his hair dried out of the rain it was beginning to frizz up, and as he shook his head he tried to smash them back down, less distinctive, less recognizable.

“I, I don’t… um.” He looked to one side and then the other, then slid the backpack off his shoulders, holding it with one arm curved around it while the other reached for the zipper. When he unzipped it, slowly, he pushed back the fabric so Jack could see inside.

Jack stared a second at Kauri, and then warily looked into the bag, half-expecting something to jump out. Part of a circle of black metal and plastic was in there, with two softly glowing red circles on the flattened top. Jack squinted.

Keira greet, the female voice said, clearly coming from the Roomba nestled into some fabric. Designation Keira. Kauri, Owner.

Kauri swallowed, shamefaced. “I, um, I stole something when I ran away from Mr. Owen.”

“... yeah. A floor cleaner. Real bright,” Jack said, bewildered, staring at the two faintly glowing red dots that seemed to stare right back. He’d realized the kid was naive, but he didn’t realize he was a dumbass. “That’ll help you a lot more than like… clothes… water… I don’t know, a knife. Whatever, man. It’s talking, though, and that’s weird. Pizza? I’ll get pizza.” Jack muttered to himself a bit, pulling a couple boxed pizzas out of the freezer. That was reasonable - he could do that. Great. Just great. Lost one psycho, gained another.

Kauri’s eyes narrowed, the first sign of any real backbone or spine he’d shown so far. “No, I took her because he was going to get rid of her,” he snapped, zipping the bag back up and throwing it angrily back over his shoulders. “And she has GPS, she could tell me directions, but I didn’t… I don’t have anywhere to go, so she doesn’t know how to direct me. I don't know anything, and she knows everything. I can't even read, I can't… I can't tell anyone I don't know how to read."

“You just told me,” Jack responded, more to be obtuse than to actually argue.  

"You used to be a pet, too!" Kauri half-hissed, half-whispered. "You should be the only one I can tell!"

There was no more beeping from the backpack. Kauri's jaw was set and angry, but even so - he never left Jack's side, shadowed him like the pet he still was, always just behind and to the side.

Jack didn’t exactly mind that, although he was starting to question Kauri’s sanity - in fact, he turned around and took a long look into Kauri’s eyes, checking for dilated or pinprick pupils. Kauri stared right back, swallowing against the way they were inches apart.

Finally, Jack sighed, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “Okay, so she’s a computer. She could tell me the total of this stuff. If she’s right, she’ll match Bill, and then maybe I’ll believe you.” Jack listed everything off with their prices before tax and waited.

There was a brief pause.

Fifty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents pre-tax, the woman's voice spoke from inside the backpack. She might have sounded slightly smug, but that could have just been the way the mechanical, robotic edge to the voice made it seem flat. Local sales tax is 6% on food and 13% on non-food items. Total cost sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.

Kauri frowned, crossing his arms in front of himself. "There, now you admit when she's right that I'm not crazy."

“I didn’t say you’re crazy,” Jack said. He hadn’t, not to Kauri’s face. He’d just been muttering that he was psycho. Which was… not different. “Okay, I did say that you’re crazy. But I don’t think she’s right.”

He took a hoodie and a pair of sweats off a hanger, and put them up on the counter. He loaded the food up. “Hey Bill, can you subtotal before these?”

Bill looked up at Jack and his company, sighed tiredly, and set down his novel before he started punching in and bagging the order. Which subtotaled, of course, to sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.

“...great, thanks. Yeah, add these to the order,” he pushed the clothes. Bill added them, looked over Kauri and paused.

“Got yourself a new stray? Lookin’ kinda fancy, there,” he asked, surprised. He folded the sweats and watched Jack, who kept a straight face and tried not to look nervous. “You boys should be careful. Cops’ll be making their rounds soon. Here,” he tossed the hoodie at Kauri.

“Yeah, thanks, Bill,” Jack took out a pair of fifties and passed them to Bill, who put them in his drop box right away and counted out some change. “Have a good night, man.”

“Get some rest, Jack.” Bill paused, and the automatic doors had slid open with a sssshhhk sound when he added, "And get something over his arm."

Kauri glanced down only to realize that crossing his arms had made his sleeve ride up again, his barcode and Whumpees-R-Us product number in plain sight. He yanked the sleeve back down and cradled the hooded sweatshirt in his arms, holding it so the cloth folded over his left arm, looked perfectly natural.

“Fuck. Thanks, Bill.” Jack led Kauri back outside, looking determined and heading straight for his apartment.

"Is he… is he going to tell?" Kauri whispered once they were outside. "H-how far is it to your place? Mr. Owen might hit the button again, I don't want to, to be obvious if he… if he asks me to come back again."

“Nah. Bill’s a good guy, pretty trustworthy. And he owes me some,” Jack shrugged. He snorted softly. “Couple buildings down this way, couple minutes’ walk. You mean when he electrocutes you for fun?”

“H-He doesn’t-” Kauri cut himself off, a look of uncertain worry on his face. “It’s not for fun. I wasn’t supposed to be able to leave him. He, he just… he just misses me, he doesn’t have any other way to say it.”

“Yeah. Sure he does.”

Kauri clutched the sweatshirt closer to his chest, pressing just a little against Jack, like he was reminding himself that Jack was right there, and this was real.

Jack looked to the side at him. Man, at least Cori had never been smart enough to make Reid think he wanted him or cared about keeping him - he just took Reid off the shelf to play with and put him back.

“I was supposed to be, um… I messed up but he didn’t get rid of me, he could have sent me for refurbishment but he didn’t, just r-repair, so… so he just wants me home. I just-... I just don’t want to go home, Jack. Home... he hurts me a lot, now.”

Refurbishment had Jack’s gut twisting. There were so many phantom pains when he thought about that place and Ruby. “So do what you want. Don’t go home,” he shrugged. “I mean, he can’t be exciting to go home to if he’s hurting you when you’re not around. Can’t imagine what he does when you are.”

Actually, he could. Very vividly.

Jack stopped by a building door and bent, took a pair of keys from out of his sock - the only keys he owned. He unlocked the door to the stairwell and led Kauri up. “Make sure that closes behind you. Don’t wanna get any bums hanging around.”

Kauri looked quickly back over his shoulder, as though there might be some of those bums already ready to leap through the second their backs were turned. He pulled the door shut firmly, listened for the loud click as it closed and locked.

Then he turned back, following Jack up quickly, hissing occasionally as it jostled what he was pretty sure was a bruised rib.

"Well, I wasn't supposed to leave. He was nice, b-before I, um, was… incorrect. Aberrant pet," he muttered to himself. "Incorrect mental process. He got mean b-because I, um, he thought I was… looking at another pet."

“Well, they usually start nice. Then there’s… something… and their real self comes out.” Jack looked back over his shoulder, brow raised. “Looking at another pet? What, like you liked another guy?”

"I don’t think we count as guys,” Kauri said, a little confused. “Besides, um, pets don't feel emotional connections. The only individual a pet can develop an emotional bond with is its owner or owners-... You probably learned that, too. S-sorry, it's automatic…"

“Oh...sure. Spent a day arguing with my handler on that one just cause I could,” Jack laughed a little and shrugged. “Emotional connections aren’t... well. Haven’t had many.”

After they were up the first flight, they walked down the hallway. Jack stopped at the third door on the right, tested the knob. All good. He unlocked it and stepped in. The moment he was in, he hung up his jacket in the small closet, beside a denim jacket and a brown leather instead of the black he’d worn tonight. Then he peeled off his crop top, back littered in scars.

Kauri swallowed, watching Jack, and when he pulled his shirt off Kauri’s eyebrows rose, just a little. It’s been days, some part of him piped up, insistent. Kauri shifted uneasily. Owen had stopped caring about whether or not Kauri felt good in bed since he’d come back home from repair, and things had been mostly painful - and now he’d been gone for five days and his body wasn’t used to that any longer…

“Deadbolt the door behind you, set your bag wherever. Your Roomba can do its thing if you want. Shoes off - the floor’s clean and I don’t wanna track dirt everywhere,” he added, going to one knee to untie his work boots. Under his left foot, in the sole of the boot, he pulled out several folded-up hundreds. He stuck those in his jean short pocket. “I’m gonna go stash this and get some clothes on.”

“Uh-huh,” Kauri said, distantly, still sort of thinking about Jack without his shirt on - the absence of a mark inside his left wrist, but also the rest of him, too - as he dropped the backpack to the floor, stepped out of the too-big slides, and let Keira out to sit on the ground. “Her, uh-” His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. “Her wheels are broken, she doesn’t… clean much now. That’s why he wanted to get rid of her. Um… can I… is there a place I can change, or, or out here, or…?”

Jack walked to his room - the kitchen and eating area, along with a comfortable loveseat and a tv, were all one space. The bathroom and bedroom were both small, separate rooms. “Yeah, bathroom, or out there. Wherever. I see bodies all the time, man, doesn’t bug me.”

Kauri nodded, and thought that if he weren't what he was, he would want to use the bathroom, for privacy.

But he was what he was, and so he peeled the sodden, bloody, ruined blue cashmere off of himself without hesitating further, dropping it with a wet thump into the trash can.

The little circles along his collarbone still glowed faintly, a soft pulsing light. All the new red spots that would blossom into bruises couldn't quite disguise the darker, older marks already there. All his suggestions that Owen didn't hurt him all that badly became an obvious lie when he could see the evidence left since he'd come back from repair.

Kauri had been controlled, but he had proven to Owen he could no longer be trusted, and life had been… worse, since he’d come home, and he could only lie about that as long as no one saw his skin.

He swallowed, peeling his pants off, too, shivering with damp skin in the chilly air as he dug through one of the grocery bags to pull the sweatpants out.

Just as he pulled out the simple black sweatpants, fire lit along his collarbone, racing out through his nerves.

Kauri crumpled naked back to the floor, muscles rigid. He curled into a ball, jamming his hand against the little circles, whining low in his throat at the pain.

Jack had pulled on a pair of thrifted slacks when he heard a soft noise. He paused, listening, and then decided he was imagining it and reached for a shirt.

Along Kauri’s collarbone, the line of metal suddenly turned a bright and brilliant glowing sky blue. “Ow, ow, hurts, h-hurts, ow ow ow-"

On the floor a few feet away the stationary Roomba began to call out in a loud mechanical voice HELP KAURI HELP KAURI HELP KAURI.

Jack was running back at the first cry of pain. The Roomba’s noise made things feel surreal - how could a robot asking for help not be? - but he made it quickly and dropped to his knees.

Jack hesitated, hand hovering over Kauri’s shoulder, worried the current would carry.

Kauri twisted around to look up at him, blue eyes wide and focused on something far beyond him, making a constant helpless low whine in his throat. He reached out to grab Jack's wrist, his fingers shaking, but he gripped on tight.

Jack startled at the quick grasp, but he let Kauri take him.

"P-push, on, on it, h-helps-" Kauri tried to bring Jack's hand over the line of metal. His voice shook with the electrical current, forced out between gritted teeth with a jaw that would barely move, tears standing in his eyes. "Push on th-them-... Ow, I'm, I'm sorry, Oh-Owen, I'm so sorry-"

The Roomba dropped the volume of its voice, but it did not stop repeating its plea.

“Fuck, Kauri, you don’t need to apologize to him,” Jack muttered as Kauri pushed his hand gradually more and more firmly onto the line of metal, brow furrowed with worry. “Fuck this guy.”

The metal was warm to the touch, warmer than Kauri's skin, but as he pushed on it Kauri's locked muscles started slowly to relax.

The pressure did something - Kauri didn't know what - did something to make it hurt less, and Kauri kept his grip on Jack's wrist, breathing hard, still making low hnnnh, hnnnh sounds, tears running from the corners of his eyes towards the ground.

Jack stared at him, teeth set, worry evident as he watched Kauri cry and listened to his pain.

"No, j-just… just a second, he u-usually d-d-doesn't-" There was a tense moment, Kauri's back arching. He gasped as the metal under Jack's hand went suddenly hot.

Finally, Kauri collapsed back onto the floor.

"F-fuck, h-hate when it does this ah, after," he stammered, limbs twitching and jerking with aftershocks. "S-sorry, sorry, d-didn't mean to…"

“When it does what after? When it heats up?” Jack winced but kept the pressure, glad that he’d stupidly snatched food out of a hot frying pan with his fingers often enough to numb the ends a bit. “What didn’t you mean to do, man?”

"A-all of it… t-to, to go, to… " Kauri's voice shook, riding out the way his muscles tried to lock up, until finally he could relax enough to control his own limbs again. "H-he, ah, I j-just, hnnh." He had to concentrate to let go of Jack's wrist, slowly unwinding his fingers, still twitching as he rolled onto his back, grateful for Jack's cool clean floor.

Jack moved slowly when Kauri let go of his wrist, still leaning over him. He gently wiped the tears away from Kauri’s temple with his fingers, then slowly sat back, cross-legged.

Kauri leaned into the touch automatically, without a second thought. His eyes closed, breathing hard, but at least Jack didn’t hurt. "Hnnnh, it's, um… h-hate my voice like this, like th-the Facility… th-think he's going to bed, turned it up for th-th-that… s-s-saying g-goodnight…"

Jack stared, baffled, and shook his head. “Saying what? I definitely don’t like this guy.”

“I d-don’t want to either,” Kaui said, almost dryly, and opened his eyes again to try on a shaky smile. “I’m s-sorry, this… probably isn’t how you pic-pictured a naked tw-twink on your kitchen floor.” His shaky smile widened, just a little. “H-hey, I made a j-j-joke.”

Jack grinned and shook his head, laughing. “Do you hear me com-... complaining?” he almost had to force the word out. Which was fine. He’d force whatever they stopped in him, like he’d forced reading, thinking, saying what he thought. “Oh no, how do I deal with the naked twink on my kitchen floor getting electroshocked? A helpless hot guy in my kitchen, how terrible for me. Seriously, though, we should find a way to get that thing out. Carefully. Fuck him and his goodnights.”

"D-d-doesn't come out. They put it in me at the, when I got repaired. Th-there's a video… ugh." Kauri pushed himself up a little, resting weight on his elbows. The skin around the metal circles was reddened and looked almost like a halo of sunburn, but the glow had gone back to the usual soft blue light.  

"S-sorry. I won't… I'll get m-moving tomorrow. Thank you f-for, um, for helping me.”

“Sure, man. You’re welcome to stay, but if you wanna leave tomorrow that’s your decision,” Jack shrugged. He was a bit disappointed, but that was his own to deal with.

Kauri blinked, surprised at the offer to keep staying, and then his eyes dropped back to Jack’s body, before going back up to his eyes. “Hey, c-can I… you said you were a Romantic but y-y-you're all marked up. Did your owner do that?"

Jack laughed awkwardly and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Uh...some of it. They weren’t allowed to shock me when they trained me. Special order bullshit. So they used drugs and pain. And then some of these are from my customers, but nothing major. I was never actually trained for Romantic besides the positions. Already knew what to do for sex. But I’m stubborn like a goat, so... she had her work cut out for her with my Domestics.”

Jack look pretty pleased about that. He was stubborn. They’d changed him, but he’d fought every bit of it… except when he hadn’t. He didn’t think about that. That was Reid, and Reid didn’t belong here.

"I used to be stubborn, too," Kauri said a little wistfully, sitting up fully as the ache finally subsided the rest of the way. "I think so, anyway. I had to be, if I ran away, right? Training's supposed to get rid of it."

Kauri glanced around, searching the floor with his hands, before he found the black sweatpants behind him. Apparently he'd been laying on them the whole time. When he went to pick them up, his fingers twitched and refused to quite close. "Just like the Facility," he muttered. "H-hey, is it okay if, if I need a second? To get dressed? My, my hands are always bad after discipline."

“Yeah, sure,” Jack reached for the pants and set them on Kauri’s lap. If he let his hand linger just a little longer than necessary, Kauri either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to mind. “Let me know if you need a hand. I’ll get the food going. What are you thinking? Pizza?”

Jack had already turned away when Kauri, looking down at the black pants in his lap and with his shoulders still twitching with the occasional mild aftershock, said softly, “Mostly I’m thinking that I’m r-really fucking lucky I met you tonight.”

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

1. Have A Seat

Ivy haphazardly pulled into one of the many empty parking spaces and threw the silver Nissan in park, opening her door.

"It is too fuckin hot," she groaned leaning out, her white coffin nails resting on the inside door handle. "I know I said I wanted summer to hurry up and get here but bitch I'm bout ready for fall.."

She was crooked and straddling the white line. If she'd parked between cars, she may have backed out to straighten up so that no one would dent her door or chip her paint, but since the only other cars were at the surrounding businesses, she closed her door and lifted in her seat to bare her full rows of teeth in the review mirror, passing her tongue over them. She hadn't flossed in the past two weeks, but she'd brushed her teeth for a second time in the day after lunch with a travel sized toothbrush in the bathroom at her job.

Turning her head right to left in the mirror, she examined all of her teeth close up before checking the corners of her eyes for boogers, the green of her irises lit by the sun shining through the window.

"My eyes look bout big as shit," she mumbled pulling her tube of chapstick to smear back and forth across her full naked lips without breaking her own eye contact.

"Okay shut up.." She pushed the radio to quiet the new Katy Perry song threatening to assault her ears and looked at her reflection once more before turning off the car. The A/C cut with it of course which meant it was time to go.

Climbing from the car, she looked up at the brick building with one of its offices labeled Orthodontist. Luckily, it was easy to find, she'd just never been inside. She drove passed it every day to get to work. It was a nine minute drive from her apartment. From work, it was about thirty minutes however and that was how long it'd taken to get there today.

The weighted glass door was tinted but once she put a little muscle to it, it opened to reveal a small but comfortable looking space with calm water blue walls and daytime television at a murmuring volume, mounted to the far right wall.

Two opposing leather navy couches sat invitingly. A small blue model sailboat sat on the tall receptionists counter that Ivy found herself standing in front of. It seemed to come to her neck. A petite black girl with long black box braids and deep skin of about the same age was typing on the computer, but she looked up immediately, a polite and professional smile on her face as she turned in her chair. She had small elfish features, high pointy ears, and perfect teeth.

"Hi, you have an appointment?"

"Yeah, Ivy Stevens. This is my first time here though, I-"

"Stevens? Your name is Stevens too? That's so cool. Dr. Stevens is amazing. Have you already spoken to him about your records?"

"Yeah, my dentist said he sent the requested information and I wondered if y'all got it."

"One sec, hon, I'll pull you up. Okay.. Yep, we've got em. Your insurance.. Okay.. Looks like you're set just fill out the intake paperwork."

Taking the clipboard, Ivy sat on the couch closest to the door she'd come through. She completed the paperwork fairly quickly before handing it back.

"Thank you. Have a seat. Dr. Stevens will be right with you."

As Ivy returned to the couch, her eyes darted about taking in her surroundings. It had a nautical feel. Artwork hung on the walls consisting of framed big ships on the ocean and then there were the abstract paint swipes with various shades of blue. Magazines were splayed on the end tables that met each couch and there was a floor abacus-type game meant for kids set aside neatly under the opposite end table along with a puzzle and a coloring book.

As nice as it was, right now A/C was its best feature.

"..I don't care what he told you, if it's not in writing.. see that's why you need to get things in writing," Judge Mathis nodded sternly toward the defendant before grabbing his gavel. "Case dismissed."

The woman tried to argue.

"No evidence, no case," he countered.

"Stevens," a questioning voice called chipperly.

Ivy turned her head to see the elfish girl smiling brightly as she held open the wooden door conjoining the waiting room to the hall. Her clothes were different. This time she wore light blue. Ivy's eyes darted briefly to the receptionist's desk and the girl was sitting there too in the same white getup. Okay identical twins. It clicked in Ivy's mind making sense and she followed the blue twin to the back.

"Have a seat and Dr. Stevens will be out in a second," the blue elf said disappearing. Ivy settled onto the bed-like dentist's chair with her legs extended, ankles crossed, and her keys and phone in hand. Her eyes shut as she waited, resting her lids. It was about two minutes or so before she heard shuffling.

She looked over to her left to find a man wearing light blue scrubs under a crisp white coat sitting on a stool and looking intently at a computer screen. She could tell he was young from the back, close to her age. The back of his head was faded into a top full off short dreadlocks. His long leg was extended off to the side, telling Ivy that he was tall and his poised left hand lightly touched the mouse. It was lively and held no wrinkles or ring. It looked strong though he moved with a gentle flow of ease.

Even through the scrubs and the coat, his build was such that she could tell he was active. He was visibly fit like he did intense sports or spent hours at the gym. Ivy watched his back waiting to see his face, but he was focused on the screen. Her nails drummed against her  Rick and Morty phone case in curiosity.

"Ms. Stevens.. you sure we aren't related?" The texture and richness of his tone and his cadence said round-the-way nigga, but the way he enunciated sounded practiced for white America.

"Depends.. your family from Florida?"

"Nah." The warmth of the smile in his voice could be felt and Ivy continued to stare at his locks and shoulders waiting to see his face to see if it matched. "Cali by way of Wakanda."

"Orlando from Antigua."

"I can hear it in your voice. What you doing on the west coast?" He clicked the mouse a couple of times and slid his foot as she tried hard to see more of his side profile. She could see he had a beard and small studded earrings

"What you mean? I ain't think I had an accent."

"Believe me when I say you do."

Finally he turned and Ivy's eyes widened as she whispered a low, "Damn" catching his reaction.

"You good?" His brows rose and he slid his stool to her right side getting closer. His dainty flattered smile gave her a glimpse of a few white teeth. She liked that. He was sexy and he had nice teeth. A good job too?

"Alright Ms. Stevens," he paused looking her in the eye, "Looks like you're here for a cleaning but you also want a filling.."

She wanted to be filled all right.

"I'll need to take some pictures of your teeth first if that's alright. It should be fairly painless. We'll work on the composite filling for a natural look and then we'll move into the cleaning."

"That's fine."

"Have you felt any pain or discomfort in your teeth?"

"Yeah, my bottom row. Right in here," she pointed watching his eyes train onto the tooth in question. His focus was making her hot.

---

Erik cranked the womans's chair leaning her torso back so that he could see her teeth more clearly. He draped a lead apron over her chest and took a blue rubber glove and pulled it onto his hand, pulling and adjusting the thin rubber over his palm. His middle finger held down her bottom lip gently as he peered into her mouth looking to the tooth she'd pointed out. It was a molar, tooth 19 to be specific.

"Bite down."

He placed a positioner between her top and bottom teeth and positioned his x-ray cylinder getting behind the radiation generator to take the picture. He repeated the process on both sides of her mouth.

"See, painless," he smiled moving back to the computer screen to analyze the x-rays. He could see the negative space in the tooth in question along with another tooth. "Looks like two cavities."

"The fuck? Two?"

"Don't worry I'm a fill em both today and you'll be good to go... just remember to floss. Always floss. If you go by the receptionist desk before you go, Saraya will make sure you get floss along with a sample of listerine... Okay." He moved back to her right side and pulled out a q-tip. "Here we go, open up for me?"

Nervously she opened her mouth and he swiped the q-tip gently over her gums.

"This is a topical numbing cream so that when I inject you.. you won't feel it. Ideally when you're getting work done, you don't wanna feel it."

He didn't expect an answer because she couldn't yet move her mouth, but the conversation was mostly to ease her anxiety. Patients tended to relax somewhat as long as he spoke to them constantly.

"That numbing gel kicking in yet?"

"Uh-huh," she grunted.

"Good.. Now, this is the anaesthetic. I'm a inject you and you should barely feel it."

"O-ha," she grunted. His experience as a dentist translated her response automatically. Okay, she'd said. He presented the needle and poked her gums at the injection site. He waited a few moments having injected her,  walking over to the computer again.

"How you doing," he asked as his fingers drummed on the keyboard. Her voice was low in response.

"I'm doing okay."

"Good.. I'm just giving it time to kick in. The more time you give it, the less you feel."

"That's good. I don't wanna feel it, I heard it could hurt and I don't like pain.." Her voice was getting lower and lower.

"Any moment now," he assured her letting the room go quiet as he stepped out for a minute. On his return, he went straight back to her x-rays before continuing to type through a couple of silent minutes.

"We still doing alright?"

No response. He waited a second deciding to ask again.

"Ms. Stevens.. you alright? How numb are you right now from a scale of 1-10."

Her only response was soft but heavy breathing. His fingers went still on the keypad, and he looked over at the woman to see that her eyes were shut. Her lips were slightly parted. He waved his hand in front of her eyelids getting no response.

"Saraya," he called and his receptionist appeared almost immediately, her smile wide. "Bring me my tools and lock the front door."

Her eyes glinted, her excitement rising. She turned leaving from his sight returning with a rolling silver metallic cart stocked with tools that were neatly arranged. He turned back to the computer screen exiting and discarding the dummy word document he'd been typing gibberish in for the past few minutes. When he turned back, Saraya was close to the woman's face.

"Aht, let's give Ms. Stevens some space please."

Saraya's hand reached out to stroke the woman's face with her index and Erik picked up the Bushcraft knife from the metallic cart swiping his thumb lightly over the sharp, smooth edge. It was a medium-sized knife with a sturdy, thick steel blade. Not one of his better knives, but useful and handy.

"Her skin is so soft," Saraya grinned in awe, her fingers lightly brushing the sleeping woman's cheek. She flinched, her smile dropping, and she froze when the knife whizzed by her cheek knicking her in the exact same spot where she'd touched the patient before thudding to the ground.

"That was my second time telling you.. Don't make me tell you again."

Saraya's face had fallen from the shock, but now the grin was back full force. "You spared me," she purred slowly standing and putting distance between herself and the body. "..She's all yours." Backing from the room with her hands in the air she disappeared and Erik's eyes returned to the sleeping young lady.

He sighed looking from her face to the phone and keys in her hand. Those had to be taken and he had the perfect space for them on the second tier of his cart. He was sure to turn the phone completely off.

"Let's get you trussed up, Ms. Stevens," he whispered reaching for the crimson bundle of rope. The color excited him as he wrapped it around his hand.

[trash-and-recyle-fics]

Feisty

Warning: grammar punctuation spelling, maybe some swear words and abusive scenes.

No summary because I suck at those

Enjoy

———————————————————

It was far to easy. The beast was beautiful. She sat unlocked and unoccupied. You slid into the drivers seat. The worn black leather feeling good. Sliding the seat up and fixing the rear veiw you took out a your lock pick. At this point you have gotten used to taking cars. Only the ones that looked valued though. You start the engine and the turned on the head lights. The roar of the beauty was almost too much. The exciting thing was you never got tired of it.

As you put the baby in reverse the motel door slammed open. Two men clearly confused started yelling. You looked over your shoulder and hit the gas. Oh man did the car move. Hearing them yell wasn’t even scary or seeing them pull out guns wasn’t too bad either. You flipped them off in the rear veiw and spend out of the parking lot. On your way home to get this baby to your pops and sold for a good lump some of cash.

You take off down the highway hitting speeds that made the grin go wider on your face. As you slow for your ramp a box full of cassette tapes comes from under the seat. A true treasure chest for classic rock. Popping in one from off the top the music started and your blood ran even faster through your veins.

You drove for hours. Stopping for gas three times and on the third time you took good pictures of the car to your father. He seemed pleased but he always did til he started to fix it up and found problems. He would take his frustrations out on you.

You rolled up the run down gravel road. Turing twice and coming up to your house. Cars lined up and your cousins worked on them. A buyer was looking at a cherry red mustang. Your pops came out from the cabin and looked at the thing of beauty. He slapped you on your back and sent you in the house to do chores. The little congratulations he gave you made you smile. Even if it was cold and half hearted.

A couple days later you had a backpack with about three days worth of clothes and $200 dollars. The car you had most recently brought to your family had so many miles it would not likely sell. So until they could find a way to wind back the miles it would sit in the grass that hasn’t been cut in weeks. Your cousin dropped you off in a town you did t know where but had instructions to ‘get something good for once.’ Walking around the town with your long sleeves hiding bruises and your backpack close to you. You walked all around and ended up at a church parking lot. You took pictures of lisences plates and went to a cafe with computers to do some research.

The car you had liked the most was a deep blue convertible. Out of all the cars you had pictures of this ones had the highest prices. Hacking into several networks and companys you found the owners address and knew you had to get it that night. As you pulled out your phone to call the owner about some fake insurance information you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around there was two men.

Oh shit.

The two men from the last car. You stand almost knocking over the computer. Trying to pull yourself together you started to let the charm slip through the cracks.

“Hey handsome! Do you need the computer? I was just on my way out.” You said so cheerfully it was like out of a sitcom.

“You are the best that took my Baby.”

“I’m so sorry sir but you have the wrong person. I would never kidnap a child.” You swung your bag on your shoulders.

“I’m just going to head out. Have a good day gentlemen.” You nodded towards the taller man and gave the one who spoke like he owned the block a nasty look.

“You arnt going anywhere!” He yelled. This was it your opening. You stuck out your lip a bit and let tears fall down your face smearing eyeliner and mascara. Putting all your acting skills into action.

“Leave m-me a-alone!” You cried. The manager practically runs out from the back and starts asking questions. You grab his arm and hug it to your body. Just like a small child would.

“I d-don’t kn-know them-m.” You hiccuped. The two guys started arguing and you let go of the mans arm. Drying your eyes you start to inch towards the door. Hiding behind a group of people walking in you exit without anyone noticing. Taking off down the block you make it to a small garden inbetween buildings. Sitting down on a bench you calm your breaths. You could get a cheap motel room and then take the car after dark. Get the hell out of dodge in about 10 or so hours.

Standing you walk out of the garden only to see the men. It was far too late and they reached you before you could get a word out. They pulled you into the garden up against one of the brick walls of the buildings.

“Who do you think you are?!” The shorter one practically roared.

“Who do you want me to be?” You said with poison laced in your words.

“You look our car we need it back.” The taller one spoke. You paid him no mind you were having far too much fun watching the shorter one try and come up with a clap back.

“What’s the matter honey? Cat got your tounge?” You enjoyed his face turn a bright red. Matching his green eyes making him look like a lit up Christmas tree.

“My.Car!”

“Is already sold and probably being driven by a greased up hot head who thinks he is the shit.” You finished for him. He punched the wall next to you and instantly cowered. You pressed your back to the bricks even more than it was and had your hands covering your head and face. Your eyes closed and waiting to be struck. After a couple seconds without feeling the anger from him you opend your eyes slowly and let your hands drop. The men were staring at you like you just crushed their dreams with a spiked boot.

“What.. happened?” The taller one spoke.

“What?” You said trying to recover and act as if nothing happened.

“You have bruises. On your wrists.” He pointed at your hands. When you had brought your hands up your sleeves ride up and uncovered years of secrets.

“Nothing. I need to go.” You turned and tried to walk past but he then grabbed your upper arm. A whimper left your body. He backed away like you had the bubonic plague.

“Let’s go.” The hot headed one said. He put his hand on your back and started walking. You just figured he would take you to the police. After walking for a bit you started to ask questions.

“Where are we going?”

“What’s your names.”

“Why do you want your damn car so bad.”

You walked up to a dirty motel. One that you would most likely stay in anyways. The men kept walking but you stopped on the gravel.

“You want me to go into a hote room with two guys twice my age and three times my height. Not to mention I stole their car. Yeah not happening.” You crosses your arms and stood in the middle of the gravel parking lot. The taller one you now knew as Sam huffed and rubbed his eyebrows. Dean the green eyed Christmas tree stuck one leg out and started to talk.

“After all this time you think we are gunna hurt you. Well shit we arnt murders!” You twisted your face and gave him a look that said ‘okay buster.’

“If you try to hurt me in any way i will castrate you and make jumbo over there choke on your detached balls. Got it?” They both looked a bit pale but nodded. You walked to the door they stood at and waited for you to enter. The room was normal, drab and a bit gross but normal.

They sat you down at the small kitchen table and told you about their jobs. It made absolutely zero sense but then again sort of did. They showed you some weapons they used and pulled up a case the had just finished. In fact the case you stole their car from.

“We need our car back Y/N.” You always has made decisions quickly but always stuck to them too.

“Fine give me the keys and I will get you your car.” Holding out your hand Dean looked suspicious. He eventually dropped them in your palm.

You called your cousin and told him no good grabs where here. He was going to pick you up in the next four hours.

“Meet is here by tomorrow at noon.” Sam spoke.

“And do not wreck my baby.” He looked so damn scared.

“Awe don’t worry deany I already had a joy ride. But yes I will be careful.” You walked out side and saw your cousin in his beat up truck. You hoped in and started to drive you home.

“In three days there is going to be a car show in savty. Imma head down there and get us some good beasts.” He nodded.

“Fuckin better pops ain’t to happy you commin home empty handed.” A shiver ran down your spine as you knew what’s comming.

TIME SKIP

As you got out of the old truck the screen door opens and closed.

“You arrogant bitch!” Your father screeched. You stood against the old Fords door and braced for impact. You felt hands on your throat and heard screaming. You just focused on keeping your eyes closed and not making the situation worse. One hand moved away from your throat and made an impact on your face.

“Ungrateful whore.” You slumped to the ground and controlled your breathing. Not letting tears run down your face you got up and went inside to start your chores.

After the dishes cooking cleaning and laundry you went to your room. The quite was bliss. You out your bad down and got out the $200 you had and the cars keys. You would leave once it got dark. The car was covered with tarps and towards the back of the lot. It would be dangerous for sure but you owed it to the brothers. You shoved some clean clothes into a duffle bag and the only money you had. You tried to cover the bruising on your neck with your hair but to no avail. You shoved on the only worn out shoes you had and shoved the duffle under your bed. You heard the click of your door being locked and knew that your father was going to bed. Your grabed your lock pick and shoved it into your pocket. Opening your window you pushed against the rusted bars and were able to shove your duffle out and squeeze your body through. Once out you ran. Keys and duffle in hand you ran straight to the car. It was dark enough and afar enough ways from the single light you had shining near the barn that no one would see you. Uncovering the beauty you knew you couldn’t keep your promise to dean. You had to have some fun.

You opened the creaky door and got inside. Checking the mirrors you turned the baby on and that caused some alert. Your theee cousins came out of the barn and saw the head lights flick on. As if the devil himself took apart of your judgement you slammed the baby into drive and hit the gas. Heading static for your devil like cousins. But before hitting them your turned at the last second and hit the brakes causing you to drift on the gravel and kicked up rocks at them and the Ford truck. They started running at you and wasting no time you took off down the gravel road. Switching turns and roads to make you untraceable. You got onto a highway and knew a few hours later you could possibly right at least one wrong you have done. You put a tape in and hit the gas.

TIME SKIP

As you pulled up to the motel you were in the middle of by far your favorite tape. The drums and guitar were heavy and the engine of the car was roaring along side it. The time on your phone said 9:30 AM and you smiled. The boys probably weren’t even up yet. Going up to the door with keys in your pocket you knocked heavily.

“Police!” You deepens your voice and knocked again. The door opens and there stood dean with spiked hair and a nasty look.

“Not funny Y/N.” He groaned.

“I got your car Dean.” He perked up like he forgot why you were there. You gave him the keys and he install ran outside and started walking around the car.

“You didn’t even scratch her. THATS AMAZING!”

“Oh yeah but the speed on this one..” You pat the hood the the car and he looked as if he had just shit bricks. The something more crosses his eyes.

“What’s on your neck?” Your hand went up and felt the tender skin.

“Uh... hickies!!” You walked past him and grabbed your bag from the open window of the car.

“So uh your welcome for your car..” you turned and started walking. Before you could get to far Dean grabbed your wrist and pushed up your sweatshirt sleeve. Bruises littered your arm like trash of a highway.

“I’m clumsy..” you explained pulling your hand away and pushing your sleeve down. You pointed over your shoulder and looked at the ground as you spoke.

“I uh I gotta go.” You took a couple steps back before you turned and started walking.

“Hey Y/N! Let me and Sam at least get you a bus ticket somewhere.” You nodded.

“If you try and kidnap me though I will kill you with my bare hands.” You were only half joking.

TIME SKIP

You and the Winchester’s have been on the road for awhile. Sam has taken a shower before you left and Dean has packed up the stuff. You were getting drowsy after being in the confined space all day. The sun had set awhile ago and you had your shoes off and feet up on the bench seat. Your head up against the window and covering your self as much as you could with your jacket. Soon enough you let the sleep take over and you slipped into oblivion.

When you woke it wasn’t because you were stopped or simply at the bus station. It was because you turned a sharp corner and your foot fell off the seat. You were covered in Sam’s and Deans heavy jackets.

“Where the hell are we?” They both looked back to see you awake.

“Going home.” Dean didn’t elelaborate.

“What?!” Sam nodded.

“When you fell asleep your phone started ringing off the hook so Sam answered it after the fourth time and turns out it was some dude yelling and screaming on the other end. About how your are no good and a bunch of other shit. Said he was going to find you.”

“So I threw the phone out of the window and told Dean that you are comming with us.”

“ And I didn’t get a say in any of this!!!”

“Look if you want to yell and bitch and scream that’s fine. No way in hell am I going to let you roam the states looking for another guy to hurt you. Now that just isn’t going to happen.”

“I meant what I said Dean. I will kill you with my bare hands if you hurt me.” Sam let out a laugh.

“That goes for you too.”he just nodded with a grin on his face.

“As for our jobs, you won’t have anything to do with it. You will go to school and get good grades and graduate.” About ready to start fighting again Dean held up his hand.

“That’s the final word missy.”

“This is so unfair.” You mumbled.

PART 2???

[unchartedterritoria]

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 27

*NEW CHAPTER*

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23* Chapter 24 * Chapter 25 * Chapter 26

As always, you can read the story thus far on A03  HERE

Tags: @jodiereedus22, @shambhalala, @missdictatorme

Reviews and comments are always appreciated!

Sam stormed through the doorway of the motel room, the door slamming into the thin wall hard enough to rattle its frame.

Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, he thought. Sam wiped the nervous sweat from his upper lip and shook another cigarette out of his pack and lit it with trembling hands while he paced in the confining space that he and Faith shared. Going to the cheap dresser that sat in the middle of the room, he yanked open the bottom drawer and pulled out the nine millimeter he had stashed underneath a pile of sloppily folded t-shirts. Setting it down on the bedspread, he went to the closet where Faith had stowed their duffels. As Sam dug through her black backpack, the smell of Faith that had clung to her clothes permeated the tiny closet. The citrusy scent made him angry, an unnecessary reminder that he had failed as a protector.

Fuck, just fuckin'- I'm a just- fucking FUCK!

His hands finally touched smooth metal. Sam pulled out the small 9mm that he had given Faith when this adventure had started.

He wanted more guns. He wanted a goddamn army.

Too bad Nadine don't own Shoreline anymore. Hell, she probably wouldn't even answer the phone.

Sam stared at the two handguns on the bedspread, his arms crossed in front of him while his thumbs drummed nervously against his elbows.

I need more firepower.

Sam took one last drag and pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the sink. He ran the tap briefly to extinguish it while he grabbed his phone. Sam opened his contacts. His finger hovered momentarily over the DIAL command.

I gotta do this. I don't wanna do this, but I gotta do this. He's the only one that's got what I need.

He dialed the number and waited what felt like an eternity between rings of the phone before it was finally picked up on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Victor, I need your help.”

The voice on the other end hesitated. “What did you do?” Sully scolded him. His anger dripped through the phone.

“I need the name of every arms dealer you got in the Keys.”

“What did you do?” Sully repeated.

“Legal, illegal, I don't care. I just need firepower.” Sam told him and ignored the question entirely.

“I asked you a goddamn question, Samuel, what the hell did you do?” He shouted into the phone.

Sam hung his head.

“Jasper took Faith.”

Sully's end was nothing but silence.

“I know I screwed up-”

“You think?” Sully suddenly shouted which cause Sam to wince.

"I know, but I'm gonna fix it. I'm gonna get her back, and I'm gonna end this," Sam said with determination.

“Call Knucky and Steve Ricker, then call whoever they tell you to. I'll send you their number. I'll be there in three hours.”

“I'm doing this myself, Victor,” Sam argued.

“I'll be there in three hours,” Sully said in a low icy voice and ended the call.

Sam let the phone drop from his ear. Closing his eyes tight, he smacked the back of his head against the wall.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He growled, each word accented by the dull thud of his skull against the drywall.

Faith felt herself drift into a hazy state of consciousness. A very hazy state. She could hear the sound of the ocean, albeit muffled, and faintly taste the sea salt on her dry lips. She let her brown eyes open gingerly, squinting against the bright Florida sunlight. As her senses came back to her, her eyes began to focus. Ahead was a sight to behold. The Gulf of Mexico, blue as an azure crystal, rippling in front of her and stretching as far as she could see. It was breathtaking.

She would have appreciated it more if she wasn't tied to a chair.

Faith could feel thorough wood underneath her as its edge bit into the bottoms of her thighs. Her forearms and ankles were secured in place solidly with duct tape while a length of rope resting beneath her bosom bound her upright.

Oh no, not good. Not good, not good, not good.

She tested the tape that held her arms in place. Whoever had tied her up had sadly done a good job, giving her no wiggle room whatsoever.

“Good evening, Miss Spencer.”

Faith turned her head towards the source of the familiar southern drawl.

Jasper Nox strolled towards her down a long brick corridor. In his short-sleeved white shirt and Panama hat, he reminded her of the guy from Jurassic Park, the owner, he even had an ornate cane as he did. Jasper's was a sleek black onyx, the handle carved into an eagle with its wings stretched back, poised in position to attack its prey.

“Isn't she just a majestic sight?” He said, motioning to the ocean through the arches he passed, the large corridor lined with crumbling brick arcs on both sides.

"I've seen the ocean over one thousand times, and I tell you, she still manages to take my breath away every time," Nox said, leaning thoughtfully against the archway where Faith was positioned. "Have you seen the ocean before Miss Spencer?"

Faith opened her mouth to respond with the expletives floating in her head, but all that she could produce was a faint croaking, wheezing sound.

Jasper knelt down next to her and grabbed a juice box from the floor next to her. He poked the small straw through the top and held it up to her lips. Faith kept her mouth shut tight in defiance.

Nope, I'm not getting dosed again. Nuh uh, not happening.

“I assure you, it is plain cranberry juice. Scout's honor,” He said, giving the solemn Boy Scout salute as a show of honesty.

I did see him just open it...

Oh, fuck it, I'm dyin' here, Faith thought before clamping her mouth down on the straw in front of her, and sucked at it gratefully. Jasper smiled as the box crumpled in his hand before Faith let the straw go, her thirst only partially quenched but at least her throat didn't feel like the Sahara anymore.

Before she could stop herself, she muttered a "Thank you," her voice now back where it belonged.  

And you just thanked your captor. Nice Spencer, real nice.

“You're most welcome!” Jasper said, surprised at her manners.

"I don't believe we were ever properly introduced at the Mariner's Gala. Jasper Evangeline Nox," He said, removing his hat. Bowing deep in front of Faith with his ponytail of red hair tumbling over his shoulder, he took hold of her restrained hand and gave the back of it a gentlemanly kiss.  

Faith could only imagine what this looked like. She also wondered if all kidnappers introduced themselves this way.

"It is quite the pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. These past few weeks have proven you to be an interesting character, to say the least," Jasper continued, regarding Faith like a specimen of a science experiment.

“What do you want?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as evenly toned as possible. Sounded desperate or freaked out wouldn't help matters any.

“Straight to the point! Most unlike a woman, how refreshing!,” He said, clasping his hands together in delight. The dig at her gender made Faith's nose wrinkle.

“All I am looking for is the location of the diary of John Wilkes Booth. Once you give me that, you can be on your way,” He said, making it sound as simple as drawing a square.

“It's with the rest of the Lincoln stuff. Some fort, in the middle of fuckin' nowhere,” She told him, the last word managing to just leave her lips before Jasper brought his cane down hard on her hand with a thwap!

“Language!” He bellowed. The word carried through the concrete corridor like a boom of thunder and echoed through the archways into the courtyard inside. Faith closed her eyes and bit the inside of her lip to keep from yelling, or cursing even more. She flexed her fingers. Thankfully, they all moved, despite the throbbing in the top of her hand.

"I will not tolerate such foul language coming from a woman. Is this understood?" Jasper said, enunciating each word slowly. He leaned forward. His face close to hers, evil green eyes staring over the head of his cane that threatened the space between the two of them. Faith glanced down at the figurehead, the hooked beak nose of the black eagle almost touching hers.

Don't ever argue with crazy people, Boogie, the words of wisdom from Susan Spencer burbled up to the surface of her mind, making her yearn for the warm safety of her mother's arms.

Faith gave a small nod.

“Good, now that we have that little matter out of the way, we can resume business. Where is the Booth diary?”

“I don't know other than with the rest of the Abraham Lincoln stuff,” Faith spoke truthfully.

“You're sure of this fact?” Jasper verified.

“Yes.”

“And where is that located?”

Faith sighed in frustration. The redundancy of his questioning making her grow restless.

“Fort Jefferson, it's in the middle of the...ocean, in the middle of...nowhere,” Her voice trailed as the realization of her current location settled in.

“Yes Miss Spencer, I had managed to deduce that much, as you have finally seemed to recognize,” Jasper said with a grand sweep of his hand to the building that surrounded them, the sarcasm in his voice more than evident.

“75 miles to the closest thing around that could even remotely be considered as civilization,” He continued, his voice hollow in her ears where she heard nothing but the sound of her heart trying to pound its way through her rib cage.

I'm alone in the middle of nowhere, I'm alone with a mad man, I'm alone, I'm alone.

Whap!

Jasper brought the head of his cane down hard on Faith's other hand, the beak breaking the skin enough for a bead of blood to form.

“Focus!” Jasper yelled, “You will pay attention as well as using appropriate language is this understood?” He said, bringing his face closer to hers with each snarled word.

“Yes,” Faith agreed.

“Wonderful, now shall we continue?” Jasper questioned breezily, his menacing demeanor changing quick as the tides. When Faith didn't answer immediately, his eyes began to darken again. Jasper cleared his throat, enough to bring Faith out of her momentary daze and her focus back towards him.

"Mm-hmm," She said with an emphatic nod.

"I really am a reasonable man Miss Spencer, I just simply want what is mine. To be quite honest, besides that Booth diary, I couldn't give two dimes for what happens to the rest of that stuff. Burn it, sell it, throw it in the ocean for all I care as long as I get what is mine."

"How's that diary yours?" Faith asked. In all the research she and Sam had done, she had never seen Jasper's name or even the surname of Nox.

"A brief history lesson then," Jasper began as he took off his hat, trying fruitlessly to wipe away the sand and dirt on the floor before placing it down on the aged cement. "By now, I'm sure you are aware of Mrs. Lincoln and her proclivities to collecting all things concerning the matter of her husband's tragic death.”

Wow, Confederate sympathizer much? Maybe? Just a touch?

Faith gritted her teeth to contain her sarcastic quip and snort. With both of her hands still stinging, she knew to keep her mouth shut.

"It was confirmed, multiple times, over the years, that one of the items she had acquired was the private journal of one John Wilkes Booth. And stored within the pages of that folio lies the Atzerodt confession," He finished, both hands clasped together in front of him, his good hand masking his bad.

“What Atzerodt confession?”

Jasper sighed and shook his head at Faith like she was the world's biggest disappointment.

“I see this history lesson won't be as brief as I'd hoped. John Booth, you see, his action was just one of many to be carried out that night. While Mr. Booth was set to take care of Mr. Lincoln, a man by the name of George Atzerodt was charged with the disposal of-”

"Andrew Johnson, the vice president," Faith interjected, hoping to speed this along. Jasper regarded her interjection with a look of somewhere between impressed and irritated. He began to pace as he told the rest of the tale,  

"Now this group of rebel seditionists, determined to change the course of history by disposing of the current government regime, met in secret for months until their plan was set. While Booth did manage to succeed in his part of the plan, Mr. Atzdrodt did not."

“He got drunk and chickened out,” Faith added. Jasper's face snapped towards her in anger.

“He changed his mind and came to his senses now may I continue?” He yelled, annoyed, his arms stretched dramatically apart.

Faith closed her eyes while her stomach flip-flopped, waiting to feel the cane on her hands or somewhere worse on her body. When nothing came, she looked up at Jasper meekly.

“I'm sorry,” She said in barely a whisper.

"Now," He continued, setting his cane aside momentarily to smooth the front of his shirt, "When the dust had settled, and the government had rounded up their band of rebels, Mr. Atzerodt gave the constables a detailed confession of the groups treasonous crimes. The secret meetings, the gathering of provisions by Dr. Mudd and the Surratts. He even handed over the diary Mr. Booth kept, the whole kit n' caboodle. And did you know it was only meant to be a kidnapping? There was no talk of murder before John Booth went and changed his mind!"

Faith was at a loss for words, unsure how someone could be so bitter and dramatic from something that happened so long ago?

"Meanwhile, Dr. Mudd insisted that Mr. Booth was a friend, nay, an acquaintance! That he knew nothing! And he was just upholding his medical oath," Jasper spat the words out, leaving shiners of saliva in his red mustache.

"What about what they got from Atzerodt?" Faith asked curiously, she didn't see herself getting out of this predicament anytime in the immediate future. After weeks of no information and no leads, the reason for this journey seemed to be coming to a head, the answers she'd been searching for somewhere close.

"Now Dr. Mudd knew what that confession could mean for him, it was his golden ticket. Between the time they were questioned and the trial, the confession vanished along with Booth's diary, which of course would have been just as damnatory for him. Gone. All traces either ever existed, erased! Dr. Mudd was given leniency while George Atzerodt swung from the gallows. Of course, between the words of a distinguished doctor, or a carriage repairman, whose story do you think they chose to believe?"

Faith let the lapping of the ocean fill the moment of silence. Jasper was on a roll and Faith was too afraid of the consequences of stopping it.

“Dr. Mudd became a prisoner here and very soon assured everyone he had changed his ways. Became a model inmate, helped out as fort doctor when the yellow fever hit. So they decided to let him go! Then, years later, the government had nothin' else betta' to do an' they went n' pardoned the slick son of a bitch!” Jasper's thick southern voice grew from a bitter annoyance to a core-deep frustrated roar as he slammed his cane down violently against the floor. Faith jumped, the sound reminding her of a pool cue being accidentally dropped.

With a sigh and a surprising gracefulness, Nox bent down and picked up his cane with his good hand.

“I deeply apologize Miss Spencer for my language.”

"What do you want with me?" Faith asked quickly. The question had been screaming in her head since she had regained consciousness. She had been too afraid of the possible answer until now, convinced if she had to listen to her psychopathic kidnapper apologize to her one more time, she was going to scream.

"As I have said, you just need to simply tell me the location of John Booth's diary," Jasper said, his original temperament returned.

“It's with the Lincoln stuff,” She repeated. She was really getting tired of this question.

"Yes, and where is that?" He pushed.

“I have no idea. Ask Sam Drake, he's the treasure hunter.”

Sam, her brain turned to him for the first time in what felt like it had been days.

“I think you do,” Jasper retaliated.

“How in the world do you think I know where it is?” Faith asked, thoroughly irked.

Oh, Jesus Sam, where the hell are you?

“Well, it's not without reason, Miss Spencer, you are a Mudd after all.”