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januaryembrs · 18 days

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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”

“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 3 months

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title: vulnerability

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: angst & fluff

pairing: alastor x reader x lucifer

summary: you find alastor after the battle in bad shape. you have to help him and get him healed.

note: this is the fic from the snippet i posted the other day! ☺️

After the battle, you saw immediately that Alastor was missing. Quickly running off to search for him and realizing the only place he could be was the broken down radio tower. Finding Alastor broken and battered in that tower did not fare well with your soul. You helped patch him up temporarily, but he was still bleeding a lot, barely hanging on to a thread of consciousness.

“Al, I need you to get us to Luce’s room. Can you do that?” You ask, looking at him, your hand caressing his face. He nods, shockingly quiet and with a heavy sigh, you’re both engulfed in shadows and reappear in a bright and circular room. You support Alastor, clumsily as his seven foot frame leaning on your five foot frame was difficult to manage. You get him over to a chair and look at him.

“Al, I’m going to grab Lucifer.” You whisper, tears coming to your eyes looking at him. The bandages not even looking pristine at this point and his blood seeping through quickly. His button up open and hanging on his shoulders as he slumped in the chair, looking the most human you had seen him.

“Just stay with me chére. He’ll come.” Alastor murmured, pulling you to the arm of his chair.

“Please, Alastor. You’re scaring me. You’ve lost so much blood. And I can’t… I can’t loose you.” You look at him, tears falling down your face. He looks at you and shakes his head.

“You couldn’t-“ He’s cut off as the door opens and a disshelved Lucifer comes charging in, his eyes wide and when it lands on the both of you he gasps.

“Fuck Alastor.” He says coming over, making you cry harder. “Is he…” Lucifer trails off thinking the worst. Alastor opens his eyes for a moment and looks at Lucifer.

“You wish.” He whispers. Lucifer’s eyes widen and he goes to the other side of Alastor.

“You’re making our girl cry, asshole.” Lucifer points out. Alastor looks at you with a soft smile.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay.” He tries to assure you but when he moves a bit, the bandages start leaking. Lucifer’s eyes widen.

“It’s not letting you heal is it?” Lucifer asks.

“No, I haven’t been able to heal at all.” Alastor responds, his hand going to the wound again on his chest. Lucifer takes his jacket off and tells you to stand away. You shake your head as Alastor grabs your hand.

“Fine. Fine. This might hurt.” Lucifer warns as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. Your mind is reeling on what this all means and what Lucifer is doing. But you stay silent, knowing that your questions right now would delay whatever they were doing.

“Do your worst.” Alastor grinds out. Lucifer puts his hands on Alastor’s chest and his hands start to glow gold. Suddenly the wound it self is glowing gold and Alastor’s eyes shoot open. The scream that rings out is nothing like you’ve ever heard. Alastor starts thrashing, trying to get away.

“Damn it, hold him down!” Lucifer yells at you as he keeps his hands on Alastor’s chest. You push Alastor’s shoulders down as he looks at you betrayed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have to stay here, please.” You tell Alastor as tears fall from your eyes as Alastor’s demonic form takes shape.

“Fuck, Al, calm down!” Lucifer yells pushing him back down now with you.

“Alastor, please, we’re trying to help you. Lucifer is healing you. Please, we love you, we wouldn’t hurt you.” You say, gently taking his face in your hands. His eyes lock on yours and you watch as the radio dials fade and his crimson eyes shine back.

“Darling…” He whispers and cries out as the golden glow is the brightest and then the room is shrouded in what feels like darkness, but it’s just the same light as before. You look at Lucifer and see the sweat that had beaded on his forehead, and you wiped it away. Lucifer looks up at you grateful. You both look down at Alastor as he looks down at his chest which he unwrapped. You follow his eyes and see the wound healed but almost like golden stitches were tattooed across it. It wasn’t normal gold though, they glittered and were almost glowing in the dark.

“You branded me.” Alastor deadpans looking at Lucifer. Lucifer just glares at him, his eyes partially lidded with exhaustion.

“Thank you Lucifer for saving me.” You say. “Oh you’re welcome Alastor, I’d probably do it again.” You look at Alastor after that, “These tattoos are pretty cool. Thanks again for saving me. Love you!” You then look at Lucifer, the panic you felt before fading into manic, “Oh no problem. They look great! Love you too!”

You shake your head as you hop down off the chair and walk into the bathroom, missing the looks that Lucifer and Alastor exchange. You grab some soap and start washing your hands, getting ready to wash your face. Wanting to be away from both Lucifer and Alastor’s sheer ridiculousness.

“Ducky, why are you crying?” Lucifer asks, standing on your right behind you, scaring you as you jump, not hearing him or Alastor come into the bathroom.

“I-I’m not. Not crying.” You say looking at your self in the mirror. You blink and more tears fall. “Maybe I am.” You sigh.

“Why?” Alastor asks.

“Why? Why?” You ask loudly rounding on them. “I almost watched you die, Alastor. And either one of you could have died in that damn battle. And I just- I can’t loose you. I just… I can’t loose you both.” You whisper out as you slump against the counter of the bathroom, hiding your face in your hands. There’s a beat of silence and then you feel two hands pull your hands from your face. Your eyes meeting Alastor’s.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers, holding your hands to his chest.

“And I’m not going anywhere.” Lucifer says, coming to your side and resting his head on your shoulder. You sob as you stand there.

“You promise?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking these two beings to promise. But you needed something that felt more concrete than their words at that moment.

“I swear it.” Lucifer says, kissing your lips.

“So do I.” Alastor adds on, kissing both your hands. You nod and take one hand to wipe the tears away from your eyes. Alastor stops you and wipes the tears from your eyes for you. And then suddenly your clothes are changed into pajamas. You look at Lucifer who is also in his pajamas, smiling for the first time.

“Remedial creation, darling.” Lucifer winks at you.

“Aren’t you just a useful little devil?” Alastor purrs, and both yours and Lucifer’s eyes widen. Lucifer’s cheeks completely red. You chuckle as you walk through them to the bed. As you look back you see them murmur something to each other and both nod, as Lucifer hugs Alastor. Alastor pulls Lucifer back and quickly gives the King of Hell a quick kiss and they both make their way to the bed. You climb in and ask what side each wants or where they want to sleep.

“May I-uh, sleep in the middle?” Alastor asks, still uncharacteristically quiet.

You excitedly nod and hop on the left side as Lucifer takes the right. You cozy up to Alastor’s left side and rest your hand on his chest. Lucifer grabs your hand as you both rest your hands on Alastor’s chest and cuddles into his right side. Alastor, is fast asleep almost the minute his head hits the pillow. You look at Lucifer who is also out like a light and smile. You all made it through this, you could make it through whatever came next.

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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 3 months

Text

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

(Another two-part-er! Stay tuned for part 2 very shortly!)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). One comically graphic description of cannibalism (first paragraph). Also, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect a lil angst sprinkled in there (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

Ok... I'm gonna be honest folks, I have no idea if this fic is even coherent. This ain't my Best Work™ - this is literally the coping mechanism I've been relying on to put myself to sleep every night this week because HOLY SHIT my life is stressful at the moment. 😅

But anyway, I've decided I'm just gonna go ahead and post it, because 1) the world needs more lee!alastor, and 2) I'm not here to do my Best Work™, I'm here to write cute self-indulgent little stories about Alastor getting tickled to bits by his platonic wife. I'm here to decompress my hypervigilant ass at the end of long days by imagining my favorite endearingly creepy characters get wrecked by my other favorite endearingly creepy characters.

In summary, I'm here to have a good time, and I certainly did with this fic. So I hope you do too!

Featuring my new oc! (Rosie and Al still take center stage though, don't worry lol)

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It's a little-known fact that cannibals make terrific doctors. When you spend every meal tearing the human body apart with your face, you end up with a pretty comprehensive intuition for demonic anatomy.

So Alastor supposed he should consider himself lucky to have Rosie and her loyal posse so close at hand after his battle with Adam.

He was certainly relieved when Rosie had stumbled upon him, barely conscious from blood loss on the floor of his wrecked radio tower - and especially a few hours later when, having been rushed back to Cannibal Town, he was whisked into a warm, familiar parlor and deposited on a comfy couch.

Within minutes Rosie had summoned a woman in a white coat who swooped in, produced a bottle of a strange, foul-smelling gel from her medicine bag, soaked a rag with it, and pressed it firmly against Alastor's wound. The searing pain evaporated almost on contact.

"What is that?" Alastor breathes, visibly relaxing against the arm of the couch he's propped against.

"Anesthetic." She begins preparing a needle and thread.

"Didn't know such a thing existed down here."

"Of course! We're demons, not barbarians," Rosie scoffs, watching from the sidelines.

Cannibals, as a rule, rarely last long enough to need a doctor, but Rosie is no ordinary cannibal. And Dr. Trudy Sawblade - a young surgical resident in life, and Rosie's personal physician in death - is the best of the best. While she hadn't quite completed her medical training before her untimely death, in Rosie's service she's gained more than enough experience to make up for her education cut short.

"That salve is derived from a distant cousin of the poison dart frog. Evidently most of the frogs are assholes, because hell has an downright enormous population of them." Trudy's voice is measured and matter-of-fact, with a soft lilt that is both soothing and vaguely unsettling. "Haven't been discovered on earth yet. Which is good, because one whiff of this would end a mortal life in a matter of seconds."

"Lucky you, you're already dead," Rosie chimes in cheerfully.

"Lucky me," Alastor murmurs, without conviction.

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

Truthfully, with the pain from his chest wound numbed, the weight of his recent defeat presses even more heavily on Alastor's heart. Someone - probably one of the cannibals who helped transport him from the rubble pile to Rosie's parlor - must have grabbed the broken microphone as they carried him out, because the fractured pieces are sitting on the side table at the other end of the couch. Under normal circumstances the awareness that someone had touched his staff without permission would spark a flash of rage from the Radio Demon, but now he can only stare dismally at what remains of his cane - aware that it's no longer capable of accomplishing much anyway.

It takes only a few minutes for Trudy to stitch Alastor back up and wrap his chest in a stretchy gauze. Meanwhile, Rosie quickly mends the worst of the tears in his clothes - if only to avoid having to watch her friend stare down the couch at his broken staff, with an uncharacteristic half-smile that damn near breaks her heart.

"Alright, sir, that should do it for now. It's a nasty gash, for sure, but the salve should keep it from getting infected."

"Thank you, my dear." He gives an appreciative nod to the surgeon, and Rosie too, as his fellow overlord hands him back his clothes.

"Can't have you going around with a big hole in your chest, can we?" Rosie steps back and scrutinizes her own patch job as he slowly dresses himself again. "It ain't perfect... especially for a classy fellow like you. But I'm sorry to report that I saw my tailor at a Sunday brunch just last week. Inconvenient, but I gotta admit, he made a wonderful casserole."

For the briefest of moments, this aside manages to tweak Alastor's smile into something vaguely genuine. "I'm sure he did."

"One more thing, Mr. Alastor, sir," Trudy jumps in as the radio demon pulls on his coat. "So sorry, I almost forgot. The angel also threw you against a wall, correct?"

At the recollection, Alastor's smile stiffens into something more closely resembling a grimace. His antlers rise between his ears. "Does it matter?"

"You may be at risk for internal injuries." If Trudy is at all fazed by inviting the most powerful overlord in hell's annoyance, it doesn't show. "I really ought to check, just to be safe."

Alastor looks away. As loathe as he is to even acknowledge his own fragility, he truly isn't sure of the extent of his own injuries - given that he's not used to receiving them in the first place. And he'd be damned (well, damned twice) if Adam had ruptured something vital, spelling the radio demon's second death a few hours after the fact.

He grits his teeth. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Lovely. If you could just lie back, sir..." As he obliges, she kneels beside the couch. "I'm just going to feel for any swelling..." Her hands hover over him-

"Er, wait." Alastor abruptly sits up.

"It's alright, I won't touch your wound!" Trudy soothes. "I'll just be feeling down here..." She gestures to his midsection (which elicits a sharp flinch).

"No, I-" He hesitates. "I'm... not sure this is necessary."

"Oh, Alastor, stop worryin'!" Rosie reassures him with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Trudy is quite picky about her meals. She'd never go for venison."

"That's... not what..."

Alastor pauses, and evidently decides against trying to explain what he meant. He reluctantly lies back against the cushions again.

"I'm going to place my hands under your shirt, sir. If you feel any pain, please alert me."

"Very well."

As Trudy lifts his shirt, he looks like he is going to say something more - but whatever it is dies on his tongue the moment her hands make contact with his stomach. He brings one knee up sharply.

"Tender there, sir?"

"No! No, your hands are cold." His words have gone uncharacteristically stiff.

Trudy methodically probes one side of his belly, then the other (which in turn causes his other knee to pop up). This time when Trudy asks if he's in pain, he merely shakes his head.

The surgeon furrows her brow, concentrating. Human-animal hybrids like Alastor already take a bit of poking around just to get a sense for each unique configuration of organs. It doesn't help that the man is bracing for every touch...

"Are you sure this doesn't hurt, sir?" she murmurs tentatively. "You're very tense."

"Yes." The word comes out like a hiss. She glances at the radio demon's face. He's wearing his typical showman's smile, but his eyes are fixed on the ceiling with a weird, wide, unwavering stare.

Finally the surgeon sits back. "Well, I don't feel anything concerning. But to be honest, sir, I can't feel much of anything." She turns apologetically to her employer. "His stomach is all clenched up..."

But Rosie is simply standing there pressing a huge grin into her glove. She's known Alastor for decades. She can read his expressions like a magazine.

"Alastor, darling," Rosie drawls casually. "Are you ticklish?"

From the radio demon's reaction, you'd think she'd asked if he was an Exorcist. He scrambles to sit up. "No! Why would-"

"You're ticklish. That's..." She catches herself just before the word precious.

"...What?!" There's an edge of defensiveness to his voice that Rosie very rarely hears from him.

"Why are you embarrassed?"

"I'm not emb- That's not- what-" Oh, she's giving him that look. "I'm just- I wasn't-"

As he speaks, Alastor's voice suddenly goes thin. His gaze turns inward. "I'm stuttering. I don't stutter! I've never stuttered!" He clutches his coat closer around himself. "I am the RADIO DEMON, for heaven's sake, I don't sta-AHH! Haha-!"

Evidently a scribble to the ribs is a very effective way to interrupt a panicking demon. Rosie runs her fingers from his hip up his side to his arm and back a couple times for good measure.

The amount of startled laughter she is able to draw from just this surprise touch delights her - the poor man is so ridiculously sensitive that a five-second one-handed tickle leaves him fully breathless.

"Okay! Okay, okahay! Keheh- Rosie!"

"Sorry dear, couldn't resist." She holds her hands up, still beaming like a stadium light. "I'll stop torturing you."

Alastor clears his throat. "You're not torturing me, dearest." He straightens his bowtie, clearly attempting to salvage his dignity. "You know what I always say, laughter is a powerful sign of-"

He cuts off with a sharp inhale and defensive flinch as Rosie perches on the edge of the sofa beside Trudy. She grins.

"You're right. That's certainly your specialty, isn't it?"

Alastor forces a nervous chuckle. "Never fully dressed without a smile, you know."

"Well don't worry, darling. I understand." She pats his knee. "Just because you've got the scariest evil cackle in hell doesn't mean you appreciate having it tickled out of you."

Rosie had expected this assurance to put him at ease, but if anything, he seems more troubled.

"Why would I mind a little, ah..." Tickling. Tick-ling. He can't bring himself to articulate two syllables. Is this all he's left with without his staff? "...Er, a little bit of levity? Can't let things get too serious, can we?" With another quick cough, the radio demon finally manages to get his voice to fall back into his familiar breezy cadence. He turns to Trudy. "Now, are we... quite finished with that examination?"

"Nothing seems amiss, from what I can feel." Trudy takes a step back. "Which is not much, but I think I've already made you uncomfortable enough..."

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly at ease!" He lies back again and smooths his coat. "Please, finish your little checkup. I insist."

Trudy regards him curiously for a moment. "Right." Her hands hover over his belly again. "But if you want me to stop, sir, just say the word-"

"I assure you that w-won't be necessahary..."

Trudy watches him seize up before her fingers even make contact. This time she presses a little deeper into his belly, trying to feel around his defensiveness.

"You are punching holes in my couch," Rosie remarks dryly, watching the poor demon's claws bury themselves in the cushions.

"I kn... ohow, I'm just-" He squeezes his eyes shut as Trudy hits a particularly bad spot. And then another. And another... hell, his torso one big bad spot.

"What do you think, Trudy?"

The young doctor just shakes her head.

"Alastor. Darling. You have GOT to relax."

"I am!" Alastor's composure is dangling by the thinnest of threads.

"Maybe it would help," Trudy says, with infinite caution, "to just go ahead and laugh, sir."

A beat. And then Rosie bursts into laughter.

"Giving new meaning to the 'deer in the headlights' expression, my friend." She scoots closer. "I thought you just said you don't mind a little 'levity'..."

"I don't!"

"In that case. Carry on, Trudy - Auntie Rosie is gonna help our patient out a bit while you work."

Too late, Alastor realizes what his fellow overlord has in mind. "Wait, wait! Ros-"

A delicate set of nails find the region just under his ribs - and it's all downhill from there.

"Ah! Fuhuck!" Alastor chokes on a curse before he can catch himself. He twists sideways, collapses into muffled giggles, and briefly manages to pull himself together - just barely - with a few hyperventilated breaths. "Rosie, really! This isn't- please- ack! I can't-" There's that damn stutter again. He hadn't even stuttered when Adam slashed him.

And now, Great Alastor the Radio Demon, undone by some scribbles? And a medical exam?!

Meanwhile, Trudy can feel even less now than she could before, her patient's belly now quaking with silent, suppressed mirth. But she takes one look at Rosie's delighted expression... and continues probing anyway, curling a subtle little smirk of her own.

It seems Rosie has picked up on a slightly less tangible injury than anything Trudy can address. But fortunately, they've just stumbled upon a promising potential treatment.

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

Part 2 is already pretty much finished - my brain is just too mushy at this point to contend with Tumblr's shitty text interface any longer, and this feels like a good stopping point.

Lemme get a good night sleep and another dose of Prozac and I'll have the rest out shortly 😅

💜 - Cozy

#lee!alastor #ler!rosie #ticklish!alastor #oh deer he's ticklish #ticklefic #tickle content #hazbin hotel tickles #hazbin hotel tickling

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hells-wasabii · 3 months

Note

Hi I was hoping if maybe you could do Velvette and Carmilla (poly or separate whichever you want to do) with a fem s/o that had a very abusive ex while she was alive like both physical and verbal abuse. She also has a hard time going out because she is terrified that she might run into them again. No pressure though hope you have a good day!😁

A/N: I'm so sorry i didn't write over the weekend, I got so busy it was ridiculous. Should be back to our regularly scheduled broadcast tomorrow! I'll be honest, this ask resonated with me, I immediately knew that I was gonna enjoy writing this one and you'll see why. Like i did last time, I'll be putting one drabble on one post and the other on a separate one with the ask included!

Character: Velvette

Type: Fic (Velvette x fem!reader who had an abusive ex, Angst, Fluff)

She was going to destroy them. And whatever was left of them when she was done, no one would dare touch, else they also wanted their lives burnt to ash.

Velvette was furious, livid. Needless to say, the influencer was on a war path.

Truly, she was glad that you weren’t here to see her like this. You didn’t need another reminder of that stain of a soul, though she wasn’t just going to lie or keep you in the dark. You knew where she was and what she was planning. You had been in tears when she told you in soft whispers that it was going to be okay, that she was going to ‘take care of it’. She was surprised that she had been able to keep her cool until she had left the flat.

Honestly, the influencer knew that she wasn’t supposed to know about the bastard yet. You had wanted to tell her on your own time and she respected that. But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t already suspected. When you would get nervous out in public, looking out into crowds like you were expecting to see a ghost. The flinching early in your relationship anytime she’d so much as graze your arm.

It figured that they were in hell too. It made sense, all things considered. Plus they were probably slippery enough to stay out of the path of any angels during exterminations

It had been such a peaceful day too. The both of your schedules had aligned, Velvette was between projects and you hadn’t had any real plans until later in the night, which said plans were with the overlord anyways.

It had been so long since the two of you had enjoyed a lazy morning together. Velvette was more than content simply enjoying each other’s company on the couch. You had been entangled with your lover, your arms loosely wrapped around her waist while you rest your chin on her shoulder, watching her scroll through her current feed.

She remembered so clearly how tense you became when she came across the picture. Some club goer that she would have completely ignored other wise, had it not been for the fact that you had started trembling. And then you flinched when the overlord had reached out to cup your cheek. She was quick to assure you that you had nothing to apologize for when you offered a dejected ‘sorry’.

And that was how Velvette found out about your only other serious relationship and the story of your death. Through needless apologies and countless tears.

Now, the influencer found herself storming through the halls of Vee Tower with one destination in mind. Vox’s office.

“Vox I need your help.” These were the first words out of her mouth when she burst in through the doors to the video star’s office

“Velvette, I thought you were taking today off?” The video star startled, quickly closing his current video feed. He seemed more than he would have usually. Whether it was because he hadn’t expected to see her or because of how angry she looked, the influencer didn’t know. And frankly, she didn’t give a shit, either. He could keep watching the radio demon like a creep later.

The video star leaned back in his seat when Velvette didn’t offer an answer. So instead he gesturing for the younger overlord to sit. She did not. Lacing his fingers together, Vox took in the sight that was Velvette. She was angry, that much was obvious, but why? She didn’t have any current projects that he could think of, so what in the literal hell could have her so vexed?

“What’s got you on a war path today my dear?” Though his smile didn’t meet his eyes. No, he knew something was very wrong.

“I need a favor.” This seemed to get his attention. In reality, Velvette rarely asked for favours, instead preferring to get shit done herself. Even rarer still, she was here, asking him in person instead of calling or texting him.

Vox turned to her fully now, a serious expression settling upon his screen. “Of course, what do you need?”

“Your reach is farther than mine,” She admitted, her voice soft, betraying the unbridled rage that dwelled beneath the surface. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a photo of demon who had summoned her ire, sliding a photo across his desk to show him. An eyebrow raise, the older sinner took the photo in his hand.

Mostly uninterested, Vox really wasn’t sure what he was looking at. The picture was ordinary, some demon taking a selfie at a club. Looked like some regular old schmuck to him. Returning his gaze back to his youngest cohort, he found her glaring at the offending photo so hard that he was surprised it didn’t burst into flames right there in his hand. Just to be safe, he put the photo back down on his desk.

“And what exactly did this poor bastard do to piss you off this bad?”

“That’s the fucker who used to beat on my girl.” Velvette all but hissed out, glarring down at the picture. Then, she spoke again, softer, her voice nearly trembling as a more grave expression took to her face. “They killed her, too.”

Vox froze, his screen flickering as his own temper spiked at the revelation. You were good for Velvette. He actually liked you, which was more than he could say about any other demon that the influencer had brought around the tower. Val liked you just as much. He was going to be pissed if he was left out of the fun, the video star noted as he shot the moth demon a quick text to get his ass to his office. Vox’s lips split into a vicious grin, his voice low, practically a growl as he forced out a: “Well, lets get to work then, shall we?”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #the vees #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel vox

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justaticklishdeer · 10 days

Text

Video Killed The Radio Star (with tickles.)

Dedicated to @aleestor !! (enjoy :> ) Vox notices Alastor seems a bit off and decides to help out in rather unconventional ways.

TW/CW: Tickles (a lil intense,) restraints, a bit of angst at the beginning, fluffy! Somewhat RadioStatic?

Word count: 1.3K!

A certain TV demon was walking down the street. Vox looks around, unimpressed with the flocks of demons murdering each other. He walks up to a meat shop, a certain deer sitting outside it. The demon’s ears pin in mock irritation. ‘Go away,’ Alastor hisses, his grin tightening in annoyance. ‘Hmm, I’d rather not,’ Vox hums, leaning on the table. Alastor leans back, growling. ‘Y’know, I run a rich company. Ya should join me.’

‘I am perfectly fine with my radio, Vox,’ Alastor mutters, jumping back as Vox gets closer. ‘Trust us,’ Vox says in a mockingly happy tone. Alastor rolls his eyes, standing up. ‘At least I don’t spend my days in front of a screen. Oh wait, you are the screen.’

Vox snorts, ‘oh, the buck finally has a sense of humor!’

Alastor growls back, ‘I’ll show you humor when I devour you in front of your colleagues!’

‘I have a multimillion dollar company with some of the best employees imaginable!’ Vox scoffs back. He had noticed Alastor hadn’t gone for a full on physical fight yet. ‘At least I have a ton of fans and followers who do what I say, as well,’ Vox smirks, leaning close to Alastor who scowls at him. ‘At least I have some creativity when it comes to showing off,’ Alastor sneers, his ears pinning in displeasure. ‘You’re only jealous because people prefer a modern overlord rather than an old timey radio host! Just remember, radio is dying out! And people prefer the modern path nowadays!’ Vox snaps back. Alastor stands up, backing away. As he stalked off, ignoring the television, his smile fades, if only for a minute. Vox stops, staring at him with a confused look. ‘Al, wait, I didn't mean–are you okay?’ Vox asks, starting towards him. Alastor simply dissipates into the shadows without a response. Vox’s only thought running through his mind?…was Alastor okay?

Alastor’s ears flick at the sound of a small zap and a thud. He turns around, his coat off and slung on a chair. His smile wasn’t even there. The deer looks for the source of the sound, casting an unamused look at the heap on the floor.

‘Vox, why?’ he growls. ‘You–you seemed upset!’ Vox says as he stands up, brushing himself off. Alastor’s smile comes back, though not nearly as genuine as Vox would’ve liked. ‘I am fine,’ Alastor replies simply, walking across his radio tower and sitting down on the floor, staring blankly out one of the tinted windows.

Vox comes up behind him, holding Alastor’s coat. Alastor goes to grab it, but Vox quickly grabs his wrists and ties them together with the sleeves of the coat. ‘What in the hell are you doing?’ Alastor growls, feeling oddly vulnerable with his arms restrained like this…pride be damned, he wasn't letting this prick gain full control.

Vox ties his restrained arms to a nearby post on the wall. Alastor growls. ‘I can summon–’ ‘You haven't,’ Vox cuts him off with a smug grin. He walks up to Alastor, gently pushing his shirt up to expose Alastor’s belly, his whole body covered in this downy deer-like fur. Vox curiously traces a claw on the deer fur, earning a screech of microphone feedback from the Radio Demon. ‘No fucking way! You’re ticklish! Oh, this just got a whole lot better.’

Alastor struggles and pulls on the ties of his coat, clearly trying to escape. Although, he would have melted into the shadows if he hated it that bad… Vox starts to scritch quicker over Alastor’s belly, and he could see the demon shaking. ‘Oh, come on, let it out. You know you need to. Just let me tickle you silly. You clearly need it, otherwise you would’ve melted into your shadows by now. Yeah?’ Vox inquires, fingers sliding near Alastor’s navel, earning a snort. ‘Oh, so this is a bad spot? Hmm? Is it?’ Vox teases, fingers teasing the tickly fur near Alastor’s navel.

Alastor arches his back, head shaking in an odd mix of defiance and giddiness. ‘And remember, Alastor...this is just the beginning. I'll have you begging for mercy each time I touch your ticklish belly. And if you're a good sport about it, I might just find other spots that make you squirm,’ Vox chuckles darkly, switching to the demon’s ribs, earning a muffled whiny giggle. ‘st..st-ahap–!’ Alastor gasps out, shaking his head again, ears flicking. Vox slowly massages his fingers into the skin, over the ribcage underneath. The deer cackles loudly, unable to hold back his mirth. Alastor kicks his feet and shrieks.

‘Vohohox, stahahap! Stahahap! Thihihis isn’t–snrk!--neheheccasary!’ He snorts as Vox’s claws slide close to his underarms. ‘Oh, perhaps here? Are you a ticklish little buck? C’mon, laugh it out. All of it. I’ll have you–’ Vox pauses in his ministrations as Alastor bleats like a fawn from Vox’s underarm tickling.

They both stare at each other for a second or two, gaze unwavering. ‘Did you–’ “No!’ Alastor cuts him off quickly, face starting to flush with embarrassment. Out of all the people who were allowed to tickle him–Vox not even on that list, although, he would admit, Vox wasn’t too bad at it–he had to hear that?

‘Do that again,’ Vox chuckles, resuming the rib tickles. Alastor bleats multiple times–pride be damned, he wasn’t admitting to that!--helplessly and giddily. He had craved this for so long, his–

‘Nohohohahaha, DOHOHOHON’T!’ Alastor’s laughter increased in volume, jumping up on octave as Vox traced fingers up and down his ears. ‘I’m barely touching you,’ Vox muses, scritching behind his ears, making Alastor’s laughter wheeze as he drags in a breath and digs his hooves into the floor, arching his back and shaking his head.

Vox moves back down to Alastor’s belly, playing with the soft fur. ‘You know, I never took you to be the sofie kinda type. You always act so stuck up and shit, y’know?’ ‘ShuhuhuHUHUT uhuhuHUP!’ he shrieks, snorting and bleating as Vox’s claws dig into his hips. ‘Aw, who’s a pretty tickle baby? Hmm? Is it you? I mean, look at you! Your tail is wagging, you haven’t tried to murder me, and you haven’t melted into the shadows yet! Perhaps you…enjoy this?’

‘If I dihihid–snrk!--wohohuld you shuhut uhup and lehehet me enjohohoy it?!’ Alastor shrieks, static invading his voice fully before he breaks out into true, genuine laughter. No radio filter at all. Vox smiled, teasing, ‘Oh, there’s that voice! Ticklish little fawn, just a helpless deer in the headlights!’

‘Stahahap beheheeing an ahahass–eeeeeahaaha!’ he squeals as Vox sits on his shins, facing his hooves. ‘No. Nohoho, plehehease–!’ His laughter goes silent almost instantly as Vox emits small shocks from his claws – not enough to hurt the deer, oh no. Just enough to make Alastor practically scream with pure ticklishness as the claws drag up and down his hooves.

Alastor drags in a breath and bleats loudly through laughter, much to his embarrassment. Vox stands up after a moment, moving back to Alastor’s head, scratching his ears. ‘Okahahha–EEEEAHA! I’m hahaha–hahahappy! Ehehehaha stahhahap!’ Vox slows down the tickles, making Alastor giggle frantically as he tugs on the restraints desperately. Vox reaches down and scratches claws up and down Alastor’s ribcage, the other teasing at his underarm. Alastor gives in fully, slumping as he lets the laughter consume him, filling the room with ease.

Vox backs off after a couple more minutes, untying him. Alastor rubs his wrists a little, and Vox watches with a fond smile. ‘Are you alright now?’ he asks, coming close to pat Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor’s smile was genuine and happy as he nodded. Surprisingly not shoving Vox away. ‘Thank you…for that. I needed it.’

‘What was wrong anyway?’ Vox asks, grabbing Alastor’s coat for him. ‘Oh, nothing important. Just…lost in thoughts, I suppose,’ Alastor hums as he throws his coat back on, pretending his deer tail isn't wagging still. He sighs, looking up at Vox. ‘You should go, before someone wonders where you are.’

‘Oh, Right,’ Vox says, and smiles at Alastor before he teleports out of the room with a small zap!

Alastor sits in his broadcasting chair, looking out the window. Perhaps I should antagonize Vox more often.

#tickle content #lee!alastor #tword community #sfw tickling community #ler!vox

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heartbreak-sandwich · 9 months

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ANIMAL MAGNETISM ~ Part 2 ~ Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader - SFW, slight angst, building tension, Lifeguard Billy x Lifeguard Reader, bossy boss Billy 💖

A/N: This is a continuation of a previous blurb you can find here! This was a request from a lovely follower, but I can't answer the ask on this blog, so I'll have this post linked to the ask on my main. Thank you to all who have enjoyed my work so far! You inspire me to keep writing, and I love you dearly 🥰

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

XXXXX

Clang! The cage to the front entrance of the Hawkins Pool was open, and the line of eager children waiting to take their plunge and cool off started to file in quickly. You had a long shift ahead of you opening and closing, and you knew the first half of your shift would run smoothly with Heather’s help. You hopped up and swung your legs over the front counter, making your way to the clipboards covering the wall in the office to see who you’d be closing with.

“Shit,” you said to yourself, eyes closing in disappointment. Billy Hargrove – of course it was. Your cheeks glowed pink with embarrassment at the thought of the last closing shift the two of you shared.

You had been able to avoid speaking directly to him since then, but you always caught him looking at you with that smug smirk permanently painted just above his sharp jawline, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t take an extra second to breathe in his intoxicating aroma each time you passed him in the staff area – mint, chlorine, and Paco Rabanne pour homme. You knew you would spend the entirety of your shift mentally preparing to defend yourself against whatever hold he seemed to have on you, and you would not let him win this time.

Tossing your whistle around your neck, you made your way out into the blistering sun and took your place atop the chair tower opposite Heather’s to wait out the day and reinforce your mental fortress. You weren’t easy like the other girls Billy had wrapped around his finger, and you were going to make sure he was aware of that.

XXXXX

“Looks like we’re closing up shop tonight, princess.” Billy spoke to you for the first time in almost two weeks, and there it was again – the nickname. It surprised you, but after overthinking all through your shift, you were ready for anything he might try.

“Don’t sound so excited. People might get the wrong idea,” you fired back, keeping your sunglasses on and your nose in today’s paper. Of course he showed up to start his shift just as you were taking your break.

“Or the right idea.” Billy’s voice turned to suede and melted honey, and you felt his tone start a fire in your belly. His eyes stuck to you as he unwrapped a piece of gum and hesitated just before it touched his tongue. You still weren’t looking at him, but you could feel him staring daggers at you. “Hey,” he pestered sharply. The change in mood made you jump in your seat, and you finally looked up at him. “That’s better.” Billy took his gum into his mouth, an obnoxious smacking sound competing with the soft playing of the radio in the staff area.

He closed the gap between the two of you, towering over you where you sat, and you could tell his intimidation tactics were kicking in again. He bent over at the waist, his face just inches away from yours, his fingers coming up to meet with both sides of your sunglasses, and he slowly pulled them off, staring directly into your unprotected eyes.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you.” The gravelly drawl turned your inner fire into an eruption, the heat reaching all the way up your body to your cheeks, and you knew he noticed. He dropped your sunglasses, letting them clatter onto the table in front of you.

Walking away towards the staff entrance to the pool, Billy crinkled up his gum wrapper and threw it behind him, completely missing the garbage can. “Pick it up, princess,” he called over his shoulder, never looking back at where you were still completely frozen in place. You could feel the heat coming off of your face as you, once again, did as you were told, picking up the discarded gum wrapper and throwing it into the trash can.

“What was that?” You were oblivious to Heather’s presence throughout that interaction, and you cracked under the embarrassment of knowing she had witnessed the whole thing.

“N-nothing! Not a single thing at all. God, he’s such an asshole, right?” You stuttered and fidgeted with your sunglasses while you spoke, and it was obvious Heather didn’t believe a word you were trying to say to her.

“If you say so,” she replied with a skeptical smile.

“Whatever. My break’s over; I’ll see you out there.” You folded the paper up, put your sunglasses back on, and squared up your shoulders as you marched back out to your chair tower. You wouldn’t let him get to you like that – not again.

Part 3 ❤️‍🔥

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove angst #oc #billy hargrove oc #sfw billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove blurb #oc request

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fiction-is-the-new-reality · 4 months

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Pt 2: if only you knew

The Start of a Long Night

prologue and part one and part three!

word count: 4k

warnings: major violence, adult language, and angst

a/n: thank you guys so much for your patience. I’m so sorry this took literally forever to write and post. I’m not going to make excuses or anything, I just hope you guys like it. Pls give feedback! Love y’all 😘

The entire night was one fight after another. You couldn’t remember the last time you stood still. The multiple close encounters and being thrown around had caused your outfit to tear, not to mention the grime that had accumulated was making you feel ten times heavier. Watching the last guy fall to the ground, you thought about how he must have been the twentieth guy you had fought.

You notice that Gotham is gradually getting brighter. The downpour had turned into a drizzle as you made your way towards the clock tower. Keeping off the street and using the roofs of Gotham for travel. Once at the clock tower, you looked around, ensuring no one had followed before allowing the entrance to open.

Bright light filled the room as Barbara used the computer. Surveillance footage and maps are pulled up. Hearing the door close, Barbara began speaking.

“Morning sunshine. How’s it going out there?” You almost missed her question. Her voice was so soft compared to the abrasive noises you had been around all night.

When you hesitate to respond, she turns to you. Her eyes take your appearance in. “God, you look rough.” Her face scrunches up as she notices the bloody splashes on your skin.

“Thanks, Barb.” The couch squeaks as you flop onto it. Your head instinctually goes back as your eyes shut, enjoying the brief moment of rest.

“Can I ask for a favor? I need an update on tech. My radio shit the bed halfway through the night.”

“You could call Lucius. Surely he’s got something that’ll help.”

Puffing air out through your nose, you object, “And have Bruce get wind of it?”

“He already knows you’re out there fighting. What’s wrong with him knowing you’re being safe about it?”

“It makes the risk of us running into each other much higher. I’d rather just avoid that altogether.”

“You’re going to have to see him, eventually. He cares about you, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure in his own emotionally constipated way he does.”

There’s a silence that falls over the room. Neither of you cares to break it. Having no strength to fight back, you let the silence pull you into sleep as your eyes grow heavy.

Jolting awake, you take in your surroundings. There’s sunlight coming through the small gaps in the shutters and Barbara is back at the computer. Groaning as you rub your face, you feel extra gross now that everything has dried.

“I decided to be nice and let you have my old stuff.” She tosses a thick smartphone-looking device and an earpiece at you.

“These are long-range devices. The comm has multiple lines you can connect to. I programmed mine, Tim’s, Bruce’s, and Dick’s, that way you’re not alone out there.”

“Thank you, this is amazing.” Getting quickly accustomed to the device before you head out to go to your apartment before nightfall.

“I’ll keep in touch tonight. It might help to have an extra pair of eyes on me.” You lean down to hug her. She smiles and hugs you back.

“Hopefully, things will go back to normal soon.”

You both know it won’t, you don’t think there’s going to be a normal Gotham after this. It seems too unreachable to even hope for.

When you finally get home, you dedicate an hour to taking a much-needed shower. After the shower, you gather your sewing materials and take a proper look at your clothes.

The outer layer is scuffed while the mesh sides are sliced through. You stand in your living room deciding whether to settle for a makeshift look for tonight or dedicate the time to fixing the clothes. You’re about to just say fuck it and not worry about it until you remember the kevlar fabric Dick had dropped off. You run to grab it from the drawer in your bathroom. Settling on just reinforcing the holes with kevlar, for added protection.

After running it through the sewing machine you’re happy with the outcome. You shimmy into the clothes, moving in different ways to get the somewhat tight underlayer over your body. Reloading your gear, and pulling the hood over your head, you leave your apartment as Gotham is being covered in shadows again.

You flip on the your transmitter and wait to hear where you’re needed the most. Sitting down with your legs hanging over the roof's edge, you look out onto the streets below. It would usually be a pretty sight, Gotham being lit by all the neon signs. But observing the riots unfolding below, on the empty streets, illuminated only by flickering neon signs and the occasional car fires, only added to your unease. The absence of people served as a haunting reminder of the chaos and destruction that had taken over the city.

Before you jump down, a low rumbling makes you pause. As the sound reverberates through the air, you turn your gaze in its direction, your eyes widening in disbelief. A massive, fully armored car comes barreling around the corner, its plated exterior gleaming under the neon lights. The men on the road barely have time to clear out of its path. It makes no attempt at stopping; it continues barreling down the street toward Chinatown. As it disappears from your view, the unmistakable sound of the Batmobile's engine reaches your ears, and in the blink of an eye, it speeds off toward the military car.

Guess I’m using the bike tonight.

“Vulture, you have to see this,” Oracle’s voice comes in over the comm.

“If it’s basically a tank on the streets of Gotham, I’m aware of it.”

“Yes, that, but there are actual tanks in Gotham. I’m tracking several transport helicopters. Gotham is about to be flooded with them. Batman could use the help.”

“Not sure I’m much help against tanks, Oracle.”

“Maybe if you talked to Lucius, you would be.”

She closes the line before you have time to say anything back.

Pulling up your mask to cover the bottom of your face before saddling up on your bike. You give a quick twist to the throttle, revving the engine of the bike. The powerful roar fills the air as you speed through the dark streets of Gotham. The men quickly dispersed as the bike zoomed past, leaving an empty space in its wake.

You spend your time following cop cars that are being chased by thugs in vehicles and stopping momentarily to stop the bigger groups of armed men.

As you drive, the number of cars similar to the ones Bruce was following earlier increases, and you start to spot men in full body armor.

Stopping near Bristol, you hide your bike and quickly make your way to a high vantage point. You watch as a group of men set up what can only be described as a checkpoint. There are crates full of guns and they put up walls that cover them from street view.

Oracle’s voice causes you to jump as she begins talking over the comms.

“Something’s happened at ACE Chemicals. There’s a new character, he goes by the name Arkham Knight. Be on the lookout for any militia.”

“Funny you would mention it. I’m looking at what appears to be a checkpoint full of militia.”

“Don’t engage. They are very organized and heavily armed. That Arkham Knight guy put them through a lot of training.”

“I can’t just let them set up a checkpoint. I’ll swoop in and check it out. If I start getting my ass handed to me, then I’ll dip.”

Barbara sighs, knowing she’s just pleading with a brick wall.

“You get out of there at the slightest hint that you’re losing.”

“You got it!”

You take a few moments to think of how you’re going to approach the fight. After watching them, you finally see a blind spot. Getting back down on the street, you run over to the right wall of the checkpoint. You give it a minute and then you hop over. There’s a crate to your left, you roll behind it as you listen to hear footsteps. Soon enough, one officer walks by the grate. Lunging forward, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling as tight as you can. He falters from the lack of oxygen, but he’s taking too long. You need to get back to hiding before the others notice. Pulling out a baton, you hit the side of his head with just enough force to knock him out.

Laying his body behind the crate, you wait for another one to walk by. You repeat the same process to the second guy. Unfortunately for you, the others notice the disappearance of their coworkers.

Taking a chance, you stick your head out of your hiding spot. Not noticing anyone, you start your crawl toward another box, that’s in the center of the floor.

You feel your body being lifted off the floor before you even see the person. Then you’re being flipped around and brought down onto the floor which has you almost blacking out. You wheeze as your lungs collapse from the air that’s being forced out of them. Your eyes involuntarily shut as you try to regain your breath.

As you’re finally able to open your eyes, they widen at the sight of a massive metal boot coming toward your windpipe. By pushing your body up at an angle, you narrowly avoid getting hit by the boot. Jumping to your feet, you create space by taking a few steps back from the two men.

“We were told to look out for Batman. Didn’t realize we’d have some wannabe.”

Faking a laugh, you take out your rope and throw it over the bigger man, yanking on it gets him to stumble but he stays upright. Sprinting at him, you use his shoulder as leverage to wrap your legs around his waist. Using all your weight, you toss yourself back and pull the rope, causing him to fall. Flipping around at the last second, you let him break the fall. Making quick work with the ropes around his legs, you tie him up.

Before you get too far into tying the man up, you hear footsteps behind you. Turning to look you find that there’s a metal pipe headed directly at your face. Using your arm to shield your face, you grab the pipe from the man. Taking the pipe out of his hands, you stand at full height. Flipping the makeshift bat in your hands you start using every ounce of strength to swing it back and forth. You feel the bat make contact multiple times, and the man groans with each hit. A blow to his knee causes him to crumble over. Not stopping there, you hit him in the stomach, causing him to curl in on himself. You remember that there had been another man, glancing over your shoulder, he’s gone.

Shit.

You crack the pipe down on the man’s head twice. He stops moving, but you can see his chest still rising. Turning around, you’re met with the sound of a gunshot.

As you look ahead, you see the man you failed to tie up, his figure casting a long shadow over you. Upon impact, the bullet bounces off your body, tumbling to the ground. Smirking at the guy as you start walking towards him. He smirks in response and proceeds to fire the weapon in rapid succession; the sound echoing through the air.

Pulling out your baton again, you chuck it at the wall behind the guy. It bounces off the wall and slams into his back. He lowers the gun for just long enough for you to run towards him. You grab his wrist and forcefully strike your palm against the joint of his elbow. It cracks loudly as the bone shatters. The gun falls and so does the man. You deliver a kick to his head, and he falls, unmoving.

Taking a look around, you attempt to find what’s keeping the walls up, then you hear the soft beeping. Following the noise, you’re able to find the remote, taking it off the man, you place it on the ground and crush it with your baton. The walls fall and you’re able to see the street again.

There are multiple tanks in front of you. It doesn’t seem like they notice you as they drive on by, but you don’t want to risk it. You leap behind the little wooden crate on the floor.

“I found those tanks you were talking about. I just saw multiple driving together in a line.”

“Did they see you?”

“I’m talking to you aren’t I?”

Oracle lets out a small laugh, “True.”

“The checkpoint is destroyed. I took some damage to my suit, but it’s still intact.”

“Hmm, good work.”

“Thanks. I’m going to stick to the rooftops. I don’t think my bike would hold up against those tanks.”

“Stay safe, I’ll keep in touch.”

Running across the street you get on top of the building. You begin to make your way around Gotham by leaping from one building to another.

Incoming call

You’re about to jump when the call disrupts you.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, It’s Lucius. I was told that you need a new suit, are you able to stop by Wayne Tower? I’ll need measurements before I can start with any updates.”

“Uh, I don’t really need anything. I appreciate–”

“Mr. Wayne said that you would try to resist the help. I’ll have the Batwing pick you up. Please stay in your current location.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Hey quick question, how the hell did Lucius get my com line?”

“Oh uh….I let Bman know you were out there fighting with handed-down equipment. He didn’t like that idea so he reached out to Lucius.”

You groan, “Oracle-”

“I know you didn’t want him to know or to help, but take it as him trying to rebuild the bridge.”

The line once again closes before you can say anything back.

You stare off into the distance.

Over the years you have heard all of Dick’s thoughts. All the good and bad ones. How sometimes it’s the best thing in the world and then the next minute you want to pull your hair out.

There’s something in you that can’t imagine working with Bruce. There’s still a part of you that blames Bruce for what happened. There’s still that part that seethes with anger when you think about how nothing was done after what Joker did. You won't betray Jason like that.

Even after all this time, the grief and the guilt still consume you. You can still see his youthful face, that the life of a kid on the streets of Gotham had already hardened. You wonder what he would look like now. You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the noise of the Batwing circling around.

As you arrive at Wayne Tower, more memories of you and Jason flood your mind. How the two of you used to do homework together, and how you two would pester Bruce while he tried to do his work. Every place you two had been to held a bittersweet spot in your heart.

Standing at the end of the hall is Lucius. He smiles warmly at you as you get closer.

“Hello, miss. I'm glad you were able to make it. Please come in, let’s get started right away.” He holds the door open for you.

Inside the room are multiple measuring tapes, fabrics, and weapon holsters. He begins with taking your measurements and asking what you have in mind for your suit.

“It’s crucial that not only are you recognized as your own person but that you’re also well protected.” His voice helps ease you a little. For just a few minutes you’re able to forget everything going on outside the tower.

He goes over your fighting style if you’re more acrobatic like Nightwing or more of a heavy hitter like the second Robin. The mention of Jason makes your heart sink.

“I guess I’m somewhere in between the two.”

“Very well, is there a specific color in mind?”

“I guess dark green if you can, black is fine as well.” He nods and picks up the book with all the measurements.

“It’ll only take me a few hours to get it all put together. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“Thank you, Lucius. I appreciate your time.” He smiles back at you.

The peaceful feeling you had earlier was instantly shattered as you emerged onto the chaotic streets of Gotham. Everywhere you looked, clusters of armed men patrolled the streets, their presence adding an air of tension. As you glance around, you spot another checkpoint situated high above on a nearby building.

As you leap onto the roof, a rush of adrenaline courses through you. You take into account how many more men there are compared to the last checkpoint. You hesitate for a minute, maybe you should leave this for Bruce. But you’re too stubborn and prideful to not at least try.

By sneaking around the edges of the roof, you’re able to pick off some of the unobservant men. Moving further onto the roof you were able to destroy some of the sensory guns. Being too focused on infiltrating you don’t realize the attention you’ve garnered.

You stop as you hear a robotic voice over their coms.

“Don’t forget your training! Don’t embarrass me!”

As the robotic voice echoed through the comms, your heart raced as you quickly strategized your next move. With the element of surprise gone, you know that you have to act fast and take out as many people as possible.

You move swiftly, dodging the ones reaching out to grab you. You land hits on some of them with your baton. You’re swinging punches and dodging as many as you can. Too caught up in trying to knock someone out you don't notice the man charging at you.

Being slammed to the floor for the second time tonight you struggle to counter his moves. You finally throw him off and get back onto your feet.

Suddenly the right side of your body is engulfed by a pain so intense that you can’t move any further. Looking down there’s a blade sticking into your stomach. Grabbing it with both hands you yank it out and throw it behind you in hopes of hitting someone. You feel yourself falling and you can’t do anything but brace yourself. You finally cry out in pain as you hit the ground. Grunting heavily as you get back up your nerves scream in agony. But you have to get back up.

Rest later, survive now.

Getting on your feet you start swaying, only making it a few feet before, a pair of hands seize you. As you try to wriggle free, they quickly immobilize your hands, securing them tightly behind your back with ropes. Before you know it, the man is hoisting you up over his shoulder.

You start thrashing back and forth. Trying anything to get out of the grasp, doing everything you can. Nothing works.

You’re tied to a chair in an empty room. You scan your eyes around the room, looking for an escape route. You can feel blood leaking out of you. It’s gone cold and sticky and your suit is sticking to you uncomfortably. Your attempt at fleeing earlier had only caused you to do more damage to your open wound.

The ropes squeak as you pull them against the chair. Attempting to rub them against the backing of the chair to try to wear them down proves futile. You just keep pulling at them in hopes they’ll break.

Two men throw open the door and walk in. One has a med kit with him and the other is carrying a taser stick. They lock the door behind them.

“Why do you care if she lives or dies?”

“I don’t, but the Knight will have our heads if she dies. You know he wants to be the one to take care of all the little vigilantes. It’s personal for him. I’m just stopping the bleeding.” The one in white comes and kneels beside you.

He cuts the blood-soaked suit away and lazily wipes at the blood that’s still coming out. Taking thick gauze, he pushes it up against the wound and then uses multiple layers to secure it before taping it.

He turns his head towards the other man, whose intense gaze suggests he's eagerly anticipating an opportunity to deploy the electric weapon. “All done. Let him know we got him a prize.”

An idea pops into your head about how you’re going to get out of here. Letting your head flop down like dead weight against your chest you begin to mumble softly to the medic.

“What is she saying?”

“I’m not sure. Speak up.” The medic barks the order at you.

“Can’t breathe. Need…need.” Then you put on the best performance of your life. Convulsing your body and gasping for air.

“Oh fuck, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit! We have to untie her, quickly!”

They make quick time to get your convulsing body untied and lay it down on the floor. Dramatically you stop convulsing and heave out a final breath.

“Fuck fuck fuck, we’re so dead.” The medic sounds like he’s almost in tears.

You sneak a peek and see the medic getting ready to start compressions. They’re so scared of Arkham Knight that they’ve forgotten to check your pulse.

As he goes to place his hands on your chest, you grab his arms. Bringing him down to you as you curl your body up, you slam your head into his, before tossing him towards the other man.

Gasping for breath from the excruciating pain, you stumble before running towards the guy with the taser. Locking your arms around his midsection, you’re able to lift him off the ground and slam him harder into the door. He drops the taser as his hands go to grab your shoulders. You drop to pick up the taser.

There’s a banging on the door as the people outside try to get in. You pay them no mind. You’re running out of time before you collapse.

“If you unlock that door, I’m going to shove this so far up your ass you’ll feel it in your brain.” You spit at them.

Looking up to the skylight above you and then towards the table that’s covered in your weapons. You know you’ll need a boost to get up there but you can’t move the table yourself.

Taking the taser you jam it into the medic's neck, moving out of the way as he drops. You gesture to the other one.

“Pull that table so it’s below that skylight and I won't shoot you.”

He stands still, challenging you.

“Bullshit, Batman doesn’t let his lackeys kill people.”

“Well unfortunately for you I’m not one of his fucking lackeys.”

Taking out your small pistol, you aim it at the skylight and fire. The nonlethal bullet cuts through the glass, and you turn your gaze back to him as it crashes around you. He swiftly moves the table under the skylight.

“Appreciate you doing that for me man.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and he scoffs a disgusted laugh.

Standing on the table, you don’t even spare a look at him before you take the pistol and pull the trigger. The nonlethal bullet hits his shoulder, and he examines himself to see the damage before realizing it didn’t pierce his skin. When he looks back, you’re gone.

You move away as fast as you can. Your heart thumps and the drumming of your blood in your ears adds to your headache. Jumping from one building to another, your wound grows larger. Looking down, you noticed that the once-white patch of gauze was now stained with patches of dark red. Getting to the edge, you see a shorter building that you’re able to lower yourself down onto.

Your eyes droop and you wobble. Stopping for a moment you brace yourself and try to push forward but your legs don’t allow you to go any further. You collapse.

Using the energy you have left you push the comm.

“Oracle I’m injured….need….help.”

“Phoenix, what happened? How bad?”

“Stabbed in side…can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Hey, hey keep talking to me! I’ve let Batman know, he’s on his way. Just keep talking to me.” You feel bad from the panic in her voice. She’s trying so hard to fight it but you hear the shakiness. You don’t have the energy to fight against having Bruce come to save you.

“I’m…still…here Barb. I can’t….move. Too…tired.” Your words come out thick like honey as you begin to lose consciousness.

“Bruce, hurry. She’s passing out.”

There’s silence on the other end. With her eyes closed, she leans forward, as if on the verge of offering a silent prayer. The thought of losing another friend is unbearable for her.

Bruce finds you with your hands clasped around your side. He assesses your vitals, you’ve lost a lot of blood but other than that you’re stable.

“I’ve got her Barbara. She’s going to be ok.”

“Oh, thank god.”

They both let out a shaky breath.

taglist: @thegirlwiththeyarn @pank0w @geminizmoonz @emilia527 @elizamay @anime5005 @babypaperwitch @skypperlegacy @rwylm-things @mayo-0-o @ex-cla-ma-tion @pheonixfucu @not-herexo @g0atmansbridge182 @theg0ddesshera @redhoodedangel @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @marigiano @lyralibra @peterparkers-bbymomma @lilocapoca @magic-without-bloop @misaki-kira8 @blackcanary130 @ykyouluvme @kiwi03 @xbonniepricexx @definitelynotanalien @ghostlyleech @pinkmaggit666 @0littlestwolf0 @stupid-ninja @reanie-xoxo @kittykatchicha @bunz-lover @justalittleb1tcrazy @gghoulpool @snackeyalleyjuice @deadplantluver @comealivedaya @thefandomdiaries07 @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @awstrck @gemini-bichxx-blog @jennifermoyas @xdrin @harleycao @screamingsilence3 @ex-pinguina @kat-nee

#jason todd #arkham knight #red hood #jason todd x fem!reader #arkham knight x reader #red hood x reader #dc comics #if only you knew #iyok #if you only knew pt. 2

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shesthejukeboxhero · 1 year

Text

Don’t Blame Me

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader (AU)

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Swearing, Alcohol, Parent Loss (flashback), Bullying (flashback) MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!

Summary: What would have happened if instead of Billy being flayed, it was his girlfriend? (Title and ending inspired by “Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift)

A/N: I apologize for not posting in such a long time! I just needed the time to sit down and write this fully because who would want to read a part 2 when I could easily finish it in one part? Anyways, I hope you guys really enjoy this, it has been in my mind for a long time now.

“Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'll be usin' for the rest of my life, Usin' for the rest of my life”

You had made plans for after graduation. Work hard all summer, move to California the day after Labor Day. You knew the day he asked you out formally that the two of you were endgame.

He got a job at the pool, you got a job at the new record store in the mall. Some days, he’d meet you at the mall for lunch, or you’d drive up to the pool to see him on your break. Sometimes, the two of you even rented a hotel room to spend the night together without fear of your families noticing. That’s what you were doing that night.

After stopping at your house to get some clothes for the night, you were driving to Motel 6, where Billy was waiting for you. Singing along happily to the Blondie song on the radio, you knew tonight was going to be a good night, until it wasn’t.

It came out of nowhere. The object shattered the windshield of your silver Ford Escort, sending your head straight into the steering wheel. Stepping out of your car to inspect the damage, you notice a weird gooey substance on the windshield.

“What the fuck…” you mutter to yourself when a random squeal and rustling in the bushes sounds out just a few feet from where you are now.

“Who’s there?” You say, suddenly becoming more panicked.

You move towards the bushes to investigate the sound but you suddenly get swept off your feet and you start getting pulled towards the steel mill.

“Let me go! Please, let me go!” You scream as you’re pulled down the stairs, gripping onto the top stair for your life, but the force is too strong. The creature now towers over you, like a giant tentacle. It latches onto your face and drowns out your screams.

Somehow, the creature lets go of you long enough for you to sprint out back to your car and drive away. You don’t know what the fuck just happened, but you know you HAVE to get away from that steel mill.

Eventually you spot a pay phone on the side of the road, and you pull over and sprint to it as fast as your legs can go. Dialing 911, you start getting flashbacks to being pulled down to the steel mill.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

As the flashbacks get more rampant, the lights start flickering more and more, when suddenly, it goes dark. It’s too quiet, not even the dial tone of the phone can be heard. Stepping out of the pay phone, you look around cautiously. As you walk back out into the road you spot a group of people hiding in the fog.

“What do you want?”

Dead silence.

“I said, what do you want?”

Suddenly a figure starts walking towards you. As they get closer, it’s a clone of yourself.

“To build. I want you to build.” Your clone says in a distorted voice, much different from your own.

“To build what?” You say, scared for your life.

“What you see.”

“I don’t understand.”

A crack of lightning sounds and the next thing you know your clone and the crowd are gone.

“I don’t understand! What do you mean, I don’t understand!”

Billy waited all night for you to show up, but you never did. He knew this was unlike you, and figured you’d have a good explanation when he came to visit you at work today. As he walks into the record store, he sees you wearing short shorts and a tank top, something you never wore unless it was incredibly hot out (which it was not that day.)

“Where were you last night?” He says, point-blankly.

“I had a change of plans.” You say, with no emotion in your voice.

“Take him, Y/N. He’s perfect” The voice says in your head, and you feel yourself losing control.

“Please, Y/N, tell me what I did wrong.” He says, looking into your eyes, which just feeds the monster’s desire to take him as the next victim. Feeling your control start to slip almost completely, you realize you have to get Billy out of here, quickly.

“GO AWAY BILLY, PLEASE!” You yell at him, and you see the hurt expression on his face.

“Fine.” He says, leaving without another word, and you mentally sigh of relief. He’s safe, for now. The black veins go back into your skin, and you run to the break room and grab one of the water bottles out of the fridge and chug it, grabbing the other one to cool your face down.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your co-worker, Daniel says as he checks back in from his lunch break.

“Take him instead.” The monster says into your head. Without thinking, you approach Daniel and grab him by the neck.

“Y/N what the fuck are you doing?” He chokes out as he starts to lose consciousness.

“Relax, it will all be over soon.” You say with a soothing voice.

The days blend together, where your body is moving without you even knowing. Taking whoever the flayer tells you to take. The old lady at the grocery store, the little boy throwing a baseball against a brick wall downtown, anyone. You don’t even feel like yourself anymore, a shell of a girl who once had it all.

Meanwhile, Billy was working hard to figure out how to get you back. Max filled him in on the supernatural beings of Hawkins, so now he knows what happened to you.

“So, what worked for Will was getting him super hot. Is there a way to do that?” Max asks Billy.

“I don’t know… maybe trapping her at work?” He says, trying to come up with a way to save his girl.

The plan is to trap you at work on the day you work by yourself. Billy will barricade the doors from the outside while Eleven turns the thermostat up from outside the shop, while Max and the rest of the party stand outside. As Billy hauls all the materials to the back door, he feels his anxiety rush over him, worried for how you’re going to react. He shoves that feeling aside and quickly barricades all the doors beside the glass front one so you don’t see him until it’s too late. After returning to the front of the store, Eleven starts turning the thermostat up. As the numbers get higher and higher, the control over your mind is lower and lower. It’s getting too hot, and you know that he will be angry.

“It’s up all the way.” Eleven says, wiping the blood from her nose.

“Now we wait.” Max says, standing just behind her brother as he nails the wood planks into the walls of the store to barricade the door.

Your hands clench under the counter, fighting to keep any sanity you have left, but it’s getting to be too much to bare. Meeting Billy’s eyes through the window, your eyes start to water. Walking over to the door’s window, you desperately call out to him.

“Billy please…”

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t mean to!! He made me!”

“Who made you do what?”

“The.. the.. the black thing… the giant shadow!”

“Y/N, please, we only want to help you.” Billy rests his hand against yours through the glass window, and that’s when it snaps. Punching through the window, Billy jumps back in shock. Kicking the wood planks away from the door, the group knows they need to act fast. Lucas fired his wrist rocket at her head, but that just made it angrier. The veins blacken all over your body and you smash through the door, but Eleven slams your body hard against the back wall of the store. Getting her weak enough, you reach your hand out and strangle her but that’s when Mike slams one of the wood planks against your head, giving Eleven enough time to throw you through the back wall of the store.

You walk down the steps to the basement of the mill, where Daniel is waiting, with all the rest of your victims.

“What happened.” Daniel says calmly.

“They know. They know I’m the host.” you say angrily.

“Who attacked you?”

“The girl. Nearly killed me.”

“She cannot kill all of us though.” He says, gesturing to the large crowd behind him.

A few days later, after meeting up with Nancy and Jonathan, the group decides to search for the flayed in the void. You, Daniel, Daniel’s Parents, The Holloways, and Doris Driscoll are all confirmed victims of the mind flayer.

After the attack at the hospital, you and Daniel stand waiting as the mini flayer, comprised of Daniel’s father and Tom Holloway’s bodies, returns to the mill, you look at him and say, “It’s time.”

Back at the cabin, Eleven is deep inside the void searching for the flayed. While the kids argue about why she shouldn’t be in the void for as long as she has been, Billy and Nancy are busy calling local businesses to ask if they have any missing chemicals. Suddenly, Eleven removes her blindfold and says, “I found her.”

You’re sitting alone on your bed in your bedroom, surrounded by floral wallpaper and music posters. Suddenly, you look up and see Eleven. A tear slips from your eye as you show her the possessions you caused, before slipping into an old memory of your own.

It’s the day of the annual Halloween party at Tina’s. You park your car and walk up to the party, dressed in an angel costume. Sipping on red punch, you bump into a shirtless Billy behind you.

“Excuse me, angel.”

“Sorry…-“

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“What do you say we leave this lame party and you can show me what heaven looks like, doll.”

Suddenly, the memory starts to fade away as a new one starts. In this memory, there’s a much younger version of you, kneeling beside a hospital bed. She sees it’s a woman who looks a lot like you… your mother.

“Daddy, when will mommy wake up?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Daddy?”

That memory fades into a new one, where you’re no older than 8 years old, where you’re sitting on a bench outside at recess, when a group of girls come up to you.

“You know L/N, you’d be a lot less ugly if you actually tried.”

“Yeah, you need a makeover.”

Looking up at them, you say, “No thanks…”

“Too bad.” One of the girls pulls out a pair of scissors, cutting a chunk of your hair off. They laugh as tears fall from your eyes and that’s when it fades to one last memory: the night you were flayed.

She watches as the object hits your windshield, to your desperate call to 911, to getting dragged down the stairs. Not being able to take it anymore, Eleven returns to the cabin to find it empty. Lights flickering, Eleven calls out to Mike.

“He can’t hear you.” You say, in a deeper voice than normal.

She gasps as you step out from one of the rooms.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me.” You say, stepping towards her menacingly. “Because now I see you. We can all see you.”

Eleven backs away, scared.

“You… let us in. And now, you are going to have to let us stay.”

Eleven trembles as you step close to her.

“Don’t you see? All this time, we’ve been building it…. For you. All that work, all that pain, all of it, for you.”

Eleven sobs as you stare at her, intimidating her.

“And now it’s time. Time to end it. And we are going to end you. And once you’re gone, we are going to end your friends.”

“No!” Eleven yells, sobbing.

“And then we are going to end everyone.”

Eleven returns back to the cabin she came from, sobbing. After telling the group everything, they hear a snarl from outside. Will’s neck flares up, and he says, “He’s here.”

Nancy arms herself with a shotgun, and Jonathan and Billy arm themselves with axes. The cabin shakes and then suddenly stops, and that’s when a tendril slams through the window towards Eleven. Billy slams his ax down on it, but it turns to attack Billy. Nancy distracts it long enough for Eleven to tear it apart, but then 2 more fly in. Struggling, she finally tears them apart, but then the mind flayer itself destroys the roof, wrapping one of its tendrils around Eleven’s ankle. Jonathan severs the tendril with the ax while the rest of the group pulls Eleven away from the monster. The piece wrapped around her ankle embeds itself in her leg but Mike rips it out. After Eleven tears it apart, they flee the cabin in Nancy’s car.

After stopping at the supermarket, they flee with fireworks in tow. The flayer sends you out to find them there, but you were too late. Dipping your fingers in the blood left behind from Eleven’s leg, you use it to track where they’re headed— Starcourt.

When you arrive, they are outside working on Nancy’s car, which was tampered with. You rev the engine of your car, getting the attention of the group. They hurry back inside while Nancy fires at you as you floor your car towards the mall, when suddenly a car slams into yours- Steve Harrington slammed the rich guy’s car into yours, giving them time to escape. Spotting Mike, Max, and Eleven trying to escape through a back entrance, you hurry out of the burning car to get them.

“Take the girl, ignore the others.”

Cornering the kids in the hallway, Max starts telling you positive memories, like when you and Billy went to prom together (you promised him you’d make it worth his while afterwards…), and when you helped her get ready for the snowball. None of it works though, and you slam both her and Mike into the wall, knocking them out cold. Knocking Eleven out as well, you hoist her over your shoulder and carry her out to the center of the mall to present to the mind flayer.

Leaning over her, Eleven starts to wake up. She starts telling you details from the memory she saw— the one of you and Billy on Halloween.

“It was Halloween… Billy was there… he called you angel… your little halo and your wings gave it away…. You were pretty, very pretty. Billy loved you the moment he saw you…”

Hearing the memory, a tear slips from your eye. Climbing off of her, you turn to face the mind flayer. As it shoots a tendril out to take Eleven, you stand in front of her, taking the tendril in your chest.

“NO!” Billy yells out, watching the tendril sink into your body as you fall to your knees. The flayer lets go of you because Lucas begins firing fireworks at it, distracting him. Billy runs over to your shaking body, barely conscious.

“Angel, please, don’t leave me…” he says, caressing your tear-stained and blood covered face.

“Billy, it’s okay…” you say softly. “I’ll be okay…”

He lifts you into his lap and holds you close. “But I won’t…”

“I’ll love you forever… just put the blame on me…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. Don’t blame yourself.”

You cough up blood. “Billy please, let me go… I love you…” you say, holding his hand before slipping into unconsciousness.

He stays right there, feeling the muscles in your hand fall weak as he still holds your hand, even when the paramedics try to remove you from his grasp. He sits in front of your grave, knowing you wanted him to move on, but he just can’t let you go. You were his drug, and he’ll keep on using the memories of you for the rest of his life.

#billy hargrove x reader #Spotify #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things season three #billy hargrove au #Billy hargrove imagine

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last-herondale · 1 year

Text

Midnight Madness

Bucky x FemReader

Prompt : “I’ll show you what ruin feels like.” From @ghostly-prompts

Angst, violence, cursing, fluff end, hurt/comfort

Tw: abuse, gore

Bucky is kidnapped by hydra and taken to a facility where they are trying to reset his mind to be the winter soldier again. The reader refuses to let that happen.

A/N: I love this prompt. I wanted to write a scene where Y/N really goes bat shit crazy for the person they love.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Not again. You had promised him never again. He would never need to fear that life ever again. You had promised to always be there. To protect him from those dark memories that haunted him at night.

“You will never have to return to that life. Not as long as I live.”

The thought burned in your head as the Quinjet sped towards your destination. You flexed your hands, feeling the buildup of your power flow through your veins. They would pay. By the time you were done there would be nothing left.

“Y/L/N” Steve’s voice called from the cockpit.

You popped your head up and found Steve and Sam giving you a concerned look. You stepped into the cockpit and glanced at the navigation. The three of you were a few miles from the underground compound where the last ping from Bucky’s sos signal was located. The compound was deep in the Himalayan mountains, and in the dead of winter the landscape was bright with snow.

“We’re coming up on the drop. Are you sure you’re ready, Y/L/N?”

You gave a brisk nod and tightened your gear as you made your way to the back of the jet. Steve began to open the hatch, the chill wind whipped inside the cargo area of the jet, causing stray hairs to swirl around you like wildfire.

“Remember; once you find a way in, radio us when you have Bucky in sight. Sam will run surveillance from the sky while I enter through the front.”

“Copy.”

Your response was short, concise. You didn’t need to be reminded what was at stake.

Once the hatch door was open enough, you did not hesitate before jumping out of the jet. The wind bit your face as you free fell, the world roared around you as the white mountains grew closer and closer. Your heart lurched in your chest, but it wasn’t the fall that made you feel like this. You just pictured him. You imagined what they were doing to him. What kind of pain he was enduring. You hoped you weren’t too late.

The glider suit was never a favorite of yours, but it was stealthier than the bulky parachutes, so you made due. Usually, Sam would be to one to take on aerial maneuvers, but you had insisted on being the one to touch down first. Steve had wanted you to wait back at the compound, saying your emotions might compromise the mission, but you would not back down.

You opened your glider suit and felt the wind catch up underneath you, jolting you as you angled your body into the position you needed. Finally, you saw a blinking red light on a hidden radio tower. You descended immediately, landing a few yards away. You enveloped yourself in shadows, feeling the smoke emanate from your body as you carefully made your way around the mountain.

You saw two guards posted outside the side of a mountain. They were heavily armed and masked in white to blend in with the snow, but your shadows sensed them easily enough.

The darkness engulfed them before they could even blink. They choked and clawed at their throats, making guttural noises as your smoke forced its way into their mouths. They fell to the ground with a satisfying thump as you stepped over their lifeless bodies.

“I found my way in.” You signaled through the ear piece.

You swiped a key card from one of the bodies and used it to open the hidden door on the side of the mountain. Two large metal sections split down the middle, revealing a dimly lit tunnel that seemed to go further into the mountain. You narrowed your eyes. He was down there somewhere.

You would find him.

Tearing through the tunnel, your shadows etched out the outline of your body, igniting long swirls throughout the space searching for that familiar light that you had come to know. With each minute that passed, the absence of him sent a new wave of rolling panic through your body. The darkness reacted to you, pulsating with agitation as you continued further into the tunnels.

Steve’s voice cut in through the radio, but in a garbled static that you couldn’t decipher. Irritated, you through the ear piece out on the floor. As you came up on a divide, you slowed to a stop. You willed your shadows further, slinking up the wall like snakes. To the right you felt a tug. Familiarity.

That was all you needed.

You tore down the tunnel, summoning all your strength as you came into an opening. Bright light burned into your eyes, you heard chaotic shouts of another language and immediately you burst forth your dark energy. Men crumpled beneath your blast, dropping like flies as you surveyed the area.

It was a security room. Lines of screens lined the makeshift walls within the mountain. Hydra must have been running low on resources. The place looked like shit. No matter. You continued on, busting down a metal door that led into another corridor.

You followed that same tug. His presence was growing stronger, you could feel the familiar vibrations of his soul. Like a weak heartbeat fluttering against your skin. It called to you, like no one else’s soul did. He needed you. He needed you now.

You killed indiscriminately. Any man or woman that stood in your way was easily dealt with. You broke any restraint you had shown in the past. The team would be horrified with what you had done. You had paved a path of blood to find the man you loved. All the rules you had followed before, the code the Avengers lived by seemed silly now. Nothing mattered.

Only James. Only Bucky.

By the time you found the cell, the alarms were blazing throughout the compound. Time was no longer on your side. You tore off the door, and were halted by the earth shattering sight of him.

He was strapped to a chair, his body slumped down against his restraints. The fight seemed to leave your body once you saw him. You shattered his restraints, keeping him upright as you sat him into the chair in a more comfortable position.

You tilted his head back and sucked in a breath. His face was littered with harsh purplish bruises. One eye seemed swollen shut, and blood ran down his temple leaving dried streams running down his bare chest. His metal arm was gone. You saw it lying on a metal table next to a line of medical tools, most of them covered in blood. You returned your attention to Bucky, assessing his damage.

“Bucky— Bucky, sweetheart,” your voice broke as you ran your hand gently over his face. He was unresponsive. Panic tore through your body. Tears began to fall down your face as you checked his pulse. You placed your head on his chest and heard the faint beating of his heart.

“Come on baby,” you murmured. Darkness swirled around your fingertips as you placed them near his temple. The shadows began to enter through his ears, wrapping around his mind with easy tenderness. You closed your eyes. You had attempted this a few times, only under Wanda’s supervision. Each time had been unsuccessful.

“Please, Bucky. Wake up,” you whispered. Through the darkness you felt that same tug. That familiarity. That light. He was like a candle in the world that was always darkness. In the shadows, there he was. His light flickered weakly in the dark. You took a deep breath.

You thought of every memory, every moment that Bucky had filled your life with light. The times he made you smile. The stolen moments between the two of you. The restless nights that had turned into sweet embraces. The heat of his skin when he kissed you.

You exhaled, sending out a single thought. The only thing that could sustain you. The only thing that mattered.

I love you. Please, come back to me.

The flame ignited.

He gasped, his good eye flying open and searching around wildly. He settled on you, his eyes softened

“Hey doll,” he wheezed.

You cried out, relief cooling through your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck and you kissed his face gently. He winced at your touch but he did not push you away.

“Im so sorry— James,” you sobbed against him. “I should have been there, I should have—“

“Y/n, sweetheart, stop—“ Bucky said. He weakly put his hand on your cheek. “This is not your fault.”

“Did they— are you—?”

“I’m still me doll. They tried— tried like hell to reverse Shuri’s work, but— I’m not so easy to break anymore. I’m just glad to see you. I love when a pretty nurse— tends to my wounds.”

You choked out a laugh. Tears spilled down your face, running over Bucky’s hands. His touch calmed your soul. You had made it in time. you took a few deep breaths and closed your eyes as he thumbed gentle strokes across your face.

“Come on then,” you said in a shaky voice. “Let’s get you home.” You slung his arm over your shoulder and lifted him from the chair. He groaned as he leaned against you for support. You summoned shadows to further help him, gently holding him up as the two of you tried to hurry back the way you had came.

“Not so fast.” The accent was thick with Russian. That did not bother you as much as the clicking of several guns loading into place.

A group of Hydra soldiers stood at the entrance, all holding large weapons that gave off a blue hue to them. You gritted your teeth. Bucky tensed beside you, his arm gripped you tighter.

“You have something that belongs to Hydra, something that has belonged to us for years— before you were even born.” The guards aimed their guns at you, not wanting to harm their asset.

The shadows swirled around your fists. Your eyes darkened with your power. The weight of Bucky on your side reminded you of your purpose. One look at his mutilated face was enough to reignite your anger.

“He is not yours,” you hissed through your teeth.

“He is mine. MINE.”

Smoke shot out from all directions. They impaled most of the guards instantly, crunching through skin and bone like paper. A few shots ran out, and the blue energy pulsated out at you, but your darkness swallowed up the light and shot it back. The men were vaporized by their own blasts.

There was only the sound of the blaring alarm. You panted, the use of your powers was beginning to strain your energy. Bucky looked at you with concern, but his energy was quickly draining as well.

“Come on,” you repeated. Bucky just nodded weakly and followed you out into the tunnel. In your rage, you hadn’t realized how far you had ran. After a while, Bucky needed to stop. You leaned him against the cool stone of the mountain and allowed him to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” you murmured. “It’s just a little ways more.” Bucky gave a weak laugh.

“You came all this way on your own?”

“No, not exactly. Steve and Sam are out there somewhere. They wanted to formulate a plan, but I was not as patient as they were.”

Bucky looked around and saw the bodies that littered the ground. “I can see that.” You winced at the remark. Bucky noticed, and immediately reached out for you. You took him in, letting him rest his arm around your shoulder.

“I didn’t mean—“ he began.

“It’s fine, love.” He had never made you feel guilty for the things you had done and you did the same for him. But this time was different. Here, you felt no guilt. You were glad to have ridden the world of hydra scum. Maybe this would be the thing that finally drove Bucky away. How ironic.

You continued to take him further down the tunnel. The sound of running feet came closer. You froze in place, readying your shadows for an attack. But then you felt the familiarity. It was dimmer than Bucky’s but familiarity all the same.

Steve and Sam came running down the tunnel. They stopped at the sight of you and Bucky, surprise plastered on their faces. Steve looked furious with you.

“You were supposed to signal us once you found him.”

“There was a change of plans.” You pushed past Steve, wanting nothing else but to get Bucky home. Steve grabbed your arm and stopped you with his strength.

“Sam, get Bucky back to the jet.”

Sam looked at Steve, then to you. You must have been staring daggers at him because he just held up his hands in defeat. “Sorry Cap.”

Steve sighed. “What the hell y/n? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Steve—“ Bucky started weakly.

“I was not going to wait for you to decide when to make a move. He needed me. I wasn’t going to have him trapped in this shit hole any longer, being beaten and tortured while you approved of a plan.”

“You are out of line y/n,” Steve boomed.

“They crossed the line.” You countered in an even but stern voice. “They crossed the line as soon as they took him. In fact, I recall you crossing similar lines in Germany a few years ago, but instead of giving you shit about it, I helped you.” You hissed.

"We both know you didn't cross those lines for my benefit," Steve said.

You glared are Steve, the smoke swirled around you in anger. Bucky’s fingers grazed your neck. The touch calmed you and you sighed. This nonsense could wait. You needed to get Bucky out of that hell hole.

“We can talk about this later. I realize you’re upset, and I have made quite a mess of things, but I will not apologize for what I have done here tonight.”

You pushed past them, taking Bucky to the Quinjet and sitting him down gently. Sam and Steve were right behind you, Sam had something metal under his arm. He knelt down by Bucky and handed him his arm.

“I think you lost this, buddy.”

Bucky gave him a weak smile. Sam patted his shoulder and followed Steve into the cockpit. Bucky reattached his arm and moved it around, adjusting it to his liking. You watched him, eyeing over his injuries with worry.

“Don’t,” Bucky chided. “I’m fine.”

You arched your brows at him. “I think you’re a stubborn idiot.”

"Apparently, so are you," he mused. His eyes darkened a bit as he caressed your face with his metal hand. "You amaze me, y/n. What you did for me tonight-"

"I would do again, a million times if it meant keeping you safe. I made you a promise, James, and I thought I'd broken that promise. I never want to lose you to the Winter Soldier again. I don't think I could bare it."

"I don't fear the past. Who I was forced to be- he's gone. I think tonight has only proved that. My only fear now is losing you." His fingertips brushed across your cheeks, sliding down to your bottom lip. "That, and maybe you, my little shadow monster."

"You should be, Barnes. You should be."

Bucky chuckled and leaned his head back against the headrest. “I love you. I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “Hush now. I love you more than anything. Now rest, my dear. We will be home soon.”

Bucky rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his blood stained face into your neck. You kissed his forehead as he closed his eyes. The Quinjet hummed silently as you flew threw the air. You knew you would face hell once you returned to the compound, but you felt the warmth from your love beside you. Safe in your arms. You were ready to face whatever would come.

#fem reader #reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #marvel #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #angst prompt #ill show you #I’ll show you what ruin is #hurt/comfort

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saradika · 10 months

Text

— WASTELAND, BABY

viii. you’ll gaze unafraid, as they sob from the city roofs

[masterlist] | [part vii]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 5k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes (violence & death), angst, feelings, miscommunication, mentions of birth control, outdoor/semi-public sex, PiV, fingering, creampie, use of weapons

a/n: if you missed my poll, I realized that I liked sen’ika (little bird) more as a nickname instead of little one/ad’ika. I’ve made some edits and will be using it moving forward!

So funny how life in the Wasteland can bleed from bliss to terror in a matter of days.

"Come on."

You're unable to help the swoop in your stomach of excitement when you hear his voice.

Interrupting your concentration as you work on the rusting, sky-blue box of the radio tower. Working the thick switch up and down, waiting for a green light that doesn't appear.

You've been trying not to look too eager, in the days that have passed since that night. Trying not to follow Boba Fett around like a lost puppy.

Stick to the work that needs done. Plenty of crops to plant in the newly-tilled field. Your back still twinges from two days ago, when you had spent half of it bent over, pushing tato seeds into the dirt.

Thinking it would be a good way to focus your energy, but the mindlessness of the activity only led your own to wander. Like it had, for days now.

Remembering the feel of his lips. The way he touched you - a gentle sweep of his thumb before he was pulling you to meet him. The drag of his cock, how he knew just what to do to make you come.

It was distracting, to be certain.

The storm that blew through yesterday should have been a respite. A relief in the much-need nourishment for the fields, all those acres of dirt and dust.

An afternoon spent huddled beneath hanging, blinking bulbs. Engrossing yourself in the stories and small talk to keep your eyes and mind from wandering and wondering.

Wishing for a hand to curl around a wrist - pull you into a dark corner. Never happening, with how small the quarters were, how thin the walls were with the town crowded into the cantina, the shop next door.

Your thoughts come back into focus with the heavy click as you move the switch to the "off" position. Wiping your hands on your pants as you turn fully around. To where he's standing.

"We need to check the perimeter after the storm, make sure the fences are sound." He says, by way of greeting. "Think it would be a good experience for you to accompany me."

A twinge of disappointment twists with curiosity. A quick nod as you pack up your things, a furtive moment of trying to tidy your clothes before you're walking beside him, out towards the edge of town.

Those silent seconds make you wonder what his intentions are. A hope that his thoughts align with yours, an excuse to sneak away.

But the sun hangs high overhead - the afternoon breezy. A perfect one for work, and so again - you're left feeling lost.

The buildings shrink as you walk, following down that dirt path. Past the acres of fields, the occasional stop as Boba checks on the work, offers advice. Each word received with their full attention - something you notice with a small, tender smile.

Trying to keep back, to wait - but you're pulled in with the occasional "what do you think?" or "wouldn't you say so?". That attention is mirrored, when you finally find your tongue.

A warmth settles over you that has little to do with the sun. Wrapping around you as the fence line comes into view. Where he stops, gloved fingers checking the fence ties. A little bag of clipped wires passed your way, as he shows you how to fix the ones ripped loose from the wind.

The little spark of hope in your stomach fades, as you realize you're actually there to do work. Wondering if you did something wrong. If that night had been a one-time thing, and you had misunderstood.

Worried that just maybe… he wished he hadn’t.

Such a thought threatens to stagger you, but you still try to make the most of the afternoon as you work your way down the line. You’d gotten good at compartmentalizing - saving your thoughts until you were alone.

Taking the moments as they come - no excuses needed to be made as your eyes trace the sharp curves of his helmet, when he's explaining something.

Or when you need to step closer - both sets of hands needed to wrangle the thick branch off the top, where the metal dips under the weight.

Time ticking by, until you're further out than you've been. The path opposite than the wooded one that winds around the river.

Here, it's scattered trees and broken roads. The ground littered with thick brush - the curve of hills and a mountain lining the horizon. An inorganic splash of a long-abandoned gas station marring the view.

A pair of old, rusting cars rest against the fence here. Faded shades of red and stained yellow under the years of sun and rain and snow.

Your fingers tap on the broken headlights, the spider-web cracks across the thick lens. A lean of your hip as you peer into the interior through the windshield, but it's already been stripped bare.

Boba is watching, when you turn back. Close enough where you can see the chips in his painted armor, the small dent in his helmet. The twist of a torso as he’s turned half-way from you - facing back towards the road to town.

Or, at least, you think he is - his expression and words shrouded by the mask. Both a defense and an offense. Protecting him, while enhancing his sight. All the better to keep an eye out for anything or anyone approaching.

A necessity, but you can't help but miss the feeling of his eyes on yours. You wonder if you'd be able to read him better, even with the serious tilt of his eyebrows, the grit of his jaw.

The lingering of a moment, and you begin to step away - to move around the car, to check the fence there.

His voice halts you, the low buzz of it through his helmet.

“I can see you thinking, sen’ika.” He tells you, and you can’t help the small smile at that, “I wish to know what’s been on your mind.”

You try to find his eyes behind the visor, as a heat licks up your spine, to burn in your cheeks. What haven’t you thought about?

Replaying those moments spent together in a slow loop. The brush of his lips on your shoulder and that small bit of softness, when he could have been all hard edges.

After a moment, you swallow - finding your thoughts and your voice, “I’d like to know the same, of you. And I suppose… I am wondering what we’re doing out here.”

His helmet tilts as he hums. So broad in his armor as he turns fully your way, and you think his gaze is fixed on you, now.

Arms cross over his chest, as he picks at part of your answer, “Is that all?”

You both know it isn’t. He must be teasing, because surely he must know how he’s become a fixture in your mind.

“No,” Your head shakes, as he moves closer. Hands bracing against the curved edge of the hood for balance, as he crowds your space, “I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night.”

His thighs almost brush yours, and you find yourself pushing yourself up, until you’re sitting. Knees spreading as he fills the space, the sun glinting off his visor as his head tips towards yours.

“And what about that night has been on your mind?” Boba’s voice is a low rasp through the helmet, thrilling you.

Hand bracing on the hood on either side on your hips. Leaning further into your space as your thighs shift wider, making room for him.

“Oh,” you breathe, trying to think. Finding it hard to do so, now. “Um, you.”

He laughs - a short, rough buzz of a sound.

“Be more specific, princess.”

You shift, hopeful and eager and nervous under his gaze - all the feelings swirling together, “I‘ve thinking about how good you felt.”

“A shared sentiment.” Boba’s fingers shift, touching down on your hips, tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, “Anything else?”

There’s the shift of his feet, leaving smallest gap between you. It would be easy to close it, with a roll of your hips, and you wonder if he’s waiting for you to do so.

A moment of wonder, as you realize that there may be more that overlaps between you than you thought. The distance of those last few days merely the beginning of learning a dance that neither of you know.

So you close that gap. First with your words. The flicker of confidence bolstered by his - the way he curves over you, the movement intimate and pointed.

“Plenty more.” Your teeth press into your lower lip as you smile, “I was hoping you’d come find me again.”

“Did you, now?” He husks, just as you shift. A roll of his hips as he meets you, as you lean back onto your elbows.

Rocking him against your core, your knees pressing against into his hips, leaving your feet to dangle. Fully seated on the hood now, the metal sun-warmed against your back, through the thin layer of your shirt.

His hands curve against your waist, the slight pull as he starts a slow grind. Pleasure sparking through you with the pinch of his grip, how it’s soothed when he’s pressed flush against you.

“Mhmm.” You sigh - the words coming easier now, with the reciprocation of touch, “But I was worried you regretted it.”

There’s a sound like a growl, a sharp rut of his hips. Holding you against the place where his flightsuit has begun to tent, a hand bracing near your ribs as he leans over you.

“The only thing I regret, princess, is waiting so long.” He husks, as you blink up at him, “If we were back in Mos Espa, I’d take my time.”

You feel yourself clench around nothing, a little buck of your hips as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“You came so quickly on my tongue. I’d like to see how many I could pull from you.” He sighs, a little tug to your hip to pull you closer, “That’s what’s been on my mind.”

There’s a little shiver, in spite of the heat. Your brains going blank except for the thought of him - the imagined grandeur of his space in Mos Espa. The prospect of hours spent in his company, alone and stripped bare.

In another time you might have been embarrassed by his words, if not for the tinge of pride in his voice. You’d been sated, exhausted, last time. The promise of more had you eager, squirming.

“Please.” You manage, the sound a soft gasp in the miles of deserted landscape.

The hand on your hip curves beneath your thigh - running down. Past your knee as he hoists your leg up, until your boot rests on the curve of the fender.

Fingers plucking at the laces, working it off one foot before he starts on the other. Methodic in his movements, while you’re grasping at your belt. The clink of metal as you pull it open, the pop of a button as your hips lift - pushing the fabric down.

Your layers pool at his feet, a hand pushing up the edge of his helmet so he can tear the gloves off with his teeth. Bare hands trace up your thighs after, a fingertip tracing over your mound as he gives the hem of your shirt a tug.

“This too. It was too dark to see you, last time.”

The shirt is tugged off, stuffed beneath your shoulders. Your bra lost somewhere on the hood, as he finally gets you bare - the sun warming your skin.

“Will I get to see you?” You ask, as his fingers split - tracing down either side of your slit.

One of them nudging at you, splitting you then - a rough groan when he meet slick flesh.

“Another time.” He grits out, and you think you understand.

Boba can keep you safe, his helmet sending an alert from anyone approaching. If he were to be as bare as you, that guarantee would disappear.

Any disappointment disappears as two thick fingers sink into you. Stretching you open as you cry out - you hand rising to muffle the sound.

They fill you, the slightest flex you can feel, before he’s slowly beginning to pump them. That pressure transforming as he learns from this new angle how to crook them, until he can feel you clenching around him like before.

Leaving your own hands to wander. Letting you tug and pull at his layers until you find the buttons and zippers. Letting your fingers brush hot, swollen flesh as you lean up on a elbow to draw him out.

The flex of his hips seating him against the curve of your thigh, his cock heavy where it rests against you, arcing towards your stomach.

His head is tipped down, and from this angle you can just get a glimpse of the reflection of his fingers pumping into you. How they shine when he pulls them back, only to sink deep, stroke against that spot.

It has you aching - that eagerness spreading through you again. Fingers tracing over his cock until you’re wrapped around him. The squeeze of your fist as he rocks into your touch, his breath heavy through his helmet.

You’re sure he wants to make you come on his fingers, but you’ve been waiting for four days.

It has you nudging at him again, angling his cock to slide against the swollen bud of your clit, before letting it bump up against his fingers.

“Is there something you want, sen’ika?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, just as he his fingers drag against you.

The groan of his name is your answer, a needy jerk of your hips as he eases from you, the same hand wrapping around his cock.

A catching of the hand that rests on the hood of the car. Dragging it to the place on your hip that now matches his - his fingers denting soft flesh, feeling the implant beneath.

Fennec had all but crowed when you had stumbled home the next morning. Leaving you with a puzzle to put together - a reference to your first day that you hadn’t understood, something about how she should have known he was lying.

A poorly suppressed smile and a roll of eyes. Your worry that she disapproved mending as she let you crush her fingers in yours at the clinic the following day. But not before she reminded you what she had told you.

That is why you had tried to protect your heart. Your meager line of defense cracking at his touch now, with the growl in his throat as the pad of his thumb presses down again.

“You want me to fuck you properly, is that it?” Boba rasps, with a stroke of his cock, “Fill you, like I had wanted?”

There would be murmurs after - a check that you really had wanted to do this. An assurance you didn’t need to, but in this moment there are few thoughts in either of your heads.

“Yes,” You breath, with a slow drag of your eyes - lifting from his hand to his helmet, “Please-”

The sound of your words still hang in the air as his cock passes over your slick skin. Tapping against your clit before dropping, a shift of his hips as the presses against your opening.

A rough, drawn-out “fuck” as he sinks an inch into your warmth, and then another. Your thighs squeezing his hips as his helmet tips down, to watch you take him.

So different from this angle, this time. Even as covered as he is, you can see the rise of his barrel chest with his breath. The bare patch of skin where his suit opens - dark curls at the base as he splits you open.

Hands hook under your knees, hoisting your thighs up to wrap around his waist. Spreading you open - your heels pressing against him, urging him deeper.

Your hand claps against your mouth, when he buries himself. The ragged sound of your moan muffled - the end breaking free as he lets go of a thigh to pull at your wrist.

Dragging you fingers down between your thighs, hand mapping yours until your fingers are pressing against your clit.

“None of that,” It’s a command, as his hand hoisting your leg up again, so he can grind himself deeper. “I want you to give me everything.”

You realize that is why he’s brought you so far out here. Doing the work that needed to be done along the way out of necessity, but the intent has always been there.

He wanted to hear every sound. See every movement you hadn’t been able to make, pinned against the table like you had been.

You both begin to move at the same time. The piston of his hips matching the circle of your fingers. A shallow drag of his cock as he pulls back, the sweet pleasure when he thrusts deep again.

There’s a freedom in the seclusion. In knowing that you’re safe here - the chance of being stumbled upon unlikely.

That knot loosening in your chest, the threads of propriety from an age long ago starting to fray. Close to snapping with the miles of armor - the slick-sounding snap of his hips as you take him, again and again.

A lewdness in the way you’re bared under the sun, him with so many layers. It’s a near-manifestation of all your late-night dreaming. Better than any of them, with the low rumble of his groans, the way his cock fills you so perfectly.

It has you letting your moans loose, as your head tips back against the hood. Leaning into the winding press of your fingers, your thighs inching further apart so he can drive deeper.

A shallow rock of your hips, as you move to meet him. A winding, building pressure in your belly - stoked by the memories of last time, the known pleasure of your own touch.

“Just look at you,” He groans, the grip on your legs tightening. Pushing a thigh back towards your chest, opening you up further, “Fucking perfect, you know that?”

His praise steals your breath, an accelerant to your pleasure. A whimper as his fingers sweep against your skin, your own hand wandering - cupping a breast. Tugging at a nipple, as the other works between your thighs.

The sight has him groaning - a sharp grunt accentuating the sharp punch of his cock.

Last time, he had held out. The low light an aid as he made you come on his tongue, before fucking you with his cock. His thoughts swirling since then, days of desire mounting in his mind, a foreplay that has a the pressure building, threatening to break.

“Where do you want it, princess?” Boba’s voice is rough, as if he’s barely holding himself back, “You still want me to fill that pretty cunt of yours?”

You’re so close you can taste it. The circle of your fingers speeding up, three pressing down against your clit as you moan.

Nodding, as you beg, “Yes. Yes, in me-”

The words petering out to soft sounds - the catching of your breath and whining whimpers with each breath. His thrusts speeding up to match yours, as you careen towards the edge.

“Come for me, and I will.” The encouragement shoots through you, straight down to that throbbing point between your thighs, “I can feel how close you are, want to feel you again.”

You can hear his words, but they slowly turn to static. A chain-reaction that starts at the tips of your fingers, swooping low in your belly to radiate outwards. Your orgasm crashing over you - Boba’s groan a rough, low thing as you pulse around him, his name pitched high on your lips.

A sharp grin, hidden behind a mask as he watches - a slow sweep that always returns to your face, catching every detail.

“That’s it, little bird. Let me hear you sing.”

His voice low and rough as he fucks you through it, chasing his own end. Unable and unwilling to edge himself any longer - not with the way you wrap around him, so tight and warm.

Then, his head is tipping back with his snarl. Giving you a peek of his neck, the column of his throat above his cowl. It’s not his face, something you long to see - to watch, as he falls apart, but it’s still him. Still something to cherish.

You can watch how his fingers dent your skin - the tight grip as he tugs you to meet the shallow pump of his hips as he spills into you.

Pushing himself deep, grinding as you milk the last of his spend from him. Your own orgasm still fluttering in your belly, down your limbs.

Slowly, you come back down.

There’s the sticky dampness of sweat on your skin. A hand curled around and a splayed palm against your back. Close to an embrace, with how close he is - still connected, because he hasn’t moved away.

A slow roll of clouds above, pale against a bright blue sky. Any thoughts gone from your head, leaving you blissful and boneless.

Things will never be perfect, not after what happened.

But as Boba leans over you - fingers tugging up the edge of his helmet just enough to let his lips press against yours…

You think this has to be pretty close.

Sweat beads at the base of your neck, as you crouch in the fields. Tying the twisting, curling vines of the Tatos to the makeshift trellis. Row, after row - enlisting some of the older children to help.

Giving them something to do, as they run back and forth between you and the plants. Getting more string, trying to get you distracted so you'll chat.

They've grown on you, a little bit. The tatos, that is. The weird flavor and texture - you've learned you can't afford to be picky anymore. And mixed in a stew, it's not so bad.

It reminds you of how others had done the same. How Mos Espa had become a place of familiarly and comfort. The roads and paths and people here ones you now know.

Your own little field, tucked away in your heart - carefully tended. Strengthened since the afternoon with Boba after the storm, that stolen moment in the open fields.

It had led to others. Another morning where he met you before sunrise for your shift. An evening, where you found your bedroll tucked next to his. An arm draped across your waist as you sleep.

Small steps, but just like these seeds - they will grow, with time and with tenderness.

A loud, piercing wail slices through the air, then - cutting your moment of reverie short.

It’s the first time you've heard the siren, other than the quick test that had you all clapping your hands over your ears. A looping warble that has the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

It has you straightening up, as the fear flickers in your chest. Scanning the horizon for trouble, following the mechanical chatter of the defense turret, as its muzzle swivels.

There's something shimmering, just beyond the chain-link fences. Dark and swaying against the hills behind, as your hand comes up to shield your eyes.

Growing bigger with each step. Coming towards you.

The attack that the Oasis has been anticipating - finally arriving.

"Get inside." Your words come out weak - trying to keep an eye on both the figures, and the kids. Trying again, sharper and louder this time, as the siren continues, "Get inside, now!"

They scatter. Scurrying as the settlers race out to meet the incoming storm, spilling from the houses as others are swept up inside.

Still some ways behind you - you've been moving outwards for most of the afternoon. Closer to the edge of town, than where they are gathering.

As the siren dies out, there's a roar.

Inhuman, in the deep, drawn-out rumble. You're trapped in place, as if the vines themselves have twisted around your own legs.

Unable to tear your eyes away from the beings that have now reached the fence - fanning out.

Tall.

You can tell, even from here. Broader than any human - thick arms clutching guns and long, wooden boards riddled with nails.

You've never seen one in person, but the name springs to your mind instantly.

/Super Mutants./

Humans that had been twisted by a virus, fed to them by the military. An experiment gone wrong, when they turned out more cruel than a super soldier should be.

You found seven in all, already clawing at the chain link. Clutching at rusted pipes, boards riddled with nails.

The metal bends, warping under the strength of their hands.

There's the popping of bullets, though you can't tell which way they're going. A voice yelling in your mind to do something - to run. But you still can't seem to move.

You should head back. Barricade yourself inside until it's late. Managing a glance over your shoulder - seeing the much smaller figures still weaving through the rows.

Turning back just in time to see the gates split open, and fall.

Raiders slowly pour from the hills behind - remoras, following in the wake of the sharks. Ready to snap up anything missed, anything left behind. More in number - close to a dozen, fanning out with their weapons raised and waiting.

It throws you back to that first week, after you left the vault. The paralyzing fear rendering you mute, though your thoughts echo endlessly.

Run. Don't just stand there. Do something.

But… you're not alone this time.

You've grown. You've practiced.

And maybe this time, you can do it.

It feels like it takes ages, but your hand moves down to the holster at your waist. Unclipping the pistol, the heaviness bringing you back down to reality.

Shaking in your grip as you bring it up, the movement familiar from the weeks of training.

Strength comes back, as your feet plant in the soil. Steeling your nerves, because you’ve got something to protect now.

Someone.

Boba is out there, somewhere. If you can take one down, then that’s one less that might run into him. One less that could hurt someone else in the village. A life you could save.

Your finger is on the trigger, an eye closing as you hear your name cut across the wind.

Unable to help but look, with the slightest twist of your head. Where he appears - barreling towards the settlement, from the far edge of the perimeter. Drawn by the sounds of the siren, the shouts that have filled the air.

His power armor sits near the middle of town, on that yellow, rusted hanger. It's close to equal distance from where you are. If he gets to it, the battle would tip heavily in the town’s favor.

You smile. He has to make it.

And you could buy him time.

Turning back, you take a breath - and fire.

The shot strikes the Mutant’s shoulder, but he keeps coming. Your finger pulls - again, and again. Striking arm and the chest, but never slowing. A tremble in your arms, eyes fixed on the massive figure still thunders towards you.

The tiny bit of confidence swept away - devoured again by fear. Acutely aware of how different this was than your practice, so unprepared by their speed and the twist in your stomach.

Wishing desperately you didn't have to do this.

Your hands are clammy with sweat, your heels pressing into the ground as you inhale a breath. Trying, again.

Remembering the way Boba had moved you, those little nudges and encouraging murmurs. Holding your breath - aiming for his head, as you fire.

The Mutant pitches forward with your shot, his snarl cut off as he chokes on the sound. Crashing to the ground, tearing up the tatos as he rolls, only to fall still a moment later.

There's a ragged stab of relief in your chest. Before the terror licks at you again, as you realize there is another, following in his wake.

Fingers fumbling as you try to reload, but you know you won't have time. Wishing you had something more on you, but that crowbar is back in Mos Espa, and your little, rusted trowel would do nothing.

You make for the fallen Super Mutant - thinking you can scoop up the pipe it was carrying. Eyes meeting burning, red ones at the second races towards you, his fingers curled around a board that seems longer than you are tall. The beating of your heart drowns out the sound of its snarl, as his arms raise.

No more than a few yards from you now, as you duck down - your fingers fanning out as you frantically reach.

Never expecting the hand that curls around your wrist, instead.

The sharp tug throws you off balance, as you're pushed backwards, and then down. The world tilting as you land hard in the dirt between the trellises, that iron grip still holding on.

Faded brown and blues bleeding into shades of green.

There's the twist of a torso, as he moves between you and the Super Mutant. A gauntlet rising to catch the heavy, downward swing of the board.

Boba snarls at the impact, the sound through the helmet sending a chill up your spine. The echoing crack as the wood shatters - his fingers letting go as he twists his rifle around.

Firing, before you can blink. Stepping to the slide to avoid a swinging fist, before he's burying a hidden blade into the Mutant’s belly.

Only when it falls does he turn, though his attention fixes behind you - a beckoning curl of fingers at the footsteps that approach, before he's pulling the blade free to finish the job.

“Charon.” Boba barks, “Get her out of here.”

With your mind the mess it is, it takes a moment to realize he means to send you away. To stay alone on the front lines, as the Raiders pour in.

"What?" You're finally finding your voice - crying out as you stagger to your feet, "No!"

Your face is reflected in the dark gleam in his visor when he turns. Tracks of tears running down your cheeks that you hadn't even realized have fallen.

Searching for his eyes beneath, as that moment holds for a second that feels like it stretches longer. Unable to bear the thought of leaving him.

The moment breaks as a hand fists in your shirt, yanking you around. Loosening just enough to wrap around your bicep as Charon urges you back towards the town. Boba’s name bursts from your lips, a ragged plea.

It goes all but ignored. The smallest tilt of a helmet, one last glance your way, before he's sheathing the blade. Reloading with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Your begging turns towards Charon, but his face stays resolute as he hauls you towards the boarded-up houses.

"I do as I am bidden."

Your feet dig into the ground, but he is stronger - forcing you to take one step, and then another.

Dragging up dust that swirls around you, as each one pulls you further away from the battle.

Further away from him.

sen’ika - little bird

Thank you for reading 💚 part ix will be out thursday, the 27th!

(0-pressure tags 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights, @wingofshadow, @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay, @floral-force, @valentine-tx, @ri-a-rose, @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved, @writeforfandoms, @winchestershiresauce, @monada43, @rescuethewretched, @thegalaxys-edge, @honeydjarin, @ray-rook, @dumfanting, @bedky, @thirsty-boba-fett-posts, @dukeoftheblackstar, @lifelikefae, @pentaghasm, @izbelross, @margowritesthings)

#boba fett x you #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett smut #boba fett imagine

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p3ski · 7 months

Text

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 4.1K

Gavin Reed arrived at the Police Station forty-five minutes late. It would be diplomatic to say that the detective took a 'relaxed' approach to timekeeping. In reality, he couldn't give less of a shit.

Removing his sunglasses, he seated them in his front pocket. An action he regretted almost immediately. The bright fluorescence of the station's lights assaulted his eyes, and the dull throbbing pain in his temple increased tenfold. As he groggily sauntered past the desks, a familiar voice chirped up to greet him:

"Weren't you radioed like an hour ago? How nice of you to grace us with your presence".

"Bite me, Chen"

Tina Chen, the officer in question, smirked at him playfully. A far cry from the despondent glares his colleagues usually greeted him with.

While it was entirely his own doing, Gavin would be remiss to admit that his lack of popularity wasn't isolating. Tina was one of the few people who could deal with his abrasive attitude, and for that he was endlessly grateful. Not that he'd ever admit it to her.

"I'm not the one you have to worry about", Tina warned. "It's the Captain who'll be doing the biting if you don't hurry up".

Gavin dared to glance at the Captain's office, and Tina's warning was quickly affirmed. Fowler stood to attention at the door, one of his hands balled into a fist as he repeatedly tapped the glass. He held up his free hand to flash his watch – a blatant dig at Gavin's tardiness.

"Shit..." Gavin leant himself against Tina's desk, desperately trying to steady himself. Dealing with Fowler was bad enough, but doing so with a hangover was akin to torture. "If I don't make it out of here, sprinkle my ashes on the floors of Bronco Bar".

Tina scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't be in the shit if you'd gotten to work on time."

"I wasn't exactly in a rush. This case they've assigned me is bullshit"

"I'm sure it isn't".

"It is," Gavin asserted, scowling bitterly. "'Android hate crime'. I mean, how the hell is that my department? I don't get why this hasn't been assigned to Anderson and his fucking tin-can".

Tina flinched, her eyes darting nervously to the android Officer sitting a few desks away. "Gav, enough with the 'tin-can'. You can't say shit like that anymore".

"And why's that, exactly?" Gavin demanded, throwing up his hands. "Because President Warren has decided that we all need to kiss and make up? Spare me".

"Don't be such an asshole".

"Why break the habit of a lifetime?".

The banging on Fowler's door increased, to which Gavin groaned. He began dragging his feet towards the office at a torturously slow pace. When he finally arrived, he could practically smell the contempt radiating off his superior. He didn't even bother asking Gavin to sit, immediately launching into his tirade:

"Just once, is it too much to ask that my men arrive when they are goddamn asked to?".

Gavin shrugged his shoulders, helping himself to an available chair. "I got held up in traffic on the way here".

"Don't spin me that bullshit. Did you even bother reading the assignment brief we sent you?".

"Damaged android. Apartment 14D Hartwell Tower" Gavin mumbled, unenthused "I skimmed it,".

"Murdered, Reed. Not damaged", Fowler clipped, seething with annoyance. "In what looks to be a targeted attack. Forensics have already been dispatched to the location. I want you there fifteen minutes ago".

"Why do I have to deal with this bullshit?" Gavin complained, "Get Connor or one of his pals to do it. My department is homicide".

Fowler's entire face seized up. It looked as though a vein might burst through his tightly knotted brow. "This is a homicide. Now do as your told. That's an order".

"Don't start giving me that – This isn't a homicide because no one's been killed. It was a fucking machine".

"That kind of talk might have flown last year, but it sure as hell doesn't fly anymore" Fowler pointed his finger to Gavin in an authoritative manner. "Between you and Anderson, I could write a bestseller: 'Dumbass Detectives and Their Dumbass Disciplinaries'".

Gavin sank back a little but refused to give up. He gave his Captain a cold look, hardening his jaw defensively. "You don't buy into this crap any more than the rest of us. A machine being destroyed isn't the same as a person losing their life. They are completely different".

"It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is that the law would disagree with you, and as an officer of the law, you'd do well to keep your mouth shut".

The finality in Fowler's tone informed Gavin that the discussion was over. He was right, of course. In just a few months, the legal status of androids had shifted astronomically. What had been acceptable less than a year ago would currently be grounds for swift reprimanding - or even dismissal.

No matter how much Gavin tried, there was no getting out of this. At least for now, he would need to demonstrate some level of cooperation.

Fowler seemed contented by the victory over his mouthy subordinate. Some of the tension released from his shoulders, and he leaned back in his chair.

"If you're done with your tantrum -", he said condescendingly "We have assigned an android officer to assist you on this case. Consider it the next step in your tolerance boot camp".

Fowler looked over Gavin's shoulder and made a motioning gesture. Gavin could hear the door slide open, followed by the tap of footprints on tile floors, drawing towards him.

"This is RK900. I'm sure you've already met".

Gavin turned around reluctantly and was immediately accosted by a set of disturbingly bright, intense eyes. RK900 was identical to Connor in almost every way, except it was far more physically imposing. With long legs and broad shoulders, and generally sharper features.

"Yeah, we've met", Gavin replied, making zero attempt to disguise the resentment brimming in his voice.

RK900 cocked its head, LED flicking from blue to yellow. It wasted no time studying Gavin, eyes raking up and down with unwavering scrutiny. Its previously neutral expression morphed into one of cold judgement.

"The fuck are you looking that?" Gavin demanded, to which RK900 wordlessly blinked its eyes, never once letting up. Eventually, it did address him, but only after an uncomfortably long period of silence.

"Apologies, Detective. I was determining how you might have arrived at the precinct this afternoon. Your blood alcohol content is 0.5 times over the legal limit".

Gavin felt his cheeks heat up. He was overcome with a sudden, all-consuming desire to punch the android square in the face. "I took a cab, you plastic asshole".

"My sensors indicate that you are lying", RK900 responded, its tone staunchly neutral. "It is not safe for you to operate a vehicle in your current condition. I am surprised you were not involved in an accident".

Gavin narrowed his eyes, stepping towards RK900 aggressively. "If you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one in a fucking accident".

"Enough, Reed", Fowler demanded, to which Gavin ceased his advance. He looked to the floor, feeling utterly despondent at his current situation.

Working with an android was bad enough, but RK900 was the worst of the worst. Gavin wondered how he could possibly get through this without losing his sanity. Not to mention his badge.

"You've been assigned your case and you have your address. Now, get out of my office before I fire you both".

Gavin let out a frustrated grunt as he stormed out of Fowler's office, slamming the door behind him. RK900 nodded to the Captain respectfully before following suit and leaving the room.

Despite the former's best efforts, RK900 soon matched Gavin's stride. As it walked alongside the Detective, it carried itself with near-flawless composure. "I suggest we take an automated dispatch vehicle, or you allow me to drive. I would rather we make it to the crime scene in one piece".

Gavin struggled to hold his tongue, "Do whatever you want. Like I give a shit. Just don't expect me to stroke your dick because Fowler wants me to play nice".

"I had no expectation that your cooperation with me would involve sexual favours, Detective".

Gavin stalled in his movements as if anchored to the floor. His eyes blew to a comedic size, and he shot the android a look of disbelief. "It's a figure of speech, dipshit".

"Regardless, it seems wildly inappropriate for a workplace environment", RK900 chided, "We have an investigation to attend to".

When they eventually arrived at the crime scene, the entrance to the apartment building was swarming with reporters. One appeared to be feverishly badgering a Junior Officer, mic held a bare inch from his reddening face:

"Is it true that the victim is an android?" The reporter demanded, leaning as far as she could over the police-enforced barrier "– And that this attack is just one in a disturbing trend of recent crimes against android citizens?".

"I, uh, I -" The officer stumbled over his words, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that...".

"Alright, leave him alone" Gavin quickly made his way over to the nameless officer, swinging an arm around his shoulder. He grabbed the top of the reporter's microphone, speaking into it clearly:

"The DPD won't be taking questions. Now I suggest you all beat it. This is a crime scene".

"The people have a right to know, Detective" The second reporter, an android, quickly objected. "Despite the recent declines in android-phobic attitudes, many still believe that we should be treated as second-class citizens: Do the police intend to take these crimes seriously? And to treat them with the same levity that they would for similarly brutal crimes against humans?".

"I said beat it" Gavin repeated, aggressively pushing the microphone away, "Fucking vultures".

The first journalist looked determined to persist before freezing as she caught sight of something over Gavin's shoulder. All colour promptly drained from her face, and she stumbled back on her stiletto heels. Her android counterpart looked equally perturbed, LED flitting to red before returning to normal. They exchanged a look before hurriedly retreating to a nearby news van.

Gavin looked around, confused, and the reason for the journalist's sudden retreat soon became evident. RK900 stood behind him, looming menacingly, with an expression that promised misery for anyone who dared challenge it. Its eyes were locked firmly on the fleeing reporters. Unyielding and unblinking, trailing their movements with disturbing precision. It wasn't until they were securely tucked in the back of the van that RK900 finally looked away.

"I suggest we make our way to the crime scene now," It said matter-of-factly. "We are wasting valuable time".

The nameless rookie, who Gavin still held firmly by his shoulder, began to tense under his grasp. He regarded RK900 with nervous anticipation, sweating profusely. Gavin could have sworn that he damn near fainted when the android finally addressed him.

The sensors in RK900's eyes flickered, LED whirring yellow, "Officer Lewis Andre, you appear to be unwell. Your complexion is sickly and pallid, and your heart rate is elevated."

The officer, who Gavin now knew was called Lewis, yelped pitifully in response. Judging by his skittish demeanour and overall softness of his features, Gavin concluded that he couldn't be much older than twenty. He was undoubtedly fresh from basic training and likely on his first assignment.

What an assignment to stumble into, Gavin thought to himself. The poor bastard.

Despite Lewis' blatant discomfort, RK900 refused to relent, continuing to scrutinise him "Your stress levels are indicative of emotional instability. I suggest that you fulfil your duties in escorting us to the crime scene and then excuse yourself so you may consult a psychiatric professional".

"Y-Yes, sir", Lewis stammered, meekly pointing a finger towards the rotating doorway of the apartment building. "The victim's apartment is on the second floor...He was an HR400, a former Traci. Went by the name of Jason".

"We already know this. Show us the crime scene."

The young officer nodded before hurriedly leading the way. Gavin trailed back, allowing the poor boy some space. RK900, unsurprisingly, did not show the same consideration. It kept a half-stride behind him at all times, monitoring him to ensure he didn't run away.

Lewis was full-on trembling by the time they entered the elevator. As if terrified that RK900 would snap him like a twig for even the smallest act of insubordination. For all Gavin knew his fears were warranted.

While Connor had his moments, he had always possessed a capacity for basic diplomacy. Namely, an understanding and appreciation for emotion. The fundamental difference with his successor was a ruthless cut-throat approach. As if its 'tolerance for human bullshit' meter had been permanently set to zero.

The elevator door dinged open, and Lewis bolted out with visible relief. "Through this way, Sirs".

He led them to Apartment 14D, the police caution tape making it immediately apparent that they had found the correct location. The apartment door was slightly ajar, to which Gavin peered inside. The room was bustling with the movements of the attending forensic team. As he watched, he was blind-sighted by the sudden flash of a large camera.

RK900 nodded in satisfaction, reaching for the door handle. "Excellent. You may leave now, Officer Andre".

Lewis didn't need to be told twice. He scurried away at record speed, never once turning back. As the remaining two entered the apartment, Gavin regarded his android companion with disapproval.

"You know, humans generally don't like it when you treat them like shit".

RK900 began to study its surroundings, hardly acknowledging that Gavin had spoken. It ran its hand across a drag-like mark by the entranceway, human skin giving way to mannequin white as it deftly analysed the indents.

Gavin made his own observations, noting the scattered magazines and streaks of blue blood littering the entranceway. There was also an upturned table thrown haphazardly to the side, evidence of a struggle.

"I believe I treated that officer fairly", RK900 asserted plainly. "If he cannot handle the pressures of high-stakes police work, he should reconsider his profession".

Gavin wanted to pin RK900 by its neck and strangle it mercilessly. If it never again made a condescending remark, he would have done his due diligence.

"I'm sorry that people don't pop out of the factory perfect and ready to go", Gavin spat back at the android, expression marred with disgust. "They need a chance to grow and improve. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but a little compassion wouldn't hurt".

RK900 gave Gavin a weak side glance before directing its attention back to the investigation. "That is an interesting assertion, Detective. Especially coming from yourself".

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?".

"It is odd that you, of all people, would assert the need to show kindness to others. Given your history of aggressive and inflammatory behaviour".

Gavin clenched his jaw, the remaining threads of his composure quickly slipping away, "I'm plenty nice, you prick. I just tell things like they are".

"Quiet, please".

Before Gavin could say anything else, RK900 had hunched down to examine a streak of blue blood on the floor. It scooped a sample onto its fingers before placing them into its mouth.

"Ah, Jesus" Gavin looked away, heaving uncontrollably. "Do you have to fucking do that?".

"It is necessary for the investigation."

RK900 licked its lips, removing any remaining traces of the material. It stood back up, smoothing any resulting creases from its well-pressed suit.

"We can see it's blue blood. You don't have to put it in your mouth".

"The data from my internal analysis can provide valuable insight into the case. Namely, it allows me to scan for traces with the same forensic profile".

Gavin threw up his hands. "Well, best of luck with that, because I can't see any more blue blood around. Can you?".

"As it happens, I can. Thirium evaporates after a few hours of air exposure. However, it can still be detected with the correct equipment - such as myself".

"Wow. I'm so impressed."

RK900 studied Gavin, taking note of his exaggerated tone and flagrant eye-rolling. Its lips pulled downwards into something resembling a deep scowl.

"Your sarcasm does not elude me, Detective. I am also displeased with our current partnership, but rather than waste time with snide remarks, I suggest you listen to me so we may progress our investigation".

Gavin reeled back, surprised by the emotional charge in the android's response. "What did you say?".

As soon as the android's anger had appeared, it quickly dissipated. Its eyes glazed over, and the lids flickered like frenzied camera shutters, signalling an analysis being completed. The dissonance between RK900's otherwise human-like appearance and its undoubtedly mechanical behaviour triggered something unpleasant in Gavin.

"There is a trail. Leading from the entranceway and towards the back end of the apartment. The evaporation rate suggests that the attack was finished here".

When RK900 spoke in its zombified state, it was akin to the 'uncanny valley' effect that had plagued Gavin's early childhood. Like that one creepy Christmas movie where the characters looked real, but never seemed to move or behave as they should.

He wondered how CyberLife had succeeded in fucking up RK900's facial articulation so spectacularly. Unless the intention had been to make anyone who interacted with it insanely uncomfortable.

Gavin fought hard to maintain his bravado, folding his arms defiantly. "If the attacked finished here, smart guy, where is the body?".

RK900 looked to the ground and pointed its finger at a series of scrape marks. "The marks here are consistent with dragging a heavy object. It would suggest that the body was moved".

"Oh please, like anyone would be able to move one of those things! They weigh a ton -".

"Detective Reed. RK900" A voice addressed them, putting an end to the discussion. Gavin soon recognised the voice as belonging to Colton Sanders – an experienced CSI officer who had assisted the DPD in numerous prior cases.

"Sanders, how the hell are ya?" Gavin greeted, reaching out a hand and clapping it on the older man's shoulder.

"I'm surviving".

"Man, am I glad to see some good old-fashioned flesh and blood. So tell me, what are we looking at here?".

Sanders responded with a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose "Not a lot, I'm afraid. Or too much, depending on how you look at it. The 'droids have combed the place thoroughly, but there are so many potential DNA profiles that it will take us a couple of days to cross-check".

Gavin titled his head curiously "Why so many profiles?".

"I believe this will field your question" RK900 bent down, picking something up from the pile of scattered magazines. It looked like a tablet. Fortunately enough, the screen had already been unlocked. "The victim had recently viewed their electronic diary. It contains a list of names with corresponding dates and times. Document name is 'Clients'".

It took Gavin's mind a minute to catch up, and then he remembered. What Officer Lewis had said outside about the victim's model number.

He barked out a cruel laugh before shaking his head in disbelief. "The android retired from the Eden Club just to wind up becoming an escort? That's fucking priceless".

"Yeah, so with the volume of 'clients'", Sanders used his fingers to make an awkward air-quote gesture. "You can only imagine how much we've got to work with".

"The blacklight is working overtime today" Gavin snorted as his own juvenile statement, before continuing, "Would explain the lack of forced entry".

Gavin placed a hand on the front door which was noticeably intact. Save the police-issue hacking device affixed to the lock. "Seems like our culprit posed as a customer".

"There was another possible point of entry - ", Sanders explained. "But it was more than likely it was a point of exit".

"Where would that be?".

"The window in the bedroom was left wide open. It couldn't have been opened from the outside, but there's guttering that the perp could have used to shimmy down".

"Anything on the drainpipe?".

Sanders shrugged his shoulders. "Can't say, I'm afraid. It's been raining cats and dogs all day, so any DNA evidence that might have been there is long gone".

"It only started to rain heavily at 2:34pm this afternoon", RK900 corrected. "With this in mind, and by comparing the dating of the Thirium traces that I have analysed, it would be safe to assume that the crime occurred approximately 2 hours ago".

"Well yeah, that does line up with the witness reports..." Sanders agreed, "Neighbours started calling the police around lunchtime, citing a domestic disturbance".

RK900 returned its attention to the tablet, swiping the screen a few times before gesturing for Gavin and Sanders to come and have a look.

"With our current time-frame in mind, our culprit is most likely a scheduled client by the name of 'THOD GRAWS".

"I doubt he was stupid enough to use his real name", Gavin clipped back.

"It is highly improbable, but it will be interesting to see if any of the DNA profiles collected match our criminal databases. There is a possibility that we may find someone known for using the same, or a similar, alias".

"Instead of dicking around with dead leads, how about we check out the body?" Gavin rolled his eyes and turned himself back towards Sanders. "Mind showing us the way?".

"Sure thing...", Sanders agreed, "I'm warning you though, it isn't pretty".

Gavin tutted in dismissal, "The victim was an android. How bad can it be? No blood, no guts, no smell. Come on, Colt, I'm a big boy. I can take it".

Sanders nodded, looking a little deflated. He led the two further into the apartment, towards the bedroom. He hesitated slightly as he turned the doorknob before pushing forward.

Entering the room, the first thing that became apparent was a message scrawled on the adjacent wall, written in black marker pen:

SUCKS COCK IN ANDROID HELL.

"Charming", Gavin mumbled, examining the letters. "We've got a real wordsmith on our hands".

"Detective," RK900 said firmly, demanding Gavin's attention. He followed its gaze to the east side window, and that is when he saw it.

The android was naked. It was strung up on the curtain rail, hands out to either side, forming a T shape. There was a large laceration across its stomach, and it had been mutilated from the waist down. Its eyes had been removed, leaving nothing but two hollow sockets.

Underneath the window was a bed, which had been stripped of its covers, leaving nothing but a blue-soaked mattress and a series of Polaroid pictures.

Gavin felt his heart sink as he tried to comprehend what he was looking at.

"Jesus fucking Christ", He muttered, unsure of what else to say.

Sanders hummed in agreement before bowing his head in respect "Yeah, whoever did this was one twisted fucker. You might want to take a look at those photos".

Gavin did as directed, and the uncomfortable sinking in his chest only increased. The pictures told a grim story, showing detailed snapshots of the mutilation process. Had it not been for the blood and greyed-out LED, the man in the picture could have been mistaken for an average person. Their postmortem expression seemed to be trapped in a look of perpetual fear. The brow was tensed, and mouth opened, cheeks stained with freshly-shed tears.

Gavin dropped the photos as if they burned to the touch. He had to take a long, calming breath before re-addressing Sanders, "Any luck finding its eyes and...you know...".

Sanders shook his head sadly. "Looks like the guy must have taken 'em. Like a sick prize or something".

Gavin turned to RK900, curious to see what it made of all this. He found the android standing at the wall parallel to the bed, staring intently.

"There is another message", It informed Gavin, not once turning away. "Written in Thirium".

"What does it say?" he asked.

RK900 paused for a moment, the processing yellow of its LED flitting to red before returning to normal. It slowly read out the message:

I KNOW YOU CAN READ THIS. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FILTHY MACHINES IS RIPPED APART. YOU ARE NOTHING BUT SCRAP.

Gavin fell uncharacteristically silent. The weight of RK900's words hung uncomfortably in the air. Sanders appeared equally disturbed, lips pursed together tightly.

"This is not the first time our culprit has acted violently towards androids", RK900 warned, " - and it certainly will not be the last. If we do not apprehend them soon, I anticipate there will be many more victims".

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