#Just a little update really at this point

[euthymiya]

you want to change my mind (and maybe you already have) — ft. wriothesley.

art credits: rana_co_co on twitter

synopsis: november 23rd comes and goes just like every year. wriothesley looks at you in his bed, curled under his sheets—pretty. soft. kind. a gateway to a cushy sort of life he never envisioned for himself. this birthday, he finally realizes that neuvillette sending you down for weekly compliance checks at the fortress was the first time celestia had ever favored him

word count: 8.7k — this was truly agonizing. just know that

before you read: female reader ; reader works at the palais ; work relationships ; fuck buddies who clearly are smitten ; newly turned duke wriothesley ; my own personal headcanons about his childhood and past (spoilers for his backstory ahead!) ; mentions of murder and child trafficking (his canon backstory) ; mentions of serial murders and disappearances of women (the canon missing women’s case so major fontaine spoilers if you’re not done) ; very lightly implied sexual comments about reader made by an inmate ; violence, injuries, and blood descriptions (wriothesley defends her honor) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; semi public office sex ; exhibitionism ; wet dreams + male maaturbation ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex (he pulls out) ; fluff and getting together

commentary: a little late, but here’s my birthday fic for my birthday boy who owns my whole heart <3_<3

“Duke,” you say as soon as you walk into his office, making Wriothesley want to hide in the corner, “You’re late.”

He saw it coming, really. Knew it would be the first thing you’d point out as soon as your shoes would thump against his quiet, peaceful office floor. Well, peaceful until now—now you’re here to disrupt that tranquility with demands that he’d like to politely ignore. Unfortunately, because Celestia have never exactly favored him, that’s not an option.

“Ah, my favorite babysitter. Whatever do you mean?” He smiles at you innocently. He knows exactly what you mean, of course—and he knows you know it, too, because you stare blankly at him before rolling your eyes. But there’s still a small hint of fondness underneath the staged irritation. He can’t help but throw you a little playful wink as he notices it.

As far as babysitters go, you’re not bad, exactly.

That’s how Wriothesley likes to think of you. His weekly babysitter. You come in once a week, keep an eye on him, check and make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to and following all the rules, tattle on him if he does anything wrong, and you force him to do his homework.

Neuvillette likes to call it an administrative compliance audit. You make sure Wriothesley is keeping things at the Fortress running smoothly, get an update on how the standing situation is, report back to Neuvillette so he stays informed, and make sure that no paperwork is submitted or completed past the expected deadline. 

Wriothesley says babysitter, you say compliance officer. Tomayto, tomahto. 

“You’re late to sending in the quarterly reviews of the most recent batch of prisoners,” you hum, jotting that down in your convenient little notepad that is the bane of Wriothesley’s existence. You return his cheeky wink with one of your own. Every time you pull it out, he knows he’s about to get a write-up. Every time he gets a write-up, he knows a letter from Neuvillette is coming with a lecture about his responsibilities and how seriously he should take them.

Fighting back a groan, he rubs his face tiredly as he mumbles, “I’m getting to it.”

“Yes,” you agree, “You are. It’s not exactly optional—the sooner, the better, of course.”

“You love pushing my buttons, don’t you?” He looks up at you petulantly. 

One thing about Wriothesley is that his rugged, almost tactless demeanor only adds to his charm. He wears formal wear only because he has to—which, to be fair, his outfit choices are considered formal by a very loose definition as is. He keeps his tie knotted loosely and borderline informal. He has a rather sarcastic and playful way of speaking professionally. 

All of these things should scream that he's a misfit for this position, but you think they almost make him the perfect candidate. In an odd sort of way, he’s not as stiff as a board and at risk of using his position to his advantage. He’s down to Earth enough that you can trust him not to take his role too seriously and run the Fortress like his own personal military grounds. 

Grinning, you walk over to him, seating yourself on the armrest of his chair before tracing a finger along his bicep as you lean in and murmur against his ear, “C’mon, they’re not so bad. If you finish it up, you might even have a nice little reward waiting for you after.”

He swallows thickly for a moment before reconstructing his carefully crafted composure. Raising a brow, he gives you an amused—although shaky—smile as he hums, “Oh? Is this some sort of incentive?”

“You could say that,” you bite your lip to keep from letting out a giggle. “Incentive. Reward. Compensation. Whatever you want to call it.”

 “Can I pick what I get?”

“Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have your way,” you tease.

Neuvillette sends you from the Palais to the Fortress to make reports about the Fortress of Meropide after observation. It’s imperative, of course, that during this weekly assignment, you stay fair and unbiased. That seemed easy enough when you took on the job.

That is until you met Wriothesley. 

It happens by accident. One second, you’re letting him walk you around the underwater prison that he calls his home, taking notes of the way prisoners do their jobs and how they're compensated. (The name credit coupon still makes you giggle sometimes, but you keep it to yourself for the sake of avoiding his glare). The next second, you’re slipping on leaked water from a burst pipe and heading straight for your demise of a face-first fall onto the hard metal flooring of a tunnel. 

Wriothesley catches you with ease. Effortlessly, his strong arms wrap around you to catch you against his chest before you have a chance to fall any further. It’s cliche, you think—how this weird difference between professionalism and personal attraction gets blurred more and more every day. How it all started with your body being pulled flushed against his for the sake of avoiding a rather painful injury, only to have both of your lips be mere inches away from each other as your wide eyes bore into each other. 

You never knew who kissed first. It never mattered. All you know is that you’ve been kissing in the comfort of his office ever since. Sometimes in his bed, too. He tries to convince you in riskier, less-than-appropriate spots, too—but luckily, between the two of you, one of you has a sense of proper risk calculation. 

That person would not be him.

“Would you do me the honors and make me a lucky man today, then?” He asks sweetly, blinking innocently before his arms wrap around you, pulling you from the armrest of his chair to his lap, comfortably perched for him to have easy access to your lips. 

“I’ll have to see if my schedule allows it,” you say slyly, pretending to look at his clock as you add, “I’m a busy woman, you know. They demand my time underwater and above land. Can you believe the requirements they have for me?”

“Sounds like you’re severely overworked,” he nods in faux sympathy, shaking his head as though he really feels for your predicament. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands firmly grip your hips.

That’s the thing about Wriothesley. It’s just so easy to be charmed.

“I am,” you murmur, leaning in.

He closes the gap as he mumbles, “I can think of a way or two to take the edge off.”

With that, your lips meet. It’s not the first time, and the Gods certainly know you hope it’s not the last. Your mouth slots against him perfectly enough that it feels like sunlight on water—warm, bright ripples of light gliding along the surface that waits for them to make their home against it. 

He brings you closer, dragging your body up his lap as he kisses you deeper, groaning lowly into your mouth as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. You feel it between your bodies—the proof of his arousal is clear and so hard to miss that you can’t help but reach a hand between your bodies to get a better feel.

 “Already?” You grin, pressing your hand over his hard, clothed cock. He grunts, glaring at you as he stiffens in his chair at the way your hand offers limited friction to a rather delicate issue. “I’m flattered.”

“Great,” he hisses, “Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

“Here?” You gasp dramatically, “In your office? What if someone walks in?”

“No one would disrupt the Duke without knocking first, sweetheart,” he gives you a smug, self-assured wink. You snort before shaking your head, slowly climbing off of his lap before sinking between his legs onto the floor. His breath hitches—sure, you’ve taken him in your mouth before. But it’s never been here and not there. Never in his office and at his desk instead of the bedroom that's just a few feet away. 

It feels more intimate there. He almost misses that sort of atmosphere. But there’s something filthy enough about watching you unzip his pants and slowly free his cock just enough in his office that almost makes his brain short circuit too.

So beautiful, he wants to tell you. Because you are. And he thinks he will, but just as he opens his mouth, his door interrupts him with a knock, vibrating through its metal surface. You pause. He almost curses under his breath.

“Your Grace?” A voice comes from behind his door. “There are urgent matters I must report to you.”

“Not now,” he grits, fighting back a groan as you take this opportunity to throw him a sly, almost evil grin before wrapping a hand around his cock, leaning in to run your tongue along the slit and get a taste of his pre cum. “I…I’m busy.”

“But Nurse Sigewinne has insisted we tell you immediately.”

Well, fucking hell. It’s not like he can exactly ignore that—and you seem to know it, too, because you blink up at him with innocently expectant eyes. So, gritting his teeth, he gently shoves your under his desk and rolls his chair to cover himself under the open leg space where you’re cramped. 

He clears his throat. “C-come in. I’m late on documents to the Chief Justice, so it better be quick.”

You hold back a snort at his convenient excuse that happens to consist of papers he’s really in no rush to get finished at all. He fights back the urge to glare at you, instead peeking up as soon as the door to his office opens and a guard steps in. 

“You’re Grace,” he nods politely. Respectfully. A small part of Wriothesley is still not used to being addressed so…seriously. So formally. So importantly. “The head nurse would like to bring to your attention that a group of inmates have been ganging up on others. This has been the third fight this week, and the infirmary is busier than usual from flu season for her to properly handle such constant injuries.”

He’s only half listening. It’s hard to pay attention when your lips are wrapped around his cock, sucking slowly as you move your head up and down his length. Warm. Hot. Tight. Your mouth feels obscenely good—he can’t help but let out a low groan of pleasure. 

The guard flinches slightly at the sound. “I apologize for springing this on you while you’re so busy, Your Grace. The head nurse insisted I tell you as soon as possible for things to be handled properly.”

It’s clear the guard is oblivious to the way Wriothesley is hardly holding onto his thinly kept composure. Your tongue traces that heavy, thick vein along the side of his cock. You take him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down impressively well along his length for being stuck in a tightly cramped place like under his desk. 

He grabs the edge of his desk, gritting his teeth as he lets out a sharp inhale when your hand reaches to fondle the delicate, sensitive sacs of his balls. 

“Your fault,” he hisses abruptly. 

The guard shrinks back, furrowing his brows in confusion as he stammers, “Y-your Grace?”

“I mean,” he clears his throat, barely fighting back a low moan as your swirl your tongue around his tip, “I-I mean it’s…it’s not your fault. That’s all.”

If relief was an expression, it would certainly be the cowering guard’s expression in front of him. Deciding it's time he put both of them out of their misery, Wriothesley barely grits out, “I’ll be done with this report for Monsieur Neuvillette shortly. It’s very—v-very time sensitive.”

You let out a quiet snort that only he hears at that. He nudges you warningly with his knee. 

“As…as soon as I am, I’ll drop a visit to the infirmary and have a chat with the group involved,” he continues. “J-just…fuck…just give me a few minutes.”

The guard rushes to insist a panicked, “No, no, no! No rush! Take your time, Your Grace. I’ll leave you to it—just wanted to get the message across as the head nurse wished.”

“Thank you,” he hardly manages to keep a straight face. A slight grimace of a smile is all he can offer before the guard nods and hurries out as if trying to avoid whatever wrath he thinks he’s conjuring up by being in the Duke’s office any longer than he should be. 

Wriothesley thinks that’s a habit of most guards he needs to correct: assuming that being anywhere near him is a quick to be punished sort of behavior. But for now, he’s too worried about sliding his chair backwards and letting you crawl out of his desk’s enclosure as soon at the door shuts closed and the guard is gone. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he glares down at you, watching as you suck on his cock innocently. Your lips look so wet. So sticky. So swollen parted around him that he almost wants to pull you off for just another taste. “You know that?”

You only hum around him, the vibrations forcing his head back against the chair as he moans low and drawn-out. Freely this time that no one’s here, but still quiet enough in case anyone’s outside the door. 

One more swirl of your lips around his thick, swollen tip, and he’s limp in his chair, groaning into his hand as he tries to muffle the sounds while cums down your throat. You can feel every twitch of him, hot, thick seed painting your throat white with his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, completely lost in his own world of pleasure. You watch him like that. It’s pretty. You’re a little too used to it—a little too dependent on the routine of watching his face break over the devastation of pleasure like that. 

When you pull away, making a show to swallow everything you can, he groans and rubs a hand over his face as he mutters something about trying to kill him. 

“So,” you wink with a cheeky, sly little smirk. “See you next week?”

“If I make it alive long enough,” he says tiredly. “You might kill me before that. Or these damn prisoners and their shenanigans.”

You laugh, standing and dusting yourself off before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to his lips. He tastes himself on you. Something about that makes him swell with more pride than it should. 

“You’ll be fine,” you hum softly. “I’m sure of it.”

────────────────────────

Wriothesley never earned the title of Duke—not at first, anyway.

You’ve heard the story.

He was supposed to be released from his sentence a few months ago. Except, by some stroke of bad luck, the warden at the time was nowhere to be found in his office the day of Wriothesley’s release. So, as on-brand as ever to his nonchalant, carefree attitude, Wriothesley signs the papers himself and effectively crowns himself with the title of Duke. 

He’s been running things down at the Fortress ever since. And pretty well, too—you’ve heard that things have improved rather drastically in prison for inmates. Free meals once a day. Better regulation of currency to exchange for benefits. A system of rules that keeps them in check and prevents them from behaving like dogs.

You’ve heard it all. 

But hearing everything means you hear the snide whispers, too: not everyone thinks he’s earned the title enough to keep it even if he’s done good—he’s a murderer, they gossip. We can’t have someone like that running the Fortress! That’s an outrage! Neuvillette has received enough formal complaints on the matter that you’re the product of a compromise—weekly audits done by a relatively impartial member of the Palais who doesn’t necessarily ignore his stained record but doesn’t particularly deem it as an irrefutable reason why he shouldn’t be Duke. You accept under the agreement of a slightly better paycheck for your troubles of making the trip to the Fortress and a little extra vacation time for the added paperwork to your usual responsibilities. 

Under the Palais and court rules, you take an oath to honesty and promise to offer, to the best of your abilities, the truth of what goes down in the prison and how its warden runs it. 

But, well…Wriothesley grows on you. A lot. It’s not that you ever have to lie about him—he really is a good Duke. But you like him enough that you’re starting to wonder if you could keep your honest streak if it really came down to it. You like him enough that you can’t claim anymore that the once sexually charged tension is just that: sexual. Because it’s not. It’s more complicated than that. Coming down and seeing him every week, finding your way in his sheets, getting to know him through a tangle of sweaty bodies and bantered pillow talk only makes you human. With feelings. Feelings for a man who’s more good than he’s not—you learn that pretty quickly. 

Wriothesley is a good person. Murder be damned. He did it to save people—sure, it’s a sin all the same. An extreme all in the name of justice, but it was to save people. He’s not a cold-blooded man. And he cares about the prisoners, too. That much is palpably abundant with the headaches he takes on to better the quality of life for convicted criminals.

No one believes in second chances like Wriothesley. No one has put as much work into offering people second chances like him, either. You think, despite initially earning his title or not, he’s certainly earned it by now.

So, when you watch him get pulled off of the limp body of a beaten prisoner by a handful of guards, you’re more than a little shocked by the almost feral, heartless look in his eyes as he snarls at the crumpled body on the floor in disgust. 

This is not the Wriothesley that you know. This isn’t the Wriothesley who runs the Fortress. The Wriothesley that you know doesn’t tolerate violence within his walls, and he certainly doesn’t instigate it. 

“What happened?” You ask quietly as you bandage his knuckles. It’s a deadly tone. He doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at his desk instead as he sits and lets you disinfect the broken skin. “Wriothesley.”

“He was being an asshole,” he grumbles vaguely. 

You raise a rather unimpressed brow at the juvenile response. He doesn’t seem to miss it either—even if he doesn’t meet your gaze to see it, the way he wilts a little is a hint enough that you know he’s aware. “Being an asshole,” you repeat. “That’s your sound logic for pounding someone into a bloody pulp?”

“Oh, please. He’s fine—”

“Really? He has a cracked rib, Wriothesley, for crying out loud!”

“So he’s fine,” he snorts almost bitterly. “In my time here, I’d have considered that lucky.”

“That’s exactly why you’re still here even though your time is over,” you say, the anger in your voice almost palpable as you throw your hands up and look at him in disappointment. “You’re supposed to be here making sure something like that is not the standard for luck anymore! Not upholding it.”

Wriothesley exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he leans back in his chair, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. He looks like a stubborn, moody teenager being scolded. You have to take a deep breath and remind yourself his teen years probably didn’t consist of a lot of patience, so you try to keep yourself calm for both of your sakes—the storm brewing in his icy eyes is far from calm.

“You just wouldn’t understand,” he says, his voice low and strained, “Things are different down here than up there.”

“Then explain it to me,” you challenge, arms crossed as you stand your ground. “Help me understand why the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide—the one who’s supposed to set an example—decided to act out like a rowdy delinquent.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to lose his temper, the same temper that’s already rather thinly composed. His hand clenches into a fist in your hold, the faint wince that follows indicating the pain in his injured knuckles. “He said something,” he mutters finally, his voice barely above a growl.

“Something?” you glare, your voice doing pretty much nothing to hide the frustration that’s mounting. “Wriothesley, I’m going to need a lot more than that. You realize I have to report this, right? To Neuvillette? People already have tons to say about your position as Duke at the Palais—we’re supposed to try and change their minds! You’re telling me you threw the progress away because some asshole said something you didn’t like?”

“Yes. He said something he shouldn’t have said,” he mutters vaguely, voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. It’s almost like he’d do it all over again if it called for it. 

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, then let’s hear it. What did he say?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the faint bloodstains on his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wriothesley.” Your tone is sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me.”

“He said something about you,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the room like one of his well-practiced uppercuts to a jaw. 

“About…me?” you frow, crinkling your brows in confusion. “What about me? Because of my job? Who cares—they’ll realize soon enough that I’m not here to harm the Fortress rather than help it. You didn’t need to—”

He clicks his teeth as his gaze drops to his legs, unable to meet your expectant gaze as his jaw works while he tries to force the words out. “Not like that. Something…disgusting. Something he had no right to even think, let alone say out loud. So yeah, I broke his rib. I could’ve broken more, but he got lucky.”

The ferocity in his tone leaves no room for doubt—he means every word, and he’d do it again if you let him. Maybe even worse without the intervention of guards dragging his body off the limp figure. You chew your bottom lip as you process what he’s telling you, the almost tangible way he’s so…so what? You stop to think. So protective? What exactly is it that he’s making you feel that has your anger washing away so fast? So respected? Perhaps he respects you enough to fight for your dignity, but that’s not quite it.

You know that. 

You know that really, at the heart of things, it’s so easy to stop being mad at him when there’s real proof that he cares. About you. Sure, you have faith in Wriothesley’s ability to be a respectable man to the ladies—you doubt he’d accept someone talking about any woman that way. But it’s clear that…well, he cares enough to take it this far because it’s not just a woman. It’s you.

You.

“Wriothesley…” you start, slow and careful. It’s like you’re approaching a cornered animal in a cage you trapped yourself. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, his tone softer now, almost resigned. He slumps back in his chair almost petulantly as if he’s accepted that this is a lecture he can’t avoid. “That I need to be better. That I need to think before I act. That there’s a lot riding on my behavior and all that nonsense about proving to some assholes in a chair that I deserve this title and so on. And you’re right—I know you’re right,” he sighs.

You raise a slightly shocked brow at his admission. “Oh, well—”

“But I had to, okay? So everyone knows things are different around here now. Things like that were normal before, you know? Things weren’t safe for girls like you in the Fortress, and it’s about time they changed, so yeah, I set an example. Not the best one, but it got the message across, didn’t it? I’ll take some losses, sure, but that’s okay. It’s one minor setback.”

“Yes,” you nod carefully, “And I just want you to know—”

“But…about you? It’s…it’s different when it’s you, and you know it. Hearing someone talk about you like that...” He trails off, his fists clenching again. “I couldn’t let it slide. Not you. So—”

“Thank you.” You interrupt before he can finish. You say it softly. Like you mean it. 

He pauses, reeling back. “What?”

“I said thank you,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make me say it again, you jerk.”

“You’re not mad?” He looks at you bewildered, like you’ve grown two heads. You snort, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He huffs at just the look on your face alone.

“I’m furious,” you shake your head, “But I’m not ungrateful enough not to appreciate someone defending my honor. I’d prefer it if it was less violent next time.”

Wriothesley sits in silence for a moment after your words, the tension in his frame ebbing. “Less violent,” he repeats, a sulky, almost pouty look on his face. “I guess I’ll work on it.”

“Yes,” you nod, “You will. So that I won’t have to lie to Monsieur Neuvillette next time.”

He blinks. “What—”

“Since an inmate attacked you, I’ll let him know you had no choice but to throw him off and crack a rib from the impact,” you shrug innocently. 

He looks at you in wonder, a small, amused smile curling on his lips as he lets out a soft, quiet snort. “I don’t know if you can crack a rib from—”

“You should be quiet and think about what you’ve done,” you hiss. “Awful behavior means you’re on time out!”

“Oh, yes,” he salutes, obediently straightening as he folds his hands together on his desk. He winces a bit at the strain it puts on his hurt hand, making you bite back a fond smile. “I’m deeply thinking about my mistakes and regretting my deplorable actions. I promise.”

“Good,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t let it happen again.”

You turn to leave, and he sinks back in his chair, sighing as he watches you go. Next week’s audit can’t come fast enough, he thinks.

────────────────────────

When he hasn’t seen you in too long, Wriothesley has dreams. Vivid ones, in fact. 

They start not too long after the shift in your fragile friendship—you’re still friends, of course. It’s not as though that part of your relationship was ever fragile. It's just that….now, you’re more than friends without actually being more. It’s a delicate sort of arrangement that can easily have someone like him wanting more. And regrettably, he wants more. That much is clear by these dreams of his—and you’re often in these dreams of his. Scandalizing dreams, if you will. 

He never really took himself for a guy who’s attracted to someone with a pristine and spotless record—if anything, all Wriothesley seems to be attracted to anymore is trouble. 

But you’re different. Not because you’re unique or anything special by any means (which, he realizes, sounds a little bit rude in his head when he really thinks about it), but that’s exactly why he likes you. You’re rather ordinary. You work your ordinary job at the Palais, go home, do what’s expected of you, and go about life simplistically. He can’t help but enjoy it because there’s this weird, odd sense of normalcy that you grant his life. 

Nothing about Wriothesley’s life is normal. Not now, not then, not ever. 

He was young as an orphan. Doomed to the fate of no family by the tender age of four. A poor, sickly father who left this world long before he left his mother’s womb and, by fate’s desire, later orphaned by a missing mother who never came home from work. By the time he’s old enough to piece together that his mother was yet another victim of the missing young women’s case in Fontaine, he’s far too past that life to properly grieve her. 

And then there’s the darker part of his past…the messy memories of blood and betrayal that he chooses not to dwell on for the sake of his own peace. It landed him on the streets for the better part of his youth and then in a dark, ruthless prison where just even a meal is a burden to acquire. 

Nothing about his life is normal. His mother was ripped away by the nation’s darkest mystery, his siblings weren’t ones he’d acquired by normal means, his “parents” were anything but standard, and his housing conditions (or lack thereof once upon a time) consisted of a large, metal cage situated at the bottom of the ocean. Even his romantic history, which he can count on one hand the instances of, have been odd, unconventional flings that he indulged in rarely because he was but a growing boy turned into a man, raging desires that make any form of relief seem like a blooming romance. 

His first girlfriend left the Fortress after finishing her sentence when he was barely an adult. She promised to write to him every day until his own release. He’d never heard from her again. His second “girlfriend” didn’t even make it far enough to earn that title at all. She was a girl, who was a friend, who sometimes when he was exceedingly lucky, wove herself into his sheets and let him have his way with her so his growing frustrations have an outlet. 

Romantic intimacy is a world beyond the skies of Teyvat for him.

So, when you wander into his life, working a standard nine-to-five job that requires nothing excessively abnormal of you, grinning at him with a happy, free smile that carries little to no burdens, he can only fight the human part of him for so long before his desires come hitting him full force. There was a time when dreaming of a wife and kids and white picket fences was well within his reality. When he dreamt of being like his father, hearing small, excited footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor to greet him at the door. When he dreamt that the mother of his children would smile just as sweetly and brightly as his own mother. 

That’s gone now, of course. Well out of his reach and far from his realm, but at the very least, you bring some rare burst of normality in his fascinatingly odd life. 

So he dreams of you. Admittedly, they’re not always the best-natured of dreams.

He wakes up sweaty and tangled in sheets as a familiar heat is already built between his legs—for quite a while, too, he surmises, because the ache is thick enough to let him know that he’s been sporting this erection for quite a bit. How—he wonders—did he end up with such a shameless problem in the middle of his rare and well-deserved rest? The answer is infuriatingly obvious, but he hates to admit it to himself. 

You. 

You’re the reason for this predicament—that raunchy, filthy dream of his from just a few moments ago, the vision in his subconsciousness of your mouth taking him, your hand stroking him, your lips kissing him. All of it lands him here with a thickly hardened cock and little to no dignity left for the pure filth he indulges himself in. 

Flaring his nostrils with a tired exhale, he decides there’s no point in dragging out his suffering any longer. What’s happened has happened. 

“Fucking hell,” he hisses as he frees his length from his boxers, tugging them down just enough to rest against his balls. Even under the protection of his blanket, he can feel cool air kiss the hot, velvety skin enough to make him twitch involuntarily. “Mmh,” he groans.

His fist takes shape around his cock. It’s different from your touch—he’s felt it enough times briefly to know that your hand is far smaller and far softer. Less wear and tear from boxing and fights, less scabs and calluses of healed skin. But he works with what he has, stroking himself slowly as he throbs in his own hand. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he all but whines to an empty room as if you’re right there with him, helping him through his glaringly obvious problem. “Fuck, it almost hurts, baby. You’ll help, right?” 

You will. You nod from the depths of his imagination in the back of his head, where you live to play out his shameful fantasies. He bites his lips and lets out a shaky breath as he imagines you leaning forward, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the tip of his cock. 

As if in response to the phantom touch of your mouth, his cock does another little twitch. I’ll take care of you, Wrio.

No one has ever called him that—not affectionately, at least. (He refuses to let his old prison nickname born from bantering mockery count.) The nickname falling from your (imaginary) lips has him throwing his head back against his pillow as he groans deeply. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease,” he demands gently. Obediently, you giggle and listen to him. “Gods,” his back arches as soon as your hand pumps his aching length, finally offering him some sort of relief as he bucks his hips up in time to meet your strokes.

Feels good, huh, baby? You hum. He nods, letting out a throaty sound in response. I can tell. It’s all over your face.

“Quit it,” he clicks his teeth petulantly. A thumb rolls through his slit teasingly, collecting pre cum and smearing it along the thick, sensitive vein along the side of his cock. “You’re…you’re such a brat, you know that?”

You like it, you hum.

“I do,” he lets out an airy, breathless chuckle of admission before the strokes get faster. And faster. He’s grunting freely now; something crossed between a moan and a gasp sounding through the small, secluded bedroom built in with his office. Luckily, it’s deep enough into the Fortress that no one could hear him if they tried—not unless they were standing right outside his bedroom door from his office.

No one has the audacity to do that, he thinks with smug satisfaction, so you don’t have to worry about how much noise he’s making. You’re the type to get stressed about things like that.

Close, Wrio?

“So close, baby,” he chokes.

Do I make you feel good?

“Better than anyone,” he confirms. 

You look so pretty like this, did you know?

“F-fuck, fuck—I…I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he warns.

Yeah? Then do it, pretty boy.

He does. He cums in thick, full loads of cum that have his cock twitching with every rope. Your hand is a mess, coated in his release, stroking him through his pleasure and smearing it along the heated skin. You know just what he likes—have his little quirks and preferences memorized as if you know him better than himself. You know he likes having the vein traced with your thumb, and you know that when he’s just about almost finished, giving his balls a soft squeeze makes him gasp and let out one final rope of his seed. 

By the time he’s done, slumped against his bed with boneless, tired muscles, he realizes with a sigh that the hand on his cock is not yours. It’s his.

Somewhere in the midst of his fantasies, he forgets what’s real and what’s not. Your voice in his head sounds so close, so real, so tangible, he forgets he’s talking to the empty air of his room and not you.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans to himself, rubbing his good hand over his face tiredly, “You’re seriously messing me up in the head. What’re you doing to me?”

────────────────────────

“What time do you need to return to the Palais by?” Is the first thing he says to you when you walk into his office. You pause, staring at Wriothesley before you blink and huff.

“Ah, yes. It’s wonderful to see you, too! I’ve been doing fantastic; it’s so kind of you to ask,” you bat your lashes with a sarcastic smile before adding, “And you? How have you been? Rather well, I’m sure.”

Wriothesley purses his lips, looking at you with a fractional amount of patience before giving you an equally as sarcastic smile and responding, “I’m doing quite well. Thank you for your generous concern. In fact, if it wouldn’t trouble you too much—because you know I’d hate to do that—I would be faring quite a lot better if you’d even more generously answer my question.”

“I don’t have to return to the Palais today,” you roll your eyes, “I go home directly after five and bring Monsieur Neuvillette your report card tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” is all he says. “Perfect.”

“Why—”

You don’t know how he got up fast enough to bridge the distance between you and his desk and cut you off mid-sentence with a crash of his lips to yours, but he does. His lips are pressed to yours in a desperate kiss that has you melting against him against your will. Like he’s expecting it, his arms are there waiting, catching you to hold you upright against him as he chuckles against your mouth.

Bastard, you want to say into his lips. He’s too busy keeping them occupied to give you the chance.

“I need you,” he rasps, “Now.”

“It’s technically still my work day,” you gasp between breaths, “I’m supposed to observe—”

“Then observe me from here,” he grunts.

With that, he sweeps you into the bedroom connected to his office. You’ve been in it so many times, yet you always wonder why it still shocks you that such a convenient room is in his personal office—but you figure the Duke of a prison surely would not sleep with the rest of the prisoners. And more importantly, it’s…good for the noise to be located in such a private, secluded area.

“Been thinking about fucking you all day,” he mumbles in between kisses, his large, callused hands cradling your face as your hands tangle in his hair. 

“Then fuck me,” you challenge, making him let out a low, unimpressed sound from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says lowly, trailing his lips to nip at your neck and jaw, “Trust me, I will.”

Your back meets his mattress. You don’t have the slightest concept or understanding of time—by the time you’re both bare with all your clothes tossed to the floor, you can feel a dull, building ache between your legs as a pool of slick coats your inner thighs. 

“So wet,” he grins to himself, bringing a hand between your thighs, right to the apex where he studies the leaking essence waiting for him there. “All this for me?”

“Not for long if you don’t make good use of it,” you hiss stubbornly. His gaze darkens at that, making him let out a snarled sound of displeasure before he lowers himself between your legs. 

“Careful, baby,” he warns, “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for.”

And you don’t. Because by the time Wriothesley’s face unburies itself from between your legs, your two orgasms and a semi-decent stream of tears smeared along your face in. He finally unlatches himself from your clit once the waves of your second high finally come down, glistening slick coating his chin and lips as he grins. 

“How was that for making good use?”

“I don’t know,” you huff. “I had something else in mind.”

Pointedly, you stare at his tall, standing and neglected cock. It’s clearly painfully hard and painfully aching for some form of relief as it twitches between his legs. 

You admire it for a moment. The nearly trimmed hair at the base—how Wriothesley supplies the necessary equipment to even trim himself downstairs in a place like a prison, you’re unsure but definitely not ungrateful. He’s always been pretty, in a ruggedly handsome way—but his cock…well his cock is pretty because it responds so well to you. To your body. To your every movement. 

You gently grab him, gently stroking a few times and humming in satisfaction as he groans and clenches his jaw while it twitches in your touch. 

“Sensitive,” you tease. 

“I could argue the same about you,” he replies smartly through a labored, breathless voice. You laugh, sweet as honey on warm bread. 

He doesn’t taste that too often in the Fortress, but he doesn’t think he’s missing out. Not with you here. 

“Come here,” you whisper. “I want you too.”

With that, you guide him slowly to your entrance. He shivers as he rubs the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness and swearing his own pre cum along your cunt before slowly sinking in. 

“Fuck,” you both hiss in unison. 

“Feel…feel so good,” he says hoarsely, “So fucking tight.”

With that, it’s a blur. Something you’re used to by what feels like your millionth week feeling him, but something that never feels like it’s not the first time all over again. 

He rocks his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm. You pull him close and feel his body searing against yours. Skin on skin. Heat against heat. Body melting into body. 

“Never get enough to you,” he whispers. 

“Then keep taking more of me,” you whisper back. 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breathless. Hopelessly smitten. It’s written all over his face. You’re sure the same goes for yours. “You want that? Want me to keep taking more and more of this pretty cunt?”

“What, you’re saying you’ll get bored of me?” You pout teasingly. 

He huffs, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss. “Never. You hear me? Never.”

Like that, you fall apart. And with that, he follows not long after. He pulls out just before he can spill into you, hand moving to pump himself until yours beats him to it, wrapping around his girth and stroking the way you know he likes it. With his vein traced. With a fast pace but not too fast. With everything he needs to feel seen and known because that’s what you do best. 

See him. Know him. Treat him like he matters. 

“Gods,” he says shakily as he finishes. “I needed that. Needed you.”

“You always have me,” you remind him softly. “Always.”

He grins. Kisses you softly—ike you’re a fragile, blooming lakelight lily. He’s gone momentarily to grab a warm, wet towel to clean you off before he’s sinking into the bed beside you, turning to look at you as he takes in your curled up figure under his sheets. 

He could get used to this. More than just once a week. 

“It’s the twenty-third,” you whisper quietly, like it’s a secret. 

Huh, he thinks. It doesn’t register what day it is until you bring the date to his attention—he didn’t even realize today’s date. Not that this date ever matters enough to make his day any different from the rest of the days of the year. But typically, he at least remembers when it passes by. 

It’s the first time it’s slipped his mind completely. 

“It is,” he agrees, looking at you with a slightly confused look. “Any reason why that’s relevant?”

“It’s your birthday,” you look at him incredulously, lifting your head off of the pillow to get a better look at him. 

He lays quietly beside you, still slowly catching his breath. He doesn’t answer at first—just pulls the sheets over both of your bare bodies as he curls an arm around you and pulls you close. You used to never take Wriothesley for the cuddling type. You used to never take him for the affection type, in general. 

Maybe, you like to think, maybe even people like Wriothesley aren’t above enjoying something soft. It’s a comforting thought. It’s nice to know that even someone so strong and immovable like him craves some sort of bond with another human. Some tangible form of safety and kindness. Some form of proof that people can be—and are—good enough to trust, good enough to lie beside and slowly lose consciousness around.

“And who told you that?” He quirks up a half amused, half shocked brow, voice low and smooth enough that you almost think you could go another round just from the sound of him.

You don’t tell him that, of course. The Gods know he doesn’t need any more reasons to be smug. 

“I read the files,” you answer with a wave of your hand, trying to dismiss him. “I like to know who I work with.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “That so?”

You don’t really have to answer him. You shouldn’t let him win—but something about that wolfish grin and that cocky glint in his eyes tells you he already knows more than you’d like. They have you huffing as you quietly mumble out, “Okay. I asked Sigewinne when it was. You’re awfully ungrateful about the fact that I cared enough to ask.”

“Your benevolence graciously exceeds my expectations every time,” he chuckles. 

“Well,” you raise a brow expectantly, “Are you going to do something to celebrate?”

He shakes his head. It’s too instant for your liking—and he seems to notice that, too, because he takes one look at your frown and shrugs, “My birthday’s not that important to me. I’ve never really celebrated it much.”

“What?” You ask incredulously. You think you’re being a touch dramatic—you seem more hurt about this than him, but you can’t help yourself. “What do you mean? Birthdays are the one important day we get.”

Wriothesley lets out a soft breath, his chest rising and falling steadily against you as he looks up at the ceiling. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something fleeting and hard to name. It’s not quite pain, but it’s close enough that you can feel it in the way his body tenses beneath your touch.

“They weren’t important growing up,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “And now I’m too old for it, anyway.”

He keeps the answer pointedly vague, like he’s avoiding the truth on purpose. You don’t mind. Not so much when it’s him, not so much when something heavy and unresolved that he doesn’t elaborate on is clearly there. You don’t like to push him—not yet. Maybe not ever. He deserves patience and compassion for once, you think—someone who puts his feelings first so he knows that his feelings aren’t at the bottom of some tiered list of relevancy that he somehow always ends up on the bottom of.

Instead, you shift closer, laying a hand against his chest and feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“Not even when you were a kid?” you ask softly, careful not to sound too intrusive.

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. That maybe he’ll throw you off his scent with some annoyingly smooth-talking joke and change the subject. You’re prepared for it—for the disappointment of being pushed away and not let in. You’re prepared for anything because it’s him, and you don’t mind when it’s him. But then, his hand moves, his fingers idly tracing along your arm as he speaks again, his voice low and resigned.

“I did celebrate. Briefly. We’d get a party every year, my siblings and I.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly. “And there would be people. I thought they were friends…you know? Friends my parents would invite over to celebrate with us. When I got older, I realized the truth. Those parties were just another excuse to show us off. To market us easier.”

Your heart clenches at the bitterness in his tone. You don’t need to ask what he means—you’ve heard the rumors about his past, heard the whispers about how the Duke of Meropide is a killer. Cold-blooded and ruthless as he watched the life drain from his own parents’ eyes without a single regret. Didn’t even hesitate to plead guilty and admit to his crimes.

You read the files in Neuvillette’s office before he first sent you down. Something about reading his testimony made you feel helpless—like there’s still a child stuck in an awful predicament with no way out instead of a now grown man who’s well on his way to being a rather significantly important figure in Fontaine. 

“—And after that,” he continues, his voice almost a whisper now as it breaks you from your thoughts, “I was stuck down here. Not many birthday festivities you can do down in the ocean alone, so I didn’t see the point. A birthday’s just a day. Another reminder of…everything I’d rather not think about if I can help it.”

“Wriothesley,” you start gently, lifting your head to look at him. He meets your gaze, his eyes darker than usual, guarded but not completely shut off. He doesn’t like being comforted—doesn’t like the idea of his emotions being in someone else’s domain to handle. It leaves him open to worse wounds. But you ignore the way his jaw tenses, cupping his cheek as you hum, “It’s not just a day or some reminder of them. It’s about you if you make it about you. And you’re not a sick marketing scheme. You’re…”

You trail off. Not because you don’t know all the things he is: cunning, resourceful, selfless, incredibly smart. But because you don’t know which one to start with. Like choosing one first means it’s the most important one—you can’t bring yourself to define him as one thing more than the others.

“Devilishly handsome?” he cuts in with a faint smirk, the tension in his face easing just a little as he pushes your buttons. “You seem stuck there, so let’s start with that.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your smile is impossible to ignore as you let his good-natured jab slide. 

“Yes, that’s one way to describe you, I suppose. But you’re also just…good.” You settle on that word because he is. He’s good, and he makes things good. He makes life feel okay and the day a little better. Like your own piece of good from the world to have for yourself. “And you deserve to have something good. Something that’s just for you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that makes your heart beat with a painful ache. Then, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and almost tender. “Maybe next year, I’ll let you change my mind.”

“Next year? Surely, if you mean I’ll be around for that long, then this is your way of asking me out?” Your lip twitches at the corners, hopeful. You force it down to a neutral look before faking a yawn and saying, “What an underwhelming way of asking.”

He raises an amused brow. Still, there’s something dangerously cautious about his expression as he looks at you. Like he’s guarding himself from possible disappointment. “You’re saying you’d say yes if I asked nicely?”

“Depends. Are you asking?” You ask softly. 

He lets out a shaky breath, studying your features and avoiding your eyes as he brings his gaze along your nose and lips and the slight sweatiness of your skin from your earlier activities. “If I’m asking, is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

“Then yeah,”  he stares at the ceiling, voice quiet. Hopeful. A rare moment that he lets himself try to be happy without worrying the world will fuck it up for him. You’ll handle it if it tries, he thinks—you always do. “Maybe next year, you’ll change my mind.”

“Not maybe,” you insist. It’s firm enough that he believes you. “I will change your mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Happy birthday, Wrio.”

“Thanks,” he grins, “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year,” you laugh, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t tell you that you’ve already changed his mind. Maybe he’ll even tell you next birthday that you haven’t managed to—just to have an excuse to keep you around one more year.

But something tells him you’ll stay even without such a ploy. 

This fic was genuinely such a struggle for me to write. I’m not sure why. I suppose because it doesn’t have a real conflict to guide me in a sense—I wanted it to be mainly happy and just a small sort of timeline of them having each other but still finding each other. If that makes sense. Idk if it does LOL. The main focus was just making his bday happy. Hopefully I achieved that but ANYWAY!! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! Kissing you on the forehead <3

[rue-isabelle]

rueee, i have a funny idea about the aphrodite series(?) tho it'll be a little bit different from how it goes so far... so... maybe let it be an au of it? like they(drivers) be like all into her but she's actually w toto n susie if you're into that 😂 lovelovelove the series and been reading it on repeat aaaa

No Part 2! This is not the ending, just a side idea

Aphrodite of Formula 1 (side story)

Susie and Toto had been quietly enjoying the chaos Yn caused among the grid and their partners. Their shared secret—that Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant but the third, cherished member of their relationship—made every stolen glance, every awkward encounter, and every dramatic meltdown far more entertaining.

For months, the paddock had turned into a soap opera, and Susie and Toto had front-row seats.

---

The day Alexandra had her infamous meltdown, Susie and Toto couldn’t contain their amusement. Watching the footage on their phones, Susie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.

“She’s throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat,” Susie chuckled, showing the clip to Yn, who smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

Toto, always direct, smirked. “Ungrateful brat,” he corrected, his tone dripping with amusement. Later, when a journalist asked about the incident on live TV, Toto didn’t hold back.

“Well,” he said with a sly smile, “some people don’t know how to handle being second choice. Or third.”

The comment went viral within minutes.

---

Toto and Susie loved adding fuel to the fire.

One afternoon in the paddock, Kelly and Alexandra were lingering nearby, clearly irritated by the drivers’ infatuation with Yn. Susie nudged Toto and said loudly, “Isn’t it funny how Max and Charles always seem to be wherever Yn is? Almost like they forget they’re supposed to have girlfriends.”

Toto smirked. “You’d think they’d be more subtle.”

Both women bristled, glaring daggers at Yn, who was blissfully unaware of the jab.

---

It was Susie who came up with the idea to get Pierre and Kika to buy Yn something extravagant.

“Tell them you’re looking for new lingerie,” Susie whispered to Yn during a quiet moment in the motorhome.

“What? Why?” Yn asked, confused.

“Just trust me,” Susie said with a wink.

Later that day, Yn casually mentioned to Pierre and Kika that she was thinking about updating her wardrobe. The next morning, a luxurious box of designer lingerie appeared in Yn’s hotel room, along with a handwritten note: Only the best for you.

Susie burst out laughing when she saw the gift. “I can’t believe they actually did it,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

---

Whenever George and Carmen were nearby, Toto made a point of complimenting Yn loudly.

“You look stunning today,” he’d say, his eyes lingering on Yn in a way that made George’s jaw tighten.

Carmen would smile politely, oblivious, but George’s thinly veiled frustration was obvious to anyone paying attention.

---

It was during a quiet conversation between Susie and Rebecca that things got out of hand. They were discussing Yn’s flexibility, something Susie praised enthusiastically.

“She’s so graceful,” Susie said with a knowing smile. “Her yoga practice really shows.”

Rebecca agreed. “It’s impressive, really. She can bend like—”

Carlos, who had been within earshot, suddenly choked on his drink, his face turning beet red.

“Carlos, are you okay?” Susie asked innocently.

He muttered something incoherent, quickly crossing his legs. But when Susie and Rebecca started laughing, he stood up abruptly and left, muttering an excuse.

“Too easy,” Susie whispered to Rebecca, who was now in on the joke.

---

Eventually, though, Toto and Susie’s amusement began to wear thin. The drivers were monopolizing Yn’s time, and both felt the sting of jealousy creeping in. So, they decided to make a statement.

At the next Grand Prix, the three of them arrived together, and the paddock was stunned.

Susie held Yn’s hand tightly, her fingers laced with hers, while Toto’s large hand rested possessively on Yn’s lower back. The trio moved through the crowd like royalty, heads turning as whispers spread like wildfire.

When they reached the Mercedes garage, Susie turned to Yn with a mischievous smile and leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips. The kiss left no room for misinterpretation—it was passionate, intimate, and utterly unapologetic.

By the time Susie pulled away, Yn’s cheeks were flushed, and Toto was smirking. “Don’t be late,” Susie teased, winking at Yn before walking away, her confidence leaving everyone else in awe.

Toto, ever the gentleman, placed a hand on Yn’s waist and gently steered her into the garage. “Shall we?” he asked softly, his voice full of warmth.

The paddock was left stunned, the realization hitting them all at once: Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant. She was part of something far deeper, something none of them could touch.

[admirationandromantics]

Going overboard, Prologue

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Okay, so 10 hours early, but I've gotten several requests about the start of the story, so here it is! This has been a big project (still not done with the last 3 chapters...), but so worth it. Remining the readers that this story is 18+ cause of alcohol, smut, drugs (?), throwing up (cause of alcohol, not ed) and other darker themes. Remember that Josh is severly mentally ill, so if you struggle with themes like that, I don't recommend this story.

Some chapters will not feature interactions with him, and some will be longer or shorter, but I'll try to make daily updates, so no worries! This blog is purely for my creative expression, and I don't really want tips or tricks about how to do stuff better, thank you. This whole thing is a way for me to relieve stress and just write without thought. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please consider following and liking <3

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The booze was getting empty, and the night darker. The snowstorm outside had worsened, making the inside of the cabin feel like the perfect cozy place. Emily and Jess had been talking all night about some kind of prank. I don’t know what it was about, and I didn’t want to know. Knowing the lengths they’d go, I kept my distance. During the evening they’d been regularly going away together, whether it was in the bathroom or in the kitchen. They were alone, talking, occasionally giving loud snickers. If Emily wasn’t hopelessly in love with Mike, I would’ve thought she had a thing for Jess. 

Josh is slurring around, mixing up words and almost falling over. He’s basically being carried by Matt from place to place when he wants to go somewhere. Hannah is mixing drinks, leaving them on the counter for everyone. I guess it’s tiring being hosts. Well, not for Josh, but the others. I’m sitting on the sofa with Sam, Ashley and Chris. Ashley seems fine, as she doesn’t get very verbal while drunk, while Sam’s not drinking. She’s sketching on her notepad while talking, and I occasionally look over her shoulder to see the products. They’re gorgeous, every line perfectly in place. I’m mesmerised by her talent, her ability to create something so lifelike. She’s almost like Victor Frankenstein, just a little safer with her creations. She’s drawing Chris now, making sure to add that little glisten on his glasses. I look over at him, then the drawing, then him again. It looks so real. 

“I’m in awe” I comment, looking up at her. She gets a slight blush on her cheeks, clearly not used to such positive feedback. 

“Why thank you” she smiles back at me. 

“Ohhh let me see, let me see!” Ashley shouts, reaching out both of her hands for the pad. Sam complies, putting down the pencil and giving it to her. Ashley blushes as she looks at the drawing, biting her lips in an almost invisible manner. 

“Oh look-” she points at the drawing, holding the pat in front of Chris. 

“She even got some of your freckles” she smiles, still blushing as she looks down on him. Chris doesn’t open his eyes. His head’s resting on her shoulder, and when she nudges him, he gives a slight “mmm” in reply. She gives back the drawing pad to Sam, leaning back so Chris’ head falls in her lap. Luckily she manages to catch his head with her hands, slowly putting him down. He nuzzles into her, and she runs her finger though his hair while breathing out. She’s probably scared he’s going to wake up. 

I turn, giving Sam a look before we both turn to her. The motions make her look up at us, confused. 

“Sooooo” Sam begins. 

“When are you going to ask him out?” I finish, smirking. I can’t help it. It takes a couple of seconds before Ashley realises what we asked of her, and when she does, her eyes widen and both hands immediately go to cover Chris’ ears. Sam grabs my thigh, squeezing a bit to release the energy so she doesn’t laugh.

“Shhhh he might hear you!” she whisper-shouts, looking at us. 

“Oh don’t worry, he’s out cold” Sam teases, grabbing a shot glass and filling it to the brim with tequila. 

“Well, the brain can still recognise things while sleeping”

“Nerd”

“They’re a perfect match”

“Stop it!”

We both laugh, while Ashley’s still pouting. 

“Fine, sorry” Sam continues, giving me the shot glass. I look at her, she’s got a funny look on her face. 

“What is this for?” I ask, taking hold of it and bringing it to my mouth. 

“You seem more present than the rest.” She smiles, nodding to the glass. I drink up, give a grimage and start looking for the lime. 

“There’s no more”, Ashley laughs, and Sam joins her. 

“Asshole”. I move to the kitchen, trying to find some kind of drink to make the shot not come up again. Beth joins me. 

“You look awful”

“Thank you Beth”. She gives me a beer, and I drink it as fast as I can, killing the gross aftertaste. As I look over at her, she gives me a concerning look. I finish up, another bad taste covers my insides, and I run to the sink, feeling like throwing up. 

“Fuck fuck fuck”

“Shit sorry, I didn’t think you would drink that so fast!” Beth exclaims, running to the refrigerator and grabbing some orange juice. As she hands me it, I drink like a feral animal once again, determined to not let this ruin my night. Beth stands behind me, rubbing my back and holding my hair. Just in case. Nothing comes up, and after about three minutes I stand up, giving her a bitch look. 

“Karma’s coming for you Beth, that’s not okay.” She’s still smiling softly at me, whispering for me to follow her. I take her hand, and she leads me to the bathroom. We both sit down on the floor, and I begin to feel my whole body pulsing. Every breath is grand, going to the edge of my fingers. Fuck, I’m going to be sick tomorrow. 

“I wanted to tell you something” she starts, not looking at me. 

“What”

“The others were trying to get you blasted tonight”

“You think I’m naive, of course I know that. Sam never offers alcohol to anyone, and you know how I get”

“Well, yeah. I was kind of in on it”

“I know”, I responded, laughing a little. She looks over at me. 

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not, just fun, I wanted to let a bit loose on this trip”

“You know we have an agenda?” No I didn’t. I look up at her, her face slowly moving to the side, facing me. 

“And what is it?” She looks down in shame, and I get a weird feeling in my stomach. If this has something to do with Jess and Emily, I’m leaving on the spot. 

“Well, notice how Josh is also…”

“A little out of it?”

“Yeah, that”. Something clicks, a switch, a lightbulb, something, and I rapidly stand up. 

“Wait!” I exclaim, suddenly realising. My body is wobbling, and I grab hold of the wall so I don’t fall. Beth follows quickly, hands in the air around me in case I fall. 

“You’re trying to get me with your brother?!” 

“You like him don’t you?”

“Well Yeah"

“And you’re both drunk”

“So?”

“Drinks of bravery?”

“No”

“Yes”

“Absolutely not”, and I turn to leave. I go out in the hall, but she runs past me and corners me. 

“Okay, listen. Maybe this wasn’t the best approach, but don’t let the rest of the night go to waste, we’re having fun. No pressure on that area, okay? You’re just having fun tonight” she explains, a bit panicked. 

I can’t be mad at her, but I roll my eyes and give her a nudge, not feeling if I hit her or not. I grab her hand, and we both go to join the others. I know myself, and no matter how drunk I get, making a move on Josh is NOT something I will do. Ever. 

As we’re walking down the stairs, the people have gathered in the living room. Matt is on his way to the bathroom, walking past us and smiling. Such a sweet guy. We join the others, sitting down with Josh to my left and Emily on my right. Josh leans over. 

“Hey, want to get a smoke” he whispers, probably so Sam doesn’t hear. I look out the window, getting shivers just from seeing the snow. 

“The weather”

“We can do it through a window.” I look at the others, who are clearly busy. Nobody’s watching, and we could probably sneak out. 

“My room” he whispers, before drunkenly getting up, moving like a penguin up the stairs. He walks past Matt, who’s going down. 

“Need help Josh?”

“Do I look like I need help?”

“Yes”

“No I don’t”

Everyone laughs as Josh continues up the stairs. Hannah looks worried, but ultimately starts sipping her drink again. I don’t know how much time has passed before I decide to go. Emily, Jess and Mike went to the kitchen again, but not before drawing a bunch of stuff on Chris’ face. Nobody notices me slipping away, up the stairs and out of reach. 

I walk through the hall. Josh’s room is at the very end. The hall is spinning, doors getting mixed up. I open one of them, walking into a dark room. Makeup is spread throughout every counter, clothes everywhere. This is not Josh’s room. I drunkenly make my way out to the hallway again, noticing a door beside which is slightly ajar. 

As I arrive in Josh's room, his window is open, cold air flying through the room, giving me goosebumps. He turns around when he hears the door close, looking me up and down and smiling. He’s already got a cigarette in his mouth. I smile back, walking towards him. As I reach for the wardrobe to hold for balance, my hand slips. He’s quick to grab my arm, making a grunting sound when pulling me up. He’s got fast reflexes for someone who’s drunk so much. As I get my balance back, he grabs a pack from his pocket, opening it and letting me pull a cigarette out. 

“Got a lighter?” I ask. He smiles, taking the cylinder off my hand and holding it up to my lips. His eyebrows rise, and I take it as a sign to part my lips, leading to him placing cigarette in my mouth. His hand grabs hold of my chin, pulling me closer. He leans over, letting his burning end touch the end of mine. 

“Inhale” he whispers between teeth. I comply, lighting my own through his. I stare up at him, locking eyes. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his thumb shifts from my chin to my lips, caressing lightly. I’m drunk, he’s drunk, we don’t know what we’re doing. I pull away, away from his face and hand. 

“So we didn’t need a lighter” I say, leaning over to the window and blowing the smoke outside. He stands beside me, leaning over so we’re in the same position, arms brushing against each other. 

“You’re cold”, he tells me, looking up worried. His hand moves to my arm, grabbing. He’s warm, too warm. I sigh when he touches me, involuntary. Fuck. I blush, hoping he thinks my redness is due to the cold. 

“I don’t feel it”, I respond. A lie, but it’s okay. I’ll survive. 

“Damn, drank that much?” he says, walking over to the closet. 

“Not my fault”

“Really”, he sounds surprised. Walking back to me, a flannel shirt in hand. 

“The others are plotting” I state, as I put my hands out, letting him put it on me. When he finishes, he doesn’t button it, but leaves it open. 

“Plotting what?”

“Trying to get us together”

“Really? My sisters’ are in it too?”

“At least one of them”

“Shameless people. Trying to get her brother and best friend together”

“Yeah I know” I laugh, turning away and looking out the window once again. I take a few more drags of the cigarette, using too long, making it almost go out. He starts a new conversation. 

“You know, I thought about asking you out once”. I look surprised at him, he has his signature smirk plastered on. It’s my turn to be curious. 

“And?” He turns to me, looking down, I don’t know if he’s looking down my shirt or on my waist. 

“Well, friend group shit. Didn’t want to fuck it up”. My heart falls a bit, a heavy feeling in my chest. 

“Smart choice” I manage to answer. 

“I guess”. He sounds oddly disappointed, and I force myself to be more forward. 

“Especially since I would’ve said yes”

“What?” he asks, taking my cigarette and throwing it out the window. 

“Hey!”

“It was basically out anyway. But are you for real?” he continues, brows furrowed, and hands grabbing my shirt on each side of my waist. My face gets hot, arms wanting to feel him. 

“Yeah-”. Before I’m able to fulfil my answer, he drags me into him, chest to chest, meeting my lips in a sloppy kiss. Shocked, I pull away, walking a few steps back. I still hold onto the counter for balance, looking at him. He’s breathing heavily, a bit surprised by my response, and a little hurt. 

“Sorry, I got the signs wrong” he says, looking down. I take a breath, calming myself. 

“Is this a prank?”

“What”

“Is this a prank?” I say a bit louder, nearly shouting. Probably I am, I just don’t realize it. 

“Why would you think that?” he asks, a bit angry. 

“Because Jess and Emily were talking about some type of prank and people were getting me drunk and-” I ramble, breathing starting to get unsteady. I’m unsure about how to continue. I’m getting dizzy, needing to lay down. Josh notices. As my vision goes blurry, arms take hold of me, quickly moving me to the bed. My head is pounding, but the room doesn’t spin as much anymore. An arm is holding my head up a bit, and I feel a cold glass touch my lips. Instinctively I open my mouth, drinking the whole glass of water. He lays down beside me, and I can feel myself drifting off. 

When I wake up, it’s still dark outside. Josh is sleeping, so I make my way to the bathroom. The nausea is catching up, and I make myself vomit. Several times. Luckily, this means I’ll probably be spared in the morning. My head feels lighter, in a good way. When I’m done, I drink some more water and brush my teeth. I feel refreshed, and a little happy that was it. I don’t need to be stressed about being sick. 

As I walk out in the hallway again, I hear voices downstairs. They’re still up. I look at the clock, and notice I was only out for about half an hour. I decide not to join them. I’ve gotten enough tonight. As I make my way in the hallway, I notice Josh’s door which I didn’t close behind me. I walk over, looking inside. Josh is up, sitting on the side of his bed with his head in his hands. I walk inside, closing the door behind me. He doesn’t turn. 

“Hey” I say, trying to put on a light tone. 

“Hey”. His voice is emotionless, nothing to analyse, nothing to take from it. I walk over, sitting down in front of him on my knees. He still doesn’t look at me, only right down between his legs. 

“Can we talk?” I ask. He finally lifts his face, looking into my eyes. Before I can begin, he starts. 

“Do you really think I would do something like that?”

“What?”

“Toying with your feelings. Being part of Jess’ and Emily’s schemes?” Now it’s my turn to look down, shame filling my chest. 

“I was so drunk Josh, still am, but I panicked, and spiralled…” I feel a tear run down the corner of my eye. I was not planning on crying, but this night had been more eventful and emotional than most. He doesn’t hesitate to dry them, catching each one with his thumbs. 

“I know, now I’m the one spiralling, sorry” he whispers. I lean forward, hugging him around his waist. He hugs me back. 

“I didn’t mean to pull away”, I explain, not being brave enough to look him in the eyes while confessing. He pulls me away, looking at me. I can’t decipher his face, something hopeful maybe, but not too much. It’s now or never, I must tell him. Before he can ask, I get up, lean forward, and kiss him. He doesn’t back away, instead he grabs my thighs, leading me on top of him, still on the edge of the bed. The kiss is sloppy, as we’re still drunk and a bit dizzy. His hands wander to my waist, grabbing hold of the top of my bottoms. I bite his bottom lip, making him grunt in response. 

“Fuck” he mutters. Grabbing harder, making me gasp. He uses the opportunity to put his tongue in my mouth. I let him. He moves his hands, signalling me to grind on him, and I do. I want him. Bad. My body warms up, the window’s still open, but I can’t feel the cold. As I move on him, he pulls off his own flannel, before dragging my shirt off. I do the same to him. Feeling him up from the lower part of his muscular stomach to his shoulders. My breathing quickens, feeling every curve of his body with my fingertips, trying to memorise it all. He's warm, tense but calm, and I melt into his touch. I lean forward to capture his lips again, and he meets me halfway. I can feel myself getting wetter by the minute, and before I know it, he turns us around, laying my back on the bed, hovering over me. He leans down again, kissing my collar and neck. I can’t help the whines that come out of me. I feel needy, hot. I need him. He stops by my breasts, looking up. 

“Do you want this?” he asks. 

“Yes Josh, please. I want you” 

He smiles in response, and I can’t help but mirror it. 

***

Loud bangs are heard on the door. I wake up with a headache, but luckily no nausea. I poke Josh, making him wake up abruptly, grabbing his head, a painful look on his face. His headache seems worse than mine. 

“Someone’s in the hallway” I say, leaning down and kissing his head. 

“Fuck” he whispers. “Let’s get this over with”

“What is it?” he shouts through the door. 

“Josh, we need you!” I hear Mike shout. “Your sisters are missing!”

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

Y'all, when it comes to the announcement about the games, I really don't think this is just the end of Obey Me. In fact, I think they're gonna come out with a third game. What they're gonna be doing, it's the same thing they did with the original game when Nightbringer came out, essentially, but this time they're straight up announcing it. And they even said themselves, it's not the end of the story, and as some have pointed out, yes, they did just start the date feature. They're most likely to be starting a third game with a continuation of the storyline, just like they did before. I get being upset, I don't want the story to end, either, but I genuinely think they're planning to transition to another game after this, so I think maybe we should all give them a chance to show us what they have planned at the very least <333

Something I'd also like to add, since I've re-read the announcement a few times. If they were just straight up shutting down all games and not working on other apps, they would've just said "there will be no more Obey me apps". However, they specifically said, multiple times, that only Obey Me! + Obey Me! Nightbringer will stop receiving updates.

And yeah, they'll be taking some time to do more in-person events, and we might have to wait a little bit for more virtual/online stuff or whatever, but they never said there wouldn't be new games after this point

[black-cat-luck]

Can you do headcanons about Bruce and Jason’s father and son activities??? 🫶🏾

Father and son Jason and Bruce is my weak point of course.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

𖥔 There’s few activities you can do as Batman and Robin. As Bruce Wayne and his son, they can do anything, as long as you don’t mind the media that follows you.

𖥔 Bruce doesn’t like Jason being in the media eye much when he’s first adopted. The boy is already training to be Robin, already exclaimed he doesn’t mind, but once news breaks out of Bruce Wayne’s newest adoption, they’re getting papped, followed, and as ready as Jason thought he was, those lights in his little eyes really are too bright. Bruce doesn’t have his cape to wrap him up in and hide him like he’s so used to doing, so he takes off his own sunglasses, they’re loose and hardly hold on Jason’s face, but it’s better than nothing, and they can continue with their little trip to the mall.

𖥔 Jason loves animals. Bruce notices in the way he brings extra snacks to give to stray cats while they’re patrolling, or the way he stops to pet every dog that approaches him. Bruce watches fondly every time, especially when Jason looks at him with bright sparkling eyes and a dog getting comfortable in his arms.

𖥔 Bruce takes him to the zoo after learning of his love for animals. Jason is bouncing with every step as they walk to each exhibit, even giving Bruce random little animal facts for each one they see. When they’re readying to leave Jason’s eyes get caught by the gift shop, and Bruce is happy to lead him inside. He overlooks each stuffed toy and pen topper, though he doesn’t touch any. When he tells Bruce he’s ready to go, and starts heading to the door Bruce frowns. “Don’t you want something?” He asks, Jason looks between him and the stand he was next to, plush giraffes staring back at him. Bruce watches him for a long moment before nodding toward them. “Pick whatever you want.” He says, Jason nervously smiles, and grabs the snow leopard he’d been thinking about since they walked in. He doesn’t have to say that he didn’t think he could get anything because he’s used to only being able to look, not buy. And Bruce didn’t need to ask, letting the boy grab what he wants, and even when he assures Jason he can pick more than one, Jason holds the plushie closer to his chest and insists she’s all he wants. Bruce ruffles his hair as they walk outside again.

𖥔 Jason gets into art the older he gets. He’d always been a smart boy, he always loved different forms of art, but the older he is, the more meaning it has to him, the more he loves it. Bruce takes him to museums, watching from a few steps behind as Jason admires each work, reading each description, studying every line.

𖥔 When Jason starts asking to go to the library more Bruce has him make a list of all the books he wants to read, and has the library in the manor updated. He tells Jason the library is his welcome home gift, and that he can read every book he’d like; and if there’s any they don’t have, Bruce will get them. Jason spends a lot of his time in there, and Bruce sits with him. They don’t talk much or do anything except read or doing their own respective business, but they sit together, accepting tea and snacks Alfred brings them, and when Jason falls asleep Bruce makes sure to put a bookmark in between his pages to assure he doesn’t lose his spot, and covers him with a blanket.

𖥔 Jason likes baking, so Bruce always makes sure there’s plenty of ingredients in the pantry’s, and sits at the island, keeping his promise to Alfred that he won’t touch any appliances unsupervised, but keeping Jason company, making this a bonding moment, they’re doing it together, even if Bruce is just sitting there and licking one of the spoons while they wait for it to bake.

𖥔 They end up watching tv shows together. It’s unspoken, it’s accidental, but when they’re both benched from patrol after a nasty accident, Bruce brings himself to Jason’s room to ask a question, and does that awkward stand half in the doorway watching the tv show playing on the TV (it’s Friends) and when they’ve gone through almost two episodes Jason waves him in, and Bruce sits in his beanbag chair and watches it with him, which becomes an accidental activity where they watch shows together.

𖥔 Jason and Bruce still watch friends, years later, when they’re not speaking and Jason hasn’t found it in himself to forgive or move on yet. They’re miles apart, haven’t spoken in weeks, but when they’re stressed, or tired, or need anything to create noise to silence what’s in their heads, their tvs flicker the familiar scenes, and even when it makes his heart heavy, Jason holds his ratty stuffed leopard close, and watches through tired eyes, remembering the feeling of lying in Bruce’s lap when he was fighting how tired he truly was, now having to pull the blanket over himself, cause nobody else is here to do it for him. It’s small moments like these that remind Jason he was more than just a solider, and miles away Bruce is petting Damian’s cat, making up for the way he misses carding his fingers through Jason’s hair, watching the same scene, the same moment, they’re still father and son, and both know deep down they always will be. And maybe Jason will come home trudging through the snow around the same time Chandler does.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This felt so sweet and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, thank you for the request. ᡣ𐭩

[em1i2a3]

I Saw You In A Dream (Part One of Two)

Bjorn x fem!reader

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I’m really getting into this format right now and I am honestly loving this community a lot! I wrote this one kind of out of the blue, but I broke it up into two parts because I was really wanting to build things up more. For this particular part I was hoping to bring some aspects of Alien Isolation into this by including the Seegson Synthetics (or the ‘Working Joes’), but don’t worry it isn’t that integral to the plot, and I’m trying to not touch the lore too much. I hope you guys enjoy this first part though, I will be working on this and many more so keep an eye out for the updates :)

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Blood/Surgical Procedures, Some Angst, and a little tiny bit of fluff, no smut in this chapter, keep an eye out for the next part tho hehe.

A P.S From the Writer: The title is taken from a song by The Japanese House. I typically listen to music when I write to put me in a good headspace so the song that I tune into to wrap up the chapter usually inspires the title. I will probably make a playlist at some point.

Word Count: 5,615 (Another chunky one!)

The blueprints were laid out on the table. The only light that illuminated the trailer was just above where everyone was sitting.

”This.” Tyler points with the edge of his pen, “Is where we would enter.” He instructed.

”How do you know the doors will even be open?” Bjorn chimed in, interrupting the game plan Tyler was trying to lay out for the team.

“Because I’ve scoped out the place already. You think I’m going to send you in without knowing the ins and outs of the fucking place?” Bjorn shrugged.

”Don’t know, that’s why I asked.” He shot back, walking away from the blueprints. You glanced over at him, watching him settle on the couch with a rough sigh, extending his arm out across the top, getting himself into a comfortable position away from everyone.

”Bjorn, you know you’re gonna have to look the blueprints over to actually know where the fuck you’re going right?” Navarro commented, staring daggers at him from over her shoulder.

”I’m sure I’ll be able to get a play-by-play from all of you, so I’ll stay right here, thank you.” He responded.

“This is an abandoned Weyland-Yutani building Bjorn. We need to be on our fucking game if we don’t want to get caught, now is not the time to have one of your fits.” You said, the backs of your ankles hitting gently against the cabinets below where you were sitting. You knew Tyler had been planning this for a while, and he had worked hard to obtain the blueprints of the place. Not only that, but you knew he was worried about Bjorn copping an attitude, he always did that when he was either jealous or when he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. In this situation, you couldn’t tell why he was being this way.

“If it’s abandoned I’m sure we won’t have any issues, honey.” He smirked. You could feel your blood begin to boil, as your cheeks turned a blush red. He definitely knew how to push everyone’s buttons.

”You think nobody has the same idea of scavenging the place for parts?” Tyler’s voice was filled with disbelief, taken aback by how stupid one person could be. “This is basically a suicide mission if we don’t have a plan. It could be a trap for all we know.”

“Then why are we even trying?” Bjorn questioned, trying to catch Tyler on his own words, his grip tightened on the table, and his teeth bit the flesh on the inside of his lip.

”Because if we don’t try we will be slaves to the corporation for the rest of our fucking lives. If you want that, then you can suit yourself, but we are willing to give it a try.” He said, motioning to the group. At this point everyone was staring at Bjorn, trying to see if any of his features were indicating that he was going to give in and return to his spot at the table, but when he didn’t budge, Tyler just continued with explaining the plan.

————

“Do you know why he was being such a dick today?” Kay asked, leaning against your workstation, looking down on you, watching as your hands worked on fixing your headlamp. You shook your head, wiping the sweat off your forehead, making a note that you needed to find some spare parts to fix your fan.

“I don’t really care, he’s gonna get himself killed if he comes with us though, that’s all I know.” You commented, your nimble fingers working to rewire one of the cords that had been fried. A pang of silence slipped into the room, as you glanced up at her, seeing a small frown appear on her lips. “What? What do you want me to do? Talk to him? Convince him to ask Tyler to show him the blueprints and go over the plan again with him?” You said, the disbelief in your voice almost palpable.

”Rain, Navarro and I have already tried, and Andy….Well you know he won’t take well to Andy.” She says, watching you lean back in your chair so you can get a better look at her, seeing the hidden desperation in her pleading brown eyes. Even though Bjorn could be an asshole at times she still cared about him, and she wanted to make sure that he was going to be safe. Kay would always tell you that family was family regardless of how stupid or mean they could be at times, this was one of those times. You placed the headlamp down on the desk with a defeated sigh.

”Fine…I’ll try, but I’m not promising you anything, if he walks back in with a black eye, don’t blame me. He really pushed my buttons today.” You replied, standing up from your seat, grabbing your sweater, cigarettes and lighter from your work area. She nodded with an understanding smile.

”I know he isn’t fun to be around most of the time, but whether you like it or not we need to have each other's backs, even if it may be hard.” You pulled the sweater over your head, fluffing your hair up, and shaking out the static, shoving your hands into the big pocket to make sure the fabric was covering your oil-stained tank top.

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” You sighed, “I’m gonna go have a cigarette, I’ll update you if my approach works.” She nodded, as you walked by her, down the cramped space of your work area, managing to shift by all the things that you had stacked by the door. You stumbled out into the living room area of the trailer, pushing open the door to step outside onto the makeshift porch you all pitched in to create. You were surprised to see that Bjorn was already outside smoking, sitting on one of the crates everyone used as chairs, watching people go by in their machines. The bright work lights above you were dimmed as the workers were trying to fix the generators that powered them, which allowed your eyes to easily adjust to the surroundings.

“Hey,” You greeted causally. Bjorn glanced over at you, eyebrows going up at your voice as you took up your spot on the other side of the door, leaving a large gap between the two of you. Your hands dug around the pocket of your sweater, slipping one of the cigarettes out of your previously opened pack, and retrieving your lighter in the process. You wrapped your lips around the filter, shifting slightly to get it positioned well before bringing the flame up to the end, breathing in as you lit it. You slid the lighter back in with your pack, and pulled the cigarette away from your lips, blowing the smoke out.

“Y’know, if you’re out here to talk to me about getting on my knees and begging Tyler for forgiveness so he can show me the blueprints and go over the plan again, I’m not gonna do it.” You looked over at him, motioning to your cigarette.

��Does it look like I’m out here to talk to you about that? You made your choice, I’m not here to coddle you like the people in there do.” You commented, shifting your head to the trailer, “They actually care about you.”

“And you?” He pressed, the end of his cigarette glowing, as he took a deep drag, his cheeks hollowing out while doing so. You shrugged.

”Me? I’m indifferent. Couldn’t care less what you choose to do, but I always have to play middleman and run interference when you get out of hand.” You lied. Even when Bjorn was being an absolute trouble maker you still had that little piece of yourself that wanted to make sure he was okay and safe, and breathing. You were hard on yourself and practically refused to admit that it was more than just a friendly concern you had for him. He rolled his eyes, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, forcing the smoke out of his mouth as he spoke.

”Yeah but you don’t have to do that.” He states.

”I’m sorry, it seems like you haven’t met your cousin Kay before, maybe I should introduce you to her sometime.” You shot back, flicking some ashes off onto the ground below you, crossing an arm over your torso. He smirked.

“I’ll repeat myself again sweetheart, since it seems like you didn’t hear me the first time. You don’t have to do that.” Your eyes shot daggers at him, watching his tongue lick his bottom lip, moistening it. “You always have the option to say no, you just choose to step in 'cause that’s the way you show you care.” He stated.

”No. That’s the way I keep the peace.” You emphasized, taking a quick drag “And fix your stupid mistakes.” You added, blowing the smoke out in the process.

“My mistakes?” He exclaimed, pointing at himself, a laugh escaping his throat, “You’re fucking ridiculous love.” You kicked around some rocks that surrounded you, as you stepped toward where Bjorn sat, watching his back straighten.

”Remember the time the mines laid you off 'cause you wouldn’t stop fucking around on the job?” He glanced away from you, looking down at the ground, the rocks crunching under your feet as you leaned into the crate he was sitting on with the side of your hip. “Tyler called, told me all about it, he was revved up because you didn’t have anything else apart from that to fall back on, asked me for a favour to help you out, and practically begged me.” You inhaled against the filter feeling a gentle burn in your lungs, breathing out a cloud of smoke. Bjorn’s eyes returned to you, watching your movements closely, examining your facial features, the way your pupils were blown out due to the dim lighting, and how your lips pursed as you continued the trip down memory lane.

“I refused to help at first, you put yourself into that situation so why should I care? Then all the others called me, and I couldn’t stand it. So I called your manager and made a trade with him to fix some equipment. He hired you back the very next day...Do you remember?” You could see his jaw clench in the dim lighting.

”Yeah. I remember. Didn’t know that was you, I thought I-“

”Was just that important?” You interrupted, your eyes meeting his shiny blue irises, catching him staring, a smirk drawing up on the corners of your mouth as you took another drag from your cigarette, blowing it off to the side out of courtesy, shaking your head. “No. He was adamant about keeping you away from the place actually. It took a lot of convincing.” Bjorn bit the inside of his cheek, tapping off the excess ash onto the rocks below him.

“The people in there knew how much you needed that job to keep you distracted. They care about you.” You took a moment to take another drag, breathing out before leaning in close to him, almost as if you were going to kiss him. “My honest recommendation for you would be to go in there and ask Tyler to go through that plan before you get yourself killed…Because that will be one mistake I won’t be able to fix.” Your voice was smooth, and sultry in a way even if the context of the conversation didn’t fit that type of tone. It made Bjorn’s stomach twist in knots hearing it change so quickly. He dragged his teeth along his bottom lip. You tilted your head a bit, before leaning in even closer, swaying to the side right when you were in close enough proximity so your mouth was at his ear. You pressed the cigarette out on the metal of the trailer, hearing a gentle hiss. Bjorn closed his eyes a disappointed sigh exiting his mouth, feeling your warm breath tickle his ear. “Thought I was gonna do something else?” You asked, leaning back to put your unfinished cigarette into your pocket, a playful smirk dusting your lips, as you shook your head, seeing his dazed eyes studying you.

“In your dreams Bjorn.”

———-

It was you, Tyler, Bjorn, Rain, Andy, and Navarro standing outside the fence that surrounded the abandoned Weyland building the next week. Kay had come down with a fever that day, so she stayed behind to recover and keep the trailer under supervision.

”Andy, you’re with me in the basement, we have to see if there’s anything valuable in the computer system. Rain, Navarro, you two stay together, search through the first two levels.” Tyler paused, looking over at you apologetically, “You and Bjorn will go to the top floor.” You nodded at him sharply, as he threw over a walkie-talkie to you. “Keep in touch, okay?” You slipped the communication device into your pocket, adjusting your headlamp.

”We will meet back here in an hour, right?” You asked, making sure all the plans were understood. Tyler nodded. You sighed, looking over at Bjorn, “Alright, let’s get going.” Motioning your head towards the hole in the fence that Tyler had stretched out a few moments before, fixing the handgun that you had strapped on your thigh. Bjorn crouched down, sneaking underneath the secret entrance as you followed closely behind. You glanced over your shoulder, giving the crew one last look before running towards the building.

From the outside, the building looked like it had been out of commission for decades, even though it had been a mere month since the corporation had let all its employees go. None of the security lights were on, and the emergency lights that were backups for the outage were barely working, this allowed the both of you to easily sneak in through the side door.

The inside of the building looked as if time had stopped within it. Papers were still strewn about the desks, coffee mugs half full with films of mold encrusting the liquid that remained at the bottom of them, and of course brochures with advertisements painted on them, promoting their featured items; insurance, synthetics, and computers.

“How’s it looking?” Tyler’s voice echoed from the walkie-talkie. You dug into your pocket and brought the mic up to your mouth.

”Looks like a building that was owned by a multimillion-dollar corporation. Making our way up to the top level now, I’ll call you if I need you.” You stated, sliding the device back into your pocket, tilting your head towards the emergency stairway.

”There’s an elevator right there.” Bjorn pointed out, you paused.

”Yeah? And this is an abandoned fucking building. If you want to risk getting stuck in there by all means go ahead…I’m gonna take the stairs.” He sighed.

”Always your way or the highway huh?” He commented, pushing by you to go towards the door, once again with you trailing behind him closely. You turned on your headlamp, and walked up in silence, your hand holding the handle of your gun, making sure you were prepared if you ran into anything. By the time you reached the top level, Bjorn was winded, hunching over his knees to catch his breath.

”My god that was a fucking workout.” He said, wheezing slightly. You stared down at him, your eyebrows raising at the way he tried to stabilize himself. It took him a few minutes to finally get his breathing under control before he stood up straight, his face darkened by the blood that had rushed to his head from the positioning, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You good now princess?” You asked mocking the nickname that he used with some people, catching him off guard.

”Yeah yeah. I’m fine.” He brushed the comment off, pushing against the door of the top floor, walking into the dimly lit room, with you following. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bjorn murmured, you looked up at him, then followed his gaze to what he was going on about. It was a room full of desks, and different designs for synthetics, with a wide range of styles, big, and small, from human-looking to robotic and many more. One of the models stood out more than the most, one that you had never seen before. They were scattered among the rest, but you couldn’t recognize the make even though you had done extensive research on Weyland's production scheme, their goal of making the synthetics as human-looking as possible. These were extremely far away from that goal. The models looked cold and rubbery, the pale blue finish making your spine straighten. No wonder they wanted to make them look human, You thought.

“Just our fucking luck we get sent to a level that has a bunch of synthetics.” Bjorn pressed his fingers into the sides of his head, continuing to rifle off expletives as you grabbed the walkie-talkie.

”Tyler, we’re on the top level.” You informed, trying to make it quick so he didn’t catch Bjorn’s rant, but to no avail.

”What’s going on up there? What’s all the noise?” His voice was muffled, cutting in and out. You figured he might have been going down into the basement and losing connection.

”There’s synthetics up here.” You whispered, your eyes following Bjorn’s rapid, and chaotic pacing, his hands running through his hair nervously. There was a beat of silence, as you pressed down on the side of the device again, “Hello?” You mumbled, realizing that you lost connection. You slid the walkie-talkie back into your pocket, ignoring Bjorn’s panic, your eyes scanned the surrounding area, your hand clenching the gun on your leg once again. From where you were standing you could see files on each desk with prototype names written down on bright green sticky notes. You moved towards one of them, flipping it open to look at the typed notes that you assumed the developer had written out, trying to find any information you could on the state the synthetic was in.

“-Fucking stupid goddamn things are gonna kill us.” You turned your attention back to Bjorn, watching him seethe. You knew he had always had a weird thing about synthetics, and you didn’t blame him, he didn’t have a positive experience with any of them, except Andy, and that was saying something. He always toted the line of tolerating his presence, but this reaction was overboard even to his standards.

“Bjorn-” You cut in.

“I knew this was a bad idea, I fucking knew we were going to run into something like this-”

“Bjorn!” You yelled over him, causing his voice to cut off mid-sentence, stopping him dead in his tracks, “They’re not going to turn on.” You lifted the file in the air for him to look at what you were reading, “Their software isn’t even installed yet, they’re just the shells.” You threw the papers on the table, now going through the drawers, shuffling the contents around to see if there was anything that could be of use.

“H-How do you know that all of them are like that?” He stuttered out, slowly moving towards you, hoping that if anything were to happen there would be an advantage in numbers. His eyes glanced over at the synthetic you stood beside, the hazy blue skin tone practically glowing in the darkness that surrounded the both of you. A shiver went up his spine, seeing the unnaturally empty look the eyes had.

“Well, we’ll just keep checking the files and searching the desks for parts. The power is out in the building so I don’t think-.” Suddenly the sound of the bright fluorescent lights turning on interrupted your explanation, your eyes burning from your pupils trying to adjust to the harsh change, a conjoined hiss echoing between you and Bjorn. The low hum of the computers turning on grabbed your attention immediately, you glanced up at the screen to look at what was loading, not knowing what kind of codes were popping up.

“You were saying?” Bjorn commented, looking over your shoulder so he could see what you were seeing, not realizing how close he was to your exposed neck, his hot breath causing your skin to become sticky. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, ignoring the feeling, a loud locking noise echoing through the space.

“Fuck.” You muttered, running over to the emergency staircase door, pushing against it, not feeling any give to it, “Oh fuck.” Bjorn let out a forced laugh.

“We’re fucking screwed.” He leaned against the desk, his head tilted back to look at the ceiling. “We are so FUCKING screwed!” He screamed, kicking the synthetic in front of him causing it to fall onto the ground, unplugging from the computer. You flinched at his outburst.

“Bjorn calm down, please…” He looked over at you, his head shaking back and forth.

“Calm down? We are stuck in a fucking room chalked FULL of synthetics. We have no idea what their directives are, and we don’t have communications with that stupid fuckhead in the basement. Then you tell me to calm down?!” He yelled, staring down at the synthetic he had kicked. You stood against the door, grabbing the walkie-talkie out of your pocket, and pressing down on the button on the side, hands shaking from all the screaming as you kept your eyes locked on Bjorn’s.

“Tyler…Are you there?” The room's silence was deafening at that point, all you could hear was the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights. From the other end of the line all you could hear was static, the sound of something scraping against the mic. “Tyler god damn it are you there?!” You snapped, noticing a pair of eyes begin to glow a dim red in the distance, your breath hitching in your throat. Bjorn could see your facial expressions change, twisting and forming into something filled with sheer panic. All your skin had lost colour, and you turned pale, almost translucent, your breathing speeding up, as you tried to get yourself back into check. “Tyler please, if you can hear me, we are locked in on the top level…We need help.” Your voice was in a low whisper, your eyes still trained on the synthetic that began to tap around its body, trying to locate the plug that kept it connected to the computer as you slowly slid yourself down the door. The thought of their directives now coming into perspective.

“W-What are you doing?” Bjorn questioned, moving towards you, a confused look appearing on his face. You were shaking your head, watching another set of eyes glow red, and another.

“Bjorn…Get down.” You said through gritted teeth, your hand going towards your gun again. He crouched onto his knees, getting in front of you, looking at your frantic eye movements, now drawing his attention to what you were looking at.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to get out as one of the synthetics unplugged itself, its head slowly, methodically, turning side to side, like it was scanning the area. You were about to say something but Bjorn’s hand clasped against your mouth tightly, his eyes glaring over at you, the pointer finger of his other hand coming up to his lips, signalling for you to be quiet.

“Get under a desk.” He mouthed, “And don’t make a sound.” He added, watching you nod, his hand slowly leaving your mouth, your eyes searching his for a moment before shifting onto your knees, and crawling towards one of the nearby desks, trying your best to be as quiet as possible. Your ears were in tune with how the synthetics slowly began to move around, not making a noise, like they were trying to be as sneaky as you and Bjorn. Your movements were quick as you shoved yourself under the nearest desk, your back pressed up against the hardwood, hoping that you were hidden enough. You looked across the way, seeing Bjorn take his spot across from you, under his separate spot, his eyes trailing over to you almost like he was silently checking in. From behind the desk, you could hear two objects drop to the ground, the sound of feet shuffling entering the environment soon after. Bjorn’s gaze locked in above the desk, his jaw tightening as he observed what was going on above you.

“Guys. Are you there?” Tyler’s voice echoed through the walkie-talkie line, your hand immediately grabbing it out of your pocket to turn it off, but it was too late. The synthetic had already made its way around the desk in one swift movement.

“We are only here to help.” The modulated voice said, grabbing onto your wrist as it dragged you out from under the desk, tugging you up onto your feet, “Just hold still.” Then everything went black.

---------

“Tyler, drive for fuck sake, I don’t know if he’s breathing.” Rain’s voice ripped through the darkness.

“I’m trying!” He yelled back. You could feel your head pulsing as it lulled to the side, your neck feeling limp. You struggled to take in a breath without your lungs feeling like they were about to collapse. A whistling sound escaped your throat as you tried to breathe in and out..

“Andy what’s going on with her back there?!” Navarro’s voice echoed through the truck, sounding exhausted as the wheels hit three consecutive bumps in a row, shaking everyone in the enclosed space.

“She may have an internal bleed of some sort, I hear wheezing, and she is cold to the touch.” He responded calmly, feeling his hands run down the sides of your ribcage, a low cry escaping your lips as he touched what you presumed to be a bruise on your right side. “Rain, I don’t know what is happening.” Andy’s voice trembled slightly, turning you to your left, as a louder, more guttural cry echoed through the space, your chest feeling like it was being ripped out from your flesh. Your lungs were on fire, as your mouth opened, trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible, another whistling noise accompanying your breaths. A high-pitched moan now joined in with the noises you were making. You tried to force your eyes open, but nothing was working.

“Bjorn…It’s okay, we are all here, just calm down, you’re in the truck.” Rain explained, you could feel Andy’s fingers press down onto one area of your ribcage, tapping against them.

“Rain I think she’s got blood around her lungs, the sounds are dull, she won’t be able to breathe properly until we relieve the pressure and remove the clot-.” Andy’s words caught in his throat, as there was aggressive movement happening from in front of you.

“Bjorn, relax man, don’t move, we will take care of her.” Navarro said softly “She’s gonna be alright.” You couldn’t make out what he was trying to say, but you could hear his voice, the hoarseness of it, the jumbled wording coming out like gibberish. From the darkness you could hear things being moved around, hearing someone searching for something.

”Andy here. Take this. Do what you need to do to keep her alive.” Rain interrupted, her tone firm. You felt your sweater go up, as cold fingertips pressed into your ribcage, trying to locate the space between. He stopped momentarily, keeping his finger on the spot. You could hear shuffling, and then the sharp tip of a blade pressing into the spot Andy had found. A screech escaping your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Andy repeated over and over again, as he dug his finger into the slit it made, creating a bigger hole, tearing your flesh. You could feel hot sticky blood run down your skin, as he removed his finger, replacing it with something hard and plastic, threading it through.

“What the fuck are you doing to her?! Get your fucking hands off of her!” Bjorn yelled, his voice muffled by something, you couldn’t tell if it was your ears or something that was physically wrong with him that was causing his words to sound like that.

“Bjorn, he is helping her…Look at the tube.” Rain said, there was movement once again, as your chest began to feel less and less weighed down, until finally you could draw in a sharp breath, letting the air fill your lungs with ease.

————

The first thing you heard when you regained consciousness was the soft snoring of someone. It was calm, quiet, soothing in a way. You moved slightly, as pain shot up your side, a hiss escaping your throat. You could feel that you were propped up with a few pillows behind your back, as you forced your eyes open, the dim light of your cramped room coming into focus. You swallowed, taking in your surroundings, noticing Bjorn sitting at your bedside with his head tilted back pressing against the wall behind him. He looked roughed up, his face filled with scrapes that looked like they were almost healed. His lip was busted and bruised, and there was a bright red spot just below his eye, not being able to identify if it was a scar or not. If he looked like that you couldn’t imagine what kind of damage was done to you.

“B-B-Bjorn.” You breathed, your voice hollow and dry, as you reached out your hand, tapping against his leg. He hummed, his eyes slowly blinking open, his gaze meeting yours, a small smile coming up on his lips.

”Hey….Good morning.” He said in a joking tone, moving his chair so he was closer to your bedside. You swallowed loudly.

”How…How long have I…” You struggled to speak, watching him grab a glass of water off from your bedside table, holding the straw for you so you could drink, the liquid cooling the inside of your chest.

”About a week.” He responded softly, pulling the straw away from your lips, “You had a few clots in your lungs…Andy was able to remove them with this makeshift chest tube thing he created in the back of the truck, once they were out it was like you slipped into this deep sleep…We didn’t think you would wake up.” He admitted, breaking eye contact, hearing an unfamiliar sadness lacing his voice. You swallowed, nodding.

“And how long have you been sitting here?” You asked quietly.

”The entire time.” He responded, “Took a break to shower, but the majority of the time I was here, waiting.” You could feel your heart catch at the confession, he took in a shaky breath, “I was so scared.” His eyes met yours, as you noticed a tear fall down his cheek. You hadn’t seen Bjorn like this. You were around when his mother passed and even then the state he slipped into was that of rage, not tears. Your eyebrows knitted together as you reached a hand out, placing it against his stubbly cheek, catching a stray droplet that fell from the corner of his eye, “I thought I was going to lose you.” He whispered, his hand coming up to place it atop of yours. You could feel your eyes begin to fill with tears as well, the emotions flooding you quickly, overwhelming you, realizing how much Bjorn had done, how much time he dedicated to making sure you were going to have someone be there when you woke up. He took your hand off his cheek, bringing the back of it up to his lips, giving it a light peck as he held it tightly.

“Come here.” You beckoned, finding what little strength you had in your muscles to push yourself to the right side of the bed to make room for him. He looked at you, almost as if he was asking if you were sure. You patted the free space now, watching him get up and kick off his shoes, lifting the heavy covers so he could slide in next to you. His cheeks were wet with his tears as you wiped them with your knuckle, “I’m okay Bjorn, you don’t have to worry anymore.” His rough hand held your elbow gently, as he nodded, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, the both of you closing your eyes, your hands holding his neck as you breathed him in. You laid there enjoying the silence for a moment, until you decided to lean in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, tasting the blood that was caked on them from the cuts. His breath hitched in his throat as his hand rested on your waist. You pulled away quickly realizing what you just did.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know what I was th-.” He shook his head.

”Please don’t apologize, I’ve wanted that for so long, don’t ruin it with an apology.” Bjorn murmured, his forehead meeting yours again. You smirked.

”I don’t want you getting the wrong idea, thinking I’m doing it to thank you.” He leaned back to look at you, his eyes scanning over your face.

”Are you doing it for any other reasons I may not know about?” He questioned.

”Maybe it is the fact that we almost died in that building without giving ourselves a chance to admit there’s something between us that we never acknowledged.” You explained, your fingertips tracing his frowny face tattoo just below his ear.

”So you feel it too, hmm?” You glanced at him, “I knew you couldn't possibly resist.” He joked, leaning forward to place another kiss against your lips, “I didn't even have to wait to have a dream about it either.” He added.

[kakusu-shipping]

The current full Bear Polycule line up, height (mostly) accurate

[egophiliac]

I love the idea of teenage Malleus hating his new baby brother Silver but slowly falling for him

words cannot express how much I adore that Mal's reaction to seeing a human baby for the first time was "the fuck is this. why does it look like that. gross." (then he immediately got stuck on babysitting duty and the rest is history)

I am SUCH a sucker for that trope of "non-humans being fascinated by normal human behavior", so between that and all the delicious angst going on I was eating VERY well. >:) Malleus being so impressed that two-year-old Silver can walk, because it took him twenty years to stand on two legs! Lilia barging in on the Zigvolts at 2 AM being like "he won't stop crying what do I do"! Lilia trying to feed Silver rats and Malleus being like "...please just stick with what the books say to feed it"! it is all so. chef's kiss.

[puppyeared]

updated xin ref

[pnfc]

i haint watched the dang chibisode and idk if ill actually watch it with sound on sdfjk but i have a hurt feeling about them casually imbuing perry with speech for a one off gag because the idea that he needs to talk to communicate is fake. we had 4 seasons of wacky magic hijinks cartoon where perry never needed verbal speech to communicate. they couldve done this gag at any point in the show but they didn't, and the fact that they didn't felt significant. perry's muteness is such a core part of his character, to me, to the way i conceive of him/write him. i don't wanna overreact to a goofy little side cartoon (even tho i'm doing it anyway) but it's still the characters, and it still upsets me! ok that's it i've said my piece

[retroautomaton]

🍯🍨📘

[suave-hogan]

revives evil sung with no context and a new look

[p1x1x]

[spiderin-space]

Throwback to when I would draw Kirby gijinkas

[codecicle]

charlie is streaming in about an hour

i assume a twitch mod or someone from offslimers chat just sent this, because his title is changed and it looks like hes preparing for a stream! expect a slimestream in about an hour!

[ihearnocomplaints]

me if uhhhh me if you uh if you reblog my art and give me love and attention