#holster af

[on-a-lucky-tide]

just wanted to drop by and thank you for all your writings and stuff i get the biggest stupidest smile and blush on my face whenever i see price lol you characterize him so well!

We saw you from across the bar and we liked your vibe...

[flowersforbucky]

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[nhmkhnh]

LUXURIOUS. 

PAIRINGS: DOM!GRAYSON X SUB!FEM!READER

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: gentle!grayson ;; sugar mommy!grayson ;; size kink ;; strap-on sex (r.receving) ;; voice kink ;; orgasm control ;; marking kink ;; fingering (r.receiving) ;; office sex ;; after care. 

navigation. 

1. grayson met you by accident at a council party. you weren’t even supposed to be there—just a low-level assistant running errands. but she noticed you. the way your eyes lit up at the chandeliers. the cheap heels you clearly borrowed. the glass of water you clutched instead of wine. she noticed everything.

2. she offered you her coat that night. not because you asked, but because she saw you rubbing your arms at the tram stop, refusing a ride because you didn’t want to trouble her. that was the moment she decided: you’d never need to feel cold again.

3. her money is quiet—but limitless. new phone? already delivered. rent? she bought your whole building. designer heels you only glanced at through a window? in your size, waiting at your door, with a handwritten note:

“wear these for me tonight, sweetheart. i’ll be home late. —g.”

4. grayson is so fucking soft with you. no one believes it. not the cops. not the council. she speaks with steel, commands zaunites and piltovans alike—but she kneels when she takes off your shoes. she kisses your wrist like you’re porcelain. she calls you “my girl” like it’s sacred.

5. she loves watching you eat. like, borderline obsessed. orders you food she knows you love, watches as you take that first bite, always with a smug-ass smile. sometimes she’ll say things like:

“i work too hard for you not to eat like a queen.”

…as she wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

6. possessive sugar mommy af. you post a picture in a cute dress she didn’t buy? you’ll get a message in 3.2 seconds:

“where’d you get that?” you respond, teasing. “a friend gave it to me.” her next reply? “i’ll be over in 20. take it off.”

7. you’re her weakness. one pout, one sigh, one slightly sad text, and she’s leaving meetings early, gun still holstered at her hip, just to hold you in her arms and tuck your head beneath her chin.

8. she spoils you with intention. not just random stuff—she remembers what you say in passing. that childhood candy you mentioned once? she has it imported. you said your old blanket got lost in a move? she commissions an identical one. grayson is detail-oriented as hell.

9. she hates seeing you work too hard. if you have a job she thinks is beneath you, expect her to show up at your workplace one day, lean against the doorframe in her tailored coat, and go:

“pack up. you’re not working here anymore. i already paid your boss to let you go.”

(you pretend to be mad. you’re not.)

10. sugar mommy in the streets, beast in the sheets. you better believe this woman can throw you over her shoulder like it’s nothing and pin your wrists with one hand. she’ll buy you roses and then wreck you on 1,000-thread-count sheets. always rough and reverent.

11. she’s got a whole drawer of lingerie she bought for you. color-coded. lace. silk. she doesn’t make you wear them—she asks with that low voice of hers:

“put this on for me, baby.”

…and you always do.

12. she sometimes brings you to fancy events on her arm. the looks people give when grayson, in all her power and elegance, walks in with the prettiest little thing holding onto her bicep like a prized gem?? you love it. she loves it more.

13. grayson smells expensive. tobacco, clean leather, sandalwood, and warm wine. you cling to her coats when she’s gone. you steal her undershirts. she doesn’t mind. she tells you to take whatever you want—

“everything i have is yours, sweetheart.”

14. she sends you voice notes. deep, gravelly ones when she’s working late. “i miss you, little thing.” “don’t wait up.” “touch yourself if you need to—i’ll make it up to you when i’m back.” you play them on loop until she’s home again.

15. you’re the only softness she allows herself. she might be sheriff, might lead with fire and steel—but she melts the moment you crawl into her lap, kiss her throat, and whisper “i missed you.”

grayson would set the whole world on fire to keep you warm.

smut bonus.

1. grayson has a size kink.

she’s taller, broader, stronger—and obsessed with the way you look curled up beneath her.

“look at you… so tiny under me.”

she’ll stretch your legs wide with one hand and use her hips to pin you still, murmuring about how you were “made to be taken care of”—as she grinds slow, deep, and possessive into you.

2. she lives for strap-on sex.

leather harness. thigh holster. her favorite one is thick and curved just right, matching the press of her fingers when she edges you open for it.

“relax, baby. i’m not done spoiling you yet.”

she’ll tease you until you’re begging to be filled—and only then will she sink in, all slow and loving like she’s feeding you wine.

3. her voice when she talks you through orgasms? unholy.

gravelly, low, damn near feral when you’re about to come. she’ll growl against your neck, lips hot and teeth grazing:

“that’s it, baby—let go. give it to me. c’mon, that’s my good girl.”

you always come harder when she talks. she knows it.

4. grayson adores marking you.

hickeys. scratch marks. lipstick on your thighs. bruises shaped like her palms.

and when she takes you out in public the next day, she’ll gently fix your collar to just barely hide the bite on your throat—then smirk when you flinch every time her hand brushes your waist.

5. she loves using her fingers.

thick, experienced hands that always know what to do. grayson can finger you with such maddening control—slow, deep curls that keep you hovering on the edge forever.

“what’s the rush, sweetheart? i’ve got all night… and you belong to me.”

if you beg? she might let you come. might.

6. she’s the type to fuck you in her office.

desk pushed back. coat still on. you bent over the polished wood, panties pushed aside, her hand covering your mouth while she rocks into you from behind.

“quiet now, little thing. you don’t want the whole precinct hearing who this pretty cunt belongs to, do you?”

(spoiler: she wants them to hear.)

7. post-sex aftercare is everything.

grayson kisses every spot she marked. draws you a bath. feeds you fruit from her fingers while you sit on her lap, boneless and blissed out.

“you did so well for me, baby.”

she makes sure you know that even when she fucks you like she owns you—she treasures you like gold.

so obssesed with her 😋 please let this woman make her way into my life please.

[002yb]

Jason isn't one for honeypot missions, but their guy has niche interests and Jason so happens to fit the bill.

To say he has reservations is an understatement. He hasn't dated anyone; he doesn't fool around. How is he supposed to attract some big shot arms dealer and keep him distracted?

Steph making a joke about Jason showing off his guns, flexing her arm for dramatic effect. Tim thinks it's funny; Jason doesn't share their humor. He's got his heart in his throat. Nothing is funny at that moment.

But Tim swears to Jason that he won't have to do anything. Just sit there. Look pretty.

'But I'm not pretty—'

A protest that Steph scoffs at because she promises that Jason is hot af. Fuckable! Not that it'll get to that point; Tim and her have got his back, but the point stands that their target will be ensnared the moment he sets his eyes on Jason.

Jason still isn't convinced. It shows in his expression and gets more dismal when he looks down at what he's been dressed in—holsters and accessories to draw focus to the swell of his chest and the softness of his thighs. What good is a holster without a gun though? Jason feels bare like this and vulnerable for it.

Given Jason's reservations, Steph steps up. She'll prove to Jason that he's got nothing to worry about, so she video calls the hottest person she knows and asks them: be honest, would you fuck Jay?

'No.' Because it's Cass, of course she wouldn't. Steph tenses up at the blunt answer, laugh awkward until Cass adds a confused, 'Not you,' at which point Steph swoons, smitten until she remembers the situation and 'whoops, let me call you back?'

Cue Tim who swats Steph away because he's got this, watch. He texts Kon a picture and gets a voice memo shortly after that has Tim scrambling to lower the volume on because ffs, omg. Because Kon is shameless about it: 'We've talked about this at length? Of course we should! Is he down? Tell me he's down. I can't believe you finally asked—'

Tim has never felt more embarrassed or exposed. Steph won't stop laughing at him, either. The stupidity of it settles some of Jason's nerves though.

They call a neutral third party, in the end. The hottest guy they know: Dick.

Which Jason is immediately not on board with because it's too embarrassing; Jason has too much shame to be that vulnerable with Dick. Don't do it, give him the damn phone and—

'Be honest, would you fuck Jay?'

And the thing is—Dick doesn't even look at the video call. His phone is clearly pointed at the ceiling while he works on something off to the side.

Still, he doesn't hesitate when he says: 'Yeah.'

And Jason combusts right there on the spot because what.

Which he said out loud because suddenly Dick is looking at his phone screen and he sees Tim, Steph, and Jason just behind them.

'Oh.' Smooth. Dick has always been shameless though, so he moves on quick even while Jason is still floundering to process. The way Dick rallies is truly impressive, but it's nothing compared to his charm. He's soft when he says it, casual, a ghost of a smile on his lips when he catches Jason's gaze through the call and says, 'You look nice.'

Something something Steph snickering at Dick about how Jason looks very nice, pretty even, huh? While bumping her head against Jason's pec. And Dick laughs under his breath, but agrees, 'Yeah, so damn pretty.'

The simple compliment gives Jason all the confidence he needs to get through the mission, but then he remembers what preceded that compliment and Jason goes into crisis promptly after.

[applewatersugar]

Tomb Raider Classic Set (I-III) by Konrad Majewski

Originally I planned on uploading this on February 14th. Her birthday, but oh well, some things came up... Enjoy!

☆ Informations ☆

Classic Outfit YF-AF only | 11,7k poly | No morphs | Compressed | Full body | Everyday & Sportswear

Braided Hair YF-AF only | 7,9k poly | Compressed | Custom color

Salami (Glasses) YF-AF | 1,6k poly | Compressed | Everyday & Sportswear

Dual Pistols Accessory (Holster) YF-AF | 2,5k poly | Compressed | Everyday & Sportswear

Lara's Lipstick 1 swatch | Compressed

☆ Downloads ☆ SimFileShare MediaFire

[burekforsatoru]

on fire

sanzu haruchiyo x f! reader cleaning up after a bloodbath isn't that bad… unless you're partnered with sanzu. he despises putting in effort to help you out, despises your very presence… but he doesn't seem to hate the way you threaten him. in fact, that just might be his favorite thing. wc: 4.4k tags: blood, knife play, murder, burning corpses, dub con, hate sex, name calling, pet name, choking

being covered in blood was somewhat of a normal occurrence when working for mikey, especially when one was sent on missions with sanzu of all people.

it was always some shit with him, making stupid comments about my looks (“why do you always look like you haven’t slept in a week”), telling me i should just quit (“i don’t even need you on this, you’re here just to make it look like you have a purpose in bonten”), or straight up threatening me (“i could easily just toss you into the dumpster with the other bodies and nobody would even notice”), all the while playing with his gun, flipping it in his hands before sticking it back into the holster

today was no different. following an absolute bloodbath, it was mostly me who did any clean up, checking the pulse of every body on the ground, slitting throats and stabbing chests with my favourite knife that i was just cleaning with one of the corpses’ shirt before slotting it back into the holster at my thigh.

“pretty sure i could do it better than that if i was drugged out of my mind.” his condescending voice reached me, along with the sound of his lighter refusing to light the cigarette between his lips. “ and i’d look sexier at that.”

i walked towards the car, inwardly chanting my old reliable mantra, don’t kill him, it’s not worth the bollocking . with a quick motion, i pulled out my own lighter and lit his cigarette as he took a long drag, completely ignoring my hostile attitude towards him and his lack of help.

“i told you to stop flirting with me” i retorted with a slight sarcastic tone, knowing full well he would never actually flirt with someone like me. i nudged him off the trunk of the car and popped it open, taking out a canister of gasoline for later. “and move your bony ass, i’m not gonna do all this alone.”

reluctantly, and very obvious in his show of distaste for actually doing any work, sanzu pushed off the side of the car and sauntered over to the closest of the twenty bodies littering the parking lot. he kicked its hand and bent over just to grab the elbow, starting to drag it across the ground to the empty dumpster, not even taking his cigarette out. as soon as he flung the body into the dumpster with very little visible effort (which annoyed the shit out of me), he took a mocking bow, presenting himself as a helpful partner when really it would have been easier working with a brick. at least i could fling it at someone.

i huffed a little as i lifted the next few bodies into the dumpster, glaring at sanzu every now and then to see him once again leaning against the car, finishing that cigarette, and scroll on his phone. typical .

my arms felt like they were at least three inches longer (which is coincidentally as much length as i’d assume sanzu had in his pants), and they ached like hell. lifting up nineteen grown men as dead weight, even with my physical capabilities, was exhausting. i felt gummy as i walked back to the car and attempted to demonstratively lift the canister to walk back to the dumpster with it, but instead i caught sanzu’s eye and tripped, nearly spilling gasoline all over myself.

“are you sure i’m not your type?” he smirked very full of himself, “you seem to enjoy looking at me a lot.”

i gave the lifting another go, this time a little shamefully waddling with it and finally getting it to the lip of the giant dumpster that was now housing all of our victims from the mission.

“read the room, asshole. i’m looking at you because i’m trying to figure out in which pocket you keep the audacity.” with a scoff i tipped the canister inside with the bodies after getting them thoroughly covered in the smelly liquid. “are you planning on helping out at all tonight?” with one hand on my hip i glared at him again. god, he was going to cause so many frown lines on my face.

sanzu looked awfully self-satisfied as he dawdled over to where i was standing with my arms crossed, appearing annoyed and nonchalant, when in actuality i was trying to hide the fact that fucking hell my arms hurt like shit. his lighter finally came in useful, sparking for one reason only, and that’s to be thrown into the dumpster and set fire to the pile of corpses inside, quickly eating through anything it could. i imagined shoving him into the dumpster with the burning bodies, visualising it until my lips curled into a slight smirk.

“what’re you smirking about?”

“i’m picturing you burning in there.” i said with slight amusement in my tone, to which he just scoffed.

“you should feel lucky i’m even doing this mission with you” he yawned to show his disinterest, “i could’ve stayed at the club and been balls deep in some model right now.”

he didn’t find it amusing that i scoffed at his hopes for how his night could’ve gone.

“as if i’d want to be partnered with your dumbass, i’d much rather be working with haitani.”

his light pink eyebrow raised as he turned his head to me.

“which one?”

“does it matter?” i glared at him for a moment before turning back to observe the controlled fire in the dumpster. “but ran… probably ran.”

the scoff and the eye roll were so typically him, it was nearly funny how it felt like he was jealous .

he shut the trunk loudly and sat in the driver’s seat, almost sullenly staring ahead and placing another cigarette between his lips.

i dragged myself to the car and shut the door with a creak and a slam.

“what’s with that stupid expression?” i put a deadly amount of hostility into the question, but what i really wanted to do was slap the stupid sullen frown off his dumb face. he looked at me from the corner of his eye and i lifted my hips to give him what he was too proud to ask for - the lighter. i flicked it and lit his cigarette before putting it back into my jeans pocket

“ ran ?”

“oh for the love of…” i smacked the dashboard before pushing my seat back and stretching my legs by putting my feet up “are you seriously pissy because i said i’d rather work with him?”

sanzu just huffed. fine . i let him sulk as he started the car and drove us away from the literal dumpster fire, since we couldn’t drive away from one that is our relationship.

the streets were eerily empty, despite the rainy weather. you could usually see couples in cars parked all over the place, since the entire neighbourhood was full of empty lots, wide streets, and dark alleys. he parked and turned the key, but neither of us made the move to get out just yet, my arms and legs hurt like a bitch.

in a second, sanzu was out of his seat, hovering over the console with his hand gripping my jaw. a fair attempt, but my hand had grabbed the knife strapped to my left thigh and pressed the blade against his throat. i looked at him with an almost bored expression, asking silently, did you seriously think that would work?

“i swear to god i’ll kill him if he touches you” he snarled, getting so close to me i could bite his nose if i tried

pressing the knife a little harder, i felt his throat bob under the edge. he wasn’t letting go, wasn’t even making a move to pull back, almost like he didn’t even feel the sharp blade against his skin.

“how about, and really think about this now, you stop trying to tell me what i can and cannot do. you and i are nothing .” i bit the words out, jutting my chin forward and bringing our faces even closer, but that didn’t deter me. nor him.

it took a few seconds of intense staring before his snarl started turning into a smirk, then into a shit-eating grin.

“it’s kinda sexy when you threaten me like this” the tip of his tongue darted out to lick the scar on the right side of his mouth, as if checking if his signature scary feature was still there.

“there’s room in the trunk for a body, sanzu, do make sure it’s not yours.” i kept my threatening tone, but he looked too far gone for any sane thinking to occur.

“aww, but you’d miss me. who would you threaten if i was gone?” he cooed. instead of backing off, he tilted his head, not caring that my blade was digging deeper into his skin. “now how about you tell me you’re mine? forget haitani, that prick can’t cater to your depravity…”

“how about you drop dead ?”

he chuckled, vibrating my knife. his tongue darted out again.

“that wasn’t a no…”

“no.”

he blinked with those long, thick, pink lashes, almost seducing if i wasn’t so completely repulsed by his very existence. spiting me and my knife, he moved his hand from my jaw down to my neck, as if tilting my face for easier access. for some reason, for some inexplicable reason my body betrayed me, staying still when i should’ve slit his fucking throat and made him bleed out all over me. why did i let him get this cocky?!

“what would you have done if ran was here?” he lowered his voice, down to barely a whisper as he got a little closer, his scarred mouth nearly touching my jaw.

i gulped, feeling his hand tensing around my neck.

“what the–” my words were cut off as he tightened his grip on my neck and i pressed the blade harder against his neck.

“would you have fucked him in this car?” he continued, his words sounding almost… sensual. “would you have sucked him off while he drove you back?”

sanzu’s lips ghosted my jaw and i swallowed before pressing the knife at a different angle, making him chuckle softly.

“you might give me a new kink if you keep it up.”

“you’re insane. like, literally.”

“so i’ve been told.” he didn't sound defeated, but nonetheless he removed his hand from my throat and sat back in his seat.

i was royally pissed off, why on earth didn’t i push him away or just straight up kill him, why did i let him think he can rattle me?

we left the car parked as we silently made our way into the bar. everyone from bonten met up here after missions. with the exception of bartenders and a few patrons, everyone in the bar had ties with a gang. be it bonten or someone we had dealings with.

so it was no surprise, even a little bit of a relief, when we walked in and my eyes landed on ran haitani himself. surrounded by his brother and a few others from the gang, he was cradling a glass of something brown, slowly sipping on it when he noticed and beckoned me. i took it as a hail mary, immediately pasting on a smile and walking over to slide into the booth next to him.

he didn’t care that i was all bloodied. if anything, ran took my hand and kissed my knuckles, looking at me like the blood of twenty men was the sexiest thing i could’ve worn tonight.

meanwhile, sanzu sullenly made his way to the bar and sat there next to takeomi, but both stayed silent, drinking and occasionally exchanging a glance or two.

at ran’s booth, i drank and laughed with him and rindou, not willing to tell ran off for slipping his hand between my thighs. ran’s hand was welcome, warm, and his smile was easy. with a few whispered words into his ear, i leaned closer and he dipped his head down, kissing my neck, trailing his lips along the parts that sanzu had gripped tightly only minutes ago.

the pink haired grumpy man glared at us, i threw my head back and caught his eye for a second, then brought it back to focus on the way ran’s lips felt on my skin, the way he gripped my thigh and passed me his drink to sip on it while he slipped his hand into my panties and parted my needy folds with one long finger.

oh the moan that left my lips went into his ear immediately, spurring him on to circle my clit teasingly.

before i could really do something to piss him off, sanzu disappeared from the bar. i didn’t see or hear him leave, but the next time my head dipped back, his seat was vacant. takeomi didn’t seem too fazed, having the seat next to him suddenly empty.

i lifted my hips up, grinding myself against ran’s hand and seeing his smile grow as he leaned down to bite my earlobe. we whispered into each other’s ear while the rest of the group talked amongst each other, not giving a fuck about our activities.

i stopped ran for a moment, excusing myself to the washroom for a moment, biting his lower lip before leaving. as if he wasn’t hot enough, ran put the finger that had been rubbing my clit between his lips and sucked on it with a gentle hum, appreciating the taste.

a little lightheaded, i fixed my belt and the knife strapped around my thigh and went to the women’s restroom, thanking my lucky stars it was empty. once out of the stall, i washed my hands with cold water, using it to splash my face and the back of my neck, trying to snap my mind into focus and stop myself from being lightheaded.

“having fun with haitani?” a venomous voice followed the sound of the washroom door slamming against the tiled wall.

i didn’t even have to turn my head or lift it to know it was him .

“this is the women’s restroom, if you didn’t know.”

“answer the damn question, slut.”

i finally lifted my head to look at him through the mirror. it reflected his less than happy expression, the snarl he wore in the car earlier was stretching his scarred mouth all over again and his fingers flexed like he wanted to bring them back around my neck.

“you might want to reconsider your approach tonight, asshole.”

“or what? you’re gonna cut me up?”

“if i’m feeling merciful i’m gonna cut off your testicle.”

the snarl on his face almost seamlessly melted into a vicious grin, making me sigh as i was once again reminded of the extent of his degeneracy.

“and if you’re not? if you’re feeling rather vengeful? gonna take both?”

“then i’m gonna slice your dick off and feed it to you.”

he moved like lightning and in a moment he was pressing me into the edge of the sink, his hips pushing against my ass and his hand grabbing my hair. with a swift movement he tilted my head back, but i was just as fast. my trusted blade was once again in my hand… and under his chin. the position was a little awkward, but if he insisted on testing me, i would continue threatening him.

“that a threat or a promise?” his voice was lower and dangerous. but there had to be something seriously wrong with me since his dangerous tone sounded seductive.

he stunk of blood and alcohol, being so up close i could see his pupils were blown out, a sure sign he was high. not that there was a waking moment when he wasn’t.

“you’re a freak.” i spat the words at him, gripping my knife tighter, but as i did so, i felt his cock hardening against my ass. this freak was actually getting turned on by me nearly slitting his damn throat. and for some reason i liked it.

“only for you, princess.” ugh, of course he would use that corny pet name, making it that much more awkward for me to look up at him and not imagine him taking me right there on the sink.

one of his hands traced up my body, grabbing my breast for a moment before reaching the top button of my blouse and starting to unbutton it enough for his hand to slide into it.

the hand on my hair tugged a little, tilting my head to the side. his mouth immediately latched onto my neck and started to leave wet kisses, sucking a bruise into my skin occasionally.

i gulped and dared to close my eyes for a second, having every intention of opening them, but instead they stayed shut and i let out a sweet moan. that only encouraged him to continue, groping me more, grabbing my breast over the fabric of the bra and grinding his hips against my ass.

i never once lowered my knife or moved it at all.

“are you gonna cut me? or are you gonna keep letting me use you?” his words ghosted over my neck, making me shiver.

“thinking about it.” damn, my words did not sound as blunt as i wanted to say them.

i wanted to prove that i could still very much kill him where he stood, that it was just my mercy keeping him alive. mercy and the hate of confrontation with mikey. at that point it would’ve been a blatant lie, the throbbing in my abdomen was proof of it.

“gets me all hot and bothered thinking about you cutting me with that cute blade” his words dripped from those lips onto my neck, immediately scooped up by his tongue trailing up to my ear where he nipped at my earlobe, unfortunately making me groan. “keep making those sounds for me, princess.”

i kept my knife moving along with him, where he tilted his head, my hand followed.

“keep that knife on me, yeah?” sanzu bit into my neck, making me gasp, but immediately hiss, annoyed with how good his hands and teeth felt on me.

“you’re sick.” i strained out my words and opened my eyes, meeting the lewd scene in the mirror. fuck. ran must have wondered where i was already, but i wasn’t making a move to remove sanzu from my body.

“and you’re enjoying this just as much as i am” he chuckled against my skin and tilted my head back again, pulling at my hair sharply.

sanzu wasted no more time, he lowered his head and kissed me right on the mouth, parting my lips with his bitter tongue, letting me taste the drink he had had at the bar. and i responded. my lips moved against his. the hand that cupped my breast now made its way down, slipping under the waistband of my jeans and panties.

his smirk against my lips broke the kiss for a moment when he felt how wet i was and with ridiculous speed he unbuckled my belt and tugged my jeans and underwear down, leaving me exposed to the colder washroom air. now my hair was released from his grip and i could bring it back up.

not once did i release the grip on my knife, and at this point we both knew it was there to stay. neither of us had a problem with that. in fact, it seemed that the danger provided some sick amplification to the tension felt between us. we looked at each other through the smudged mirror, both still bloody from the mission, faces sporting a few stray specks of blood.

sanzu moved one hand to my jaw, and i didn’t stop him again. the other hand spread apart my legs just enough to fit his swiftly pulled out cock between my thighs, making him thrust forward ever so slightly at the warm and wet contact. i felt his fingers extend from my jaw to rest against my lips, prying them open and slotting themselves inside my warm mouth.

“bite down” he ordered. i immediately brought my teeth down, sliding my tongue around those digits at the same time. “harder” he instructed, and i obeyed. i bit down as he slid his tip inside me, making my eyes roll back and the grip on my knife get a little tighter.

“keep going” his breathy voice was in my ear, but his eyes were on mine through the mirror. it was strange, seeing myself gagged by sanzu’s long fingers and fucked against the sink, but it filled my belly with heat. he pushed deeper into me, making my hips buck forward, but there was no escape. he fit every inch of himself into my cunt, snaking one hand around to press against my clit and rub it in slow circles, in time with the thrusts of his hips.

i whined, the sound came out gargled around his fingers that somehow ended up even deeper in my mouth, like he was trying to reach my uvula. my eyes glazed over, threatening to close with every push of his cock against my sweet spot. but i kept them open, kept them trained on the depravity reflected in the mirror in front of us. the knife was still pressed under his chin.

once he lowered his gaze to my trembling hand holding the blade, he sighed and pulled out of me quickly. it took no time to spin me around and lift me up onto the sink, leaning over me as he pressed my back against the mirror. i switched the position of my hand and it found its way to his throat again, not letting him off the hook. the sight of the blade being so quickly pressed against him again made sanzu smirk and dart his tongue to touch one of the scars on the side of his mouth.

“good little slut, keep that knife on me until i’m done with you.”

“god, you’re such a bast–” he shut me up by thrusting into me again, so deep that my folds felt his skin as he started grinding his hips against me while fully sheathed inside.

this time he kept a faster pace, keeping my legs up while he slowly slid my jeans off my legs, tossing them to the side once he got them over my boots. my feet dangled over his shoulders as he rammed into me harder with each movement, only increasing the strength with which he stuffed himself into me repeatedly.

even if i wanted to bite out some snarky comment, a threat, a curse, i couldn’t. my hand holding the knife slipped as he thrust into me harder, but he was quick to react by gripping my wrist and keeping it still against his neck.

“don’t you dare.” sanzu warned in a ragged voice. his eyes could tear a hole in my skull with the intensity of his stare. i kept his gaze, unwavering as he fucked into me again and again, probing into my cunt and making me clench around him. his hand dropped mine once i regained enough control to keep the knife up, returning to hold my thighs, using them as leverage while he pushed forward, parting my folds with his length.

a bastard. a dick, an asshole, a piece of shit, a sicko who hated me. a freak who hated me so much he wanted to see me unravel around his cock, who wanted to see drool in the corner of my mouth as he made me see my maker. he was all that and he got his wish.

using his thumb, sanzu swiped the saliva from the corner of my lips and sucked it into his mouth, promptly making me clench even more around him.

“princess…” he almost cooed while ruining me “you get any tighter and i’ll lose my dick”

oh how i wanted to say he didn’t need it because nobody would touch him anyway. i wanted to be cold, but getting railed on the bathroom sink by him would tear down any high ground from which i would speak.

“that’s it, relax with me…” one of his hands traveled up my torso and started kneading my breast, his eyes were still on me, unravelling me just with that high gaze. “don’t make me get haitani in here to see you being a dumb slut for my cock.” he chuckled before an even harder rut into me “even if you did threaten to cut it off and feed it to me.”

i rolled my eyes, partly in pleasure, partly in annoyance. god, he felt so good lodged inside of me, dragging his cock in and out my velvety walls while i kept his throat under knife control.

he leaned in, dragging his mouth against my cheek, reaching even deeper inside me as my legs went up. i clenched, tightening around him and making his hips stutter slightly.

“fuck… princess, i’m filling you up i don’t even care” he bit my bottom lip and started going faster, rutting into me desperately now as moans and little whimpers spilt from my lips.

it took no more than five grunting thrusts for me to completely fall apart, eyes rolling back, hand with the knife slipping again, groaning and mewling as i tightened around him, keeping him inside as he emptied, filling me with his release and making my thighs shake. his throat vibrated my blade against him, groaning as he slumped over me, pressing his forehead into my shoulder.

we breathed together for a while. he softened inside of me and pulled out slowly, looking down as his cum trickled down my ass cheeks and onto the tiled floor. without another word, he zipped up his trousers and fixed his hair in the mirror, noticing a small cut just under his jaw. it made him smile, the bastard.

he barely spared me another look as he turned and left, swinging the door open and shouting “haitani!”

fucking asshole. leaving me alone to get off the sink and clean myself up. everything ached, the exhaustion from doing nearly all the work on the mission and being fucked into oblivion… it was almost too much. i looked at myself in the mirror and rubbed off some of the blood on my face.

damn it. i couldn’t go back to ran like this. having snuck out of the bar, deciding on walking back home, i let myself think about what the hell i’d done. fuck, i would kill mikey for putting me on this mission with sanzu.

[novashelby]

Love in a Bookstore-Cillian Murphy x Reader

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader Warning: None-pure fluff Word Count: 1.2k Summary: She works in her Aunt's small book shop tucked away in a quiet street of Dublin. He frequents, but quietly and hardly speaks to anyone. Hiding away under his casual beanie and oversized jumpers, the only thing she knows about him is the type of books he chooses.

Please feed your writers with comments. We are hungry chonks.

He was pretentious in the books he read. Always going to the section of the bookstore unspokenly reserved for those who drank their coffee black. Black coffee books are what she called them. Jokenly, of course, insinuating that no one with so much as half a brain actually enjoyed black coffee. Bitter piss, it was. Much like the coffee he drank, the books he read were a good starting point for how to look sophisticated even when no one is looking. Perhaps she was too judgy because she hated coffee all together and was quite a sucker for a classic, no matter how dry or wordy.  

He’d often come in at noon during the work week when the shop was at its quietest. He’d entertain the front selection, nibbling at his thumb in thought. Doing that little lean back thing, eyes squinted, his finger would skim over the titles before plucking one off the rack. The silence would break because he’d always do this thing with his thumb. It’d tap as he read the book and when he decided it was less than worthy to bring home, he’d put it back. Always, always slightly tilted. Such a routine action, she was almost certain it was a defect in his personality. 

Never rude, but never over extended. When he’d make his way to the artsy shelf, he’d look over just long enough to catch her eye and give a little old fashioned tilt. And because it was so very much customary, she’d offer a typical, “some weather, huh?” Even on the days when the weather was just fine. 

Men are nothing but creatures of habit. Surfing through roughly eight books, he’d always land on the books tucked in a far hidden corner or the books being swallowed by bigger titles. Sometimes they’d be drawn out life stories, occasionally poetry collections of dead poets, or once in a while, a good old fashioned contemporary…by your contemporaries. Tucked away in a little spot sat a plush, velvet holstered chair with slight wearing along the seams. Surely a chair old enough that James Joyce himself sat in. He’d fucking love that, wouldn’t he? He’d take his selected book and read the back, his smile always twitching up. But before he could ever make a final decision, he had to fan the pages and smell the edges. Only then would he take it to the chair and read, if she had to guess, twenty pages. 

And to not be so suspicious, when she’d hear that chair creak and his sigh, she would focus her attention on fumbling with the drawer. “Just this,” he would say, not unkindly. Ringing him up, they’d connect eyes for a short little moment. She’d smile and he’d nod, and it’d all be just so mundane. But she often found herself liking this mundane. This often repetitive, non special mundaness. 

So much so that one day, she wanted to break it. Found it so overwhelmingly curious that she wanted nothing more than to shatter its confines. Before his next anticipated visit, she paid extra attention to the section that smelled like him. She felt weird thinking about it, but it did. It was always this familiar scent of vanilla and some type of wood, and it always lingered. Thinking to herself, she grabbed a book that read familiar to the others he enjoyed. A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. A mix of all those heartbreaks, soul crushers, and stomach turners. It was perfectly cathartic. A good purge of emotions that’d make you either feel renewed, enlightened, and thankful or depressed and sick, but better for it. There was no inbetween. 

She followed his habit unknowing that it was a habit of her own; fanning the pages, smelling the edges, holding it close to her chest. After flicking the closed sign and turning off the front lights, she walked in dance to the back to that James Joyce old chair, and sat. In her delicate cursive, she wrote on store embossed paper: Some books aren’t meant to walk through, but stumble. With this note, I add a tissue for your reading pleasure. You will need it. With that, she put it at the end of the shelf and tilted it askew, as if to say I’m calling you. 

She wasn’t expecting much, really, and so when the next day came and he picked the book, she felt her heart skip a beat. Like she had done, he sniffed the pages and cradled it to the chair. The note hadn’t fallen out until he sat. Smiling, she watched as he looked at the tissue. Slight disgust, putting it on the coffee table. But when he unfolded the note, eyes skimming over her words, the silence broke with a soft chuckle. That day, he didn’t need to read ten pages to decide whether or not he wanted to buy it. Smiling to herself, she looked away, dusting the till. 

A few moments later, he put the book down and said, “you enjoy this book?” 

Looking over her shoulder, she pretended to take a moment to read the title. “Oh, yes, I read it a few summers ago. Something like a heartache and stomachache, but you don’t really mind either.” 

He laughed, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. “Well, someone seemed to like it enough.” He put the money down and gave her a nod before walking out of the store. She watched him walk until he was no longer visible. That’s when she looked down at the counter and noticed the tissue folded within the bills.

Unwrapping it, it said: I like a good stumble sometimes. Coffee?

The next book was There, There by Tommy Orange. And just as before, after closing she wrote a little note. Good, because you won’t be getting up after this one. Maybe…how do you take your coffee? She hugged the book, feeling in love with the pages. Never did anywhere feel like home except a bookstore or library. Just anywhere where the walls were stories and escapes. As she went to put the book on the shelf, she paused, and turned. Looking at the coffee table, just as old as the chair and probably where James Joyce has his black coffee, she decided otherwise. For he hadn’t needed to skim the titles, she placed it there, askew with a note peeking out. It was waiting for him. 

Like clockwork, he came in and did his browsing. To her dismay, he picked up a book from the shelf and took it to his spot. Skimming the pages, however, he placed it on the arm rest before taking a moment to look out the window. Right next to him rested a book. She watched as he spotted it and quickly disregarded everything except the note. Rushing to hide behind the rotating rack, pretending to organize the random postcards, she waited for him to put down the money. There was no need to ring him up-she knew and he knew what it was. When the familiar ding let her know he left, she rushed to the counter. 

Except there was no money, only a note. 

Black. 

Her smile cracked and she snorted, “of course you would….” 

 And PS, if you want the money for the book, meet me at the cafe up the road. The one where pretentious people like us go. You know the one.

And she did. She knew the exact one.

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part two: i don't wanna be me

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 6.6k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, descriptions of a crime scene/injury (bullet wound and head trauma)(not shane or tim), heavy petting, oral (male receiving), protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, tiny bit of misogyny (shane is ignorant af and it's like 2002 lol), first time bottoming, shane's internal battles, tim being a really fucking good partner, f e e l i n g s, seriously this is sappy y'all, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (seriously i can't explain how much taylor has helped with this story, go give her some love!)

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

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Shane locked himself in his bedroom for three days after the disaster at Tim’s apartment. He’s never felt so stupid in his life. How could he just… kiss him like that? 

Why did he do that?

He thought about that moment constantly, for hours at a time. Tim’s lips, for how briefly they’d touched his own, felt so… correct. They were soft, a little chapped, but warm. It was like things clicked into place for him. He doesn’t remember any kisses with Raven ever feeling like that. Or any girl he’d been with, for that matter. 

He hated himself for how good it felt. Especially because Tim ended it before it ever really began.

Shane wasn’t sure if there was anyone else he could go to about any of this. Legally, he still lived with his mom and her husband in their downtown apartment, but they never saw each other. He basically had his own area of the apartment to himself. His mom and her husband made enough that they didn’t really notice or care what Shane did with his life. He didn’t have any goals, and he guessed that’s why he did petty crimes like he did. He was just so fucking bored.

And now he was dealing with… this. 

He stared at Tim’s business card, his thumb rubbing over the older man’s name. He was curled up on his bed, holding one of his pillows close. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. The bright green text read 2:18am. He sighed to himself and rolled over onto his back.

He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

Nobody noticed a change in Tim at work. If they did, they were professional enough not to bring it up. He felt fucking awful for how things went down with Shane. He wanted to reciprocate so badly, but Shane was vulnerable and Tim didn’t want to take advantage of him like that.

“Boss, I got those files you needed.”

Tim looked up from his desk, pen still in hand while he filled out the paperwork for a robbery he’d taken care of the day before. He’d thought about Shane and his magazine the entire time. “Thank you,” he grunted, pointing at an empty spot on his desk. “Can just set it there, please.”

The agent set it down and took off, getting back to work.

Tim looked back down at the file he was working on and sighed, losing his focus. He looked over at the phone on his desk and frowned. He didn’t have Shane’s number so he couldn’t call him. He wanted to tell Shane that what happened wasn’t wrong, or even unwanted.

The sound of heavy footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Matthews, his partner, slammed Tim’s office door open.

“There’s been a shooting!”

Tim furrowed his brows, pushing his thoughts of Shane away for now, and focusing on the task at hand. “Where? Do we know anything else?” He asked, opening the drawer in his desk to put his gun holster on over his shoulders.

“Yeah, it was at a liquor store downtown. We have an idea of who the victim is based on descriptions from the employee working at the time, but not of the shooter,” Matthews answered, handing Tim’s trenchcoat to him. 

The two detectives made their way to Tim’s car and sped off to the crime scene.

“His name is Howard Xavier, and he’s twenty-eight,” Watson, the cop who was in the area, explained. “He’s on his way to the hospital now, but he looks to be in decent condition.”

Tim nodded, eyes looking over the crime scene. Flashes of photos being taken filled the peripheries of his vision. There were bottles of wine and hard liquor crashed everywhere. “Looks like Xavier tried to run from the shooter,” he mumbled, crouching down to look at the dirty boot prints on the linoleum floor.

“Do you think they knew each other?” Matthews asked.

Tim sighed, looking up at his partner before standing again. “Who’s to say?” He shrugged. “Maybe. Do we have any information on any relatives or associates?”

“No family, but we’ve found a couple of friends on file,” Matthews replied. “I think we’ve got them back at the station.”

Tim nodded. “Let’s head back and see what we can find.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. 

Known Associates: Tracy Wynanski and Shane Morrissey.

This had to have been the coincidence to end all coincidences or Tim had an insane amount of luck. There was a phone number for Tracy, but no address. He stepped out of his office and approached his secretary, an older woman by the name of Dolores.

“Can you get me Shane Morrissey’s file, please?” He asked, voice a little more gruff than he’d intended.

“Of course, sweetie, give me one moment,” Dolores smiled, rolling her chair to the file cabinets. 

Shane’s file in hand, he sat back at his desk and started looking through the files for Howard Xavier again. A bullet wound to the thigh, and blunt force trauma to the head.

He figured it’d be easy to get the professional parts out of the way first and called Tracy, asking if she knew anything about the shooting. She said she didn’t, since her and Howard hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months. She’d gone back home to Philadelphia after a breakup. 

“Thank you, Tracy,” he said. “Do you happen to know Shane Morrissey? He’s one of Howard’s other known associates and I’d like to ask if he knows anything.”

Tracy let out a bitter laugh and said, “Oh, I know Shane. He can kiss my ass for all I care.”

“Ms. Wynanski, please–”

“I don’t have a number for him, but I can tell you where he lives. Not saying he’ll be there, though,” she paused. “Likes to frequent this one house full of his ‘friends’ when he’s not at home moping.”

Tim felt his entire body relax, shutting his eyes as he took a deep breath. “That will be very helpful. Thank you, Ms. Wynanski. Do you have the address for the other house?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t go in there like you’re looking for him, though. They’ll all run off.”

“I can handle it. Thank you, Ms Wynanski.”

After confirming that the address Tracy had matched the one they had on file, and wrote down the other address, he called Matthews, who decided to check on Xavier at the hospital.

“He’s stable. He’ll probably stay here for a couple of days,” his partner said through the phone.

“Alright. I’ve got a lead on one of his associates. It’s fucking Morrissey, John,” Tim chuckled.

“You’re shitting me. Employee at the liquor store said Xavier looked like he walked out of the Satanic Temple so I guess I’m not too surprised.”

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted, making one last note on Howard’s file. “I’m gonna head out and look for him. Could you go to one of these addresses for me?”

“Sure thing, Tim. Don’t get trapped in some ritual sacrifice.”

“Fuck off,” Tim laughed.

Tim decided to go to the second house full of Shane’s “friends”. He figured it was more likely that he was there, and he was right. It looked like it was a gathering of about ten or fifteen other kids around Shane’s age, all dressed in similar clothing.

The house was filled with smoke and had music playing, so he decided it was better if he stayed in his car until Shane came outside. He didn’t want to embarrass the kid.

It didn’t take too long, Shane stumbling out of the house and laughing loudly. Tim turned the key, the engine for his Caprice coming to life. Shane startled and looked over, eyes locking with Tim’s behind the wheel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane barked, stomping over to the passenger window and glaring at the older man.

“I need your help,” Tim said softly.

Shane rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you fucking stalk me here? You can’t be here– They can’t see me with you.”

“Then get in. They won’t know.” Tim looked up at him, eyes softening when he saw the clear hurt on Shane’s face. He wasn’t very angry by the looks of it. Just upset.

Shane scoffed, looked back at the house, and raised his arms in defeat. “Fine,” he grumbled, opening the passenger side door and sitting down.

“Seatbelt.”

“Eat me, old man,” Shane rolled his eyes. He lifted a leg and rested his chunky boot on the car’s dashboard. 

Tim sighed heavily and didn’t argue. He’ll just clean his car later. “You wanna talk at the station or at my apartment?”

Shane bit his lip, picking at a rip in his jeans and making it worse. “I don’t wanna go to the station.”

“Figured as much,” Tim exhaled, looking behind the car for any oncoming traffic and pulling out of the neighborhood towards his apartment.

Shane stared at Tim’s arms underneath the tight white dress shirt, the fabric pulling at the thick muscle. He wondered what Tim looked like on top of him, those strong arms pinning him to a mattress and–

“You know a Howard Xavier, right?” Tim asked, eyes squinting at the file in his hands. 

The two of them were seated at the table in Tim’s dining room, the surface in front of them covered in documents and files. 

“Yeah, that’s X,” Shane mumbled, picking at his nails so he could hide the pink in his cheeks.

Tim raised a brow but didn’t comment, nodding. “Do you know if he had any enemies, Shane?” He asked, digging his glasses out of his front pocket and putting them on. “That’s better,” he said to himself, the text on the files clearing up.

Shane blinked a couple times, the sight of Tim wearing glasses doing more for him than he thought possible. His breathing picked up a little, heart pounding in his chest when Tim made eye contact with him, waiting for Shane to answer. “U-um, I don’t think so? X was always pretty chill,” he mumbled.

Tim nodded and took notes on a sticky pad. Tim’s phone started ringing, making the older man get up and answer it. “Rockford,” he grunted into the receiver.

Shane stayed seated and kept to himself, listening to the one sided conversation.

“You’re shitting me. He did? Thanks, John. Yeah. You too. Have a good night.”

Tim exhaled and hung up the phone, clicking his pen. “Good news,” he smiled, taking his seat at the table across from Shane. “Xavier woke up and described the shooter. My partner found him.”

Shane nodded, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table. “‘S good,” he mumbled.

Tim watched Shane’s face closely, eyes trailing over the piercings and the messy hair. “I’m sorry I took you away from your party,” he said softly.

“‘S okay. Don’t like those guys very much,” Shane shrugged. Now that he was here, he was having a hard time not curling in on himself again. He couldn’t even look Tim in the eye without thinking about what his lips felt and tasted like.

Tim furrowed his brows. “Why do you hang out with them, then?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to pry, but it was sort of his job to find information. Shane wasn’t a job, though. He was much more than that.

Shane sighed and angrily looked at Tim for a second before looking away again. “Why do you care?”

Tim bit his lip, fiddling with his tie. “You really wanna know, kid?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he rolled his eyes.

“Because I see a lot of myself in you, Shane,” Tim admitted gently, crossing one leg over the other.

Shane furrowed his brows and looked at Tim incredulously.

“It’s true. Would you believe me if I said I got arrested? Was about your age, too.” Tim chuckled as he remembered what caused his arrest.

A small smile grew on Shane’s face. “What’d you do?”

“Public Indecency.”

Shane’s eyes grew three times in size. “Did you get caught having sex? Were you streaking?” He giggled, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Uh, well,” Tim chuckled. “I was in my car at the time and having sex.”

Shane laughed, face as red as a tomato. His thoughts flooded with images of what Tim having sex looked like. What sort of faces did he make? What kind of sounds did he make? Was he more dominant or submissive?

“Were you going down on her or…?”

“Him,” Tim answered easily. “And no, we were uh… I was found on top of him.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. He looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked back at Tim briefly before settling his eyes on Tim’s tie. “You’re…?” He asked shakily. 

“Yeah, kid,” Tim chuckled. Shane looked terrified and it broke Tim’s heart. “I said I was here for you if you needed me. I still am.”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy, shaky breath. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans and looked at Tim with wet, glossy eyes. “I don’t– I don’t understand,” he shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t seem–”

“Not every gay person is really flamboyant, Shane.”

Shane blushed in embarrassment. “Why did you turn away from me, then? Why didn’t you kiss me back?” He frowned, voice shaky and hurt.

Tim’s eyes rounded, his whole face becoming softer. “I wanted to,” he admitted, looking down at Shane’s ring-clad hands. “But it wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t… I didn’t want to take advantage of you like that.”

“Take advantage–! I kissed you!” Shane roared.

“You were vulnerable and confused. And,” Tim gulped. “And I’m a lot older than you, it’s… It’s not appropriate.” He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly at how much it hurt to say out loud.

“Tim,” Shane whimpered, biting his lip. He felt a thick lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation right now. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. It felt like he was having an out of body experience. “I don’t care about that, I’m– I’m more worried about you being a cop than being older than me. I’m an adult,” he scoffed, his bottom lip trembling.

Tim couldn’t hold in the chuckle that bubbled out of him. “I know you are. I just don’t– I don’t know how this could continue–”

“Please, shut up,” Shane begged, getting out of his chair and making his way over to Tim. He looked down at the older man, face burning, and slowly crawled into Tim’s lap, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck. “I don’t wanna talk anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t wanna think anymore. Please.”

Tim’s hands instinctively found their place on Shane’s hips. His eyes moved from Shane’s to the younger man’s lips, then back up. “Are you sure?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumbs into Shane’s hip bones.

“No,” Shane mumbled. “Well, yes, but… No.”

Tim raised a brow and smirked. “How about we take things slow.”

Shane nodded, biting his lip. “Okay.”

Tim smiled and softly connected their lips, caressing Shane’s head, thumb rubbing at his jaw. Shane whimpered quietly as he tentatively kissed back. His lips trembled against Tim’s, soft huffs of air expelling out from between them. He’d kissed before but this was so… different. The feeling of Tim’s facial hair against his lips was weird. Good, but weird. 

Shane experimentally ran his tongue along Tim’s bottom lip. Tim took the hint and softly caressed Shane’s tongue with his own, making the younger man gasp into his mouth. Tim squeezed Shane’s narrow hips, trying to ground him, and sighed into the kiss. It built a little over time, but eventually, they found a rhythm. The soft clinking of metal from Shane’s earrings filled the otherwise silent apartment. They learned each other over the course of their kissing. Tim learned that Shane liked to nibble and bite, and Shane learned that Tim liked to encompass him entirely, like he could devour Shane’s mouth if given the chance.

When Tim pulled away for some much needed air, Shane whined in protest, his face leaning toward Tim’s to keep going. “Slow your roll, kid,” Tim chuckled, pressing his forehead to Shane’s and panting quietly. Shane blushed, and chewed his swollen bottom lip while he waited. “C’mere,” Tim grunted, tugging Shane’s leather duster off his shoulders. Shane went along with it, pulling his arms free before the sound of squeaky leather fell into a heap on the floor. 

Large hands ran over Shane’s hips and waist, but never ventured lower. Shane shivered when Tim’s blunt nails lightly scratched at the exposed skin of his lower back as his t-shirt rode up. Shane’s cock twitched in interest, making him blush high on his cheeks.

“‘s okay, sweetheart,” Tim hummed. He rolled his hips a little, his own half-hard cock rubbing against Shane’s.

Shane’s eyes grew twice their size at the feeling and looked down at the bulge in Tim’s slacks. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. His imagination was a lot easier to handle than the real thing pressing into his inner thigh. 

Tim furrowed his brows in concern and rubbed Shane’s skin underneath his t-shirt comfortingly. “What are you thinking about?” He asked softly.

Shane inhaled heavily, and slowly let out a deep breath before turning his head back toward Tim. He opened his eyes, but didn’t make contact. “Just… weird. Feeling your…”

Tim hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you want to stop?”

Shane shook his head, eyes still burning holes into Tim’s slowly rising and falling tummy. 

“Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop,” Shane whispered.

“Do you want to lie down? There’s no expectation for anything,” Tim said, sitting up a little more in the dining room chair. 

The stretch in Shane’s thighs suddenly overtook any doubts he had, making him shakily get up from Tim’s lap. He was used to having someone sit on his lap like that and being in that position made his stomach hurt.

Tim laced his fingers through Shane’s and gently guided him to his bedroom. He kept the lights low and rubbed his thumb over Shane’s knuckles. “You okay?”

Shane stared at Tim’s bed and swallowed a lump in his throat. “Y-yeah,” he croaked.

Tim chewed on his lip in thought and let go of Shane’s smaller hand. He gave Shane some space as he took off his glasses and removed the tie he was wearing. He toed off his dress shoes and put them in his closet. When he turned around after unbuttoning his dress shirt, Shane was sitting on his bed, hands curled up into fists on his ripped jean-covered thighs.

Tim sighed softly and sat next to him on the bed. “What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?” He asked, tugging on pieces of Shane’s hair that were sticking straight out.

Shane shut his eyes and took another deep breath. “I’m just… I’m having a hard time being… like, the female part.” He curled in on himself, his shoulders hiding his ears.

Tim blinked a couple times. “Sweetheart, we’re both men.”

“I-I know that! I just,” he swallowed a lump in his throat. “Usually, I’m in your position. Taking charge.”

“I see,” Tim sighed, getting more comfortable and turning toward him. Shane did the same, but didn’t make eye contact with him. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Shane blushed, those big brown eyes of his lifting up to meet Tim’s. 

“Alright, firstly, who told you there were ‘male’ and ‘female’ roles?” Tim raised a brow.

“W-well, uh–”

“It’s alright, I already know who. Lesson number one,” Tim smiled reassuringly. “Just because you’re sitting on my lap, letting me ‘take charge’, doesn’t mean you’re weak, honey.”

Shane gulped and nodded, taking all of this in. Tim felt like a professor. Probably the first one Shane would ever listen to.

“And women aren’t weak, so get that out of your head, too.”

Shane let out a heavy breath. This was a lot to take in.

“Did you feel good?” Tim asked, picking up one of Shane’s hands and rubbing his thumb over the scabbed knuckles. When Shane nodded jerkily, Tim grinned, his chest feeling warm at the admission. “That’s all that matters. Think of it this way,” he paused. Shane hung onto every word. “Everything we do? It’s with your say-so. You’re driving the car here.”

Shane blinked as he thought about it. He could work with that. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“You want me to make you feel good again?” Tim smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. Shane’s heart thundered at the sight.

“Y-yes.”

“Go ahead and lay back for me, alright?”

Shane nodded and got comfy, head cradled by Tim’s fluffy pillows. His entire body was buzzing and tense. He kept his eyes on Tim’s popcorn ceiling, the sounds of Tim’s belt jingling filling the room. When the bed dipped with Tim’s weight, Shane’s heart stuttered a little. One of Tim’s big hands cupped his cheek and gently turned his face so he could look at Tim again. Shane wasn’t expecting the softness in Tim’s features, or the heat in his eyes.

Tim rubbed Shane’s cheek with his thumb. “We don’t have to go far tonight. There’s no rush.”

Shane nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

This time, when their lips connected, Shane eased into it a lot sooner, kissing the older man with renewed fervor. He sighed into it, the warmth radiating off of Tim being an endless source of comfort. He gripped onto Tim’s opened dress shirt and tugged it down his shoulders. Tim released Shane’s lips briefly while he shrugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Shane moaned weakly when Tim surged forward and sucked his bottom lip between his own.

Shane’s head was fuzzy, all the blood there rushing down between his legs. He gasped when Tim rolled him over and hovered over him, pressing his hips between Shane’s thighs. Tim took his time with him, kissing him languidly while he unbuckled Shane’s jeans.

“Can I touch you?” Tim breathed between kisses.

Shane nodded quickly, holding the sides of Tim’s head and tangling his fingers in the short, thick locks of Tim’s hair. Tim smiled against the younger man’s lips and pulled Shane’s baggy, ripped jeans off. Shane toed off his own socks before wrapping his legs around Tim’s thick waist. Tim was so much larger than Shane was and it made his head spin.

Tim’s hands played with the bottom of Shane’s t-shirt and slowly lifted it up, bunching under his armpits. He pulled away to look at Shane’s torso and grinned when he saw the small tattoos there. Both hands holding Shane’s sides, he gently rubbed at the younger man’s nipples, making Shane gasp. Goosebumps and flushed skin covered his entire body in seconds, making Shane lightly smack Tim’s shoulder. Tim laughed lightly and softly kissed his way down Shane’s torso until he was eye level with the tent in the younger man’s boxers.

Shane blushed hard, eyes wide. “W-what are you doing?”

Tim raised a brow and tilted his head slightly, tugging on the elastic of Shane’s boxers. “Said I’d make you feel good, sweetheart.”

Shane blinked. “B-but isn’t that…”

“There are no roles. But if you don’t want me to, then–”

“I do!” Shane smacked his hand over his own mouth and shut his eyes, hoping the bed would swallow him whole. 

A wolfish smirk crossed Tim’s features as he lowered his head, kissing along Shane’s pelvis. Shane whimpered at the feeling of Tim’s facial hair across his skin, his body shuddering. “Breathe, sweetheart,” Tim whispered, shutting his eyes to suck gently at Shane’s hip and leaving a mark. 

Shane forced himself to take a deep breath, shutting his eyes to center himself. When he opened his eyes, Tim quirked a brow up at him as he tugged on Shane’s boxers again. Shane nodded his consent and almost groaned at the cool air in the apartment hitting his throbbing cock. Tim hummed appreciatively and didn’t waste a second, kissing the tip, then making his way down the shaft.

Shane moaned openly gripping the sheets of the bed into tight fists. “T-Tim, what–”

“Shh…” Tim whispered, engulfing the head of Shane’s cock in his mouth. He moaned at the taste and watched Shane’s face as he slowly bobbed his head up and down. Shane’s eyes rolled back and arched his back off the bed. 

Shane felt his cheeks throb and the blood rushing in his ears, doing everything in his power to keep his hips down. When his hips bucked up on their own, he moaned weakly, looking at Tim’s face to make sure he didn’t choke him. What he found instead made his cock twitch.

This was one of Tim’s favorite things to do. Making his partner feel good with his mouth was something he always got pleasure out of and Shane was no different. In fact, this was probably one of the more rewarding times, because this was the first time a man had done this for him. He felt good knowing he got to be the first, and a little possessive side of him liked the idea even more.

Eyes shut, Tim moaned around Shane’s length, losing himself in it. He gripped Shane’s hips and rubbed the bones there to soothe him. Shane’s chest rose and fell quickly as he watched. He felt a little embarrassed to admit that this was probably the best head he’d ever received.

Tim opened his eyes, keeping an eye on any changes in Shane’s face. 

Shane felt his balls drawing up, making him moan weakly. “I-I’m gonna–” He cut himself off, gripping the sheets tighter. Tim doubled his efforts, bobbing his head a little faster. “Oh, fuck,” Shane whined, his thighs trembling on either side of Tim’s head.

Tim moved his hands up Shane’s torso and rubbed at the younger man’s nipples again, urging him on.

“W-wait, wait–” Shane gasped, smacking his hand against Tim’s shoulder as the pressure built and built. Tim watched closely and if he could, he’d grin to himself as he watched Shane’s eyes roll back. Shane’s entire body stilled and he came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting down Tim’s throat. Shane’s moans went up three octaves as he shook with pleasure, his toes curling.

Tim swallowed everything and slowly, gently, raised his head. He licked Shane clean, kissing back up his torso. Once he was hovering over Shane again, Tim smiled at the blissed out expression on his face. He chuckled lightly and kissed Shane’s cheek.

“Still with me?”

Shane shivered at the gravelly tone of Tim’s voice. It must be an octave or two lower than normal given what he’d just done. He slowly blinked his eyes open and didn’t have the energy to hold back the smile when he saw Tim’s handsome face. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he mumbled, his body feeling heavy and sated.

“Good. You should get some rest, sweetheart.” Tim’s laugh rumbled in his chest.

Shane pouted, big brown eyes glazed over, but determined. “What about you?”

“I’ll be okay. Get some rest,” Tim said, kissing Shane’s forehead. “Can I take your shirt off?” He asked, pulling the material down from where it was bunched up under his armpits.

Shane nodded, watching in awe as Tim took care of him. It was at this moment that Shane realized Tim was completely serious with him. He wouldn’t make fun of him, or use him. Shane felt tears prickling behind his eyes, but quickly blinked them away.

“Be right back, okay? Gonna get you some water,” Tim grunted quietly, crawling off the bed. Shane didn’t have the energy to argue, and just watched Tim’s broad back leave the bedroom.

When Tim returned with the glass of water, he was greeted with the sight of Shane’s sleeping form. He smiled at him, and set the water on the nightstand closest to Shane. 

He got himself undressed, making sure to be careful of his own half-hard cock. Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he crawled into bed behind Shane and held the younger man close. The day caught up with him as he laid there, eyes trailing over the messy curls and multiple piercings in Shane’s ears.

He drifted off quickly, and had a dreamless sleep.

Twitch. Twitch.

Shane groaned in his sleep.

What was that?

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the light. He tried to turn and feel what was poking against his back, but he was held firmly in place by… Were those arms?

Shane’s eyes snapped open as the memories from the night before came flooding back. His cheeks burned as he looked down and saw the strong, very male, hands holding him close to a broad chest. Tim huffed in his sleep, making Shane smile shyly. He couldn’t deny it, being held by Tim felt really good. It was so warm.

He tried rotating in Tim’s arms, silently exhaling in relief when he didn’t seem to wake the older man. He felt the twitching again and looked down between their bodies.

Oh.

Shane smiled at the sight of Tim’s morning wood through his boxer briefs. He looked back up at Tim’s sleeping face and decided against doing anything until he’d woken up. For now, he ran his fingers through the thin layer of chest hair on Tim’s skin. It seemed obvious when he thought about it, but it was so different than when he was with a woman. He didn’t feel like he had to hide with Tim. Tim wouldn’t judge him.

Tim made him feel safe. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Shane startled and looked up, Tim’s soft smirk and sleepy eyes greeting him. He shook his head in lieu of an answer.

When Tim grumbled in response, it reminded Shane of a bear. 

“Do you want… You need help with that?” Shane asked timidly, pointing between their bodies. Their legs were tangled together and they were touching everywhere. The proximity and the feeling of warmth radiating from between Tim’s legs had Shane throbbing in no time.

Tim snorted and leaned forward, kissing Shane sleepily. Shane moaned into it, grinding his own cock against Tim’s. Tim pulled back and panted a little against Shane’s lips.

“We don’t have to. I’ll be okay–”

Shane cut him off by gripping Tim’s ass and squeezing. When Tim made a small noise of surprise, Shane smirked, attempting to pull Tim onto his own lap. “I want to,” he said, voice determined, but shaky. “I want… I wanna know what it feels like. I have to make sure.”

Tim blinked at him, a little shocked by the sudden change in Shane’s behavior. One of his legs was draped over Shane’s waist as he cupped the younger man’s face. Shane seemed to melt at the gesture, making Tim smirk. “Are you sure?” He asked, brows pinched in concern. He didn’t want Shane to rush into anything. 

“Yes,” Shane nodded.

There was more conviction in that one word than a lot of things Shane had ever said to him, so Tim smiled softly at him. He held onto Shane’s thighs and rolled them over so he was hovering over Shane again, and rubbed the smooth skin comfortingly. “Alright. Lube and condoms are in the top drawer,” he nodded his head toward the nightstand. 

With pink cheeks and a determined expression on his face, Shane reached over and dug out the necessary equipment. Everything really settled in his gut when he was holding everything. This was really going to happen. This wasn’t some dream he’d come up with while he was alone in his bedroom, looking at the cracks and fist-sized holes in his walls.

“C’mere,” Tim grunted, gently taking the items from him and holding Shane’s hip. “Gotta get you prepared, okay? Don’t want it to hurt for you.”

Shane nodded appreciatively and watched as Tim discarded his own underwear, kneeling on the bed between Shane’s thighs. He looked the older man over, eyes raking over the messy, gray curls and pillow creases on Tim’s cheeks. His eyes traveled down over the broad shoulders and chest, and down to the swell of Tim’s stomach. That was probably one of Shane’s favorite parts. His eyes landed on the thick cock between muscled thighs and Shane bit his lip. He had to remind himself not to pinch his arm, because this was real. 

Tim carefully got the condom secured around his cock and drizzled some lube on his fingers. “You ready?” He smiled down at Shane, chest warm at the sight of him. Shane nodded, smiling shyly up at him.

Tim curled his fingers around Shane’s cock and pumped slowly. Shane sighed and shut his eyes, lips parting. Tim couldn’t help himself and surged forward, kissing the younger man deeply. He kept his hand on him, keeping up a decent pace as he teased a finger against Shane’s hole.

Shane’s body jerked at the intrusion, making Tim soothe him gently. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”

Shane let out a weak noise and nodded, holding on tight to Tim’s shoulders. He spread his legs a little more and wrapped them around Tim’s waist. 

The first press of one of Tim’s thick fingers inside him already had Shane seeing stars. He panted as he looked down between his legs, trying to see what was happening. Tim cupped his face and forced him to look there instead. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he smiled.

Shane bit his lip and nodded, but gasped soon after as a second finger joined the first. His face twisted into an almost pained expression. Tim watched closely, eyes locked onto him. Tim pumped his fingers in a steady rhythm, searching for that sweet spot inside him. Shane was panting heavily, eyes glossed over, but staying on Tim’s face.

When Shane rolled his eyes back and he gasped, Tim knew he found it. Shane moaned, his cock twitching violently against his lower tummy. “H-hurry up, old man,” he groaned, toes curling on either side of Tim’s hips. “P-please,” he breathed.

Tim snorted, but didn’t argue, removing his fingers gently. Shane groaned at the loss and braced himself for the intrusion, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sweetheart, I need you to breathe first.” Tim leaned over him and kissed him tenderly. He watched as Shane let out one last deep breath and nodded up at him. “Atta boy,” Tim grinned.

Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. As Tim lined himself up, Shane’s heart thundered in his chest, watching the focus on Tim’s face mellow out. He had that same facial expression whenever he was interrogating Shane back at the station, or reading through files, or taking notes. But here, with Shane, he seemed to deflate a little. He relaxed. 

The first push in knocked the wind out of Shane. He moaned, digging his nails into Tim’s broad shoulders. Tim hid his face in Shane’s neck and kissed along the younger man’s sleep-soft skin. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he breathed, hips slowly pushing forward.

Shane trembled in Tim’s arms until Tim’s hips were flush against him. Time stopped as Tim settled, letting Shane adjust. Shane had to blink a few times, swallowing around a lump in his throat. All thought left Shane’s head and the only thing left was the sweet stretch of Tim’s cock inside him. Every wall he’d built up was successfully crumbling at his trembling form. 

Tim petted Shane’s sweaty hair out of his face, kissing him on every available patch of skin he could find.

“M-move,” Shane panted, eyes half lidded and glazed over. “Please.”

So Tim did.

He built up a slow, steady rhythm. Before either of them knew it, their bodies rocked together in perfect harmony. Tim hugged Shane closer, his hips being the driving force while his arms kept Shane grounded.

The sounds leaving Shane’s mouth were so unfamiliar to his own ears, he couldn’t even tell where he was for a moment. The only thing he could feel or think about was the stretch of Tim’s cock, Tim’s heavy breathing against his neck, and Tim’s big hands holding his hips. It was all Tim, Tim, Tim.

He didn’t even feel the tear slowly falling down the side of his face until Tim gently wiped it away. He nearly sobbed when Tim kissed him, chest hitching with every powerful thrust. 

Tim grunted every time Shane clenched around him. He was so tight, which he expected, but he was having a hard time keeping a steady rhythm. He was still tired and his body was trying to catch up. He watched the younger man’s face twist in pleasure and sped up a little, moaning down at him.

Shane wailed, one fist curling up tight and weakly hitting against Tim’s chest. “I-I’m close,” he panted, his cock dripping pre-cum onto his stomach. “T-Tim, I’m–”

“‘s okay, I’m here,” Tim groaned, curling his fingers around the younger man’s cock. He started pumping his fist in time with his thrusts, eyes glued to Shane’s face.

Shane nodded furiously, scratching his nails down Tim’s chest. Not long after that, his entire body shook like a leaf and he clenched hard around Tim’s cock, coming in waves. He moaned out loud, his back arching off the bed, and gasping for air.

Tim’s own eyes rolled back as Shane squeezed around him. Shane’s face was turned into the pillow as he breathed heavily, coming down from such a high peak. Tim slowed down some, letting Shane have a moment.

When Shane made eye contact with him again, Tim’s heart stopped. He didn’t think Shane had looked more beautiful than he had right in that moment. His hair was a mess, his face was blotchy and red, there were tear tracks down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from all the biting. Tim was pulled out of the fantasy when Shane clenched around him again, making a moan bubble out of him.

“C’mon, old man,” Shane smirked, voice tired.

Tim huffed a laugh and hugged Shane close, hips snapping quicker now. Chasing his own release, he hid his face in Shane’s neck, sucking a dark mark against the younger man’s collarbone.

In just a few short, quick thrusts, Tim was following Shane over that ledge with a deep groan, emptying inside the condom.

Shane exhaled deeply, arms wrapped around him. Then, he giggled quietly. He was elated, he was on cloud nine.

Tim lifted his head, hair sticking up every which way. He raised a brow at the younger man and smirked. “You alright?” He chuckled.

Shane nodded, a wide grin on his face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” Tim grunted, slowly moving out from between Shane’s legs to dispose of the condom. He crawled back into bed and cuddled close, kissing Shane lazily. They both sighed into it. Eventually, they had to come up for air, and when they did, Tim breathed, “You hungry? I’m hungry.”

“God, yes. I’m fucking starving,” Shane groaned.

Tim laughed and rolled his eyes and pressed a light kiss to Shane’s lips. “You like pancakes? I make some really good pancakes.”

Shane giggled, feeling lighter than he had in years.

[wendigoruble]

Playtime: Oneshot

[This is like softcore af.. Like more than I intended it to be]

Franco had dressed himself in his freshly cleaned white pinstripe suit for tonight. No blood stains or dirt stains, fresh pressed and no wrinkles. On any other man it would look impeccable but it hangs loose against Franco's body. The sleeves and pant legs are just slightly too long, over hanging with lightly bunched fabric. For once he has the pristine coat buttoned up but only to hide the pacifier he keeps around neck at all times. It's pressed to his chest and he can feel the dull plastic edge rub against his purple dress shirt every time he moves his arms. It's a small discomfort but he'd found it a touch easier to pick up women with it concealed. He could never understand why that would turn someone off.

His gaze sweeps the area as he brings the glass of whiskey to his lips. The drink makes him internally cringe like a spoonful of medicine had been forced into his mouth. Even with its smoothness he doesn't like it, but the boniface refused to make him a wolf's milk and it's not like he can unstrap lupara from her holster and make the demand. Not tonight. He has personal business to attend to.

The club is packed with people wall to wall dancing to the soft jazz and murmuring among each other. Groups of friends chatter away close by and the odd couple are necking here and there.

Franco had himself seated at the bar. No one sits by him, no one attempts to go near him but he isn't concerned over that. People must really fear him. After all, he’s the button man for one of the largest mobs in the area (and he has his gun holstered across his back). Who would ever try to approach him unless they're looking to make a payment or there to gravel at his feet?

He takes another sip from his glass and holds it in his mouth before spitting it back out. How do people drink this stuff? It never feels right or tastes right, it's far too fluid. He turns to the bartender, about to complain, when someone catches his eye.

A woman is walking up to the bar and the very sight of her makes Franco feel warm. She has shoulder length black hair, long eyelashes, and a stern look about her smooth round face which is accented by pouty red lips. The black dress she wears shows off her shoulders and hugs her curves and well endowed chest. The fabric stops mid thigh and Franco's gaze travels all the way down to her shoes. Those black stiletto heels that click against the wooden floor really seals the deal. They make her at least three inches taller than him at that.

His heart is already thudding in excitement the closer she gets. He can barely hide his anticipation.

Before she even has a chance to talk to the bartender Franco is slipping off the barstool and placing his gloved hand on the counter in front of her. He stands too close and she seems little more than annoyed at him. Glaring down with the smallest hint of a sneer.

“Whatever the lady buys is on me.” He says while smiling up at her.

“Really?” She puts a hand on her hip before her sneer turns into a sly smirk,”Whatever I want?”

“Anything for a lady as beautiful as yourself.”

She seems to think for a moment, tilting her head up with judgment clear as day in her eyes. This little deformed looking man is offering to buy her drinks and she can see his plan from a mile away. It's pathetic in a very endearing way and she can read the glittery look in his pale blue eyes. A want, a joy barely contained with a crooked buck-toothed grin.

“Mmhm. What do you really want, kid?” She mocks.

Franco can feel that warmth growing inside when she spits at him like that. A coiling heat in his lower stomach springs to life. He has to swallow so he doesn't make a sound he'd regret. With a smooth exhale he tucks his hand into his jacket, ready to grab the money from the inside pocket. He never takes his eyes off her.

“Ain't yous a forward woman. I was just wonderin’ how much it'd cost to have an evening with ya.”

She very nearly laughs at him before seeing the thick stack of bills he's got pulled halfway out. She smiles, steps closer, grabs his wrist, and takes the money right out of his hand. She can hear an audible shaky exhale then and looks down to see him staring directly at her chest which is about as close to his face now as she can get without touching him.

“I think this should be enough.” She pushes him back by his shoulder.

“Wwhh.. Say, what's ya name?” Franco bites his bottom lip as he resteadies himself and rolls his shoulder. Normally he'd be pissed off should anyone touch him but he can make an exception this time.

“What would you like it to be?”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Ohhhh mutha!!” Franco cries out into the cold air of the motel room,”Baby's been bad!”

Tears are welling up in his eyes, his face is flushed and he holds his hands together tightly. Biting onto one of his thumbs in anticipation of the next firm smack against his bare skin. He jumps when that sweet sting of pain radiates out followed by a soothing rub. Oh his ass has to be red raw at this point. She's been at it so long he's bound to be bruised. Probably wont sit right for a week.

He dares pass a look back at his dear mommy for the evening. That sadistic joy glimmering in her eyes damn near makes him fawn all over again. What a good mommy she is. Breaking him down and making him cry, making him feel small and insignificant. Before he can even open his mouth to shower her with compliments he's spanked one last time. Tears slip over his cheeks as he moans and grinds against her thigh. Rolling his hips with a high pitched whine as his cock twitches and leaks pre that smears against her skin.

“Awhh is my baby boy having a good time?” She coos.

Franco can do little more than huff in response while he steadies himself.

She smooths over the bright red irritation with her palm. His skin is hot to the touch and she makes it a point to drag her nails across it before placing her other hand around his neck. Squeezing ever so slightly, urging him back and making him stand up so she can so delicately kiss his cheek. A red lipstick print is left behind. A mark he'd wear with pride should it never be washed away.

Her fingers curl around his throat and it's a welcome restraint. Franco leans into her hand enough to make his breathing hitch. She leads him down onto his knees. He stares at her with such adoration as she slots her leg between his. Pushing the point of her heel into his groin makes him visibly tremble. She applies further pressure with the toe of her shoe, pressing against his cock as he wraps both arms around her leg.

“You like that? Like playing with mommies shoes?”

Franco nods as he rests his cheek against her thigh and begins to rut on the sole of her stiletto. Pressing into it hard enough that it actually hurts. He gives her the most innocent look he can muster before faltering into a series of loud huffs and high pitched groans. He turns his head slightly and drags his tongue along her smooth skin before biting down hard enough to leave a bruise.

With an airy moan she rests back on her palms and watches with amusement as he pleasures himself with such vigor. She's happy his desperation is so evident because it makes it all the better when he pulls her leg away just before he cums. He's left on all fours just trembling and blushing with those big glassy eyes. Whimpering as precum drips from the tip of his irritated prick. He makes a move to grab her leg again but she leans up and smacks his hand away.

“Please..”

Again Franco reaches out to touch her only to be swatted back once more. She looks at him through half lidded eyes and with a firm tone she says,”Lay down.”

He obeys implicitly. Laying back on the floor despite any discomfort it gives him because it's worth it. It's worth it when she stands up and presses that heel into his chest. His gaze rolls up to see her dragging her hand up between her legs. His lips part with his tongue between his teeth only to have that heel then moved up to his neck, then his cheek. Forcing his head to the side so he can't look at her.

“Filthy baby boy aren't you?” She muses.

She doesn't get a response, she doesn't expect one. Especially not when she notices him beginning to stroke himself rapidly. For a moment she does consider stopping him again but he's so eager she allows him to finish. He cums on his lower stomach in thin white ropes before dragging his hand up through the mess.

“Guess you really are a filthy baby boy, hm?”

[goatsludge]

Once again

LBT-1961AF Chest Rig, Gen.1, OD Green, 2002 Buckles, No Labels

Very similar to the AWS Strike Vest in terms of layout and construction, but definitely loaded with lots of little force multipliers and creature comforts that make this rig more contemporary despite being a 20+ year-old design at this point.

More capacity for mags, an 'okay' map pocket, and lots of additional pouches really push the format to its limit for the overall size. If one were to make a swiftclip-able/PC placard-style version of this design, it would not be out of place in the modern age.

The outer radio pockets each have a generously-sized utility pocket, which have a removable elastic 'lid' to use as a dump pouch as well as a small frag grenade pocket on the inner sides.

The rig has four double M4 mag pouches (holding 8 mags total in the dedicated pouches) and a double pistol pouch that can either hold two double stack or four single stack mags. Also good for holding multitools.

The 'AF' in the designation refers to 'Air Force' as this variation of the LBT-1961 was designed with three dedicated pockets for MS2000 Strobes for CCT guys to mark landing strips.

Also notice how the flaps are sewn with a box stitch to hold the velcro in place - later generations of these rigs would sew the flap velcro with a third horizontal line rather than an 'X' shape.

Inside the map pocket, there's an 'envelope'/EDC style holster that simply velcro's in place. An extended 'wing' off the leading edge of the holster holds one or two extra mags.

Honestly, this is probably the least usable feature on this rig given how awkward it is to access. Still neat that it was included all the same.

The H-Harness, while simple, was revolutionary for the time and elements of which like the velcro-adjustable rear cross-strap can still be observed with modern chest rig designs. The cable management flaps aren't spectacular, but it's good that they're there.

Note how the rear ends of the shoulder pads are 'squared' and simply terminate to 1" webbing, rather than folding off to the sides - this is another one of the ways you identify these as Gen.1 rigs.

Copious amounts of drain grommets on all the pouches.

It's very jarring to notice the difference in pricing for these rigs depending on the color you have - for instance, the 'pinky tan' versions of these oldschool rigs were used extensively by Navy Seals and AFSOC and currently go for several thousand dollars when they pop up.

But because this one is OD, and almost nobody has been seen using them, they're only worth about $300 at most and I actually ended up trading a helmet for mine lol.

[solstheimtxt]

💧👠 for vince hehe <3

Hiiii <3 tysm!!

💧 Are they the person who is always moisturized and glowing, or are they ashy af indifferent to such things?

>Yeah, Vince can be a *tiny* bit of a diva; he doesn't need expensive or brand name products, and when he's on a mission or at work, he can get down and dirty with the best of them. But the second he gets home? Full bath, got a sugar scrub, lotion, this bitch is moisturized!! And he makes Lance go thru with it too. Also, sunscreen? At all times. Even enforces it on the crew. Ever had a sunburn on your ears? Not on the unreliable!

👠 Do they coordinate their outfit and accessories carefully, or just wear any old rag that passes the sniff test and their most comfortable shoes? Somewhere in between?

>yes and no, when he was enlisted, obviously everything had to be pressed clean, and his uniform also had to be when he worked on Earth. For his wardrobe, it's primarily black so he doesn't really coordinate so much as just kind of pick something that somewhat matches Lance's outfit. (Especially since Lance does actually wear colors). Outfits need to match the vibe, yanno? Parties mean bring out the heels and leather 🕺 he gonna be cute af

As for Halcyon however-he treats it like his deployment. Form over function. Clothes are clean and functional. Dress shirt, boots that are comfortable, and a pair of pants that can be repaired and worn several times. Cotton, cotton, cotton. He wears the...farm gear, I think? The white striped dress shirt, with black pants and boots, and leather suspenders/gun holster.

[i-like-turkey]

I can’t remember if she was explicitly with a man at all, but definitely queer coded in every way. I googled again and I almost want to go rewatch it just for her haircut and queer AF wardrobe. All I remember is the henleys and shoulder holsters combo. I know copaganda and guns are bad… but damn if I don’t always fall for hot ladies who play cops 🙄

Oooo it’s free on Tubi.

Copaganda is bad. Guns are bad. Lots of cops are bad. But they can be hot af and there's nothing wrong with thirsting over them as long as you don't buy into the copaganda. Or maybe I'm just biased cause of all of the writing I've done about two hot, lesbian cops and that summer I spent with a cop irl 🫣😆

Anyway, you should watch it and report back about whether it's canon or just heavily implied by her style & hair lol

[dreamhous3]

Sierra, Chapter 4

FINALLY 4th Chapter of 'Sierra', lets go. Wrote this in like a few days, never written anything that quick. Really feel like I got a flow with this story now. This chapter was meant to have more in it, but I wanted to keep it no longer than the last chapter for consistency. Honestly feels too short still but I think that's cause my reading speed has gotten quicker. Now the storyboard for chapter 5 is already done, so I can hopefully keep this moving at a good pace. ALSO, If you've read some of my earlier work, you might recognise a certain character in this chapter... (I'd also like to personally thank Psycho-Pass for being so goated and reviving my dead af motivation.) CW: Mentions of suicide, violence, language.

4.

A red splash stroked Sophie’s nose. She looked down a jagged hole surrounded by dark hair. Her eyes switched her back on as they dashed towards a scurrying sound. Metallic steps echoed from a dark figure that disappeared in a blur. 

‘There- out the window! Vinny!’ Sophie stabbed her pistol forwards. ‘Hey, did you hear me?’ She twisted her head back at him.

‘Yea, but…’ Vinny shrugged, ‘they’re gone.’

Sophie looked back at the window. Nothing. 

Right there.

The harsh footsteps against the roof. The blur of movement.

They were right there…

‘Too late, too fucking late.’ Sophie whispered, looking at nothing. ‘Fuck!’ She kicked the sofa, and it hissed against her boot. 

‘Wanna go after them?’  

‘No, no…you’re right, they’re gone. I don’t want to lose the crime scene again anyway.’ 

‘Mean either.’ Vinny leaned down to her. ‘Got blood on you, by the way.’ Her gaze fell to her bloody shirt, then the new victim. She was holding a thick pistol, the slide vanished in her mouth. Tears were still leaking from eyes that didn’t care anymore. Blood pooled underneath the couch she slumped back against. 

‘Well, it kinda answers itself, doesn’t it?’ Vinny looked around the body and pulled plastic gloves from his coat. 

‘What? I told you I saw someone!’ Sophie was still holding her pistol out, her knuckles white against the black grip. 

‘I know.’ The gloves clapped against Vinny’s hands. ‘What I mean is: the killer probably wants it to look this way. The neural link is still intact this time though, so we weren’t too late, not really. We’ll take a look at the playback.’ He placed a bright blue hand gently against Sophie’s pistol. She holstered it, and nodded quickly at him. 

‘Hold on a sec, I’ll get one of Clarissa’s people to report a suicide. That’ll give us a while before the cleaners get here.’ Vinny’s eyes went red, then blinked blue against an ordinary kitchen. Sophie wandered around the body, her eyes locked onto it. Warm stains stuck out on a perfect suit. A mug lay on its side beside her feet. The white dress shirt under her blazer looked like Sophie’s, only it had much more blood on it. Rose coloured drips fell from her mouth in even lines. Then, from her nose, her eyes, her ears…

Jesus...

Sophie covered her mouth, but kept looking. The pistol looked heavier than hers. Its frame was polymer, but what little she could see of the slide looked like dark metal. The grip was stippled and had a slight hook at the bottom from the base of the magazine. 

‘Hey, Vinny.’ Sophie looked over to him, still leaning over the body. ‘Could you pull this gun out for me?’ 

‘Sure thing.’ He wandered over and carefully pulled the thick pistol from the victims mouth. A sticky sound came from the victim's mouth. ‘It’s a USP, brass weapon from a long time ago. See that shell down there?’ He pointed to a brass casing lodged between the sofa cushions a few inches away from the body. 

‘.45 acp, huh…’ Sophie held her chin. ‘What’s a suit doing with a cheap gun like that?’

‘I don’t know, maybe it was a gift. I’ve seen them around, especially here. It explains that hole in the ceiling.’ 

Sophie’s eyes moved her head up slightly.

That’s why you didn’t see them…

‘Looks like it stopped before going all the way through, fortunately.’

‘Where’d these other stains come from?’

‘Tea, I think. There’s a mug by her feet, and there’s still a little steam coming from that kettle in the kitchen. Must have dropped it all over herself before she fired.’

‘You mean shot herself?’

‘Can’t say that, not yet. Let’s take a look into her neural links playback, just to make sure. You said we’d check, right?’ 

‘Yea, yea…’ Vinny’s eyes flickered softly, with much quieter colours than earlier glazing over. ‘Already I can see some things up. Virus warnings all over. Found the playback, look.’ He turned to her, and the world blinked away. Sophie pulled down a microphone that rested against one side of her headset.

‘Link playback, rewind five minutes.’ The world returned within her wide wraparound lenses. Behind them, the door unlocked, and a cone of light highlighted the dim room. It protruded from the victims eyes, painting the colour and intricacy of everything within her field of view. 

‘Speed up two times.’ Sophie’s words went through the victim as she moved to the kitchen, then in a flash, to the sofa. ‘Pause.’ Their line of sight lined up once she sat down. The shutters were still closed. 

‘Play at normal speed.’ Vinny’s command reverberated in Sophie's thick headphones. ‘Can’t see anything through it, you?’

‘Nope. Just wait.’ Both of them locked their eyes onto the shutter, but a choking sound interrupted their focus. The victim began shuddering throughout their body, but their movements were strangely still. 

‘Why is she choking herself on that tea-’

<Hello, Rosetta.> 

‘It’s not her!’ Sophie flicked her head towards Vinny. ‘That voice, those shudders, look at her. I’ve seen you do this to people before.’ A virus warning appeared in front of everyone on stage, while Rosetta performed her struggle within. 

‘Yeah, but this is different…’ Vinny’s expression turned cold. He continued over the victims' locked agony. ‘I looked for the virus, and I found…someone.’

‘What? What does that mean?’ The ceramic bounce of the mug made Sophie flinch. Then the shutters opened.  

‘Pause!’ She sharpened her eyes towards the window, and they saw each other. A dark figure, barely silhouetted in the night, looked back with a deep, red glow. ‘Who is that? Tell me.’ A few tabs piled over each other, a thousand faces went by, then it stopped. 

‘No data.’ The hollow response stuck Sophie in place. 

‘An empty account appeared before Rosetta picked up that mug, and then it just…sat in her neural link, like they were waiting…’ Vinny held his forehead, looking out the same window as Sophie with the same dread. 

‘I don’t get it, explain it to me.’ 

‘I can try but…’ He started to go pale. ‘It shouldn’t be possible, it’s just not possible.’ 

‘Vinny, look at me, ok?’ Sophie waved at him. ‘Show me the user list, and sit down, can you do that, please?’ Her hands were interlocked behind her back, and a soft look blunted her eyes. A tab appeared in front of Vinny. He sat in a thin plastic chair, then flicked the tab towards Sophie. The list only had two users registered in it: 

Rosetta and ‘No Data’. Its first and only login was around ten minutes ago. 

‘Show me the command lines in the last minute to the end of this playback.’ White lines of text against a colourless background overlapped the user list. ‘Continue at normal speed.’ The text started to scroll by, nothing out of the ordinary, until Rosetta picked up the mug. 

‘Make her remember.’ 

 It was written like the other commands, but it wasn’t highlighted as an error, the virus warning wasn’t there yet. White was its uniform, like the rest of the text.

It didn’t even pick it up… 

Cold curdled throughout Sophie. She felt her hands turn to ice. Then, in between the virus warning, the command to drink the tea repeated. Because it was sent many times, but also because it was occurring twice. 

‘User: No Data, motor function, left arm, initialise.’ 

‘User: Rosetta, motor function, left arm, initialise.’ 

For every little movement, shuffle, breath, it repeated in the same order. Them first, then her. 

It’s not a virus…

The scene played out before her as she sat behind the curtains of darkness, away from the spotlight of Rosetta’s gaze. Vinny watched with her, in silence. Cruelty echoed in their minds. The malice, the begging, performed to the forcefully captivated audience. Then, the gunshot greeted them again. The play was over. 

‘Detectives,’ Clarissa’s voice revived the dead room, ‘finish it up please, quickly. I will not wait any longer.’ her impatience sounded melodic next to Rosetta’s last words. 

‘Sure, sure thing, Miss Cleaver…’ Vinny was still holding his head. 

‘Hold on-’ Sophie was cut off by Clarissa hanging up. ‘Bitch.’ A heavy sigh got her moving again. ‘Vinny, download everything.’ 

‘I did,’ He stood up and looked away from Sophie. ‘all of it. Well, what was leftover I guess. Close playback.’ With his words, the world swallowed itself, then appeared again in Sophie’s lenses. The gun slipped from Vinny’s plastic wrapped fingers and hit the ground with a thunk. Still facing away from Sophie, he walked out the door. 

Right there…

Her eyes returned to the window.

You were right there…

She turned away from it, and followed Vinny out the door. 

The dread followed them on the way back. Neither of them said a word, neither of them moved. Vinny’s eyes moved up and down with a subtle glow. He was looking at something. Sophie didn’t ask what. Calm vibrations moved around the car. The engine whispered as it drove at the same pace as the rest of the traffic.

How were they doing that? Both the neural links were sending commands, but they were the same, they were mimicking each other. Or was one of them doing both? ‘Let me go!’, she said, so it couldn’t have been her, right?

She looked over to Vinny. He was still pale.

I hope he’s ok…I really hope he’s ok. 

The road in front of her didn’t exist to her. Each turn, brake, accelerate, just didn’t matter. 

 As the door swung weightlessly, the bar's new guests announced themselves. 

‘Oh, hi piggies!’ between Clarissa and two others, a girl with porcelain skin and neon eyes stuck her head up. 

‘Hi, fuckwit.’ Vinny brushed past Sophie towards the group. They circled around a pool table with weapons and gear neatly spread across it. ‘You guys go shopping or something?’ 

‘I wish!’ The porcelain woman leaned into her hand and let out a static sigh. 

‘Ok, let's be quick about this.’ Clarissa’s voice touched every edge of the room. ‘Sophie?’ Her thin fingers motioned her over. 

‘This is the new girl then?’ Another woman with blocky sunglasses definitely too big for her leaned over the pool table. 

‘That’s right.’ Clarissa shot an impatient smile at her. ‘Everyone, these two are your new best friends. Sophie, say hi to Teresa, Daphne, and…well, I’m sure Vinny remembers Benny.’ Her elbow lightly bumped Vinny, and he flinched at her. 

‘Oh, yea.’ His head swivelled to Benny and Clarissa a few times. ‘Hi.’ 

‘What’s up, man.’ A simple blue shirt hugged where the pristine formal wear did earlier. Hands that seemed impossibly large held biceps that looked like chiselled marble. 

‘Why’s girly pig lookin’ at me like that?’ Daphne’s hands gripped the side of the pool table hard. In between the joints of her fingers, a hiss breathed off chrome tucked away, and the wood lining cracked. Her sparkling eyes furrowed at Sophie. 

A droid, huh? 

‘We saw some grizzly shit earlier, still a bit uneasy,’ Vinny raised his hands and bent down to Daphne, ‘that’s all.’ 

‘I don't have time for this shit.’ Clarissa whispered. ‘Listen up! There’s some new people in town that left their manners at home. On the edge of Cartwright, Daphne found a drug lab hidden within a few abandoned warehouses. They are meddling in my property, making an excess of products to fuck with my market, my business. Clear it all out, everything, everyone. Before you burn it to the ground, have a look around, see what you find and bring it back to me. Our…private investigators will be of great assistance I’m sure.’ A nail sharper than Clarissa probably realised moved up Sophie's arm, slowly, then her fingertips, softly. ‘Listen to them, ok? I don’t care what issues you have with their previous employment, just shut the fuck up and do your jobs. Off you go, my darlings.’ Gold fingertips fluttered at the group as Clarissa briskly walked away from the pool table.   

‘Take whatever you need, guys,’ Benny tapped a large rifle outlined by fuzzy green, ‘and meet me outside when you’re done.’ He threw a bulky vest over himself, fastened it together, and slipped a mossberg off the table. Its cut down barrel swung by his knees. The large rifle he tapped caught Sophie’s eye. It was slightly heavy, but felt just right in her hands. Round edges outlined its form. It had a thick, square holographic sight halfway across its top rail. Its handguard had a built-in foregrip, slightly angled and as round as the edges. 

‘Bit overkill for this, don’t you think?’ Vinny raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Oh?’ She pressed the magazine release above the grip. Three angled lines on either side of the rifle’s chunky rear hissed out hot air. ‘10x55mm caseless. Seems just right to me.’ A grin spread across her face as the rounds glistened under the warm lighting. 

Inside the van, Daphne’s rattling legs kept silence at bay. Her eyes, and many lines across her body, glowed a yellow that tangoed with orange. The colours swapped places as her closed eyelids occasionally twitched and her mouth started to hang open. 

Is she…sleeping?

Vinny slipped a cigarette out of a pocket in his vest. 

‘No smoking in my ride!’ Teresa’s voice made him jump and drop the cigarette. 

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously!’ Her volume was dismissed by Benny’s laughter. 

‘Electrical fires are no joke, Vinny.’ Sophie smiled at him. ‘Can’t have a smoke break if you haven’t gone to work yet.’

‘Whatever…’ The side of his head blinked blue, and a tab appeared in front of him. He moved it over to Sophie. It was a blueprint of the warehouses. Old, but better than nothing. 

‘Ok, coms check everyone.’ Benny twisted his head around. ‘Daphne-’ He sighed, then turned back. 

<I said, coms check.>  

His voice buzzed in Sophie's headset. Daphne flashed blue, and rose with a gasp.

<Com- com check! Sorry…>  

She held her head and groaned. 

<Coms check. Vinny, Sophie?>

Teresa lowered her enormous sunglasses at them. 

<Coms check.>

Vinny folded his arms and slumped back against his seat. 

‘Coms check.’ Sophie spoke into the plastic microphone that stuck out of her head seat. Teresa made a weird face at her, then went back to driving. The others didn’t look at her, but she felt their eyes anyway. 

<What’s our approach gonna be then?>

<The blueprints don’t account for whatever set up they have in there, so we’ll go slow, real easy. Two teams of two: me and Daphne, you and Sophie. Go first, through the front. We’ll wait for you to start, then go in from the back. Meet in the middle. Sound good Vinny?.>

<Sure. What about the bus driver though?> 

<TERESA will be patiently waiting nearby. When you’re done, I’ll pick you up.> 

‘Shouldn’t Daphne and Vinny go together? Two hackers going after the local network is better than one.’ Sophie glanced at Benny. 

<I can multitask, you know.> 

Daphne frowned at her and grunted. 

<Exactly, that’s why the techies will back up the muscle. Force and control, and again, real easy, don’t forget. Talking to you Daphne.> 

She flipped him off and swung her head towards the back door. 

<It's coming up now, I’ll be back in…how long you need?>

‘Three minutes.’ Sophie’s posture went still and straight. 

<Three? Can you manage that?>

‘Watch me.’ Her smile grew as the van slowed to a stop. ‘On me, Vinny.’ The back door clicked open. Its wide black arms let the night in. Daphne slipped a blocky submachine gun out of her jacket, and dashed towards the warehouse. Benny shook his head and slapped his door close. 

‘Lets see what you can do, huh?’ He looked back at Sophie, and moved in. His remington looked like a toy in his hands. Besides the enormous, rusted industrial front door, two cameras sparked. 

<Got their eyes outside. Lemme take a look in too.> 

Vinny held Sophie's shoulder as she leaned against the peeling wall, beside the large door. A hollow bar appeared in front of her, and when it filled with white, hollow lines moved like wind through the wall. Red silhouettes blinked from the lines and disappeared. 

<Thirty targets inside. Looks like they’ve done a lot of renovation. Small rooms, it’s going to be a bit tight.>

<Made a backdoor into their network. Firewalls are still up, they don’t know we’re here yet. Uploading an overheating virus. When it's done, have at em’ Vinny.> 

Daphne’s distorted voice fit in the fuzzy wash of sound.

<Sure thing, watch for counters.> 

Sophie controlled her body with measured breaths. The cold air brushed against skin that didn’t feel it. Distant electric humming hit ears that weren’t listening. She flicked her rifle's fire selector to semi auto. Her headphones held a handful of simple sounds. Voices vibrated subtly inside. Footsteps scraped and skid with the pitch of a faded whisper. 

<Done, go!>

The industrial door scraped left, into the wall. Red silhouettes drew themselves again. Their outlines wobbled as the gangsters clawed at the side of their heads and screamed. Sophie shot the one closest to her. Two shots to the throat. Their body banged against a table in sync with the first shot back at Sophie. A thin pistol met her eyes. She fired twice again. Then the pistol met the floor. Two more shook off the overheat, and charged her. Vinny shot one in the leg, and with a blink of light from his eyes, the other went stiff. Grunts and suffocated breaths reached out between sealed lips. Vinny shot between their eyes, the other in the temple, and pushed ahead. A white, thin wall stretched across the concrete floor. Towards the right, a metal door opened slightly with a squeak. Sophie lowered her rifle and nodded at Vinny. He waited beside it, and raised his pistol. When a barrel stuck through, Vinny shot twice. Red splattered against the white wall. Sophie heard the voices beyond it get louder. She pulled a small cylinder from her belt, and held her thumb against a switch on its side. 

<Marked five, send it.>

She smiled, flicked the switch, and bounced it off the metal door. Vinny’s eyes glowed again, but the hue stayed, and he rushed through the door. The edges of Sophie’s lenses went blue, and she followed closely behind. One gangster flinched at the cylinder. 

‘Guys! Flash-’ Bright lines shot from it. White, piercing light hit them. They stumbled and groaned. Their bling and body art made it look like a strange performance. Sophie and Vinny’s gunfire duet with each other. The gangsters saw ringing white, blue muzzle flash, then nothing. 

<Moving in, keep the pace up.>

‘Copy that, Benny.’ Sophie’s rifle hissed as an empty mag bounced off the floor. ‘Watch the walls, they’re paper thin.’ She watched a pool of blood touch the edge of her boot as she clicked in another mag.  

<Got it.>

Sophie moved to the first door she saw. With a kick, the large room looked back at her. A long table stretched across, chemical equipment and terrible smells piled on top. People in gas masks and rubber suits raised their hands. In the corner of her eye, an arm raised slowly. She swung her rifle to the left and fired. Under the holographic reticle of her sight, a red splash dripped down the wall. Everyone sitting by the long table flinched when she looked back at them, then went still. 

<Leave them. This way, Sophie.>

Vinny was at the other end of the room, resting his hand against a brass door knob. Sophie leaned forwards and walked over. When she had nearly reached him, her headphones beeped into her ears. A red silhouette beyond the wall raised its arms.

‘Vinny! Back up-’ A crack smacked her against the ground. Bullets shrieked over her. Their echo was muffled. ‘Fuck!’ A sharp pain near her shoulder was louder. Vinny rolled away to the right. The shooting amplified as he mag dumped through the wall. As his pistol's cooling breathed, Sophie switched her rifle's fire selector to full auto. Its click was cut off by the clack of an empty magazine hitting the floor. The relentless blue muzzle flash overwhelmed the red warnings around her lenses as she opened fire. Heavy recoil pushed into her aching shoulder. She released the trigger. The red silhouettes collapsed, then dissipated. With a metal hand against the metal door, Vinny peaked inside.

‘Clear.’ He dashed over to Sophie and lowered his hand to her. ‘You good?’

‘Yea,’ Blood hit her fingers, streaming in between them, down her collar bone. ‘It went through.’ She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up. ‘I’m fine.’ 

‘That was close, that coulda got you in the head.’  

‘But it didn’t, let's move.’ Sophie's dark rifle was painted by her bloody fingers as she grasped it. The creak of a door inside the room they tore apart made them spear their guns forwards. 

‘Fuck me.’ Benny’s voice made them sigh in relief. ‘You guys are crazy.’ When Vinny pushed the door open, two smiles looked at him. 

‘But soooo slow.’ Daphne wasn’t much shorter than Sophie, but she looked like a little doll next to Benny. ‘Can we hurry this up already?’ Her smile turned upside down. 

‘You tell me.’ Vinny leaned down to her. ‘Clear your side yet?’ 

‘Uh huh, and we didn’t get hit. How about you?’

‘Wouldn’t have happened if you listened to Benny and hurried the fuck up.’ 

‘She’s the one that forgot her own callout. Could’ve dropped on her first day. And Clarissa called you ‘professionals’?’ She scoffed at Vinny’s sharp expression. ‘Guess Metrocorp saw what I did-’ Benny’s arms shot right towards Daphne and Vinny. His arms clicked, and in between jagged black lines, opened slightly. Feet now dangling from the ground, Daphne and Vinny kicked about.

‘We are nearly done here, ok? So for the last minute, not even, behave.’ Benny’s fingers tightened against their collars. ‘You know I don’t like getting physical, Daphne, but I will knock you out if I have to. Both of you.’ 

‘Got it! Copy that, man, yea…’ Daphne grunted, pulling at Benny’s synthetic skin with synthetic fingers.

‘Cool.’ He let go, and his arms clicked again. When they landed, Daphne groaned and backed away from Vinny. Benny held his arms behind his back. ‘Well, move it!’ His head tilted slightly, watching them awkwardly follow each other. 

‘Kids, huh?’ Sophie smiled at him. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘All in a day's work.’ He chuckled, his mossberg shaking in its sling. ‘On me, we’ll follow Daphne to the server room.’ Sophie nodded as Benny took the sling off his shoulder. The rooms ahead were either barren, or filled with plastic wrapped cash and packages. Hardware stuck out amongst it, blue cables snaking out of them. They were taped against the white walls. The four of them moved in a synchronised dance, the tips of their barrels slicing around the rooms. Daphne overlooked their rhythm, lightly dashing ahead. 

<It’s just behind this next door guys, get ready->  

Plastic shrapnel and dust exploded against her. As she struggled to rise from the loud mess, a figure moved through the fog. Sophie saw the shape of a stubby shotgun dangle beside it. She raised her rifle forwards. The figure moved. One blink later, gone. 

‘Where’d they go?’ Her head swung about, looking for them in the clearing fog. ‘Where the fuck did they go?’ A gunshot answered her. Benny groaned, then fired. Pellets ripped up a plastic looking chest, but they kept coming. A slim, chrome and snow white woman rushed Benny. His mossberg left his hands, yanked away by the metal monster. She bashed it against his head. He swung back, but she moved again, in a fast, disorientating blur. When she appeared again, Sophie fired at her. The burst went up her abdomen, but she disappeared again. Daphne was almost out of the rubble of the cheap wall, when she reappeared, right next to her. The stubby shotgun looked her in the eyes. One shot went through the cyborg's cheek, then two more ricocheted off her head. She held her face, and fired back at Vinny with the other hand. He dodged to the left. A few pellets scraped his side. For the second the cyborg was still, everyone took the opening and fired back. Their guns popped and cracked like fireworks. Bursts of blue and orange lit up the colourless room. Perfect skin and chrome tore like paper. Then a flash stopped the show. Sophie’s lenses glowed like fire in her eyes. She threw them off her. Another blur of movement. She followed it with another burst, cut short with a click. 

Gone. 

The hot air leaving her rifle felt like ice against her fury. 

‘I’m not letting that thing get away.’ She locked in with the fresh magazine, the concrete floor catching her calculated movements. 

‘Hey,’ With a short breath, Vinny reached down to Daphne. ‘up and at 'em’. Let's go.’

‘You-’ A distorted cough reverberated from her. ‘Oh shit…’ Their cold hands met. Her softness squished against his silver as she rose. 

<I’m with you.>

She patted his shoulder, looking at him softly. They ran after Sophie. 

‘Wait a second.’ Benny picked his mossberg off the ground, then disappeared behind the layers of thin walls as the two of them rushed ahead. 

<Teresa, we need you, NOW!>

His voice sounded like a different person when he raised it. 

<On it.> 

When everyone finally met outside, they formed a circle around the wide open entrance. 

‘Spread out, we’ll get picked off this close.’ Sophie moved away towards a pile of metal boxes. Vinny walked beside a wire fence, scanning it as he went. Close by, Daphne leaned around the corner of the warehouse, looking back occasionally to make sure she could still see him. Benny stumbled around the wide open space between the warehouse and the road, his hands and legs shuddered. 

<I’m close guys, hold on.> 

White air plumed past Sophie’s face, painting her silent breaths in the cold. Rubber pressed against her boot. On the ground, the bodies of a few workers lay next to and on top of each other. Their protective suits were ripped up. Blood spread and connected into one big mess below them. Headlights expanded light against Sophie’s back, and she turned away from the bodies. Teresa’s van sped towards the warehouse, and skid to a stop near the entrance. 

<Get in!>

Everyone dashed for the van. Then, she came back. A thunk stopped Sophie in place. She looked up, and saw the cyborg standing on top of the van. 

<The fuck was that?> 

‘Teresa, above you!-’ 

Three orange flashes went through the roof. Three shells bounced in the moment of silence. The cyborg raised the shotgun towards Sophie. It sparked suddenly, then she took the shot. With a thud, and a smack, the cyborg fell to the ground. Daphne and Benny lowered their guns. Both their eyes widened. Vinny and Sophie moved towards the cyborg slowly, weapons raised, and stopped a few feet away. She was covered in holes that leaked as one on her forehead gushed. Broken cyberware cut into the synthetic skin, jagged metal cut with bullets. Her eyes moved up slightly, and Sophie shot it in the head again. They watched the new hole spill more blood out, waiting. 

‘I think we got it.’ Vinny said it like he didn’t believe it. ‘Shit…shit.’ He finally lowered his pistol. ‘Sophie?’

‘Oh, right, ok.’ She lowered hers, but her eyes were still aiming at her. 

“That is my hydra”. Fucking hell… 

A soft click made her snap her head to the right. Daphne opened the door by the driver's side of the van, and just stared. 

Freezing air howled around the rows of servers. Green lights flickered off them, like lighthouses piercing the mist. The many blue wires of the warehouse stopped here, gathering in a massive tangle of ports. A few screens at the other side of the room flickered, warnings popping up too late. 

‘Anything useful here, Vinny?’ Sophie’s glasses fogged up, even in the safety of her breast pocket. 

‘I guess so, but it’s not much.’ His eyes sparkled across the towering boxes of ram. ‘Nothing missing, I don’t think, what’s here is just vague. A few addresses of other labs like this one, but no stashes, safe houses, meeting spots, no names. Well, there is one I just found that might interest you: Vargriff.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep, that’s definitely where they got the cyborg. “To assist in the operations we’ve commissioned you for, we sent you a cyberised unit that should arrive shortly. Whatever happens to it comes out of your pay.” Hmm, courteous.’ 

‘Quite. Guess it was late?’ 

‘Or waiting for us to let our guard down.’

‘True. Any other messages?’

‘Some weird stuff about ‘foxes and hounds’, reads like bad poetry. Code words probably. Clarissa’s probably gonna be disappointed, aye?’  

‘Whatever, that's what we found, that’s what she’ll get. We did our job.’

‘At the cost of our driver.’ Vinny sighed, his eyes stopped glowing. ‘Guess you’re right though. I’ve downloaded it all.’ 

‘Good. Time to burn this place down.’ The light of the warehouse crashed in waves of warm light as the door slid open for Sophie. Summer came back when it closed behind Vinny. Sloshing splashed around the empty air. Daphne and Benny had already started. The bodies splayed about had turned most of the concrete floor from grey to red. Sophie and Vinny passed Daphne on their way out. A dead blue washed over her porcelain white as she lifelessly carried a can of gasoline. Vinny went to say something, but kept walking. Inside the van, beside a few more gasoline cans, was a thick blue tarp. Vinny passed a can to Sophie, then looked at the mess in the driver's seat. He paused.

‘You ok?’ Sophie leaned inside the back. 

‘Uh huh, I just need to do something.’ He picked up the tarp, and hopped out the back again. Sophie watched him move around to the driver's side. The tarp flapped and whooshed loudly against the ground as he spread it out. The door clicked open.

‘No,’ Daphne appeared behind him, ‘you don’t get to do that.’ She stared him down, until a large hand fell to her shoulder. 

‘It’s ok, I got it.’ Benny was the same dead blue. ‘Come on…’ He took her hand, and tears snailed down her face. Slowly, they moved to the back of the van, then Benny came back to the open door. Vinny stepped back, away from the tarp, still watching him. Teresa’s head was gone, as well as a chunk of her chest. Skin and bone, bright organs, all ripped up and bloody. Benny picked her up gently, peeling her off the seat. Her thick sunglasses fell and bounced off the ground. For a long, still moment, Benny stopped. He closed his eyes, then finally put her down on the tarp. He wrapped her up swiftly, then threw her over his shoulder. 

‘Can one of you drive?’ He didn’t look at either of them.

‘Sure, I can.’ Sophie raised her hand slightly. ‘Want me to light the place up before we go?’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ Smoke rose from orange, leaking into the night sky. Vinny noticed the smell as the back door of the van thunked close. He looked at the smouldering building, then Teresa’s sunglasses. Chrome palms highlighted plastic darkness when he picked them up. 

‘Ready to go, Vinny?’ Sophie leaned towards him.

‘Yea,’ He was still looking at the sunglasses, ‘let’s move…’

The ride back was dead silent. The roads were vapid. Behind the wheel, the dashboard display looked at Sophie with uncomfortable lights. Every streetlight felt exposing. When the organised chaos of Cartwright Crossing came closer, the streetlights lost to the rising dawn. Silhouettes with a thousand eyes pressed against the fire of yesterday. As Sophie pulled up to the curb by the bar, Benny and Daphne slipped out before she switched off the engine. Once Sophie and Vinny entered after them, they were already telling Clarissa what happened. 

‘Just take her to the office for now, don’t leave her here.’ Her thin hand caressed Benny’s lined cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Yea…’ His eyes fell after a weak nod. The tarp dragged off the floor and into his arms again. Daphne started to follow him, but stopped. She hopped on one of the bar stools closer to Clarissa, but didn’t look at her. 

‘What the fuck happened? Did I ask you to bring my driver back in a body bag?’ Clarissa crossed her arms and straightened up. 

‘There was a-’

‘I know Vinny, I know that. But why did that happen?’

‘Because you didn’t tell us who was going to be there.’ Sophie looked down at her, arms behind her back. ‘Your prep wasn't good enough.’ 

‘Excuse me-’

‘Wasn’t their fault, boss, or yours.’ Benny placed a hand on Clarissa’s shoulder, looking between her and Sophie. ‘We got caught off guard. I won’t let it happen again.’ 

‘Benny…’ A sombre look spread across her perfect face. The same blue that Benny and Daphne wore shattered a gold illusion. ‘Just go home, ok? I’ll handle everything else from here.’

‘Sure, sure.’ He smiled, but only for a second. Clarissa squeezed his hand, and he let go. Before he walked away, his eyes met Sophie. He didn’t glare or soften his gaze, he just took in Sophie’s, like it was a gift, then left. 

‘What did you find then? Show me.’ Clarissa sat next to Daphne, leaning her back against the bar. 

‘It’s not much,’ Vinny’s eyes flashed, ‘but that’s all we found.’

‘Hmm…’ Clarissa’s glowing eyes looked around at tabs Sophie couldn't see. ‘Good enough. Considering the cyborg, this is helpful. I can figure out what’s next. Nice work.’ Her eyes stopped glowing, and she stared at a door towards the back.

‘So…can we have that insider now?’ Shaky hands moved between each other as Sophie tensed her face. Vinny gave her a nasty look. 

‘Wha- fine, fine. I’ll give you this.’ Clarissa waved a hand at her, and her phone vibrated in her pocket. ‘Not giving you the insider themself, not yet. But, all that should be a good start for you, like what you gave me. I still have much more I need from you two. What you’re looking for is a team of suits from you know who. Some project they were on recently fucked up, bad. No proof of that, or what it was, but two out of six are already dead, the rest spread out.’ 

‘To hide from their mess?’ 

‘No, to run from it.’ 

‘There’s no addresses here though, how do we find them?’Vinny crossed his arms.

‘It’s a bunch of suits, still got that bootlicker optimism. Look at the surveillance photos, might have a few informative angles they don’t know exist.’ 

‘Right, thanks.’ 

‘Daphne’s here too, if you need her. Little explorer, she is.’ Clarissa patted her on the shoulder. ‘For better, or worse.’ Leather breathed under her as she slipped off the stool. ‘Goodbye, oh great detectives.’ Her heels echoed against the stillness of the three leftovers.

‘I’m not digging through dirt for you.’ Daphne was leaning over the bar, ‘Miss Cleaver is my boss,’ filling a thick pint glass with tap beer. ‘not the police.’ 

She didn’t call us pigs, that’s a start. 

‘Well, I know something you might be more helpful with.’ Vinny blinked red towards her. The bright synthetic eyes caught his hue. 

‘Damn…’ Something interrupted her long sip. ‘You guys in some scary shit, huh?’ She looked at them, leaning her head back. 

‘Very.’ A scratchy sound came from the little white box in Vinny’s hand as a cigarette scooted out. He held it towards Daphne as he lit one in his mouth with a square lighter. 

‘Thanks.’ She slipped one out. ‘To be honest, I can’t really tell you exactly how this was done.’ Vinny lit it for her, standing much closer to her now. Their eyes met, but quickly looked away.

Careful, Vinny. 

‘But what I can say is, this killer has got some killer hardware. Like, I could do this probably, but I’d overheat so much after a minute, not even. And that’s saying something coming from me, obviously.’ 

‘So they could’ve been like that cyborg just before, right?’ 

‘Or some next gen droid that got loose.’ Sophie's words hit Vinny’s back like an unwarranted shove. Him and Daphne threw a heavy frown at her.

‘There aren’t any ‘next gen androids’,’ Daphne raised her voice slightly, ‘I’m as new as they get. Look at the news, look outside. The fuck anyone want with more androids? We’re not getting upgraded, we’re getting wiped out.’

‘There’s a motive.’ Sophie raised her hand at her.

‘No, that’s your motive for being an arrogant cunt.’ Daphne raised her voice again. ‘This project that started this, what do you think that’s about? Why do you think it’s worth dying over? Why do you think this shit is happening now?’ She drank half her beer in one, big gulp. ‘Wasn’t this like…your job? Seriously.’ 

‘You don’t get it-’

‘She’s right, Sophie.’ Vinny towered over her. ‘I told you, this shouldn’t be possible. If androids could do this, we would’ve heard about it ages ago. This is a whole new thing. Something different is happening, something we weren’t supposed to see. Something much bigger than your assumptions.’ 

‘Whatever…’ Sophie just looked away.

Of course he took her side…

‘Anyway, if you wanna find these guys, look at the background of these pics.’ Daphne started to point looking, between Vinny and something else. ‘This guy, right? Look at all that rusted stuff, but on it too, what’s that say?’ 

‘Nu technologies manufacturing zone.’ Vinny got closer to her again. ‘A factory?’

‘Bingo! Pre civil war lookin’ too, gotta be this one.’ Her eyes blinked up at him. 

‘Thanks, Daphne.’ Vinny turned back to Sophie. ‘Guess that’s our first stop then-’ She left while they were talking, the entrance still swinging softly. 

‘That’s your partner, huh?’ Daphne tilted her head at Vinny. ‘What a headache.’

‘She’s just…complicated.’ His face became weightless. 

‘Hey,’ Small, soft hands pulled at his sleeve, ‘thanks for saving my ass by the way.’

‘Oh, right,’ Her lightshow eyes made him pause, ‘don’t mention it.’ 

<Stop being so modest.>

The softness of her voice moved into his mind. She held her look at him, finishing the rest of her beer.

<You’re not so bad, for a pig. Definitely impressed me. You’re gonna thrive here, unless you keep her attitude.>

<I’m not like her…> 

<No, not at all.> 

The bartop dinked as Daphne slammed her empty pint glass against it.

‘See you round,’ A burp bigger than her launched from her mouth, ‘handsome.’ She hopped down, and walked over to a door at the back. Vinny went to say something, but his laughter cut him off.   

[vexwerewolf]

NON-STANDARD EMERGENCY PROCEDURE INDUCED COLDCORE DETONATION ("SELF DESTRUCT") ENSURE EJECT FUNCTIONALITY LIGHT IS GREEN (SOLID WITH NO FLASHING IN COLORBLIND MODE) BEFORE INITIATING THIS PROCEDURE DO NOT INITIATE THIS PROCEDURE WITH DIMINISHED EJECT FUNCTIONALITY RETRIEVE AF KEY FROM AF KEY HOLSTER INSERT AF KEY INTO AF KEY SLOT (CENTRAL CONSOLE) ROTATE AF KEY ONE HALF-TURN (180 DEGREES) CONFIRM "ADVANCED FUNCTIONALITY" STATUS ON LEFT MFD READS "ENABLED" INITIATE SCRIPT: SELF-DESTRUCT ENTER DETONATION HOLDOFF TIME ALARM WILL SOUND EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT

IF SCRIPT IS UNAVAILABLE OR FAILS TO FUNCTION CONFIRM "ADVANCED FUNCTIONALITY" STATUS ON LEFT MFD READS "ENABLED"

ON REACTOR PANEL: ENGAGE "SEND TO MFD" SELECT MFD VIA DIAL ON RELEVANT MFD: CONTROL DOMAIN to GLOBAL MAX CYCLES PER SECOND to UNLIMITED FUEL INJECTOR to OVERRIDE INDUCE LASER PRIMARY to OVERRIDE INDUCE LASER SECONDARY to OVERRIDE FIELD CONSTRICTION to NARROW MAXIMUM FIELD TOLERANCE to NONE SAFETY CUTOFF to HARD DISENGAGE FIRST ALARM WILL SOUND ENTROPY MASTER CUTOFF to HARD DISENGAGE SECOND ALARM WILL SOUND OBSERVE RATE OF INCREASE IN CORE ENTROPY GAUGE ESTIMATE LENGTH OF TIME (IN SECONDS) TO CONTAINMENT COLLAPSE RESET WINDOW to ESTIMATE + 2 SECONDS THIRD ALARM WILL SOUND EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT

ONCE EJECTED: IMMEDIATELY DISENGAGE FROM EJECTION SEAT CONTINUOUSLY AND EXPEDITIOUSLY RETREAT FROM CHASSIS SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER BEHIND A STURDY PHYSICAL OBJECT, IDEALLY COMPOSED OF RADIOLOGICALLY OPAQUE MATERIAL IN EVENT THAT SERE KIT DOES NOT DISENGAGE FROM EJECTION SEAT ALONGSIDE YOU, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RETRIEVE IT DO NOT LOOK AT OR EXPOSE ANY PART OF YOUR BODY TO THE BLAST CONTINUE TO RETREAT FROM THE CHASSIS EVEN IF IT DOES NOT DETONATE. DO NOT RE-APPROACH THE CHASSIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. IF YOU CANNOT FIND OTHER SHELTER: YOUR EJECTION SEAT CAN FUNCTION AS AN IMPROMPTU BLAST SHIELD. ORIENT THE BACK OF THE SEAT TOWARDS THE CHASSIS AND TAKE SHELTER BEHIND IT IF YOUR EJECTION SEAT IS DAMAGED OR CANNOT PROVIDE SHELTER, AND NO SHELTER IS AVAILABLE: LAY FLAT ON YOUR CHEST WITH YOUR FEET TOWARDS THE CHASSIS IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES: SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION YOU MAY HAVE RECEIVED INJURIES YOU ARE UNAWARE OF YOU MAY HAVE BEEN EXPOSED TO HIGH RADIATION FLUX FROM THE BLAST OR PRIOR TO EJECTION

EMERGENCY PROCEEDURE REACTOR CRITICAL OVERTEMPERATURE UNDER WAR POWER CONTROL DOMAIN to GLOBAL MAX CYCLES PER SECOND to 3 GHz FUEL INJECTOR to HOT OFF INDUCE LASER PRIMARY to HOT OFF INDUCE LASER SECONDARY to HOT STANDBY VENTS to HOLD OPEN COOLANT LOOP to PRIORITY 1 LIFT SAFETY COVER ON HARD SHUTDOWN BUTTON, HOLD UNINTERRUPTED FOR TEN SECONDS, OBSERVE CORE TEMPERATURE GAUGE IF CORE TEMPERATURE CONTINUES TO RISE: FUEL INJECTOR to EMERGENCY CUT INDUCE LASER SECONDARY to HOT OFF COOLANT LOOP to PRIORITY 0 LIFT SAFETY COVER ON INDUCE QUENCH BUTTON, HOLD UNINTERRUPTED FOR TEN SECONDS, OBSERVE CORE TEMPERATURE GAUGE IF CORE TEMPERATURE CONTINUES TO RISE: LIFT SAFETY COVER ON COOLANT PURGE BUTTON, HOLD UNINTERRUPTED FOR TEN SECONDS, OBSERVE CORE TEMPERATURE GAUGE IF CORE TEMPERATURE CONTINUES TO RISE OR OTHERWISE FAILS TO FALL: EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT EJECT

[halfabreath]

Ransom goes on Grindr to do some research for a PowerPoint he’s preparing for Bitty after he comes out and the first thing he sees is someone named Adam who is 4 feet away from him whose profile just says “6’4, bottom, can’t host, I BYOMC (bring my own maid costume), not asstounding but I get the job done”

[andy-clutterbuck]

4x16 | A