#THE: “PERHAPS WE CAN TRY AGAIN NEXT TIME” SMOOTH

[chaotic-zora]

Thresh later to Nyvor: BABE YOU WON'T BELIEVE THE HOT PIECE OF FISH I SNAGGED TODAY.

Note: This dating sim contains suggestive & spicy themes.

Thresh wouldn't be all that difficult to romance. However, in order to get Thresh to be more than a casual fling you'd have to fully romance him AND his mate Nyvor. They're a package deal when it comes to dating.

BONUS (POLL):

[sanguineterrain]

YES. BODYGUARD JASON TODD.

He's used to being looked over, just seen as meat & muscle (he doesn't mind, it's part of the job) but you're the first "job" who actually sees him, talks to him, makes him laugh 🫠 he doesn't know what he'll do if someone actually tries to put their hands on you 🙂

hiiii aud thank you for the scrumptious jaybird thoughts <3 so begins my bodyguard!Jason agenda!

bodyguard!jason todd x gn!reader. fluff, pining, and tension so thick you could cut it with a batarang.

All fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Y'know, I think you just keep me around to carry your bags."

You grin over your shoulder where the Red Hood trails behind you, always five paces behind. Your takeout bag is in one hand, your new shirts in another. He wears a red mask over the lower half of his face, like always. Only seeing his eyes used to unnerve you, but now it's a comfort, finding his gaze in a crowd.

"That's not true. I also keep you around for something nice to look at," you say.

He tilts his head. Your belly flutters. "Flattery will get you nowhere, trouble."

"Flattery got me outside of my hotel, Red."

He sighs. "Tricking the hotel concierge doesn't count."

You laugh. "Sure it does. I think it does." You stick your arm out. "Will you walk next to me?"

"You know my rule."

"But you can easily cover me if you're next to me! And I'm so good at ducking. See?"

You duck and straighten a few times in a row to demonstrate. A few people stare. You ignore them. Hood's eyes crinkle in a way that tells you he's smiling.

"Mm, incredible technique. Wonder who taught you that. A ruggedly handsome bodyguard, perhaps?"

"Always hungry for the credit," you say. "Despicable."

"Ain't I?"

You turn around and stop. He stops five paces behind. You take a step forward. He takes a step back.

"I wanna see your face when we talk," you say, face pinched.

"Not in public, trouble. It's for your safety. You know that."

"Can't you come a little closer?"

None of your friends are like this with their personal guards. A moment from a friend's birthday party resurfaces.

It's almost like you'd rather be with him than us. You know he's just doing his job, right?

Hood stays exactly where he is. "This is the ideal spot for covering you. Now, c'mon. Thought you wanted to shop."

You sigh and let your arms flop to your sides. He must be nervous today. You can't imagine why.

"Fine. Be that way."

You hurry ahead. Hood doesn't lag behind. Stupid long-legged bodyguard.

"You can be mad at me as long as you stay safe," he says.

You turn again, about to really bitch about how strict he's being. But his proximity stops you short. He's inched closer, so close that you can properly see his eyes.

"This close enough for you?" he asks.

Hood's eyes are warm in the light, mossy and rich. His lashes and brows are dark and thick. Once or twice, you've seen a splash of freckles across his nose. The bridge of his nose is crooked like it's been broken one too many times.

Dear God, you yearn to know him.

Your stomach does more flips. Hood watches you, half-lidded.

"What're y'doing, trouble?"

His voice is soft, the way it gets when he's trying to smooth over a tiff between you. You can't figure out why he does that. You always get over it. And so does he. He has no choice.

"I'm looking at you, Red," you say.

"Yeah? What're y'lookin' at me for?"

"'Cause I want to."

He blinks. "Me? Not much to look at."

You look at each other for another minute. The want bubbles up again, spills out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Please walk next to me," you say. "I need to know you're there."

He leans in to speak, black curl tumbling over his forehead. He smells sweet, like apples and spice. You almost appreciate the danger in your life because it keeps you in the Red Hood's line of sight.

"Wha's the matter? Y'nervous? I'm right here."

Oh, you're nervous, alright. Just not in the way he thinks. The way you ought to be.

You turn around. For your sake and his.

"Not nervous. Just... just... never mind. You pick where we go next, Red."

"It's your day. 'M just the driver," he says.

"If you won't walk next to me, the least you can do is pick where we go."

"The least I can do, huh?"

It's clear he isn't going to choose. So you watch him instead. You turn the corner and sneak glances over your shoulder. You don't care much about shopping anymore anyway. It's only an excuse to go out. To be alone with him.

Your answer comes. It's only for a split second, but you catch it anyway. He taught you to notice things after all. Says it could be the difference between living and dying.

You immediately change course. Hood follows you easily, and you breeze through the bookstore's entrance. You sneak a look to gauge his reaction. He's looking around, but that could just be him clocking the exits and obstacles. You grab his hand. He looks at your joined hands, then at you.

"Feeling lost?" he asks.

"No. Just trying to keep you present. Nothing’s gonna happen in a bookshop, Red."

That crease in the middle of his forehead returns. "'S my job to plan for the worst. Keeping you safe is the only thing that matters."

"Not the only thing."

His eyebrows rise. "Whaddya talking about? 'Course it is."

You look at your joined hands. This is bad. This is really, really bad. You'd might as well pull your heart out of your chest and let Hood carry that too.

You start to walk, fingers slipping out of his. Hood doesn't try to rejoin them.

He stays closer in here, close enough that you can talk quietly and smell his apple pie scent.

"What do you like to read?" you ask.

Hood glances at you. "Clocked that about me, did you?"

"I was taught by the best," you say sweetly.

He hums. Doesn't joke or laugh. Just makes a soft sound. It's not often you render him speechless.

"I loved Frankenstein as a kid. I always hoped he'd love his monster, but..."

Hood disappears for a moment, lost in his head. You take his hand, heart be damned.

"Red?"

He looks at you again. His eyes are wild. Sometimes, it seems like they glow.

"My... my dad used to read it to me," he says. "One time I asked if he'd love the monster anyway. He promised he would."

You rub his knuckles. He flinches, like he's forgotten where he is. 

"Someone's devotion to our monstrous parts is something we all want," you say.

You spend more time in the bookstore. Hood attracts a few stares, like always, but you're left alone. He carries your shopping without complaint, without strain, and you wonder if your friend was right, if this is just a job.

You buy a special edition of Frankenstein under his attention. Then you turn around and hand him the book. He keeps it under his arm.

"Ready to head back? Y'hungry?"

"That's for you," you say.

"Hm? What is?"

"The book. It's for you, Red."

Silence. The second time that you've stunned the words out of him. You're on a roll.

"Y'don't have to do that," he says, gentle as can be.

"It's a present for you. A thank you."

Hood shakes his head. "You don't need to thank me for protecting you. Just doing my job."

"I'm thanking you for being my friend. Because... you are, right? My friend?"

This time, Hood's eyes on you are heavy. You wonder if he can see your heart beating, see your belly fluttering, see the real reason why you get nervous around him.

"Yeah, trouble," he says, book cradled to his chest like it's precious cargo. "I'm yours."

[missberrycake]

So, I know we all love the headcanon that Eddie moved in with Wayne when he was a teen or a pre-teen, be it because one or both parents died, chucked him out, are in prison, etc. But! I’ve been thinking about another option.

What if Wayne has been looking after Eddie since he was a toddler?

It all comes as a bit of a shock to Wayne who, in his early forties, had pretty much assumed he’d missed the boat on the whole ‘kids’ thing. And yet, here he is, taking in his baby nephew when his brother turns up on his doorstep one day.

When it starts, it’s only supposed to be for a short while. His brother’s wife is newly out of the picture (it’s a crying shame, Wayne had liked her, she’d stayed a gentle soul throughout) and he just needs some time to get himself sorted, right? But then a week turns into a month, turns into two months, turns into half a year and Wayne? Well, he gets attached to the kid, so sue him. 

Because little Eddie is a rambunctious boy. He’s full of gummy smiles and bubbling laughter and Wayne runs himself in circles trying to stop him from toddling into sharp corners and sockets and yards of rope. The two of them are well suited, it seems, and Wayne takes to settling Eddie on his knee in the evenings and going through the races for the next day in the paper.

Eddie chooses a winner more than once. 

Every day, when Wayne comes to pick him up from Julia’s two trailers over (he’s still got to work, something his brother hadn’t considered before he left, or maybe he didn’t care), Eddie greets him with his arms out, already chatting away with the handful of phrases that he knows. 

The boy’s hair is soft and his cheeks smooth and if Wayne gets a little sentimental when he tucks him into bed at night, then nobody else needs to know, do they?

He’s a sweet boy. He deserves someone to care for him. 

So when his brother turns up again with vague mutterings about there being some work for him down in Florida, Wayne’s chest aches. 

“What’s your plan for the littl'un?” he asks.

“Ed? Whad’ya mean?”

“I mean, have you got a place to stay lined up? Who’s gonna look after him while you’re working?”

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

He shrugs and Wayne feels something close to panic bubbling in his veins. When he suggests that perhaps his brother should travel ahead, get himself settled first before sending for Eddie, he doesn’t expect him to agree so readily. He can’t say he’s much surprised though. 

The entire exchange doesn’t take more than ten minutes and his brother doesn’t ask after Eddie once, doesn’t show any desire to see him, doesn’t even step inside the trailer—not one jot of fatherly affection shines through. 

It only occurs to Wayne that evening that perhaps this was the outcome his brother wanted. But, hell, it’s fine with him—he’ll let him think he’s winning. Wayne knows who’s got the real prize here. 

He doesn’t mention the visit to Eddie, the kid doesn’t need to know, too busy digging holes and collecting bugs. 

Just like he expected, his brother never sends for the boy. They get letters for the first few years, poorly wrapped and ill-thought through trinkets for the kid’s birthday and Christmas, but it’s not long until they fall by the wayside too. 

Once Eddie’s older, they have a conversation about it. Have to, really, when Eddie comes home from preschool and is full to the brim of questions, because apparently Peter Gillespie says that everyone has to have a mom and a dad, “and I know I have a mom because you’ve told me about her and I said that she’s not around and Mrs. Lang told Peter to be quiet but then I thought about it, but I don’t know, ‘cause you’re my dad, right? I know I don’t call you dad, but that’s what you are, isn’t it? Because what else would you be and Peter says I have to have one.”

It floors Wayne for a moment, but he recovers quickly. He leads Eddie to the couch where he sets him on his lap. For the next while the two of them look through all the pictures that Wayne can find of Eddie’s mom and Wayne’s brother. Wayne makes sure to hold him close and tells him it doesn’t matter that he’s ‘just’ his uncle, that he loves him as much as he would a kid of his own, that he’ll always be around to take care of him. And Eddie takes it all in his stride, in the way only children can. 

“So I can’t call you dad?” he asks.

Wayne lets out a long breath, rubs at his jaw. 

“It’s not that you can’t, kiddo, it’s just that I ain’t.“ 

Because it feels a little like stealing. What would happen, if one day his brother came back and found his kid calling Wayne ‘Dad’. If the boot were on the other foot, Wayne would be angry as all heck. And there was still time, wasn’t there? For his brother to see the error of his ways? Who was Wayne to keep all of that from Eddie? 

“Okay,” Eddie says quietly. “Uncle Wayne is still good.”

“Oh, it’s still good, is it?” Wayne crows and squeezes Eddie tight. “I’m sure glad I meet your high standards, your majesty.”

Eddie just giggles at that. He always giggles when Wayne puts on his voices. 

“And what would the esteemed gentleman like for dinner tonight, huh? The options are spaghetti hoops, spaghetti hoops, or - now let me think. Oh! Spaghetti hoops.”

The nail in the coffin comes one day in the summer of 1978, just before Eddie’s twelfth birthday. It’s been over eight years since his brother dropped him off in search of better things and sure, there have been some days where Wayne has been tearing his hair out, but through all of it he knows he made the right decision that day in the doorway of the trailer. He wouldn’t change Eddie for the world, and he knows by now that there are some out there that would, who would only see the difficult or the different in him, but isn’t that what being a parent is? Loving your kid no matter what? Seeing the good in them and helping them see it themselves?

When his brother slams the door shut on some car so shiny that Wayne wonders if it’s fresh out of the packet, he knows they’re in for some trouble. 

“Nice car, man,” Eddie whistles from where he’d been lounging on the plastic chairs out the front of the trailer. Clearly the sight of something so drenched in luxury in their neighbourhood makes it so that he just can’t help himself.

Wayne’s brother grunts in that way that he always did when they were younger, like he’d gotten away with something. 

Wayne just watches, then, as his brother nods at the book in Eddie’s hands. “A reader, are you?” he says, a joke in his voice. “What’s this? Always knew there were brains in the family somewhere.”

“It’s ‘Lord of the Rings’,” Eddie replies, uncertain. His gaze flicks to Wayne, who nods. Funny, that the kid was quiet now, he’d been ranting and raving to Wayne about that goddamn book every spare second of the week. “It’s got orcs and wizards and elves in and stuff.”

“Fairytales?” his brother scoffs. It grates on Wayne like a physical thing. “What you been doing to the boy, Wayne? Here.” He turns back to Eddie. “You know me, kid?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m your old man! So you like cars, do you? Want to go for a spin in her?”

“You don’t have to Eddie. Not if you don’t want,” Wayne pipes up then. He knows his boy well enough that he can see the internal war going on behind his eyes. And, hell, it is a nice car. Eddie bites his lip and stares at Wayne, eyes wide, asking permission.

“‘Course he wants to.” And his brother is already walking back to the driver’s side door. He winks at Eddie. “Gotta lot of catching up to do, ain’t we?”

“Hold this for me?” Eddie asks and hands Wayne his book before jogging away.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when Wayne watches the dust trail behind the car as it leaves the trailer park. He sits out on the porch all afternoon, eyes flashing towards the road every few minutes. It isn’t until almost dusk that it careens into the park once more. 

The passenger door slams violently and Eddie stomps towards him.

“He’s not my dad,” he splutters as he pushes his face against Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne can feel where his cheeks are hot and flushed.

Cradling the back of Eddie’s head with one hand, he mutters gently, “Yeah, son, I know.”

And how had he ever thought that man could be Eddie’s father? No, Eddie may still call him ‘Uncle Wayne’, but they’ve gone well beyond that and both of them know it.

Directing Eddie back inside the trailer, Wayne sends a small nod to his brother where the man is still lingering by his car door, looking faintly murderous. 

Let him try, he thinks. No one’s taking his boy from him now, come hell or high water.

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[angelltheninth]

Gentle Prince

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cuddlefucking, aftercare, cockwarming, breeding kink, marks, creampie, caring!Daemon, husband!Daemon

Word count: 0.6k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: It's gonna be nothing but smut these next few days I'm afraid.

His breath is still hot against your ear, his grunts sending more tingles down your spine as his hands finally loosen their hold on your hips. He pulls away, his forehead briefly leaning against yours, "I'm afraid I got a little carried away with you darling. How do you feel?" His eyes are still almost entirely backed out, his lips grazing your own, almost making you want more.

You would take more if you could. "Tired." You breathe out a sigh, "I think we both got carried away. I can't even move. My body feels so heavy. But it's a good kind." Daemon huffs out a lough as he leans down a kisses your cheek.

You feel him shifting on top of you and instinctively wrap your legs around him. The fact that you did it so easily, without him even asking just goes to show how used you are to doing so.

"It's alright sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here. Inside you where I belong." He jolts his hips into you, making you gasp from how overstimulated you are, "Where my cum belongs."

You tighten around him, just thinking about feeling so full for the rest of the night makes your head spin and your body light up from the inside all over again. "Then maybe you should stay put, my prince."

"I plan to. But that doesn't mean my hands or mouth have to be. I have much to make up for. All these bruises and marks on you, someone has to kiss them better. It's my job as your husband to take care of you after all." He leans down and kisses the bite mark on your neck as his hands smooth over your bruised hips, down to massage your tense thighs, "To worship you."

For a few minutes you allow your body to relax, to enjoy the soft kisses and touches. The way he touches you now is so different from before. He was almost feral, rutting into you, telling you how good you look underneath him, full of his cock, how well he did to chose you, how good you are at taking his seed, how pretty you'll look when you're properly breed by him, cum spilling out everywhere between your trembling legs.

He treated you like he wanted to break you in half. And now he's being so gentle, the only evidence of the wild lovemaking being the marks he left, the warm cum filling up your pussy hole and the messy sheets and pillows.

"Darling... hm... you're going to get me hard again if you keep fluttering around me like that. Are you that insatiable?" You can hear the strain, as well as the slight anticipation in Daemon's voice. And if the slight throb of his dick is anything to go by he wouldn't mind going again either.

"Me? I was not the one who fucked the other back into consciousness. Do you have any idea what that feels like? How long was I out for anyways?" Daemon tilts his head a little, his damp hair falling over his forehead before you run your fingers through it.

"Thank you love." He closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth and comfort of your touch, "To answer your questions, you were out for a very short time. I barely had the time to get myself hard again. And no, I cannot say I've ever been fucked back into consciousness. Perhaps we should try it sometime, if you think you think you can make me black out that is."

You smirk and run your hands down his back, making him his as you press the pads of your fingers across the scratch marks you made there, "I'm always up for a challenge."

Daemon smiles, not grins but smiles, so soft and bright that one would not think him capable of it just going off rumors of him. You certainly didn't see him capable of such soft gestured when you first met. You've very glad that you decided to stick around to find out about them.

[magiccath]

TARDIS Tricks

Tenth Doctor/Reader (could be any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which the TARDIS pulls some matchmaking schemes

The last week had been exhausting. Life with the Doctor usually was, but this week was just a little too much for you. Not just you either, the Doctor was wiped out too.

He pushed the doors of the TARDIS open with a tired sigh, throwing his long brown coat over one of the numerous coral-like branches littered throughout the control room. Then, he made a b-line for his worn-out captain’s chair, slumping into it dramatically. His long, spindly legs stretched out in front of him, making him appear taller than he was - if that was even possible. The way he stretched was more than akin to the characteristics of the cats you had encountered.

You weren’t much more energetic about your entrance, throwing your coat next to his and moving to slump against the circular console.

“Can we please take a break from the running?”

“We haven’t been running that much,” he groaned, though you could tell he was thinking the same thing. He might have ‘superior Time Lord biology’, but he was clearly as tired as you were. Maybe there was a limit to the running he could do.

“Daleks, New New York, then that weird Bio-tech company, followed by the literal end of the universe, and wrap it all up with diamond rain on Saturn.”

“Suppose there has been a lot of running,” the Doctor grumbled again, admitting defeat. “How about a day or two of rest? Get some sleep and relax a bit?”

You nodded, glad he finally understood what you were trying to say. All you wanted was to sleep for at least 8 hours uninterrupted. Ideally, 12 hours.

“Don’t fall asleep in that chair,” you scold, noticing how he already appeared to be half asleep, “you’ll get back pain and then you’ll be insufferable. Go to bed, I know you have one somewhere.”

The Doctor grumbled, not bothering to form a full and coherent sentence. You kicked his leg, not hard enough to truly hurt him, just enough to get him out of the chair. He grumbled again and sat up in the chair, stretching his slender arms above his head.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, already looking slightly more alert. Slightly. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, you decided to head off to your bedroom.

You walked slowly down one of the numerous, winding halls of the TARDIS. You’d walked to your room hundreds, if not thousands, of times by now. You knew exactly where it was, and it wasn’t there. In the space where your door would normally be was… nothing. You tapped around the wall, wondering if perhaps the Doctor replaced your normal door with some kind of seamless door mechanism.

When the wall didn’t yield you let out a frustrated grunt, “What did you do?” you asked the TARDIS, resting your hands on the smooth surface of her walls. The wall was cold to the touch, colder than usual that is. Normally, you felt something when you touched her. The best way you could describe it was a presence. But, at the moment, you felt nothing.

Aggravated, you sulked your way back to the control room.

“Where is my room?” you glared at the Doctor, hands on your hips. Normally, you’d play along. Hide his Sonic Screwdriver or coat somewhere he couldn’t find it. This time, you were far too tired to humor him.

“What d’ya mean?” the Doctor frowned in confusion. “Did you get lost in the hallways again?”

“No, I know where my own room is and it’s not there!”

The Doctor’s frown deepened as he got up from his seat, brushing past you and into the hallway. He took long strides down the corridor, stopping in front of where your room normally was. He slipped his glasses out of his inner pocket, sliding the specs onto the bridge of his nose. His head tilted to the side as his hands ran over the smooth wall, examining the space with his characteristic curiosity.

“Did you do this?”

“What? No, why would I steal your room?” He peered over his shoulder, almost offended that you would suggest such a thing.

“You’ve done weirder things,” you argued, crossing your arms.

“Name one,” the Doctor challenged, mirroring your defensive stance.

“The time you put a pigeon in my shower,” you responded immediately, not needing time to think about weird things the Time Lord had done. It was one of the things you liked best about him, he was constantly strange. It made things fun, but it could also make things incredibly aggravating.

“He needed a bath. Have you met pigeons? They’re filthy.”

“Wash your pigeons in your own shower!”

“That's… that’s not the point here,” he mumbled, clearly deflecting the conversation. “Your room is missing.”

“I noticed,” you deadpanned, not looking away from him. “Can I have it back?”

“I told you, I didn’t take it.” The Doctor threw his hands up defensively.

“Rooms don’t just walk away,” you say, glaring at him. By now, your irritation was bordering on anger. All you wanted to do was fall into your soft bed and not leave until this exhaustion wore off, but you needed a bed to do that.

“Maybe the TARDIS sorted it away,” he shrugged. As if accentuating his point, the TARDIS let out a soft hum. You weren’t even sure it was real at first, maybe it was just the air conditioning kicking on.

“Did she just…?”

The Doctor nodded, confirming your theory that the TARDIS had responded to him. What reason did she have for storing your room away? You were about 98% sure that you still lived on the ship.

“Is this her way of kicking me out?” The TARDIS let out another hum, this one in clear disapproval. Not kicking you out, then.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You’d never admit it, but you had never felt more at home anywhere else in your life. Realistically, that wasn’t because of the TARDIS. It was the Doctor, he could make any place feel like home to you.

“Well then, can I have my room back please?” you asked the TARDIS

The corridor was silent. In fact, the whole ship was silent, if that was even possible.

Something you learned early on in your travels with the Doctor was that the TARDIS was the one really in charge. What she says goes. Always. It doesn’t matter if you were promised a beach vacation and ended up in the middle of winter in Victorian England. And it most certainly didn’t matter if you wanted a bedroom or not. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you respected that.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the library, we can deal with this in the morning.” You decided it was easier to just let the TARDIS work through whatever tantrum or scheme she was cooking up. Sometimes when traveling with the Doctor it was better to just go with the flow - and that didn’t just apply to ship malfunctions or sleeping arrangements.

You trudged down the corridor, heading for the vast library. It really was an impressive library, even better than the one in Beauty and the Beast. Shelves lined the walls and extended up high for multiple stories. It was easy to get lost in the room because it was so large. Most of the time you just asked the TARDIS for directions if you needed a specific book. Mostly, you just used it as a calm and quiet place to take a break between your chaotic adventures with the Doctor.

Usually, there were at least three couches in the room at a time. Your favorite was a mustard yellow, not a particularly nice color (especially for a couch), but it was beyond comfortable. The issue was that the couch wasn’t there. Furthermore, there wasn’t any couch in the large room.

“Doctor!” you call out loudly, staring blankly at the space where there should be a couch. There were small circles on the wood where the legs of the couch would normally sit, leading you to assume that you weren’t going crazy. The TARDIS had stolen your room and now your favorite couch.

“What’s the issue now?” the Doctor grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly as he strode into the library. He came to a standstill next to you, staring at the empty floor with equal confusion.

“She got rid of the couch.”

“I can see that,” the Doctor said, his eyebrows raising in interest.

“I’m exhausted, I'm grumpy, and I just want to sleep,” you whisper urgently, almost on the verge of tears. It felt silly to be upset over such a small thing, but you were beyond tired. Your brain was functioning on sheer willpower and that was quickly running out.

“I know, I know,” the Doctor whispered sympathetically, gently lifting your face up to look at him. “Look, you can sleep in my room. She hasn’t taken that.”

“That's where you sleep,” you point out, trying not to show how flustered the endearing touch had made you.

“Normally, yes,” the Doctor smiled slightly, finding your response slightly comical. “It’s a nice bed, though I’m not sure it would matter much to you either way at this point.”

“Where would you sleep?” You frown, knowing that he needs the sleep just as much as you do, even if he would never admit it.

“I don’t need to-” he started but cut off once he saw your glare. “I can sleep in the console room, that chair isn’t really that bad,” he amended.

“You’ll hurt your back, I already told you not to fall asleep there.”

“It’s not like we have any other options,” the Doctor shrugged. It wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He would do anything for you, sleeping on a chair that hurt his back was nothing in comparison.

“I’m not letting you sleep in the chair,” you insisted, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No one is sleeping in the chair!” the Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I could just sleep on the floor, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, I’m not letting you do that,” he said seriously.

“What do you propose then?”

“Well… we could…” the Doctor trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. By now, you knew it as one of his many nervous tics. “We could share the bed,” he finally said, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Share your bed?”

The Doctor nodded, still not fully looking at you. At this point, you were too tired to question it, or even really think about it.

“Can we even do that? Are you ok with that?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. As you’re comfortable with it,” he said back, his tone only slightly less panicked. He wasn’t even sure when the last time he shared a bed was.

“Alright,” you whisper with a slight blush.

“I’ve never seen your room,” you add after a few seconds.

“You haven’t?”

You shake your head, “it could be a torture dungeon for all I know.”

“It’s- it’s not-” he struggled before realizing you were joking. “It’s a normal bedroom,” he whispered, already walking out of the library.

You smile to yourself and follow him down the hall, the only sound the soft tap of your footsteps. His room wasn’t far from where yours would normally be, just a few turns down the hall and to the left. The door was the same blue as the TARDIS, almost identical to the front doors of the ship.

The Doctor opened the door and slipped inside, leaving it ajar so you could follow.

Whatever you had expected when it came to the Doctor’s room, it wasn’t this. Almost every square inch of the place was covered with things. Gadgets and gizmos, rocks, keys, books, alien-looking things, and-

“Is that Starry Night?” you frown, looking at a framed picture leaning against a corner.

“Oh, yeah, Vincent gave that to me,” the Doctor shrugged like he didn’t have one of the most recognizable paintings in all of history on his bedroom floor.

“Isn’t it supposed to be in the MoMa?”

“That one’s fake. Don't tell anyone though, I’m not really supposed to have this one,” the Doctor shrugged, undoing his tie and slipping it off his neck. You tried to not follow the movement with your eyes, the nimble movement of his hands as he undid the knot capturing your attention.

You looked away embarrassed, turning your attention back to the painting. “Did you steal Starry Night?!”

“No, I told you, Vincent gave it to me,” he frowned at you, wondering if the exhaustion was finally getting to you. He had just told you that.

“And you just… decided to keep it on your bedroom floor? Next to your trash can and first editions of Lord Of The Rings?”

“That’s not a trash can, it’s an artifact from B-739. Priceless, don’t touch it.”

“Right, 'cause that’s the priceless item in here that I’m worried about accidentally defacing.”

“If you’re going to bully my possessions, I’m not gonna let you sleep in here,” he grumbled, a pout barely evident on his face.

“I’ll shut up,” you say, looking around the rest of the room. You kept your comments to yourself, instead taking the time to admire the strange collection of things the Doctor kept in his room. It was like a personal museum of all of time and space. That is if the museum prioritized shiny objects and children’s toys from the early ‘90s.

It was all very him, and you couldn't help but feel safe in the room. Sure, you felt safe everywhere on the TARDIS, but this was different. If you could, you would have spent hours scouring every inch, wanting to learn everything you could about the Doctor.

You tugged your attention the the bed. It wasn’t a small bed, but it also wasn’t ridiculously large for one (albeit, strangely tall) Time Lord. The sheets were dark blue silk with a thick woolen blanket on top, also in a matching blue.

“Do you need PJs?” he asked, poking his head out of the closet he was currently in. The doors were a dark oak with a row of ties hanging on the inside of one. The patterns ranged anywhere from solid colors to cartoon characters from your childhood you had forgotten existed. You smiled as your eyes caught on a brightly colored tie with Winnie the Pooh on it.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you nod, turning your attention back to him. A few moments later he came back into the main room carrying two sets of PJs. You’d only seen the Doctor out of his trademark suit once or twice, for all you knew he just slept in it. Maybe he invented some kind of sleep suit, like a three-piece made entirely out of comfortable knit fabric.

He handed you one set of PJs, a classic striped set. He held in his hands another set, that one also striped, just in a different colorway. You’d never put much thought into what the Doctor wore to bed, but for some reason, this made sense to you.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he tilted his head in the direction of a door in the corner. You took the clothes and made your way over to the room, closing the door gently behind you, the ‘click’ reverberating through the silent space.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about the bathroom. By most standards, it was a perfectly ordinary bathroom. Even still, it’s clear to you who this bathroom belonged to. Various products (mostly ones for hair styling) were scattered across the countertop, but you didn’t feel like it was a mess.

There was a bright, puffy, flower-shaped rug in front of the sink that reminded you of something you might find in a Barbie Dollhouse circa 2002. In contrast, the shower curtain was a bright striped pattern that reminded you of a beach ball. In any other room, the decorations wouldn’t have matched, but knowing this was the Doctor’s doing made it all make sense to you.

You slipped the pajamas on quickly. You looked a little ridiculous in the Doctor’s clothes, like you were playing dress up in his closet. They didn’t fit you perfectly, but that much was expected. Even still, the fabric smelled like the Doctor, leaving you with the aching feeling that he was hugging you. You pressed your nose against the sleeve, breathing in the familiar smell before realizing you were smelling the Time Lord’s pajamas.

You shook yourself out of it and exited the bathroom, poking your head tentatively into the main room. The Doctor was sitting on the bed, having already changed into his PJs. His head turned at the sound of the door, smiling slightly at the sight of you.

“Do y’a need anything else?” he asked.

You shook your head, standing in the doorway awkwardly. Seeing him sitting there, on the bed, made it all seem real. You couldn’t do this. How could you share a bed with the man you had the biggest crush on ever?

“I- well, I can’t-” you stammered, trying to put your thoughts into words. Your brain was tired and panicking, the combination leaving you unable to fully express anything. “I can just sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, just get in the bed.”

You shift anxiously, tugging at the sleeve of the PJs he gave you. There was no way to explain it to him without admitting your feelings. It was a double-edged sword. Or maybe it was paradoxical. It didn’t really matter.

Begrudgingly, you slide under the covers next to him. You lay like a corpse, your hands firmly tucked at your side as you stare up at the ceiling. He had those ridiculous glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. They weren’t even just haphazardly stuck up there, he took the time to form them into actual constellations. The ones that he’d shown you up close.

You felt a twinge in your heart. It took everything in you not to turn to your side and hug him right now. His hugs felt like oxygen to you. You could be having the worst day ever, but a hug from your favorite alien never failed to brighten it.

The Doctor turned the bedside lamp off, sending the room into darkness. Your eyes were still glued to the stars, their soft glow highlighting them against the black of the room. He settled down in the bed next to you. You felt every single shift as he got comfortable, the feeling of him next to you distracting. It was hard not to think about how much you liked the Time Lord when you were literally in his bed. It was impossible not to feel his presence next to you, the weight of another person weighing down your mind.

“You ok?” the Doctor whispered, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. Maybe if you said it, it would be true.

You felt his hand slide against yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. You didn’t dare move, you didn’t even pull your gaze from the cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars above your head. Tentatively, he slid his hand into yours.

This wasn’t the first time you had held his hand. Far from it, actually. You held his hand almost every day. It was easy to get lost in space, it was just easier if you held onto each other. But this time was different, the intimacy of it making your heart thunder against your chest.

Neither of you said anything, the silence filling the room. Eventually, your eyes fluttered closed, the fluorescent greenish afterglow of the plastic stars remaining in your mind. It didn’t take long for you to slide out of consciousness, the heavy weight of sleep taking over and dragging you down.

-

You woke up of your own accord, a pleasantry you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced. No droning alarm, blinding rays of early morning sunshine, dogs barking, or anything else of the sort. Just your mind and body, having decided they were thoroughly rested, arising of their own accord - an internal affair rather than an external one.

After the initial fogginess of waking up after hours of deep sleep, you became quickly aware of your surroundings. Not just the Doctor’s bed or even his bedroom, but the Doctor himself. More specifically, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

At some time during the night, the exact timing unbeknownst to either of you, the two of you had found your way into each other’s arms. The action was seamlessly smooth, so much so that it almost felt rehearsed.

Your legs slotted together like expertly crafted puzzle pieces, fitting together in a way that made more sense than it should have. Could legs even fit together? You suppose they must if you were experiencing it. His chin rested on top of your head, his nose occasionally bumping the crown of your head as he shifted and nuzzled in his sleep. Your own head was tucked against his chest, your ear positioned right between his beating hearts.

The steady thumping of the twin organs pumping blood through his system was mesmerizing, the sound strangely familiar and comforting. You could feel the vibrations through your body, the asynchronous beats reverberating around in your head.

Slowly, the panic started to creep in, invading the sense of calm you had felt seconds before. You were in the Doctor’s arms. You woke up in the Doctor’s arms. Even worse, the Doctor was going to wake up and find you in his arms.

As if on cue, the Doctor started to stir awake. Low grumbles left his mouth as he buried his face further into the pillow beneath him. You stiffened, the change in posture immediately noticeable. You cursed yourself for drawing more attention to the situation.

The Doctor looked down at you, his tired brown eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, unsure what else to do.

“Good morning,” he whispered groggily, his voice at least an octave deeper than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up, almost certain that a blush was rapidly spreading across your face. He wasn’t moving you away or screaming in horror. If anything, he was holding you tighter now.

“Good morning,” you patored back, unable to form any words of your own. What was there to say? “Sorry, I’m a compulsive sleep cuddler, this totally isn’t because I have a massive crush on you please don’t read into it.”

The Doctor’s thumb rubbed small, concentric circles on the small of your back, his eyes still hung up on your face. You wished he wouldn’t look at you like that, like the most beautiful thing in the whole galaxy, like it was nothing.

As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, the Doctor stopped immediately. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and released his arms from around you, the sudden loss of contact disjointed. You frowned slightly and scooted to the other side of the bed, sitting up in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, his eyes purposefully avoiding you.

“It’s ok, I really don’t mind, I mean honestly it’s probably my fault,” you responded too quickly, your words falling out of you without much thought. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” you lied.

The Doctor finally looked over at you. By now, you were in expert in reading him. The secret was to look in his eyes. It didn’t matter what face he had, his eyes always told you everything you needed to know. You’d never seen them like this, though. An unfamiliar emotion him, a combination of his emotes you were so familiar with creating something you didn’t know. That worried you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, the look gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He was back to his cheery self in minutes, stretching his body and springing up out of bed. “Let’s get on with it, maybe the TARDIS has found your room. I’d like to go visit The Beatles, what do you think?” he babbled on, striding across his room.

You scrambled out of his bed, almost begrudged to leave the silky warmth of his sheets. You scurried after him, practically running into his back as he came to a sudden stop. An annoyed groan escaped your lips as you peered over him, searching for the cause of the sudden stop.

The Doctor was pulling on his door handle, struggling to get it open.

“Forget how to open a door?”

“I’m over 900, I didn’t forget how to open a door,” he frowned, still tugging on it.

“Let me try,” you pushed him gently out of the way, tugging on the door handle yourself. Sure enough, it refused to budge. You pulled on it again, using both hands this time. Nothing.

Sheepishly, you turn back to the Doctor, ashamed to admit that he was right. “It’s stuck.”

The Doctor crossed his arms and nodded, an ‘I told you so’ look plastered on his face. He swiftly pulls the Sonic Screwdriver out of his pocket, pointing it at the door with his usual flourish. When it does nothing, he presses a few buttons on the device before trying again. After a few minutes of this, he finally gives up and resorts to kicking the door.

“Doctor!” you cry, grabbing his arm and forcibly dragging him away from the door before he can damage it or himself.

“Do you think…” you sigh, feeling guilty for even insinuating such a thing, “that the TARDIS locked us in here?”

“The TARDIS didn’t lock us in my room,” the Doctor says like it’s the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

In response, the ship lets out a low groan of disagreement. More versed in the language of the ship, the Doctor noticed first. “You locked us in here?!” he hisses at seemingly nothing, but you know who it’s directed at. The TARDIS hums again, this time in a more approving tone.

“Why?” you butt in to ask. You’re met with nothing but silence.

“I don’t think she’s going to answer that,” the Doctor whispers in your general direction. The ship lets out another hum of approval.

You groan loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, you slump back down onto the Doctor’s bed. You sit there for a few seconds just staring at the carpet (‘90s arcade patterned, of course) before the mattress dips next to you. You pull your eyes way from the garish carpet to look at the Doctor, his face equally as dejected as yours.

“I suppose there are worse places to be stuck,” you offer, “could be Mars.”

“There’s more to explore on Mars.”

“There aren’t ‘priceless’ artifacts from B-739, a mobile of the solar system that I’m pretty sure is intended for children, a box of Hotwheels cars, and a collection of pirate maps all in the same corner.”

“The mobile was a gift,” the Doctor defended.

“That’s what you got from all of that?” you chuckle. “It’s like the world's most clustered, excentric, space museum in here.”

“I don’t really sleep in here much. I suppose it’s just become a storage room of sorts,” the Doctor says sheepishly, almost embarrassed to be this open with someone. Sharing this much of his life with you felt strangely raw.

“I think it’s perfect,” you smile, the expression lighting up your whole face, “it’s very you. Chaotic, unorganized, other-worldly, and… beautiful,” you whispered, eyes scanning across the room. It didn’t matter how much you looked at it, there always seemed to be something new and fascinating to look at.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was looking at you. He was flabbergasted at how interested you seemed in it all. The tiny twinkle in your eye reminded him of all the stars he had shown you, all of the alien planets and beautiful corners of space. Yet, you weren’t looking at something particularly odd or beautiful, you were looking at his room. His messy, haphazard collection of strange objects and patterns.

Then, you turned that curious gaze in his direction. He felt his hearts speed up, a subtle but noticeable shift within his body. It was a nasty habit, his body getting excited every time you looked at him like that. He was 903, pretty people smiling at him shouldn’t make him react this way. Yet, you did.

-

Neither of you could figure out what the TARDIS wanted from you, so you eventually gave up trying. There was no point in fighting with the ship, both of you knew that was a losing battle.

You read the Doctor’s first edition of The Hobbit in the comfy warmth of his bed. In that time, the Doctor opted to pace back and forth and fiddle with the door relentlessly. Finally, he gave up and joined you on the bed.

“Do you have any ideas of why we’re in here?” he asked, pulling the book from your hands. You let him slip the paperback from your hands, throwing it on the duvet without bothering to mark your place in the book.

“If I did, we wouldn’t be in here,” you pointed out, looking at the discarded book longingly. The Doctor popped his head back into your field of vision, clearly not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“It has to do with both of us, otherwise she wouldn’t have hidden your room.”

“Maybe she just thinks we need a few days off.”

The Doctor shakes his head, “She wouldn’t lock us in a room for that, she would just refuse to fly anywhere.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re fighting. Are we fighting?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t think so. Maybe we pissed her off?”

The Doctor shook his head again, “she doesn’t seem mad.” You didn’t need to question any further, you knew that the Doctor could read the TARDIS’ emotions better than his own sometimes.

“If it’s not anger, what is it?”

“Annoyance?” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was guessing or just generally unsure.

“Has she ever done this before?”

“Once she locked me out of the ship when I complained about her never taking me where I wanted to go, but this is different.”

“Have you said anything mean about her lately?” you asked more out of curiosity than animosity, but the Doctor interpreted it as the latter. He could be quite sensitive.

“No! Have you?”

“I have nothing but love and respect for the ship. She has put up with you longer than any of us ever could.” The TARDIS hummed in agreement while the Doctor scowled.

“I don’t know what we did!” he groans, falling back dramatically on the bed.

“Are you hiding something from me? A big secret?” you say as if you aren’t the one hiding feelings for the other.

The TARDIS lets out a quiet hum that lets you know you’re on the right track and you grin, poking the Doctor.

“I’m not hiding anything!” he swats you away, “maybe you’re the one hiding things away.”

You shake your head. For a second the two of you just look at each other. It’s hard not to get lost in his deep brown eyes, they’re endless pools of wisdom that can only come from centuries of living. Beneath the wary tiredness and stoic armor you can see who he really is, a lost wanderer looking for a place to call home. It was foolish, but you secretly wished you could be that home.

“You have really nice eyes,” the Doctor whispered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you whisper back.

“You were also thinking about how nice your eyes are?” he frowns in confusion.

You laugh, a smile taking over your face at his blatant obliviousness. “No, I was thinking your eyes are nice. I like them.”

“Oh… thank you?”

You nod, momentarily getting lost in his eyes again. Your mind was a mess, a kaleidoscope of him, the TARDIS, and your feelings for the former. You wanted so desperately to tell him how you felt, as you often did. Albeit, now was not the opportune moment. If he reacted poorly, you’d still be stuck in the room with him for an unknown amount of time.

And then it hit you. The TARDIS wanted you to admit something. She knew you had a secret, she maybe even knew what the secret was.

“Doctor?” you whisper shakily, surprised to find your voice uncertain and wavy.

“Mhm?” He pulled his attention to you.

“I just wanted to say that I love you.”

The room was silent for a moment. Neither of you moved or said a word, the normally quiet sounds of breathing and movement heightened by the lack of words between you.

“You too,” he finally said, his voice quiet. You knew admitting feelings was hard for him, especially when it came to things like love, so you couldn’t really blame him for the lackluster response.

You nodded, “I mean as more than a friend.”

“I know.”

Now it was your turn to sit in silence, your brain whirling as it tried to process his words. Was it hopeful to assume that he felt the same? That was what he had said, no?

“I’m very fond of you,” he added, sensing your confusion on the matter. “As more than a friend.”

You studied his eyes again. That unfamiliar look was back. For a minute you entertained the thought that it might be a look of admiration, love even.

The Doctor moved his hand into yours, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. It was a normal action from him, but it still sent your stomach into a frenzy.

“It’s quite an inconvenience, honestly. Makes it hard to get anything properly done when you’re around.”

You chuckle, a small smile forming on your lips.

“You’re my favorite distraction,” he said earnestly. In his own way, it was his way of saying you were the most fascinating, beautiful, unique, and magnificent thing he had ever seen. He’d rather have a day with you than centuries with anyone or anything else.

He leaned closer to you, his face hovering inches away from yours. He waited, giving you time and space to move away or protest. When you didn’t, he slowly closed the gap.

His lips connected with yours, the kiss short and light, but it conveyed the years of affection and yearning. He pulled away, both of you smiling like love sick idiots.

Satisfied, the TARDIS opened the door with a click, the sound echoing around the room.

[lady-phasma]

Unreserved

Feyd x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI; penetration, oral sex (reader receiving), not really soft but maybe - maybe soft!dom Feyd?, spit as lube, kinda rough sex

Summary: Feyd can be himself with you and vents his frustration, no plot, just smut. no beta, appx. 1.8k words.

a/n: no physical description of reader; reader is not shocked by violence, very similar to Feyd himself was my goal anyway.

Feyd swept everything off the table with one stroke. His yell almost vibrated the walls. He was cool, calculated, stoic even, when he was in public. Here, however, just the two of you, he could let the emotions out. The only other place this was possible for him was in the arena. He stood, fists holding his weight on the tabletop, breathing heavily. His brow was furrowed, but began to soften.

You rose from your chair, barely rattled by his outburst. It wasn’t directed at you. As you walked toward him you assessed his state. He was angrier than you had seen in a while. The move from Giedi Prime had been a difficult one. He was honored to be named governor, but there was more here. Something new, perhaps.

You stood next to him, trailed your fingers up his forearm. The muscles and tendons were straining with his anger, like a bow string pulled taught. But at your touch he let his head droop forward just a little. It was enough encouragement that you continued to stroke up his bicep. You let your hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, watching, reading his body. His breathing had slowed but his fists still pressed hard against the table.

“My darling,” you smiled at him. You tilted your head to try to read his face. “What has happened?” He didn’t look up at you, but closed his eyes and growled. He straightened so swiftly that you snatched your hand away.

“My brother,” he finally turned to look at you. “Rabban is useless and has wasted so much time on these… Fremen.” He spat the final word.

You took a step closer to him. You held his gaze as you reached to stroke his perfectly smooth neck, your thumb caressing the back of his jaw, just below his ear. His brow began to relax but his jaw was still clenched tight with rage and frustration.

“You can make up for lost time,” you spoke low and soft. “You can correct his mistakes.”

“I have already taken steps to do so. We have begun preparations to burn them out of their rat holes.” His jaw relaxed slightly. You moved your hand further up his neck, fingers stroking the back of his head. He nearly closed his eyes as he pressed his head lightly into your palm.

Feyd exhaled and looked at you. His black teeth glinted as his lips parted, not in a smile, in something more like a sneer. You knew that look. He narrowed his eyes. Suddenly his hand was on your throat, his thumb pushing your chin up slightly. You smiled at him. He held you this way, not squeezing, for a moment before he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. Feyd was hungry, needy, searching for control.

You gave it to him. You slid your other hand up his chest to his neck and pressed your body against his. You let his tongue rove in your mouth as you moaned quietly. Feyd’s hand slid from your throat to your neck. His other hand gripped your waist firmly. When he pulled away you were more than a little breathless and lightheaded. He grinned at you. He moved your hands off his body and surprised you when he knelt.

He began to slide your pants off your hips and chills spread over your body. He guided you to step out of them. Then he slid his hands up the back of your thighs and cupped your ass in his hands. He flicked his eyes up to you briefly. You licked your lips.

Feyd placed his lips against you, his tongue flicking out lightly to taste you. You grasped the edge of the table as you felt a shiver run up your spine. You tried to watch him, watch his perfect lips on you, but your eyelids were heavy. He licked again. His breath was hot on your skin. When he took you into his mouth you did close your eyes. Your legs shook as he sucked and licked every part of you. He made the most lewd sounds, moaning and growling between your thighs.

You instinctively placed your free hand on his head as the tension in your core tightened. You felt his silent laugh vibrate through you. You were nearly panting with pleasure. Feyd’s hands roamed across your backside, fingers dipping under, between, anywhere he wanted. The sloppy, obscene sounds he made combined with the deft movements of his tongue fueled the heat in your belly. You felt muscles start to clench and relax, clench and relax. He held you steady with one hand on your ass and moved the other to explore where his lips and tongue could not reach. He stroked rhythmically against the exact spot he knew would unravel you.

“Oh Feyd,” you groaned. You stroked his head, trying not to press him hard against you. “I’m so close. Shit. I’m close.” He hummed in response. The feeling of that sound was almost enough to finish you. Then he stopped, leaned back, and looked up at you. You opened your eyes as you dropped your hand from his head. The sudden loss of his mouth from your skin was agony. But the look on his self-satisfied face, those glistening wet lips, his tongue languidly licking them… you had never seen anything as beautiful in your life. He raked his hand across his lips, wiping off the mess. You grinned.

He stood without speaking. His eyes glinted with something almost mischievous and you could see his erection straining against his pants. You swallowed dryly. Then he grabbed you by the hips and turned you to face the table. The force of the movement made you slap your palms on the table’s surface.

“Good,” Feyd growled from behind you. You grinned and shuddered. You could feel his eyes appreciating your exposed position. Then you heard him unfasten his pants. You leaned forward and placed your forearms on the table, giving him a better view. He groaned quietly as he watched. Then he spit on his hand and you could hear him stroking his cock.

Feyd took one step toward you and grabbed your hip. He stroked a few more times then positioned himself at your entrance. He moved his hand to your other hip as he slid in. So very slowly. He exhaled a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh. It was a sound of immense pleasure and familiarity. He pulled out slightly and then slid in just a bit deeper, once, twice more, until he was balls deep inside you. He stayed there for a moment. Your eyes were closed, forehead almost resting on the tabletop. You had been murmuring his name and obscenities until he paused.

He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back into you fully with one stroke. You moaned, open-mouthed. He slid one hand up your back as he repeated the motion. Then he leaned forward just enough to grasp your shoulder for leverage. His cock went further than you thought possible as he pulled you back into his hips. You breathed his name.

At the sound of his name, Feyd began to pound into you. You gasped with almost every stroke. They were deep and long. He began to quicken the pace and you managed to glance over your shoulder. His eyes were focused intently on his cock disappearing inside you. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth. He liked what he saw immensely. You groaned and clenched around his cock. He fucked you harder for that and you let your head drop between your shoulders. The movement of your bodies and the sound of skin against skin were overwhelming. Your panting moans and Feyd’s quick breaths made the heat in your core build and twist. Like the tightening of a spring, you felt your climax building.

He slid his hand from your hip, up your side, and around to your chest. He all but slumped against your back, leaving no space between your bodies, as he pumped harder, faster into you. He tapped a booted foot at the inside of your ankle, signaling you to spread your legs wider. You did. He adjusted his hips and you made an unintelligible sound with his next stroke. It may have been his name, it didn’t matter, his cock hit a spot that made you feel as if you might lose your mind if you didn’t come soon.

Feyd growled with approval at the sounds he brought from you. He made his own delicious noises as he sped up. His grunts pushed you closer to the edge. You felt the coiling, tugging beginnings of your climax. Feyd also felt it, from deep inside you.

“Come for me,” just above a whisper, his voice full of gravel. “Come on my cock for me.” His words broke the dam holding you back. You gasped and cursed. He thrust his cock through the tightening of your muscles as you came. He was relentless. Your mind went blank and you squeezed your eyes closed.

“Fuck!” you yelled as your climax shook you. You leaned heavily against the table for support. Feyd didn’t hesitate or slow. He chased his climax as fiercely as he had brought about yours. The force of his thrusts pushed you closer to the table. You tried to brace yourself but could barely muster the strength.

Feyd barely pulled out at all; short, quick, deep thrusts were what he needed. His fingers dug into your flesh for purchase, leverage, in order to achieve the release he was so close to. You were nearly delirious listening to his muttering and groaning. Then you felt the rhythm falter. His strokes were barely strokes at all, his cocked stayed buried almost completely inside you. On one last thrust he stayed deep in you, his cum spilling out, warm between you.

You gasped as he said your name and ground his hips against you. You were panting, slightly dizzy from overstimulation. His breathing was loud from behind you, but slowing. You dreaded the inevitable: he would pull away from you and the empty feeling would seem, momentarily, stronger than the aftershocks of your climax. You didn’t whimper as he pulled out of you. You bit down on your lip and let your head drop back to the table.

Feyd chuckled. You looked at him as you slowly straightened up. He was tucking his cock back in his pants. You shot him a playfully suspicious glance.

“Thoroughly ruining you always improves my mood.” He grinned as he watched you stand shakily. He took your chin in his hand, between thumb and forefinger, and kissed you quickly and deeply. He pulled back and looked in your eyes. You smiled at him. His face was relaxed, all of his frustrations spent inside you.

Masterlist (with more Feyd)

[mykuup]

DIE PRΛNDIVM (𝙂𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙡)

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My Masterlist

Summary : The young emperor is mad at his brother. Again. And to let go all of his frustration and anger, he needs to devour something sweet

wc : 1.6k

Warnings : no spoiler from the movie // SMUT // food play // oral (f receiving) // power play // dub con // servant reader // afab reader (but no description) // porn without plot

A/n : Because I fell in love with the character the millisecond I saw that first picture of him, I had to write a little something. I went to see the movie last night and I'm exciting to write/read more about him!

No proofread, we die like men in the arena ⚔

Taglist : @byronking @stardancerluv

DIE PRΛNDIVM (𝙂𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙡)

Everyone in the Colosseum fell silent, eyes fixed on the Emperor. The eldest sibling rose from his bisellium, descending the marble steps with deliberate grace. His arm extended, fist clenched. In the arena, bodies of slaves and gladiators lay strewn about, victims of the bloodbath. The two remaining fighters stood amidst the carnage—one dominating, the other faltering. The youngest, surprisingly, had the upper hand. 

Now, Geta would decide whether this favored gladiator deserved to be spared. Yet everyone knew better. Geta thrived on suffering and relished the fear in the eyes of those standing before him. His lips curled ever so slightly as he studied the fighter’s horrified expression. Without a word, his thumb tilted upward.

The gladiator would die, and the crowd roared in approval.

As the last fight concluded, the audience began trickling out of the Colosseum. Back at the palace, preparations for the evening banquet were well underway. Servants hurried to set a feast worthy of both emperors. Caracalla, in his typical rage, had stormed out of the dining hall, vowing to kill his brother next time. 

Geta remained behind, unfazed by the threat. It wasn’t the first time, and he welcomed the day he’d face his brother in a final battle. Their mother, however, was stricken, her eyes pleading as she stood beside Geta. Seeing the fury in his dark eyes, she dismissed everyone with a wave, trying to quell the storm inside him.

Just then, you entered the room, unaware of the tension in the air. A heavy platter of exotic fruits balanced in your hands. Too late, you realized your mistake. The Empress’ gaze cut into you as you froze in place, unsure if you should turn back or apologize. Your heart raced, breath shallow.

“Leave us,” Geta commanded, his voice low but menacing. You moved to obey, relief flooding you—until he spoke again. 

“Not you.”

His words stopped you cold. You dared not look up, only catching the apologetic glance the Empress gave as she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with the Emperor.

“Augustus, I—” you began, but he cut you off sharply.

“Come here.”

You obeyed, placing the platter down near the roasted pig and standing by his side, nerves on edge. You had never been this close to him before. The sheer force of his presence made your pulse quicken. You barely registered him as he picked at bread and cheese, sipping wine and watching you, eyes narrowing with every silent second that passed.

Finally, he looked up from his cup, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. He sighed, the sound weighted with something you couldn’t place—disappointment, perhaps? Annoyance?

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice smooth but laced with authority. “And lie on the table.”

For a moment, your mind refused to process the command. Your eyes widened, flicking to where his finger pointed—your tunic. 

“Augustus, I can—" you began to stammer, panic rising. “I’ll call for one of the—”

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated, his tone harder now. Impatience flickered in his eyes.

You knew better than to defy him. Slowly, you obeyed, pulling your tunic over your head and climbing onto the table, kneeling, heart pounding in your chest. You focused on your hands, clasped tightly in your lap, until his fingers tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

He was enjoying this.

The power, the fear radiating from you—it fed his dark desires. A thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, making you glisten in the dim candlelight, like prey trapped in the jaws of its predator.

“What did I ask you to do?” His voice was soft, mocking.

“You...you asked me to take off my garments,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“And?”

“And...to lie on the table.”

A satisfied smirk curled his lips as he released your chin. His brow arched in silent command, daring you to continue.

The table beneath you felt impossibly cold, a stark contrast to the heat building in the room as Geta’s gaze roamed over your body. It sends shivers through your entire body. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you, drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

Without a word, he reached for the platter of exotic fruits beside him. His movements were slow, and deliberate, as though savoring the control he held over the moment. He reached for a ripe fig, its skin taut and glossy, and placed it just above your chest, the juice beginning to leak as it pressed against your warm skin. His lips quirked into a small, cruel smile as he watched your body shudder involuntarily at the touch.

“You make a perfect platter,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and dark amusement. He moved slowly, savoring each moment. A slice of pear next, laid carefully just below the fig, the scent of the fruit mingling with the faint sweetness of wine still on his breath. His fingers grazed your skin as he worked, but never lingered, keeping you on edge, anticipating his every move.

Geta's eyes darkened, the predatory gleam intensifying as he added more fruit—a handful of berries scattered across your stomach, a slice of melon placed delicately at the curve of your hip. Each touch was firm but restrained, as though he was barely holding himself back from something deeper, something darker. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that seemed to dance along with his teasing touches.

You couldn’t move. His power held you in place, a predator watching his prey. So you lay still, every inch of your body vibrating with tension, not from fear alone, but from something else—something you couldn’t define. His control over you was absolute, his gaze devouring every inch of you as if you were the feast laid before him.

He leaned over, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Slowly, he picked up a piece of fig from your chest with his fingers, bringing it to his mouth. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something beyond cruelty—desire. It was faint, but unmistakable, lurking behind his usual mask of detachment.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

He placed another fig on the hollow of your throat, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than before. His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. “So fragile,” he whispered, the words almost tender, but laced with an unsettling hunger. He bent forward, his lips brushing against the fig as he bit into it, his breath hot and uneven as his mouth hovered dangerously close to your skin. When he reached the last grape, just above your navel, he paused. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel the tension coil tighter. His fingers trailed across your side, light, but enough to remind you who held your life in his hands.

“Such a waste of good food,” he whispered, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, “on something so...fragile.”

Your breath caught, your chest rising and falling beneath the weight of his attention. Every part of you was strung tight as if you were one heartbeat away from breaking.

He continued his meticulous display, placing another slice of fruit at your navel, then further down, along your hips. His fingers, now slick with juices, traced along your sides, leaving a sticky sweetness behind. His touch felt heavier now, more deliberate as if the slow build of his desire was becoming too much for even him to contain.

Geta’s eyes, once hard and calculating, were now glazed with something more primal. He stood still for a moment, staring down at you, his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling as if he were fighting an internal battle. His hand hovered above you, fingers twitching with barely restrained hunger. He was losing his control. His fingers trailed down your lower belly and you gasped when you felt his fruits-coated fingers sliding between your folds. Both of you were surprised about how wet you were already and before you could close your thighs, Geta’s mouth was on your core. His tongue lapped a long strip, tasting both you and the fruit juices, offering him the perfect mix of sweet and salty. You shiver, a soft moan escaping your mouth. Without even thinking of it, your hips started to move on their own accord, chasing the pleasure your emperor was offering to you.

‘Don’t move. We don’t want you to waste those delicious fruits right?’ His voice was commanding, firm yet you could hear a hint of playfulness. ‘Yes’, you sigh as you feel another lap.

‘Yes, who?’ There he was. The egocentric emperor. You knew he liked to show his power and loved to be praised. ‘Yes, my emperor.’ Oh, he wasn’t ready for that boldness, and he would never admit that he enjoyed your possessiveness at this moment.

He hums against your core, sending vibrations through your entire body before he starts sucking at your clit. You cried out from the pleasure and cried out more when he added two fingers to the mix, cradling them to reach that sweet spot inside your velvet walls. The rings adorning his fingers were a cold contrast with your heated body, sending shivers down your spine. Geta could feel you shaking as he went faster so his other hand landed on your belly, pinning you down in place, soiling the sleeve of his silk toga in the process.

Without warning, you cum all other his face, drenching his collar at the same time. When he finally let go of your pussy, he crawled to your laying form, a devilish smile plastered on his face. He came close to your ear, getting a bite of a slice of pear he displayed on your collarbone earlier. His voice was low as he whispered.

‘Take that platter with you and bring it to my quarter. I’m not done eating.’

[thewritetofreespeech]

more protective Aemond + reader please!!

tw: drunk aegon makes poor choices. attempted SA.

It was warm in the garden house. The smooth glass walls keeping it ever summer within the four walls. Though the Keep boasted some of the finest gardens of the land, not all could thrive in the climate (a sentiment you could often agree with) and some had to be housed here, until they were ready.

You had been sent to fetch some of the more fragile blooms for this afternoon’s tea activity with Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena. Flower arranging. You could not think of a duller way to spend the afternoon. But what the Queen wanted, the Queen shall get. An old adage that was becoming increasingly clearer as the King’s days sifted through like sand in front of them. There was a part of you that wondered if all this flower arranging was not some macabre preparation for his funeral.

“There you are.” You turn away from your flowers to look over your shoulder. “I have been—hiccup—looking everywhere for you.” Aegon said. Jovial in nature, even as he nearly missed the first step. He was drunk.

“Well, I have been here most of the afternoon, your grace. Is it not always the last place you look.” You were quick to turn around as you spoke and offered him a polite smile. You know what happened to the last girl in this household who turned their back on Aegon. You wouldn’t be the next.

“Of course! Of course! What fool would I be to keep looking after I found something?” He staggered closer and you stepped back. Or at least you try. The garden shelf behind you was at your back in one step. You had nowhere to go. “But I thought…now would be a lovely time for us to—burp—have a conversation.”

“Certainly, your grace. We can have a conversation. But perhaps later,” ‘when you’re sober’ was on the tip of your tongue but you bite it back, “I need to get these to the Queen & Princess.” ‘your wife’ You were not going to have much tip left of your tongue if you kept biting it like that.

“No, no, no! They’re boring. Stay with me.”

Aegon reached out to grab your arm, but you quickly pulled it away from his grasp. “Please don’t touch me.”

“Oh hoohoo! You’ll be singing a different tune in a minute! They all do.” He reached for you again, with both hands this time, and you battered him away with flailing arms before your hand connected with the side of his face. Aegon stumbled back. His own hand against his face for a moment before he turned back with a wide, wild smile. “You know, it is treason to strike your future king. I shall pardon you though, if you hold still!”

He was on you again and you flail against Aegon as you try to fight him off. He was either too drunk to take this seriously, or he was just toying with you. Pulling at your dress. Swatting your hands away while he laughed maniacally. All the while you told him, “Stop it! Don’t! Let me go!” To afraid to actually shout and for someone to come in here to see what was going on.

You yipped when one of Aegon’s hands accidently connected with the side of your face, then suddenly he was up in the air and out of your space. Still in the room but on the floor. The towering figure of the second prince between you now.

“What the hells Aemond?!” Before Aegon could yell at his brother more, the prince began speaking to him in High Valaryin.

Your education on the tongue was very basic. Only able to pick up a few words like ‘brother’ and ‘get out!’ from the silver tongue. The words magnetic. Spell like, even. And they must have truly been some kind of spell, as Aegon actually tucked tail and ran. “Are you alright?”

You realized that Aemond was talking to you now, and you take a quick measure of yourself. “Yes. As well as can be expected.” Your chastity was intact, if dignity not a little bruise. Your lip was throbbing, but your first kiss was still on them. Your dress & hair was a little mussed, but nothing a quick change and a comb could not fix. All in all, you were fine.

You look to your protector and offer him a meager, “Thank you…for helping me…” Not much in the way of compensation for such gallantry, but it was all you had.

“Hmm..it was nothing.” Aemond replied stoically. Already seeming to have lost interest in you and his effort, now that it was over.

You swallow through the tightness in your throat. How foolish you were to think that his actions meant something for you. Wishful thinking of a naïve young woman. He was simply doing his duty, or what any decent man would do, and it just made you love him more. You had been in love with Aemond nearly since the first moment you met when you came to court. Quick to decide that Aegon’s rakish smile was something to be avoided and drawn to the quite allure of his brother. Try as you might, however, you couldn’t crack him. Aemond seemed content to keep you, and everyone, at arm’s length. There were days when you felt like giving up and just wallowing in despair of a lost love that never flowered.

But you were stubborn. And you made your decision. You had to have a man like that. You would accept no others. Especially not after such a daring rescue.

“I should…talk to her grace….”

“No. Don’t do that.” Your head jerked up at Aemond’s quick snap. “Do not say anything. Just leave it be.”

“But if Aegon tells—“He isn’t going to tell anyone.” He interjected. “He wouldn’t want people to know that he was beaten by a girl and his little brother.”

You supposed that was true. Aegon seemed to care about very little. But his pride? That was something he would not have tarnished for him. “You would really stand against your brother on this?”

Aemond looked at you. He then removed his glove and in two strides was directly in front of you. “I’ve stood against my brother for less important things.” You held your breath as Aemond’s thumb came up to the corner of your mouth. Gently brushing the blood away that was beading up to the surface.

It was strange. Mere moments ago, you had been begging a man not to touch you. Now your entire body was singing ‘touch me! touch me! touch me!’. The words bottle up tight in your chest. Desperate to come out and tell him that & everything. But they just can’t!

“You should get cleaned up. Before anyone sees you.”

His words break the spell between you as you blink. Realizing you were still in the garden house, and you had to meet the Queen & princess shortly. “But…if I change, I’ll be late. Her grace cannot abide lateness.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Aemond offered immediately. Surprising you. “Go.”

You nod once, then slip past him and head for the door. Breathing fresh air and flowers, and suddenly you hate the smell. You want to be back where you were. Surrounded by Aemond’s scent and the smell of leather & mineral oil from his blades.

“Aemond,” you called once you reached the door. Turning back towards him and willing that vault in your chest to open up, but all that comes out is, “I…thank you again.”

You run away from your chambers. Embarrassed. Disappointed in yourself. Frustrated that that was your moment and you were too craven to say anything!

And now you were running late!

Part ii - Aemond's perspective

[ap0llonian]

Embrace Him

alternate!ARCHANGEL GABRIEL x READER

sypnosis: you teeter on the edge of madness, only to find a dark solace in the tender illusions of a sinister guardian who promises unsettling affection.

disclaimers: reader is misanthropic, implied stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, horror elements, psychological manipulation

-------

“I always wondered if madness came with a manual."

The world outside your window seemed to be a canvas smeared with dreary shades of gray, punctuated only by the occasional flurry of chaos. Yet, amidst the motonamy, there was an anomaly—a shadow that stood on the edge of your vision, always lingering just beyond the glass. A dark figure, angelic in its unsettling beauty, seemed to mock the very essence of serenity that you had perfected. It was a presence that defied logic, a specter that made you question your own sanity. Perhaps it was your mind’s last cruel joke, or maybe the universe had decided that even in your indifference, it would not spare you the bitterness of its absurdity.

The whispers of the townsfolk tagged you as ruthless, as though your calm demeanor was a veneer for some intrinsic malevolence. They spoke of you as a creature driven by some dark, unquenchable thirst—a malignant force wrapped in the guise of human frailty.

Your days were spent in a monotonous ritual of existence, where each moment bled into the next with the predictability of a metronome. The only disturbances were the fleeing glances of that figure outside your window. He was always there—an angel of darkness, a haunting silhouette that seemed to feed on your isolation.

One evening, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a soft knock echoed through the room.

Rising from your bed, you approached the door. The darkness of the hallway seemed to pulse with an almost palpable energy, and as you opened it, you were greeted by the very entity that had haunted your peripheral vision.

There hs was, in all his grotesque splendor—a being of celestial gracd twisted into a mockery of divine perfection. His eyes, deep and infinite, seemed to hold the weight of the countless secrets.

You instantly slammed the door in his face and locked it, fully. Whipping around, your cold hand clutched your heart, feeling how fast it beat. He was here, in your home.

“My little lamb,” He called out, his tone smooth and almost tender. “You look so lonely here. I thought I could keep you some company.”

“Who are you.” You whispered, yet your voice was loud enough for the alternate to hear.

A soft knock on your door again. “I am someone who cares about you, sweet child. You have been so isolated, so neglected. I am here to make sure you are never alone again.”

“Cares about me? I don't need—”

“Shh,” He interrupted, the sound of nails scraping on your wooden door. “You do need me. And I need you. We are bound by something far deeper than you can comprehend. Let me show you how much you are cherished.”

You heard a knock again, though this time louder.

“You are so special to me. I know the world has been cruel, and I understand you have felt abandoned. But here, with me, you are safe. You are loved. Open the door.”

Your heart pounded loudly, almost a melody for the alternate. That was the most you felt alive. “No, I don’t—”

A soft persistent banging on your door interrupted you. “Please, do not shut me out. I am here for you, lovely. You do not have to be alone anymore.” He pleaded melodically, his voice breathy yet menacing. It almost made you give in.

The pounding grew louder, more insistent. You could almost feel your body going numb, your eyes widening.

“Let me in, sweet child. You deserved to be loved. I can make all the pain disappear. Just trust me.”

Each word was punctuated with a heavy thud. Your pulse quickened, your resolve wavering. For a moment, you considered running and climbing out the window—calling for help, doing anything to escape this monster trying to break through.

But then the banging stopped.

Silence.

“Please,” came the voice once more, soft now, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to take care of you, precious dove. I have been with you for so long now... Have you not felt it? The comfort in the chaos? Let me in, and I will show you what love truly feels like.”

Your fingers hovered over the lock. The door felt too thin. The air seemed too heavy.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. You don’t have to pretend to be all right.” His voice was coaxing, a subtle promise threaded through every word.

“I will be everything you need. I will take away the pain, the fear. Just open the door. Let me in.”

You swallowed thickly, your thoughts tangled into a mess. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. And yet... the loneliness, the isolation that had haunted you for years whispered back, telling you how right it sounded. How good it would feel to finally stop pretending. To let someone care.

Against every rational thought screaming in your head, you turned the lock with your eyes closed. The door clicked open.

And then he was inside.

Gabriel gently pushed your head to his chest, cradling it like it was fragile. His bony thumb stroked your hair ever so slowly, and gently. For the first time

“I will take care of you now, and you will never feel lonely again.” He cooed, his fingers the outline of your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Your body trembled, yet you couldn't pull away.

The warmth of his voice seeped into you, and though you knew, somewhere deep down, that this wasn’t right, the illusion was too intoxicating to resist.

“Really.” You muttered, barely audible.

His smile widened, a dark glint in his eyes. “I promise.”

[shirefantasies]

I'm doing pretty good! Ty for asking

I wanted to request Lindir (and anyone else you might want to do) with a reader that loves playing with/braiding his hair? A very simple request but I find it adorable

That does sound quite sweet 😌 I decided to do this with all the major elves because we love elf fluff in this house 💖

Elves + Braiding

Lindir

✧ He is surprised the first time you idly take strands of his long brown hair in your hands, giving a look of polite surprise as he awaits your next action.

✧ Then you pull back the sides of his hair, braiding them at the back of his head, and he would be lying if he said it felt anything but satisfying, both having his face freed from the strands and also your hands delicately working their magic upon his hair.

✧ Too shy to request it, Lindir simply sits by your side, hoping the whim takes you again. Perhaps he will practice a song, sitting at his harp or holding a smaller instrument and feeling the small smile creep onto his lips when your fingers comb through his hair again.

✧ When he catches you in a moment of stress his subconscious works faster than his mind; without thinking he’s running hands through your hair, sliding the cool skin soothingly over your scalp.

✧ He turns red each time, but Lindir’s absolute favorite is when you rest your gorgeous head upon his shoulder. Gently he strokes your hair before ever-so-slightly resting his head atop yours.

Thranduil

✧ Fixes you with a look of surprise when you subconsciously reach for his long golden locks, but after removing a leaf from them your fingers twirl the ends of his tresses and he smiles fondly.

✧ Shakes his head a bit at you as you play with his hair, weaving new strands together. The loops you make may not be as intricate as others he has seen, but they are sturdy.

✧ From then on Thranduil dubs you talented, encouraging you to try more techniques, be they braiding or weaving. At first you can hardly help questioning if he sees your intent…

✧ …before you realize he is the only one you’re allowed to practice on. He is calling on you, plain and simple.

✧ You try to keep this out of your head, but the way the back of his hand traces your cheekbones as he sits you down makes that harder and harder…

Arwen

✧ You relax her in a way few else do, the ease you bring leading her to seek you out again and again.

✧ She knows how you enjoy what you do and she wants to pay it back, too. “Come, let us make our braids!” And just like that, your habit has become ours.

✧ She loves the feel of your hair, asking permission of course the first few times she touches it, but soon it seems even when you’re just sitting together someone is caressing the other’s hair.

✧ Sometimes when you’re feeling especially merry, you’ll playfully swat her with her own little ponytails. It always gets one of those rare laughs out of her.

✧ Cue Arwen wrapping her arms around your shoulders, forcing you to drop her hair as she grapples you (lovingly).

Elrond

✧ His eyes track yours one day, catching the way they follow the silky length of his hair. One day you venture sweeping some off his shoulder, growing bolder at Elrond’s soft smile.

✧ Your hands shake at first, but he nods and smiles reassuringly as you begin your weaving work. His hair is smooth, needing little to nothing, so instead you craft a kind of crown for him braided about his head.

✧ You tell him as much as you reveal your work, shocked at the way his expression has melted into something far, far softer.

✧ “Allow me to return the favor,” he says, hands sliding temptingly over your shoulders as he rotates you- and who are you to say no?

✧ “Though I do not deserve a crown,” you remind him. “You do not see things as I do, then.”

Legolas

✧ You’d never touch his hair without asking, unsure how Legolas would react until you shyly offer to braid it freshly back for him.

✧ He agrees with one of the smiles that has your heart leaping, encouraging you with a gentle nod as you take a seat behind him and begin your work. From the moments your hands brush his back, you can feel Legolas relaxing as you weave his golden hair.

✧ From then on he goes to you when he wants it fixed, teasingly asking if you might like to braid his hair again.

✧ It’s probably one of the most romantic things to happen to you the day Legolas sits you down, saying it’s his turn to take care of your hair.

✧ You two both end up in this sort of symbiosis of doing each other’s hair, barely ever touching your own.

Haldir

✧ Starts a bit the first time your hands comb his hair, but the butterflies he’s feeling may become evident in the way Haldir’s eyes fix you.

✧ You can feel him lean into your touch, the gentle motion of your fingers soothing him. Rare are the moments in which Haldir gives in to simple breath, release of all the burdens that he holds, and yet it is clear he craves it.

✧ "Why," he asks as you release his locks, letting them flow down his shoulders, "are you doing this?" "Do you really not know?" You simply ask back, caresses moving from the base of his neck to the sides of his face as you turn him your way.

✧ Your habit leads to the first of many kisses shared with Haldir, often stolen beneath the swaying branches of some faraway tree.

✧ Playing with your hair is not his habit, but running his hands wildly through it as your lips embrace is.

Galadriel

✧Amusement dances in her blue eyes as you reach up and comb her golden waves through your hands.

✧ “I’m sorry,” you sheepishly apologize, “may I?” “Of course,” she answers simply and gives a little nod as you step closer again.

✧ Galadriel turns to fix her enchanting gaze upon you as you work, smile too knowing not to bring warmth to your face and a shake to your fingers.

✧ Since that day, she combs her fingers through your hair as she passes by you, her fingers sometimes trailing down to the side of your cheek.

✧ You can feel her eyes upon you as far as her watch can reach, simultaneously bringing safe warmth shining through your chest and a shiver down your spine.

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.19. UNSPOKEN CONFESSIONS

"it wouldn't break your back to stand beside me."

from superstar sh*t by dominic fike, left at the umeda sky building, osaka

“are you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?” he asks as the train starts to move, their arms brushing as they both lurch to the right from the sudden change in force.

it’s taken everything within her not to immediately spill out her entire heart to him. the moment she opened the door and saw him, she couldn’t think of anything but all the art he’s been sending her for the past two years– of all the places he’s taken her. she knows he’s done so much for her, and she tells herself she needs to do the same. she needs to wait until they get to their destination.

“nope,” she hums giving him a bright smile. thinking of what she’ll say when they finally arrive (she’s trying not to refer to it as her impending doom) makes her feel surprisingly calm. perhaps, compared to the amount of stress that's been building up for the past four years starting from when she first saw him at the vending machine, the thought of actually getting out her feelings isn’t as bad. “but i’m sure you can guess. you’ve got the train we’re going on, and i’ve mentioned something about what we’re going to do before.”

he looks at her, brows raised and his lips quirked up into a smile like hers, as if her mood is rubbing off on him. he started off the day feeling quite lethargic, but ever since her texts, he’s been feeling more energetic. his heart’s been racing almost every time he looks at her, and he’s reminded of the texts he sent her two nights ago, and how she responded. she's been tweeting about him, saying she’s missed him, and he has yet to bring it up. depending on where they go, maybe he’ll find the time to bring it up today. “do i get to know what stop we’re getting off at? and when did you mention it? like in the last week or…”

she purses her lips in thought, looking ahead of them, out the window and the bright city passing by them in a blur, “no, you don’t get to know. and i think i mentioned it….within the last two years?”

he lets out a laugh that has her turning back to him, confused as if she hasn’t given him the biggest time frame ever to work with. “within the past two years? yeah, i think i’m better off just waiting until we get there, actually.”

“i guess that’s fair,” she says, letting out her own laugh, glancing down at her own phone to double-check what stop they're getting off on. 

the rest of their ride is quite relaxing. she finds it simultaneously hard and easy to talk to him; she’s giving him curt answers without meaning to, as most of her focus is directed towards thinking of what she’ll say to him in the next hour. but he notices and opts for a quiet game they often play on long train rides instead. he kicks the side of her shoe with his foot and she kicks him back. it’s a game that usually gets out of hand, and soon they’re knocking knees and hitting each other through fits of laughter before they try to calm down– an old lady is giving them the eye from across the train and only shakes her head when they both try to straighten their clothes, acting composed.

he smooths down her hair without thinking twice about the action, but the feeling of his hand on her makes her freeze. her face turns red and she can’t bring herself to look at him, instead pretending to be distracted by something on her phone, when she’s really just staring at the map on her screen.

the train slows to a stop and she stands up, turning to glance quickly toward him to make sure he’s following. he walks behind her as they step off the train where she momentarily stops, trying to navigate which direction they’re supposed to be walking in while he looks up and around, taking in his surroundings. his brows are knit, like he’s trying to figure out what could have possibly brought them to this area of osaka.

“and you still won’t tell me?” he asks, walking alongside her when they start moving again. he tries to peek at her face, but she's still refusing to look up at him from her phone and he’s not entirely sure what he’s done to make her suddenly act so shy again.

she’s a mess and she knows it. and she knows she’ll continue to be until she talks to him, so she only shakes her head. “no, i’m not ruining the surprise. but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

the walk is short. it takes them just under 10 minutes and after crossing a busy road, they're walking through a trade center next to a tall building towering high above them.

rintaro walks next to her, but his head is tilted back as he looks up, and she can’t help but admire him from the side. “a skyscraper?” he observes aloud.

she nods, “it’s the umeda sky building. have you not heard of it before?”

he looks back down at her, yellow eyes sharp as always as he stares at her, and she tries her best to keep her composure under his gaze. “no, i haven’t. what are we here for?” he asks, tilting his head. “it's cool, but i’m just curious. you seem like you have something planned.”

she bumps shoulders with him, feeling like for once she gets to be the mischievous one, hiding something from him, “i do have a plan! i guess you’ll just have to keep walking with me, and find out.”

he’d walk with her to the end of the earth and he wouldn’t utter a single word of complaint about it if he had her. he almost thinks to tell her as much, before he holds himself back, continuing to look at her while she turns forward, trying to find the entrance to the tower.

they take an elevator up at least 30 floors, the both of them watching a small screen at the top of the elevator that counts how high up they are in the sky. afterwards, a long escalator takes them up even higher. it’s a little dizzying, seeing the ground so far below her, and she ends up stealing glances at the boy beside her instead. he seems intrigued by the height and sights below, and as they step off the escalator, they stand at a window and watch the sight of the city below them.

she’s feeling a little brave, and hell, she’ll be confessing to him later today anyway, she might as well start giving him hints. subtly, she tugs at his hand, pointing to her right with her free hand when she has his attention, “there’s a cafe over here if we want, and then we’re actually here for something else.”

he nods and follows her, but she keeps her hand wrapped around his. the contact is making his breath shorten. he’s torn between holding her hand back or just letting her continue to drag him along, but he decides to intertwine his fingers with hers and when she looks back, lips curved into a smile, he’s glad he took the risk.

the cafe serves drinks and ice cream, and they settle on just a matcha ice cream, with two spoons to share. they talk a little more, sitting at a high table with the sight of the bustling city below them right outside the window before she pulls him along again. they walk through a doorway to a balcony outside where a breeze is gently blowing through. they pass by a security guard, clad in a white button down, who is leaning against a railing when he sees it.

a level below them, there's a fence with an assortment of padlocks on them and it pieces together. the day he asked her to take him to the darkroom with her, and the conversation they had on the way there. she follows his gaze down to the fence and they both stop, looking over the railing from where they are. “do you remember now?” she asks, watching as a couple walks out from the floor beneath them, a locket in hand as they search for a place to put it on the fence.

‘i don’t think i’ll ever forget a word you say to me.’ he wants to say. so many words have gotten caught in his throat today, all of them unspoken confessions. “yeah. i remember now,” he opts to say instead, eyes following the same couple she is, as they bend down to attach it to the fence together. "couples leaving a mark on their city. a lock symbolizing their love that will last longer than they were," he recounts from their conversation years ago.

“wanna put one on with me?” she asks, looking him straight in the eye. 

every noise dies out for a second at the question. is this where he’s supposed to tell her he likes her? way more than a friend? and that she shouldn’t ask him to put a heart locket on a fence that will be there for the rest of their lives and even after when he doesn’t see her as just a friend? because she’d tell him if they were putting this locket on together as something more than friends, right?

“sure,” he ends up saying, because no matter how much he worries about his feelings and how he shouldn’t be doing this to her, he can’t help it when it comes to her. he’s selfish, and he wants to do everything he can with her. he wants to be with her every second of the day.

his hand is in hers again, and he decides to take the chance, rather than worrying about how he'll overthink the moment later. wasn't this what his entire high school volleyball career had taught him? the banner that hung behind him at every game; telling him to live in the present, rather than thinking about memories. he holds her hand just as tightly as she is, and they practically run down a set of stairs, coming to a counter, a sign reading HEART LOCKS hanging on the wall behind it. underneath the sign is an opening in the wall, where heart-shaped lockets are hanging, organized by color. 

they decide on a pink one, and they’re given a blade to engrave their names onto it. she etches her name into the back of the padlock first before handing it to him, and he feels the pit of guilt gnawing at him as he writes his own name. he shouldn’t be doing this when he feels differently from her than she does, but when they give the blade back to the worker and she looks up at him with a smile, the locket in both of their hands, all of his worries melt away again.

like the pair they saw earlier, they walk outside and along the fence, looking for a place to put their own locket. they decide on a high rung of the fence, and they both close the padlock around it together, his hands over hers.

when they step back from the fence, both unable to look away from the lock, she tears her gaze away first, looking at the boy in front of her. this is the moment she’s been waiting for. “rin,” the words spill out of her mouth before she’s truly ready, but he looks away from the lock to her, giving her his full attention, and she can’t back down. the script in her mind that she’s worked so hard this whole time to form fades away, and she decides to just go for it. “i like you.”

his breath hitches at the words, and he swallows heavily, frozen in place. his eyes dart back between her and the padlock, mouth opening slightly. “y/n–” the only thing that comes out of his mouth is her name, but she cuts him off before he can finish.

“wait– please– let me finish. just hear me out until the end, please. i don’t want to get any of this wrong.” his lack of response is causing her confidence to dwindle with every second, and she nervously pulls at her fingers out of habit, but he gives her a small nod and she continues, “this is gonna sound really stupid, but i’ve liked you since high school, honestly. i’ve wanted to tell you for so long but i’ve just been scared. and then i found out you’ve been leaving art about me in other cities and i felt selfish. like this entire time i've been wrapped up in my own head and it's been preventing me from giving you clear signs about how i feel about you when you've been doing so much for me. and i’m sorry but god– i’ve liked you since we’ve met. i’ve been drawn to you ever since. even after we graduated, my feelings hadn’t gone away. but i didn’t think you felt the same way– i mean you’re just completely out of my league. you’re so talented and i feel like i don’t deserve everything you’ve done for me. all the time you’ve spent with me, everything you’ve sent me, all the places you’ve shown me– you're too good to me. but this is my way of trying to give back to you for once. and i wanted to take you up here to confess– although i guess i shouldn’t have forced you to sign a love lock with me before doing that–” she laughs nervously at her own mistake, and he laughs with her, out of his own anxiety.

and because she’s cute, for thinking there’s any chance he doesn’t return her feelings. he doesn’t think there’s any words that could explain to her the yearning in his heart for her, that’s been pulling her towards him in the same way ever since he first saw her. so instead, he steps forward, hands lifting to run through her hair and gently hold the sides of her head to pull her close before he kisses her.

her eyes widen in shock initially, but soon enough she's squeezing her eyes, reaching up her own arms, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him closer. their noses knock into each other, but neither of them can care. their heads are dizzy and light without oxygen, but it’s like they aren’t even close enough, despite their bodies being flush with each other.

he only barely pulls away when he’s forced to catch his breath, but his face is still inches away from her own, pretty yellow-gray eyes boring into hers. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that for,” he says, lips brushing against hers again as he talks.

the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles, unable to do anything but laugh again, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that. and it still feels unreal.”

“i can do it again,” he replies quickly, not even giving her the chance to respond before he’s kissing her again, hands holding onto her sides.

his lips against hers feels like everything she could have asked for. it’s more vibrant than any picture she’s ever taken, and despite her eyes being closed, the feelings it gets across is more powerful than any sight she could ever see.

when they pull away again, they’ve ended up against a railing, her back pressing against the cold surface as they both hold each other close.

“and just for the record,” he says, a teasing smile on his face, still unable to look away from her, “i think i would’ve stopped you before we signed a locket together if i didn’t feel the same way. just a thought.”

her cheeks flush, and she feels like she’s been brought back to reality, her eyes averting away from him as the grip of her arms around him loosens.

“hey,” he has a hand on the side of her face that draws her attention back to him, and she finds herself reflexively pressing gently into the palm of his hand, “keep looking at me. i’m not letting you out of my sight now that i have you, and i’ll give you my whole confession too.” she laughs, continuing to stare at him, finding herself admiring every small feature of his face. she’s never been this close to him, but now that she is, she finds herself memorizing every curve and line of his face. “i’ve liked you for just as long, you know. sometimes you being there for our games would mess me up. i’d keep looking at you and eventually kita caught on and chewed me out. but i thought it’d be weird if i told you in high school, because we never talked so i didn’t think you’d return my feelings. and then at graduation, osamu lectured me too and i decided when we got to college i’d finally get to know you. i was really surprised, honestly, when you let me follow you around the photography department, and take you on walks at night around the city, and would let me bother you your entire shifts with osamu. and you deserve every single thing i've given you and more. but i thought you just considered me a really good friend after everything we did together. i thought i'd completely messed up and gotten myself stuck in the friendzone forever. and honestly, i was going to be happy there. i was gonna be happy as long as i had you–but i’ve thought about you every waking second. i’ve wanted to be with you since i met you.”

she can’t help the way her face softens at his words, and her heart is beating faster, she does the same thing he did after her confession. she pulls him in for another kiss, and he’s quick to reciprocate it, a hand pressed against the small of her back, keeping her from the railing. 

when they break for air again, they remain in each other’s arms. it’s an unspoken, mutual thought they’re both having: ‘now that i have you, i’m never letting you go. it’s been too long.’

she ends up running a hand through his hair, combing it back, and he’s admiring her face, taking in every single detail.

“well, osamu will be happy finally, won’t he?” she can’t help but joke, and he chuckles.

“yeah, he’ll finally stop getting on our ass all the time, that’s for sure. maybe that’s why i’ve been so tired lately. he’s been the one giving me a headache this entire time,” he says, finally taking his eyes off her, only to lean closer, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck while she holds him close.

“he meant well,” she says halfheartedly, running a hand through his hair. “he has been with us these entire four years as well. so has atsumu and omi. they got sick of it and told me about your graffiti.”

his head snaps up in surprise at the mention, “they’re who told you? those little shits, atsumu can’t keep a secret to save his life, i should’ve known. but omi–”

“well–” she cuts him off, trying to defend their friends, “atsumu was tired and was running his mouth and accidentally ended up saying it, so he doesn’t have an excuse. but then i pulled in omi to the conversation and forced him to confirm it, so you can’t blame him.”

rintaro rolls his eyes, “whatever. they both still betrayed me, and omi almost gave me away with the flower box, didn’t he?”

“speaking of which,” she says, looking at him with a smile, “you need to take me back there. you promised to give me those flowers, you know.”

he returns her smile, a lively glint as always, and she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be than his arms. they’ve always been on the move, wandering around new places, and going new places, yet it never bothers her. she has him with her. he is her comfort, her walls to keep her safe, and her home. “we can go now, if you want.”

“let’s do it.”

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

everyone thank osamu for his service that man was definitely one of the people pushing the hardest for suna and y/n

THEY KISSED (finally) <3 i hope you enjoyed!!!! and that this wasn't a super underwhelming chapter or anything :)

the umeda sky building is a real skyscraper in osaka where you can legally put love locks on a fence <3 it's only purpose is for love locks! it's vv cute <3

i watched a 12 minute video last night of someone touring the building so i could see what it looked like LMAO

when suna was leaving to see y/n the rest of his roomates were in bed but they heard the front door unlock and all peeked their heads out to see who was leaving

i did make moodboards for love notes as a whole, one each for suna and y/n, and one for them together <3 you can see them on the masterlist if ur interested!!

one chapter left!! let's go epilogue <3

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @zumicho @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta  

[imaginedanvrs]

i've been watching 'the boys' again and i'm obsessed with the concept of wandanat having homelander's mentality. so enjoy <3

warnings: kidnapping, dark!wandanat, superheores using their fame and power for fucked up shit, some violence

Rough and uncaring hands thrust you forwards with excessive force that’s entirely unnecessary. There’s a bag over your head and your wrists are tired painfully behind your back so there’s no hope of you fighting anyone off or making a run for it. They just pushed you harder because they could and perhaps because they wanted to see you topple to the floor as you did. 

  You fall unsupported onto the club floor and cry out weakly when you land on your left shoulder. You try your best to suppress the scream that wants to spill out because you’re pretty sure you just dislocated your shoulder, but the pained whimpers make them happy too. 

  “There, we’re even,” a man says behind you. You’d recognise it anywhere. That was Tony Stark. 

  The bag is stripped off of your head that was still against the floor, now exposed to whatever had previously been in your place and you’re sure it was nothing good. He tosses the material next to you and leaves without another word. Apparently these people don’t believe in introductions. 

  You struggle on the floor to sit up, fully aware of the eyes that bear into you but unable to see them from your position. It takes some time to manoeuvre your restricted body to sit up because the people in front of you have no interest in helping. Though for whatever reason, the moment you find their features you think you’re in safe hands.

“Oh thank god,” you sigh in relief, gazing up at the black widow and scarlet witch. They’ll save you, surely. They can’t be like the others. They can’t be. Even if they’re looking at you with some form of amusement. “Please help me, I- I don’t know what’s going on,” you try to shuffle forwards but it’s hard. 

  “The ropes, they hurt,” you tell them. “Can you help me get them off?” 

  “So talkative,” Wanda muses as she stands. You look up at her expectantly and she smiles down at you with something that you can't quite put your finger on. Even as she places her soft hand to your cheek, smoothing over the tear stained skin, a feeling that something is still terribly wrong rises. You are not in safe hands. 

  To confirm this, Wanda slaps you. Fucking hard. 

  “Please,” you start, realising that that might just be the only thing you can do to have a shot of getting out of here - plead. Unfortunately, they don’t care, something that becomes apparent when you're forced forwards between Natasha’s spread legs and come dangerously close to the sinister dagger she holds expertly. “You…you can’t do this,” you try again. It’s futile, it clicks when you hear them chuckle. 

  “Darling, we’re superheroes. We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Love your writing! An idea, if you like it: villain finds out that their lover is actually their hero nemesis. Villain leverages this in their confrontations by threatening the hero's lover--ie their own secret identity. Basically a villain using their intimate knowledge of their lover to gain an advantage.

Part of them knew it was wrong to enjoy their lover like this - jaw clenched in steely determination, eyes wide and bright with an intoxicating combination of terror and bravery.

That part was drowned out entirely by the bit of them that stepped giddying closer, smoothing their palms down the desperate thump of the hero's chest. The horror of it.

"You think I didn't know?" the villain murmured. "About your little love affair?"

"If you lay so much as a hand on them-"

"-You'll what?"

The hero looked so protective, so willing to do absolutely anything for them. The hero's jaw clenched further; an animal baring of teeth. They took the villain's hands off them and squeezed, hard enough to hurt.

"Perhaps I'll reconsider my policy on murder."

The villain laughed, at that. It wasn't really funny so much as, yet again, giddying. When it was just the two of them alone, their lover was the gentlest person alive. Good and kind and oh so sweet. Seeing the person in front of them...

"Sexy," the villain purred.

The hero shoved them back.

The villain bit on their lip, unable to help it as they considered the hero. "What do you think your love would think of the blood on your hands?"

"If it keeps them safe, it's worth it."

"Oh?"

The hero's gaze raked over them, searching for an open. Futile, really. Their love was not a killer. The villain would never push them to that. Still.

"Alright, alright," the villain pretended at grace, stepping forward again. They scooped the hero's fists in their hands and pressed a half-mocking kiss to their knuckles. "Easy, tiger. We both know I'm more interested in you."

The hero's hands twitched, but they didn't pull away.

"Just stand down and get out of my way and I'll have no reason to hunt them down."

They imagined detailed ransom videos. They wanted to see what the hero looked like when they heard them screaming, praying, begging for mercy. Patience. They could see the hero's fury and their despair and their love most of all.

All the love they struggled to express when it was just the two of them, as if fighting villains was more important.

"I tell you this," the hero said, "and next time you threaten them again, ask for something else."

"Before you think about killing me, please bear in minds that I've put in fail safes should I die. Ruining your love being one of them."

The hero swallowed. They seemed to be trying to decide if that was true or not.

"I know so many of their secrets," the villain confessed, "everything that would ruin their comfortable life with you, every dark and dirty thing that they would hate the world to see. I don't have to hurt them to hurt them, my dearest hero."

"Don't call me that," the hero snapped.

But the villain knew they'd won.

The hero hadn't pulled back and they hadn't lashed out, not physically. They were always fine with a threat to themselves, but this?

The villain almost hadn't thought they could have so much power.

They never wanted to let it go.

But, they never wanted to let the hero go either. They never wanted to wake up one day to a world where someone else had hurt them, when they were already gone.

"Stand down," the villain whispered. "And you can be so very happy."

And, at least for a little while, the hero did.

[bbydeathclaw]

A Friendly Reminder - Snippet

a/n: a little something i've been working on for a while now too long imo because it just won't write itself for some reason but i'm feeling inspired so hoping to finish it sometime this week. have this little bit for now 🥂

The words have yet to be spoken, but Silco's already decided that you're his, there's no question about it. So when he catches someone trying to speak to you downstairs at the Last Drop, he thinks it's in his (and your) best interest to remind you of who you belong to.

(nsfw)

He lowers himself onto you, bracketing you in between his forearms and caging you underneath the full weight of his upper body. The small puffs of air he breathes out against your shoulder warm your skin, panting like an animal in heat.

He threads nimble fingers into your hair, turning your head to the side so that your heavy lidded gaze is set upon the glass window that allows the artificial lights of the Undercity to spill into the room.

Silco dips his head further, his mouth pressed hot against your ear, and you can feel the faint reverberating of his chest on your back when he begins to speak again.

“I thought I’d made my intentions rather clear the first time I took you, pet. Right here in this very office, in fact,” he whispers, voice low and coated with that rich, velvet tone to mask the sharpness of his words as he ruts into you, barely pulling his hips away more than a few inches.

“Perhaps even the second time, when I bent you over the bar counter after hours and lapped at you until you were a writhing mess? Surely by the third, when we made love beneath the glow of the sea in the ruins of the cannery.” 

He declares every word into existence with so much fervor, like he’s remembering the most minute details about each of your encounters together, right at this moment.

You try to stifle a small whine as your cheek rubs against the smooth surface, back and forth in tandem with the rhythm of his thrusts. Insides coiling when he bites at the soft flesh of your earlobe to hold your attention, and he speaks his next words through gritted teeth.

“But it seems I’ll have to spell things out for you after all. No matter, I certainly don’t mind.”

[thebluemallet]

EARLY Predictions for Bridgerton Season 4

BENEDICT IS OFFICIALLY CONFIRMED TO BE THE LEAD FOR SEASON 4!

I've had this in my drafts for a couple of weeks. But now that Benophie is officially happening next season, I have some EARLY predictions for the next season. I'll have more predictions when we finally have a clip or a trailer, but for now I'm gonna cast a wide net for what I think will happen in season 4.

1- MASQUERADE!

They really name-dropped that masquerade ball like Tahani Al-Jamil name drops her celebrity friends. And they mentioned it in the promo with Luke T. The masquerade ball is happening! My guess is it'll happen somewhere in the first two episodes of season 4. This will be where Benedict meets his Cinderella/mysterious Lady In Silver/Sophie Beckett.

The code name for season 4 is supposed to be Vauxhall, where we saw Daphne and Simon launch their fake dating plot in season 1. That was a public ball, which means that anybody who could pay the fee could get into it. Perhaps we'll return there for the masquerade ball. Makes much more sense for Sophie to be able to crash that instead of a private ball at the Bridgerton house.

Let's just hope her carriage doesn't turn into a pumpkin before she can make her escape.

2- A Possible Time Jump

In Benedict's book, he meets Sophie at the masquerade, she runs away at midnight, and then he doesn't see her again for another two years. I think a time jump could happen again. Specifically for a few of my upcoming predictions.

Also, it would add to the drama.

Can you imagine the reaction from the fans with the screen fades to black and then some text fades in that reads TWO YEARS LATER?

3- Kate and Anthony Might Not Make An Appearance Next Season

Possibly an unpopular opinion, but I almost dont know why they bothered with having Kate and Anthony in season 3. It seemed like it boiled down to "We're here! We're hot! We're horny! And we're fucking off now! Bye!"

At least when Daphne showed up in Anthony's season she helped drive the plot forward and tried to help guide her brother on the bumpy road to matrimony. Anthony had one half-assed conversation with Colin about his engagement to Penelope. Kate did most of the heavy-lifting when it came to important talks with the family. She did most of the talking to Colin the night before his wedding to Penelope. (Not that it mattered because all of her work was undone the moment Charlotte showed up to the wedding.)

Kate also gets credit for speaking with Eloise to try and smooth things over between her and Colin. And then they left their family for a third time to go all the way to India, a journey that's going to take them six months one way.

But with a time jump, that would give enough time for Anthony and Kate to go to India, have their baby, spend some time there, and then make the long journey back to be present after the time jump with a toddler.

(With how pregnant Kate was looking at the wedding, I would not be surprised if she gave birth at sea. She and Anthony did not think that plan through at all. And why the hell did they leave without attending Francesca's wedding??? And when the Queen was certain that a Bridgerton was behind Lady Whistledown???)

Anthony and Kate being absent would also be a convenient way to keep the Bridgerton House set around for a little while longer.

Anyway, sending Kate and Anthony off to India felt like a way to let Jonny and Simone do other projects for a season instead. Jonny himself is probably gonna be busy with all of the press for the upcoming Wicked movie. So if the announcement comes that they won't be around, I wouldn't be surprised.

4- Last Season for Queen Charlotte Queen Charlotte Lives Forever!

Bridgerton is not known for being 100% historically accurate. And let's face it, even if it were, people would still be complaining about the historical inconsistencies. But one thing Bridgerton is creeping up on is the year 1818. And it's in November of that year that the real-life Queen Charlotte passed away.

Season 4 will, I assume, start in 1816. If they do a one-year time jump, we'll get the rest of the season in 1817 when the main events of Benedict's book take place. If they do a two-year time jump, like they did in the books, then we'll be in 1818 and we'll be in the year we say goodbye to Queen Charlotte.

BUT, the showrunners have pretty much said that they've decided the show exists in an "alternate universe" and they're just going to keep Queen Charlotte around for a while.

The Queen lives. Long live the Queen.

5- Eloise Meets Sir Phillip Crane (?)

While the masquerade references were heavy-handed, the references to Philoise were more subtle. In episode 3x02, Eloise wears a dress that is patterned with the same flower that was gifted to her by Sir Phillip in the books. And in 3x05, when trying to make herself feel better about her betrothal, Cressida tells Eloise that the two of them can "flirt with widowers." The showrunners are slowly setting up the Eloise/Phillip dynamic--they have been since season 1. I think they'll set more things into motion in season 4 and set them up for season 5.

Eloise already expressed to Kate how she felt as if everyone was pairing off and leaving her behind. Benedict's marriage will end up being the tipping point for Eloise.

Phillip would have lived the life of a botanist/academic if it weren't for his brother's tragic passing. Perhaps his academic connections could play a part in Eloise's desire to meet new people and change the world?

If they meet in season 4, it could be the catalyst for them to begin to exchange letters like they did in the books. Which will ultimately set them up for their story in season 5.

Of course, this also means that Marina is going to have to die offscreen at some point 😐

6- Cressida Redemption (?)

One of my major gripes with season 3 was that they gave so much time to the threesome subplot that two other subplots seemed to have no real conclusion or were dropped completely. One of the subplots that didn't get wrapped up as nicely as it could have was Cressida's. We didn't see her reaction to Penelope unmasking herself as Lady Whistledown. She just kind of...left.

There is a long-standing fan theory that Cressida will have a part to play in the Benedict/Sophie story based on a piece of script that named Cressida's mother "Araminta". If this is true, then I think we'll see Cressida in some way next season. And maybe she'll get a happier ending. I never thought at the beginning of the show that I'd want Cressida to end up happy somewhere, but boy season 3 did a great job of making me actually sympathetic to her character.

7- Another Offscreen Wedding

One thing that I know frustrated Kathony fans last season was not seeing an onscreen wedding for Kate and Anthony. I mean, we saw a wedding, and Kate and Anthony were there, but he almost got married to the wrong person. The closest we got was Anthony disassociating so hard that he astral projected himself into an alternate reality.

The only onscreen weddings to canonical spouses we've seen have been the Daphne/Simon, Colin/Penelope, and Francesca/John weddings. But if anybody was hoping to see an onscreen wedding with Benedict in season 4, think again.

I believe that the drama of Benedict and Sophie's story will keep up through all eight episodes of their season. And, like Kate and Anthony's season, we'll flash forward in time at the end of the episode to Benedict and Sophie several months into their marriage. But we won't get to see the actual wedding.

8- Crossdressing Sophie (?)

Admittedly, this is less of a prediction and more wishful thinking on my part. This is the route I would go down if I was writing for the show, anyway.

Show!Benedict now being canonically pansexual has opened up the possibility for him to have an LGBTQ+ partner. But I have a slightly different idea. One plot point of Benedict's book is that Sophie, after running away from her stepmother's house, cuts off all of her hair to sell when she's desperate for money.

I think Show!Sophie could still get her hair cut off like in the book, and then go around disguised as a man for safety/freedom of movement/job opportunities. Then Benedict gets confused when he discovers Sophie in "boy mode" because he hasn't felt this level of attraction to someone since his Lady In Silver.

Maybe we'll get a Victor/Victoria scenario out of it (woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman).

Like I said, this is less of a prediction and more of the route I would go down if I was writing for the show. It probably won't happen this way. But maybe I'll give fanfic writers some plot bunnies.

[august-anon]

Preliminary Data

For Tickletober Day 15: "Are you ticklish?"

Sorry it is Late!!! Though do we expect anything different from me at this point lol. It was technically written decently before the 15th, but real life got in the way and I couldn't edit it until last night, so alas

Also, Sarah, this one is for you. I hope you enjoy it ;)

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Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Ship(s): pre-slash DaForge

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geordi/Ler!Data

Word Count: 3282 words

Summary: Data is curious about the act of tickling. Geordi agrees to be his unfortunate victim.

[ao3 link]

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“I do appreciate your assistance in this matter, Lieutenant,” Data said, watching as Geordi sealed his chestplate closed. 

“Anytime, man, you know that. And we’re off duty. It’s just Geordi, Data.”

“Of course. Thank you, Geordi.”

Geordi smoothed Data’s pseudo-skin back over the seams of his chest cavity, rendering it invisible once more. “I just don’t know how you can sit still through it.” He made a discomforted noise. “Makes me shiver just watching.”

Data cocked his head. “While I do have pressure sensors to indicate when things are misaligned or there is enough force that I may become damaged, I do not feel pain in the same way that you would. I find no discomfort in the opening of my chest cavity, nor in the repairs you complete.”

“No, not that.” Geordi huffed a laugh, turning away to gather up his tools. “I just meant– I don’t know what I meant.”

Data looked down at his chest, tracing over the hidden seams of his chest compartment just as Geordi had done moments ago. He imagined how the gentle touch might feel if he had nerve receptors, why it might make one shiver. He ran a search through his databases, sifting through the information far faster than a human (or any other biological creature, for that matter) ever could.

Ah. Data understood what was happening, now.

“Geordi?”

“Yeah, Data?”

“Are you perhaps ticklish, by any chance?”

Geordi sputtered, fumbling with his tools and sending one crashing back down to the table. He whipped his head around to face Data. “What?”

“Ticklish,” Data repeated, cocking his head once more. “Sensitive to being tickled, which is to lightly touch a person or body part in a way that causes an itching sensation and often laughter. To my understanding, most humans–”

“No, Data– I know what tickling is. I was just surprised by your question.”

“Oh, I see. Are you?”

Geordi huffed another laugh. “You know, most of the time you’re not supposed to just come out and ask it, not unless you’re poking fun at someone, teasing them. It can be embarrassing, for most people.”

“I did not mean to offend.”

Geordi waved him off. “I know. Just caught me off guard, I wasn’t offended.” He shuffled his feet, turning back to his tools and clearing his throat. “And I am, for the record. Just a bit.”

“Interesting. May I try?”

The tools clattered again. “What?”

“May I try? I have never witnessed a reaction to tickling before, I find myself curious. I wish to know how one may react to it, in a more personal sense.” Data paused, running through his database again. “And from my research, I found that it is a form of bonding. We are friends, are we not, Geordi?”

“I– right, yeah. We’re– friends.” Geordi’s voice was strangled.

Data blinked. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just not everyday that your, ah, friend asks to tickle you.”

“It is not a common experience?”

Geordi shook his head, finally managing to get his tools put away and crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to Data. His eyebrows were raised, visible above his visor. “Most people don’t ask, not unless they’re teasing, like I said. They just do it.”

Data did another search, the word tease in conjunction with tickle. “Teasing, because the use of it heightens the embarrassment and therefore the emotional aspect of the action, which can in turn heighten the physical sensation for some.”

“Right.”

“I am teasing you, right now?”

Geordi shifted his weight. “I mean. Clearly not intentionally, but…”

“But you still find yourself embarrassed by my words and actions.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Geordi fidgeted with his hands, then sighed, then moved towards the lounge area of his quarters.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Geordi?”

“Come on, tickle me.” Geordi flopped on the sofa. “Do your research, or whatever it is.”

Data slowly approached, cataloguing how Geordi warily tracked his every movement, more with sound than with sight despite the presence of his visor. Perhaps even this could be a tease. “Are you certain? I would not want to make you uncomfortable, or cause you anymore undue embarrassment.”

“Yeah.” Geordi lifted his arms, crossing them comfortably behind his head despite the way his biceps twitched like they wanted to come down. Data hadn’t even moved yet. “I– I trust you, you know. I can take it for a bit. For you.”

Data sat on the edge of the sofa, near Geordi’s hip. “Then, if you are certain, I will begin now.”

Geordi tilted his head up and away, biting his lip. Data reached out and hovered his hands over Geordi’s torso, hesitating. He brought up images and videos in his mind’s eye, examining the techniques used. Some even had tools in order to create particular kinds of ticklish sensations. Seeing as he didn’t have anything of the sort on hand, and this was a preliminary gathering of information anyway, Data carefully lowered his hands to Geordi’s sides and wiggled his fingers.

Geordi jumped, a grin leaping onto his face with the action, but did not laugh. He shifted his hips a little where he lay and his arms tensed in their raised position, but he did not squirm anymore than that.

“Does this tickle?” Data asked.

Geordi huffed. “Teasing, Data.”

“Apologies.”

“It’s fine, you can tease. And, uh, a little. I’m not very ticklish there.”

Data tilted his head. “Where are you ticklish?”

Geordi laughed outright, though it had nothing to do with the touch on his torso. “I can’t just tell you, that’s part of the fun. You have to figure it out yourself.”

“I see. I will continue my search, then.”

“Go for it.”

Data contemplated the situation that led them here – Geordi was perturbed regarding his chest compartment. The compartment itself took up most of his torso, where his stomach and sternum and parts of his ribs would be if he had them. Data examined Geordi’s midsection, referenced the data he had pulled up regarding tickling methods, and created a plan of attack. 

If he tickled more than one spot at a time, he wouldn’t be able to tell which was causing the laughter and squirming. Those particular methods would have to be saved until after he had discovered where Geordi’s “tickle spots,” as they were colloquially known, were. Some areas, typically softer ones, were able to be squeezed, while almost anywhere could be poked and prodded and subjected to wiggling and skittering fingers. Mouths were apparently an option as well, but Geordi was certain to have boundaries and Data was not willing to cross them simply for the sake of experimentation.

Perhaps it would do well to move inward, then upward. He would attempt Geordi’s stomach next and seek out sensitive spots there. Kneading and basic wiggling fingers seemed to be a commonplace method for this body part. Then, he would move up to Geordi’s ribs and chest. Squeezing was less common here, though not unheard of, but Data thought the lighter touches seemed the most comfortable. He didn’t quite have nails that grew out like many biological species, and which seemed popular in the act of tickling, but in the attempts to make him as humanoid as possible, he did have a short, blunt set of well-kept nails. Perhaps alternating between those and his fingertips would work best for Geordi’s ribs. Seeing as touches upon the torso were the instigator to this conversation, Data did not know whether to plan past that, or if Geordi would request they stop the gathering of information once the area was covered. Data decided to stop there, and create a plan “on the fly,” so to speak, if he was permitted further exploration.

Plan concocted, Data slowly converged his wiggling fingers inward toward Geordi’s stomach, paying careful mind to trace around the edges of the area where the seams of his own chestplate would be. Geordi flinched inward, looking as though he was fighting to keep his arms from flying down to protect himself, and, based on the sliver Data could see under the visor, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit!”

“Are you quite alright, Geordi?”

“Peachy!”

A split-second search, a reminder in which Geordi had used the phrase previously and what it meant, and Data nodded. Although Geordi’s throat and face seemed strained, it didn’t seem as though he was in any active distress. In fact, it seemed almost like…

“It is clear that you want to laugh. Why are you holding back?”

Geordi shook his head, his face contorting in what was probably a very amusing manner. Data hummed, switching to squishing the area around Geordi’s belly button. Geordi wheezed and folded in on himself, trapping Data’s hands between his knees and torso.

“Data! Teasing!!”

“I thought you said that the teasing was permitted?” He massaged his hands near Geordi’s hips and the edges of his stomach.

“Data, come on! Please!” Geordi wheezed. His grin was beginning to look painful.

Data paused. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

Geordi heaved out a breath, collapsing backwards onto the sofa once more. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, hiding his lingering grin. When he appeared to have composed himself, he crossed them behind his head once more.

“So, protesting is kind of a given when it comes to tickling.”

Data cocked his head.

Geordi pursed his lips, seeming to be picking his words carefully. “It’s such a powerful feeling, being tickled, that it can be unbearable – even if you don’t actually mind it. So sometimes, your body fights back and tries to get away or your mouth says things you don’t actually mean in a bit of a panic.”

Data absorbed this information. “Your pleading was not a sign of distress. You were simply overwhelmed by the sensation, and your mind and body were searching for an outlet.”

“Exactly, yeah. I’ll probably say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m getting tickled.” He turned his head and muttered into his bicep, probably not meant for Data to hear, “Especially by someone as ruthless and methodical as you.”

“And the teasing, this has also been acceptable?”

Geordi squirmed, despite there being no hands on him at the moment. “Yeah, it’s all fine.”

“In that case, how will I know when you are truly in distress, or when you truly want or need me to stop?”

“You can trust me to express when I really mean it, instead of it just being ticklish babbling. Like if I say ‘seriously’ or ‘enough.’ Just… listen closely, yeah?”

“I always listen closely to you, Geordi.”

Geordi cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. Carry on, then.”

Nodding at the permission, Data picked up right where he left off – massaging his fingers around Geordi’s hips and lower stomach. Geordi folded in half again almost instantly and grabbed at Data’s wrists, apparently unable to stop his bark of laughter this time.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“You had indicated that you were. Plus,” Data slipped a smug note into his tone, taking note of his research still running in the back of his mind, “perhaps it is better that you were unprepared. The surprise seems to have finally forced your laughter out.”

“Shut up!” Geordi’s words were now completely infused with laughter, drawing them out and removing their bite.

“I do not think that you mean that.”

Finding the massaging motions particularly effective in this area, Data moved upwards once more. Massaging around the edges of Geordi’s stomach had him rolling toward whichever side he felt was being targeted more, wiggling around in an almost worm-like fashion. Massaging the center of his stomach and around his belly button had Geordi letting out snorts between his laughter, which seemed to heighten his embarrassment as it won out over his instinct to fight back, and he released Data’s wrists to cover his own face. Massaging the area between Geordi’s belly button and sternum kept him giggling, but he was able to lie back on the sofa once more and catch his breath – a similar level of sensitivity to his sides, it seemed. He switched to lightly tapping and wiggling his fingers here, enough to keep Geordi’s nerves on edge but give him a well-deserved break at the same time.

“How are you doing, Geordi?”

Geordi let out an incredulous, high-pitched giggle, completely unrelated to the ticklish ones still spilling out of his mouth. “I think I am getting the most thorough tickling I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t think anything has ever tickled this much, ever.”

Data paused, just resting his fingers on Geordi’s torso. “Is that a compliment?”

Another one of those high-pitched giggles. “Yeah, Data, it’s a compliment. I’d call you a tickle monster, but I doubt a monster could be even half as precise as you.”

“If you are amenable, I would like to continue.”

Geordi’s head thumped back against the sofa. “Knock yourself out.”

Data hesitated. 

Geordi chuckled, raising his arms up once more. “That means go for it.”

Without further preamble, Data shifted his hands to Geordi’s ribs, attacking with fingertips first. Instead of the bubbly sort of giggles Geordi put forth when he was catching his breath, the giggles that escaped him now were borderline hysterical. His feet drummed against the cushions of the sofa and he gripped the cushions above his head to keep his arms from crashing back down. The higher Data went, the more frantic the giggling became.

“You seem exceedingly ticklish here.”

“Data, please! Cut it out!!”

Data hummed. “No. I do not think you mean that, either. However, please let me know when that changes.”

Geordi groaned through his laughter, scrunching his knees up to his chest before extending them outward again.

Satisfied with his preliminary fingertip exploration, Data moved back to the bottom of Geordi’s ribcage and began again. This time, he slowed down, carefully tracing and scribbling with his fingernails to get a more detailed set of data. Tracing between each bone led to Geordi’s squealing and kicking out his feet with even more vigor. Scribbling along the bones as far as he could before the couch blocked his access had Geordi near-cackling. His biceps trembled as they fought to stay up, his knuckles going pale where they gripped the cushions.

“That’s worse!” Geordi howled. “Light tickles are worse!”

“I believe that is the point. However, your input is noted, and very helpful to this gathering of information. Thank you, Geordi.”

“Screw you, Data!”

“I will take that as a panic response to the tickling, and the teasing being used to heighten your current state.”

Once again, the response only became more frantic the higher up Data moved. The cackling and squealing got louder and panicked, Geordi’s feet were going haywire behind him, and the mirth brightened Geordi’s expression beyond anything Data had ever seen. Slightly above the halfway mark, Geordi let out a particularly loud shriek and slammed his arms down over Data’s hands, pressing them tightly to his own torso.

“Please, Data, please. It’s gonna tickle so bad, come on man. Don’t do this.”

Data paused his hands, considering, and let Geordi catch his breath for a moment. He still seemed unable to stop giggling, or to free Data’s hands from where he had trapped him despite the fact that he kept flinching at their touch.

“Are you truly asking me to stop?” Data asked. “Or is this another instinctive protective response to an overwhelmingly ticklish sensation?”

Geordi made an aborted move, like he was going to cover his face before his arms remembered what they were trying to protect. “Instinct,” he mumbled.

“I see. Shall we continue, then? We may stop now, if you prefer.”

Geordi seemed to consider it. “We– we can keep going, but I don’t think I can take anything more after you finish this out.”

“That is perfectly acceptable. Whatever you are comfortable with. I would not want to cross your boundaries.”

A sheepish, almost embarrassed smile rose to Geordi’s lips. “It was kinda fun, actually. I didn’t mind it.”

“Is that so?”

“Shut up, Data.”

“Do you mean it this time?”

Geordi remained silent.

After a moment, Data twitched his fingers and Geordi yelped in response. “You said you were willing to finish out your ribs?”

Geordi squirmed under him, not facing him. “I don’t know if I can just… let you, like I was managing before. Whatever you’re doing – it tickles like hell.”

“So you would like to stop?”

“No, no. I just might need a little help is all.”

“What is it you propose?”

“You might have to pin my arms out of the way,” Geordi said. “Just for this last part.”

“So long as you are comfortable with it.”

Geordi huffed a laugh. “I’m the one telling you to do it, aren’t I?”

Data slipped his hands out from under Geordi’s arms, enjoying the new wave of frantic giggles it provoked. Once Geordi had composed himself, Data carefully grabbed each wrist and pinned them above Geordi’s head, stretching out his torso and leaving his ribs vulnerable. He could see Geordi swallow.

“I will have to do them one at a time,” Data said, “as I now only have one free hand.”

Geordi twisted and tugged at his wrists, but it seemed more born of nerves than a true attempt at escape. “I can’t tell if that makes it worse or not.”

“You will have to inform me after.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Data touched his fingernails down against Geordi’s ribs once more. He had taken note that Geordi responded especially well to the unexpected tickles, and this was no exception. Data believed “leapt out of his skin” would be an apt expression to use for the way Geordi reacted, his laughter loud and bellowing and desperate. His pleading started up again almost immediately, but he never used a tone or phrase that indicated an immediate need for the situation to stop, so Data continued.

“You seem especially sensitive here,” Data said. “What does it feel like?”

“It tickles dammit!”

“That much I can assess, yes. You’ll have to provide me details on the sensation once you are more cognizant.”

“Data!!”

Geordi was practically screaming by the time Data reached the top of his ribs, and it left him endlessly curious about the ticklishness of the underarm just beyond. He and Geordi had a deal, however, and he was not about to break Geordi’s trust. Instead, once he deemed he had enough information (and that Geordi had been well and thoroughly tickled out on that side), he switched to the other side of his ribcage. The renewed wave of pleading was even more frantic than the last.

“Worse! It’s worse, it’s worse!”

“Oh? How so?”

“Means more tickles – Data please! No more!”

“Do you need me to stop?”

Instead of an answer, Geordi simply wailed out, “It tickles!” which Data supposed was answer enough.

Sensing Geordi’s exhaustion, Data made quick work of the second side, or at least quicker than he’d done with the first side. When he was finished, he released Geordi’s wrists, and they immediately crashed down to wrap around his torso in protection. Geordi curled himself up into a giggly little ball, and Data waited patiently while Geordi regained his composure. Or, as much composure as a disheveled, tickled-out man could have.

Once Data deemed him cognizant, he couldn’t help but ask, “Might we continue this experiment another time. After all, it hardly seems finished, only gathering information about your torso.”

Geordi groaned out an exhausted laugh. “You’re a menace.”