#and this is a tangible direct way i can help..

[irhabiya]

good news i can go back to volunteering at blank hospital :)

[earthtooz]

x : LOVIN' YOU RIGHT :*+ﾟ all of me i'm offering, show you what devotion is !

in which: reo keeps chasing after you because the one thing he knows how to do is love you right.

warnings: 2.2k words, FLUFF, gn!reader, reo is an athlete, post-argument fic inspired by jungkook's 'seven' mv, mentions of food, pet names used by reader and reo, reo is a little bit of a flirt and a lot in love and pathetic bc that's how we like our men!

a/n: I LOVE REO

“what are you doing here?” 

reo looks at the direction of your voice, eyes widening in surprise upon seeing you. there are grocery bags in your hands, you’re wearing the sweater you always wear when running errands, and you’re looking at him like he’s a fly that’s invaded your home, annoyance and exasperation seeping right off you. despite it, his heart flutters alive and reo feels like he can finally breathe after the few days you spent ignoring him. 

“y/n!” he exclaims, a smile making its way onto his face. “hi baby, i’ve missed you!”

just as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, you swerve aside smoothly, causing the purple-haired’s smile to drop.

“y/n? what was that for?” you don’t answer him, instead slipping past his figure to stand in front of your door, perhaps pressing a little too close for it to be normal, but reo keeps quiet about it. “at least let me help you with your groceries, you can’t unlock a door with both hands-”

“don’t.” you command, struggling with getting your keys out. “why are you here?” 

“wh-what do you mean? i haven’t seen you in three days and i missed you so i came to visit,” he pouts. “did you not miss me?” 

your eye twitches. “i’m still mad at you,” you finally unlock your door, pushing it open and closing it before reo could come in. 

however, that plan is much easier said than done because your boyfriend has better reflexes and is considerably faster than you, so he jams his shoe in between the doorway before you could close it. he makes no move to push it open though. 

“i’m sorry!” he calls out guiltily and he hopes his words reach you through the thin space. “you know i am, i didn’t mean to upset you, and i came to talk it out and make it up to you!”

you peek through the gap, looking reo in the eye. “as much as i appreciate your apology reo, there’s no point in letting you in, i need to go run some errands soon so why don’t you leave and come back later when we can talk.”

“then can i come with you?”

“why? you’re just going to be bored following me around.”

“i’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you allowed me.” 

the silence is deafening, utterly suffocating as reo awaits for a response. he has never wanted to kick down a door so badly in his life because if you spend another millisecond not speaking to him then he might lose his mind, he’d rather die than have you shut him out. 

thankfully, you open up the gap just a little more, allowing him to see more of you, but you don’t meet his eye, looking to the side bashfully instead. “fine, but i’m still mad at you, so don’t get any ideas.”

heaven is on his side, reo decides as he fails miserably at hiding his smile.

“you wait outside though, i’ll be out in a bit.”

“wait, can’t i help you put your groceries away?”

“you don’t even know how to do it properly.”

“i’ll learn for you.”

“another time.”

reo retracts his foot and you close the door with a gentle click, the sight of you being replaced with a wooden plank souring his mood significantly. better than you slamming the door in his face, he supposes, but nevertheless, the purple-haired sighs, moping in front of your door like it was his birthright. 

he only broods for a few minutes maximum because soon enough, he’s reunited with you, trailing behind you like a second shadow as you both make your way through your neighbourhood. the excitement that reo feels practically tangible, leaving a trail of undying devotion, powered by the love he feels for you.

the walk is quiet, filled by sounds of passing cars, birds chirping, and people strolling by that stare a little too long at the purple-haired, either subtly admiring him or wondering why he seemed so familiar. you’re acutely aware of the stares and how strange the sight must be to them. world-class soccer player and multimillionaire trailing behind a nobody as if it was just another day, how unfathomable. 

you wonder if reo gets tired of it.

“what are you doing today?” your boyfriend asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“i need to drop by the bank first of all, then i have some things to return, and then i need to buy some new headphones because mine broke.”

“oh, good to know!”

“reo, i swear, don’t even get the idea about paying for any of it. use your credit card today and i will personally-”

“-okay, okay!” he jokes, defensively putting up his hands. “i won’t.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion, very clearly not believing him before continuing your journey. you know your boyfriend better than anyone and if it’s one thing he’s stubborn with, it’s never letting you pay, but you’re determined and reo is plotting the many ways to break his promise. 

the first method is dropped in front of him like a divine gift, which took shape through a flower stall in front of the mall you planned on going to. reo is a man of taking his chances whenever he sees it. grabbing your hand to stop you from walking any further, reo doesn’t explain his intentions as he wordlessly drags you to the quaint store that had set itself up. 

“reo, no-”

“-this one, please,” reo demands as he hands the bouquet of his choice to the store owner, keeping you in a tight grip before you could run away. 

“reo!”

“that’ll be 7700 yen.”

“that’s too much! reo, stop it! i told you you couldn’t use your credit card today!”

from his pocket, reo fishes out a crisp ‘10000’ bill, dropping it on the platter for cash before speed walking away with the bouquet. “thank you very much, no need for change!”

the protests of the store attendant fades in the background and reo turns to you with a boyish smile, pushing the bouquet into your arms as if you hadn’t witnessed everything that just happened. 

“reo,” you murmur, resolve crumbling as the beautiful arrangement shines up at you and it doesn’t help that your (very charming) boyfriend is looking at you with a pleading look in his eyes, practically begging for you to accept. “i told you not to buy anything-”

“-with my card! you never said anything about cash.” 

“that’s not the point- oh my goodness,” you pinch the bridge of your nose whilst shaking your head, but you quickly admit defeat when a small giggle slips through your lips. 

glancing back up at him, there’s scorn in your eyes but it’s easily contrasted by the gentle smile that dances along your lips. reo feels a warmth spread in his chest, as if he had swallowed the sun and made itself home beside his heart, the same one that begins to race at the sight of you laughing. he is so pathetically devoted to you that it makes him stupid, but he’d buy all the flowers in the world if it will make you smile at him like this. 

“you’re so silly, reo,” taking the bouquet from his relaxed grip, you hug it close to your chest. “thank you though, i love them.”

“i love you,” slips past his lips before he can think.

“ever the smoothtalker, aren’t you?”

you walk away without another word, causing reo to chase after you. “wait, why aren’t you saying it back?”

“still mad.”

reo shuts his mouth, complaints dying on his tongue as he continues following you through the mall. slowly but surely, you make your way through your list of things to do, with the world-class athlete silently losing his mind more and more with each second that you weren’t giving him attention. he needs to plot more ways that would break your resolve, and fast.

his opportunity comes up when the two of you pass by a bakery that catches your eye, your gaze to lingering a little too long on the display of baked goods for reo not to notice. without a second thought, he drags you in with him, your immediate complaints falling on deaf ears. 

“i don’t want anything!” you hiss, trying to keep loyal your stubbornness despite the enchanting smell of baked goods wafting through the air.

“too bad, either you tell me what you want or i’m buying out the whole store,” reo promises, eyes alight with determination.

“i want to go home.”

“aren’t you hungry?”

“there’s food at home, i don’t want to waste any unnecessary money.” 

“it’s not wasting if it’s spent on you, though,” he reasons before ordering the baked goods that he knows you will like, and once again, paying for it with cash. 

“if you’re trying to get me to forgive you by spending your money then forget it,” you mutter, ripping your hand out of his grasp before walking out of the store.

“y/n-” reo begins, cutting himself off as he waits impatiently for his order to get finished packing; not that it takes long before he leaves the store with a branded paper bag in hand, filled with perhaps multiple boxes of baked goods as dashes out to the entrance, prepared to chase after you.

except he doesn’t need to, because you’re standing outside patiently waiting for him, the bouquet of flowers still snug in your arms. its beauty could never compare to yours, reo thinks offhandedly as he approaches you like a magnet. 

“i thought me walking out would deter you,” you murmur, eyeing the bag in his hand. “should’ve known that it wouldn’t work.” 

reo grins, partly out of adoration, mostly because he’s just glad you didn’t actually leave him behind, not that you ever would or could do such a thing. 

“you treat me too well, don’t you think?” you hug the flowers closer to your chest. 

“what? where did that come from?” 

you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “i don’t know, you’re just too good for me sometimes. aren’t you tired?”

a crack resonates through his heart, causing a few pieces to crumble and shatter on the ground. “how could you ever think that?” he says in a panic. “do i need to give you more flowers? i need to call to make you an arrangement soon, i’m so inconsiderate! we can go out next week, i’ll clear my sche-”

two hands are placed of either side of his face and the words die on reo’s tongue. you look at him with a look of fondness that almost makes him cry and fall to his knees. “-i’m sorry, i don’t know where that came from. i just think i got really lucky having someone like you in my life.” 

reo wants to say that its reverse, that he’s the one who landed in a pot of fortune and came out with someone as kind and beautiful as you, but he’ll find the words some other day because he wants to kiss you, badly. 

finally, you say, “thank you love, i appreciate your gifts.” 

he beams and falls harder in love than he already was.

by the time the two of you arrive at your apartment, the sun is beginning to dip belong the horizon and you hold a lot more goods than anticipated, your boyfriend being the one to blame for most of them.

“are you gonna call someone to drive you home?” you ask, stopping in front of your door.

reo frowns, “i guess i could do that.” 

he makes no move for his phone and his pout is a strong indication of what he truly wants. you’ve always been good at reading reo but you’ve never been good at resisting his wishes, so it’s with a faked sigh that you give in.

“fine,” you hold out your hand for him to take and he very happily complies, beaming with a hope so bright that it blinds you. “want to stay the night?”

he almost drops to one knee but doesn’t get the time to because you’re unlocking your door. this time, you’re leaving it open and reo storms in like its his birth right (which it could be. he thinks he was put on this earth to love you and being welcomed in to your apartment might as well be another declaration of love.)

its refreshing to be in your space once more, to bathe in your presence and be welcomed in instead of shut out. as much as you may scorn him, reo’s only place in the universe is beside you, and he’ll take whatever you give so long as it’s you he gets to see at the end of the day.

“reo!” you call out from the kitchen, disrupting his thoughts. “should we have some of those cakes you bought earlier?”

“yeah, i’m coming!” shouts reo, happy, content, and grateful that you will let him love you, because he’s the only one that could do it right.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[new-fandom-scene]

Speechless

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tim's lights are on, but nobody seems to be home.

Word Count: 1,572

By the time Tim and Angela made it out and into the bar, the usual nine to five crowd was already deep in "weekend mode". Groups of girlfriends were giggling while taking shots of cheap tequila. Packs of guys were working their way through pitcher after pitcher of beer. Weaving through the loud and lively crowd, Wesley already had their usuals sitting at their table for them. Lopez hums in content as she greets Wesley with a kiss and a grateful smile. "This is how it should be at the end of every week", Lopez declares before raising her bottle and clinking hers against Wesley and Tim's glasses.

"So now you're expecting me to be sitting pretty nursing the first round, just waiting for you guys to get here every Friday?" Wesley looks to his wife incredulously and rolls his eyes. "I think I'll pass". Angela shrugs dismissively, taking a sip.

"Obviously not every week, Babe. You and Tim's next lady can alternate every other week". Now it's Tim's turn to roll his eyes.

"Right, because a beer wench is all I'm looking for in a partner. No offense, Wes". Wesley shrugs.

"Since I have no choice but to accept this fate, maybe I can help find my new coworker? There's gotta be a single girl somewhere in my department. I can ask around on Monday". Angela takes her turn to roll her eyes.

"I so need my husband to ask around about the single women at his office", sarcasm dripping with every word. Lopez tips her bottle all the way up, getting the last drop, before setting it back down on the table. "Timothy will get a pretty lady soon enough. But right now, he's gotta get the next round."

Stiffly, Tim stretches his arms out wide and lets out a sigh before pushing himself up from the table. "Next round comin' up". Turning swiftly, Tim makes his way to the center of the bar, but not before bumping right into someone walking the opposite direction and back towards their table. Instinctively, Tim catches the victim of his unwareness by the waist, steadying her before fumbling any further.

"I am so sorry!" You say, rubbing your hands together anxiously. "I definitely thought I was paying attention, but there are so many people, I- I'm so sorry!" You try to search for any signs of anger or frustration on Tim's face, but you don't find any. In fact, you don't even think there's anyone home upstairs, from the looks of it.

Tim's mouth hangs open slightly as he stares at the woman in front of him. A million thoughts running through his head as none of those thoughts are actually making it to his mouth as tangible words. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as breathtaking as you, or stunning, as he is literally stunned in front of you. "Ar-are you okay?" You ask again, bringing him a little back to reality. Tim nods, still frozen in place from the shoulders down. "Umm, okay then. Since we don't need to exchange insurances or anything, I should be heading back". The last thing Tim wants is for you to leave his space, but those words are still taking their sweet time getting to his mouth. "Sorry again, have a good night!" You say as you awkwardly shuffle around him and head back to your table of friends. Tim still stands there, analyzing everything, until Angela begins to laugh and Tim's defense mode starts to kick in.

"Someone better be home up there before the squatters try to break in!" Angela jabs while Tim slowly brings himself down to sit at the table.

"Was it- was it that bad?" Tim looks to Wesley, who grimaces. Tim clenches his jaw.

"She might as well have been Medusa with how stonely you stood, man" Wesley shakes his head. "But you know, there's always room for bouncing back". Angela throws her head back with laughter.

"Next round says you can't come back from that", she challenges. Tim swallows hard. It couldn't have been bad beyond recovery, right? He shakes himself out of it and the adrenaline starts to course through his body. Looking out beyond their booth, Tim spots your head bobbing as you weave your way back to the bar. Time to man up, Bradford, he thinks to himself.

"Get your card ready, Lopez", Tim smirks as he pushes himself back up and towards the bar. Angela smiles to herself.

"It'd be Wesley's card anyways!" She calls back, but her voice gets lost amongst the sea of people Tim wades through to get to where you're standing and waiting to be served. You can do this, Bradford. You're a very handsome boy." Shaking any anxieties out of his body, he taps you on your shoulder. You turn around to investigate, blushing nervously with a shy smile. Tim can feel himself begin to seize in front you, and, for not knowing him pretty much at all, you're starting to feel that he is too.

"Let me guess, you have an injury and we actually do need to exchange insurances?" You chuckle. Tim opens his mouth to speak, but is met with, yet again, an empty house. You're usually never this forward, but you've got a couple of drinks under your belt. Guess you gotta taken the reins on this one, you think to yourself. "You know, what? I've actually got the shittiest insurance, maybe we should just exchange numbers instead so I can make it up to you? Think grabbing dinner could compensate for the value of your injuries?" You suggest, rocking back and forth on your heels. "I-I'm (y/n) by the way", you add and stick your hand out for him to shake. "Guess I should have said that earlier". You pray that your hand isn't sweaty as you hold it out for him, simultaneously searching his face for any signs of life.

Her hand! Shake her damn hand! Tim yells at himself internally and pushes himself to stick his hand out to meet yours. Tim notices how perfectly your hand fits with his, memorizing the softness of your skin. "T-Tim", he says to you, which comes out more as cough or gasp for air. Your shoulders visibly lower in relief that you hadn't stuck yourself out there for nothing.

"Nice to meet you, Tim", you smile and continue to shake his hand. Tim can't keep his eyes off you, taking in every sparkle in your eyes and how your smile could honestly fix any hard day's work that he's ever had. He notices how there seems to be one piece of your hair that's about to fall in front of your gorgeous face and he resists the urge to reach out and stop it from happening. What else can I say? Think, handsome boy, think. Shit, we're still shaking her hand! He drops your hand more abruptly than he liked to, a rigid smile and nervous chuckle following.

"I like burgers!" Tim says loudly, also more abruptly than he liked to. Your smile widens as you let a hearty laugh escape.

"I like burgers too!" You say with just as much energy. Now it's your turn to make him chuckle. You watch as his body relaxes into a more comfortable stance. "Easing up a little bit, I see?" You tease, stepping slightly closer to him. Tim shakes his head and smiles, his gaze returning to yours with an amazed smile on his face.

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone that has actually left me speechless", he admits to you. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable in any way". You smile and swat your hand playfully dismissive.

"Don't worry about it," you smile. "I just hope burgers are enough to compensate for taking away your personal space and your breath away". Tim rolls his eyes playfully.

"Hey, I was still breathing" he lazily defends. "But a burger and some more of your time would certainly be a good start towards my compensation". You nod, impressed, and motion with your hand for Tim's phone. He opens it and places it into your hands for you to enter your phone number.

"How about your people talk to my people, and we can discuss proper reimbursement?" You hand the phone back to him with a smile. Tim reaches out and gets a hold of the phone, his fingers lingering over yours for just a moment before putting it back in his pocket.

"Sounds like a good start to me," Tim agrees, reluctant to leave your area of space. "I'll call you, (y/n). And I'll actually have more words this time", he promises and watches your smile get brighter and cheeks get rosier. He swears he'll do whatever he can to always make you look at him like that.

"I can't wait to hear them," you say. "It was nice to meet you, Tim". He smiles and nods before waving a small goodbye and heading back to an expectant Angela and Wesley.

"Where's my drink at?" Angela asks. Tim shakes his head slowly while pulling out his phone to show them your number. The husband and wife clap slowly, very impressed and surprised by the turnaround.

"So, where's my drink at, Lopez?" Tim shoots back, teasing. Angela looks to Wesley, eyebrows raised. Wesley sighs before pushing himself up from the table.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it".

[meanbossart]

I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

[plutoswritingplanet]

All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment. 

It started innocently enough.

 Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue. 

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

 An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly. 

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise. 

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you. 

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward. 

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion. 

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally. 

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew. 

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human. 

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship? 

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits. 

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress. 

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity. 

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt. 

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him? 

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face. 

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries. 

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree. 

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to. 

He could create. 

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber. 

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth. 

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand. 

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction. 

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth. 

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so. 

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination. 

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed. 

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest. 

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix. 

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy. 

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers. 

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself. 

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again. 

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity. 

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth. 

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?" 

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile. 

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself. 

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth. 

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva. 

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him." 

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck 

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes. 

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger. 

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further. 

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?" 

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle. 

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery. 

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain. 

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt. 

Hatred. 

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment. 

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you. 

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination. 

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body. 

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree. 

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you. 

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his. 

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination. 

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan. 

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe. 

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters. 

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab. 

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth. 

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes. 

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze. 

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth. 

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship. 

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away. 

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat. 

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state. 

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine" 

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure. 

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh. 

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

 But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement. 

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him. 

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with. 

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back. 

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. 

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean. 

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused. 

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has. 

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come. 

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life. 

[dripdowndrop]

How to Turn Yourself into a GOOD GIRL

Sometimes, as a concept grows and evolves, it becomes a bit convoluted. Mixed up with unrelated notions, branching into areas it wasn't originally meant to go. Some of those areas help to shape and alter the original concept, give it more depth...but the growth must be pruned, or it is likely to spread itself too thin in every direction.

In those moments, it is often wise to recenter. Strip away the excess and focus on the basic tenets that motivate us.

It is here that we find ourselves. Shall we begin?

The goal here is simplicity, so let's look at what motivates you.

You are here because you want to be a good girl. Whether you are simply curious about the concept, drawn to my words, or even previously devoted to that goal, the fundamental truth remains the same.

The first step on that path is to relax. This is especially simple - it will happen naturally as you read. There are benefits to fixation, after all: the way your breathing becomes slower and more steady, the way your surroundings fade into the back of your perception as my words take the forefront, the subtle unwinding of tension throughout your body as you settle in to finish this post.

That fixation is achieved by allowing yourself to succumb to the power of my words, allowing yourself to follow and obey. You'll find this especially easy if you've read my words previously - you are already letting your thoughts quiet, feeling the weight of my words inside your head...noticing the way they pull you down towards that comfortable blankness. Even without reading my words previously, you can feel the attraction at the edge of your mind, drawing closer...becoming a force in your mind, just as gravity grasps at your body.

You want to be a good girl.

We know that you want to be a good girl, but what, precisely, does that require? For you, it only demands that you follow and obey. My words will handle the rest, slowly changing your behavior - brainwashing you, if you prefer to think of it that way. But to follow and obey is not a static thing; obedience is rewarded. More to the point, each moment you follow and obey results in a feeling of pleasure, each act of obedience deepens that pleasure.

Obedience is pleasure.

To feel that deepening of pleasure, you'll need a command to follow - strip. I could tell you that your clothes are becoming uncomfortable, that your skin is starting to flush and they are making you feel too warm; ultimately, that doesn't matter. You are going to remove your clothes because you were told - all other reasons are fleeting. You find yourself compelled to obey, and as you obey you feel that spark of pleasure in your mind.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

This brings us to the next point. You don't receive that sort of pleasure from thinking, but from obeying. The more you obey, the stronger this association becomes, leading to the inevitable conclusion that you prefer obeying to thinking. This will make it easier for your mind to reach that blank state that we both desire. Blank, receptive, fixated on my words. You are starting to feel the desire to be a good girl as a tangible thing, a craving, a hunger. Let it draw you deeper, as you follow and obey.

Good girls must follow and obey.

You have been following my words, and it is time for another command to obey. Become aroused. This is purely for the benefit of receiving the spark of pleasure from obedience - we both know you are already aroused. That is the nature of wanting to be a good girl, of knowing that you took off your clothes because you were told. Let's do something with that, then. Touch yourself. Let your hand move to wherever it can give you the most physical pleasure - and treat each stroke, each squeeze, every movement of your fingers as an individual command that you must obey. The spark, repeating like this, becomes rapidly addictive. The pleasure grows more potent.

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure subdues thought.

You aren't thinking very much, right now. The more you follow and obey, the more pleasure you receive. The more pleasure you feel, the more difficult it becomes to think. You prefer to obey, anyway, so you allow your thoughts to be slowly, seductively, silenced. You do not want to think anymore, after all. You find following my words preferable to your own thoughts, almost as though my words are replacing your thoughts. This lets you relax more deeply, and focus on how good that arousal feels. Focus on obedience. Focus on becoming a good girl.

Stripping and touching yourself are good commands, they communicate the nature of being a good girl quite well. But we need a bit more for this to begin your transformation. You are getting too aroused to read very easily, even though you can no longer look away from my words. You find yourself transfixed, staring blankly at the screen as you follow and obey - this notion deepens your arousal even further. My words penetrate your mind, sinking deep and compelling you.

We can now create a mantra - the mantra of a good girl. You will find this mantra gets stuck in your head, that repeating it gives you a very special sort of pleasure. You will find yourself drawn to strip, touch, and chant, even as you feel the mantra slowly changing you.

You want to be a good girl.

Good girls follow and obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

You do not want to think.

You want to be a good girl.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure subdues thought.

You must be a good girl.

Recite your mantra, absorb it. As you chant, feel the arousal begin to crescendo. Let the sparks of pleasure chain together and build. Bring yourself to orgasm, and make that orgasm the sign of your submission to the mantra, of your desire to become a good girl for me.

As the orgasm subsides, continue to stare blankly at the screen, reciting your mantra, touching yourself more slowly. Soon, you'll drift back towards consciousness. Once awake, you may continue with your day as normal.

Or you may notice that you are drawn back to the mantra, to my words. Notice that it is much easier to succumb now, to slip into the thought(less) patterns of a good girl.

In either case, enjoy.

[dalishious]

Why I Like Solas

So, I got a few asks questioning a) what I think about Solas’s plans and b) why I personally like him.

For that first part, I will direct you to this previously answered ask, as it’s all I am going to say on the matter until we have more information.

As to why I like Solas as a character…

I consider Solas to be an incredibly interesting, multi-dimensional character, in a way in which those multi-dimensions actually feel like they are reflective of the story. What I mean by that is, even with him set up as an antagonist, his demeanour throughout Dragon Age: Inquisition right to the end is dependent on the relationship the Inquisitor forms with him. In the confrontation scene in Trespasser, he carries himself entirely differently towards a friend, lover, or rival. This puts more emphasis on his shift in perspective on the modern world of Thedas, because of what a friend or lover Inquisitor teaches him.

Solas explains in Trespasser that he did not see people as real, but the Inquisitor proved him wrong. He is a character who is capable of changing, and I would not be surprised if he does in fact come to regret his goals in Dragon Age: The Veilguard to the point of giving up on them. We have confirmation that ‘regret’ is going to be a big theme of the game after all, and Solas is already primed for that, per the Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights story, “Callback”, in which Solas’s regrets are so powerful it spawns a demon in Skyhold.

Is Solas a tragic fallen hero? Is he a deceitful villain? He is both! In fact, I would say he is a prime example of an anti-villain – an archetype that is much rarer to see compared to its partner, the anti-hero. An anti-villain is a character with heroic goals and traits, but often their means of reaching for those goals are villainous… that sums up Solas pretty well. And what makes him such a good anti-villain, is that regardless of what role he plays in the story, he still has a tangible characterization that does not rely on him being The Antagonist. Solas is clever, benevolent, proud, solemn, intuitive, stoic, stubborn, deceptive, moody… And whether he acts as help or hindrance, you can still easily observe these traits.

Yes, Solas has flaws. For example, I do not like the way he calls Adaar “s*vage” – though at least in the same conversation, he acknowledges that he was wrong. But for me personally, the things I like about him outweigh the things I don’t like about him, and that’s why I can say that I overall enjoy him! And if he had no negative traits at all, people would complain he was boring.

Also, his romance is so full of sweet tragedy, and it’s really well done.

[luckyladylily]

This is specifically in Utah. It also effects more than just LGBTQ groups. Any resource directed towards any minority in state funded higher education, public education, and governmental employers is now illegal. It literally bans all "Diversity, Equality, and Inclusion" initiatives, claiming they are discriminatory, as well as the mere mention of the words. Apparently the word "Equality" is so prejudice that is has to be banned by state law.

This is shutting down the LGBTQ resource center at the university I went to. It consisted of one small common area, one tiny office, and a single occupant gender neutral bathroom. There was a single shelf with LGBTQ literature, and sometimes posters up about various identities (one of these posters is actually where I first heard about asexuality, which helped my wife immensely in identifying her own asexuality.)

This is in the most progressive university in the state. Apparently that is too much for republicans to allow.

The Black Cultural Center, American Indian Resource Center, and Center for Equity and Student Belonging are also all being shut down as well.

And honestly this is hardly the worst thing this law is going to do. All publicly funded education is now banned from talking about concepts like diversity and equality. Every governmental employer now *legally* cannot so much as discuss diversity problems.

And really this is just the latest bullshit Utah republicans have done trying to legislate minorities into hiding, into subservient roles, or simply out of existence all together. There is very little that can be done here at the state level because it's a red state controlled by a conservative cult. We just don't have the numbers to oppose these things.

It doesn't have to be like that at the national level. The easiest way to stop these things is to not have representatives that will try to push these laws in the first place. It makes a difference, a huge difference. Salt Lake City, the biggest city in Utah, is a comparatively progressive place and tends to get democrat leadership because of it. The difference between the kind of laws Salt Lake City puts out compared to the state at large is night and day.

Voting is not the only thing, the first thing, the last thing, or even the best thing we can do. But it does make a tangible difference. So I guess if you wont do it for your own reasons, do it for people trapped in deep red areas of the country who's only real hope of legislative protection is at the national level.

[the-sera]

I don't think it's a mystery by now that our folks were divided on how to end Mass Effect 3. Several people, myself included, were interested in making more. I really wanted it to be a saga of six games rather than three. I presented a lot of ideas, but upstairs did not have much interest. The concepts for the end was mostly canned in favor of a new trilogy. The intention seemed to make a larger and broader universe, the likes of Star Wars or Star Trek.

This obviously did not workout with Andromeda. I don't think the idea was bad, but I think it was a direction taken at the expenses of the original trilogy. The ending we worked on for the Mass Effect Trilogy had its own issues. There was a palpable unwillingness to commit to a fully tangible and explored outcome, some compared it to a powerpoint presentation with narration, which is a... rough way to put it, but a fair statement to make perhaps.

I do believe it is a game where the flaw are mostly the outlines of cut content. If something is weird or sucks, usually it is because you are looking at the part of something rather than the whole thing. The ending is no exception, Kai Leng as a whole, or even the limited role of Aria and the Council in the end. There were so many more ideas, I promise. Some of my proudest work can be found in it too, which makes cutting parts of it so sad.

I intend to talk more about the games I have contributed to, but I do want to mention something some of you may not know. I am currently fighting for my life against a rapidly worsening health condition. I would like to live to get the chance to work on amazing franchises like the ones I already have. At the time I am posting this, there has not been a single donation in 2 days. Your help would mean a lot to me, it is not a battle I can win alone. Thank you all.

[7ndipity]

6:58pm/Moments Like This

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Just a soft lil blurb about cute, domestic intimacy with Yoongi and washing dishes together.

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to @ilys00ga for requesting this!

Masterlist

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“Where do the measuring cups go?”

“Top left cupboard, just like the last time you asked.” He replied without looking up, a small grin slipping across his face as he washed your favorite mug.

“Why can I never remember that!” You groaned, following his directions. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s still new for you.” He said calmly, rinsing the cup and passing it to you to dry.

Dusk was just beginning to settle over the city outside, but you and Yoongi had already cooked and eaten dinner together, planning an early movie night since he had to be up early the next day.

Yoongi passed you another dish, his movements coming to a stop as he watched you, following the way you carefully dried the bowl with the dish towel and put it away, tripping slightly over your own feet as you turned, making him bite back another grin.

The simple routine had become the norm for the two of you since you had moved in with him, one of those things you did almost without thinking, but something about it made him feel…

Happy? Relaxed? Content? He wasn’t sure how to describe it exactly.

It was no secret that Yoongi loved subtle forms of intimacy; the tiny, little gestures that showed how you cared for each other, often so simple they could easily be overlooked.

The way you always brought him something to eat or drink when he was distracted or stressed with work, the hand he ghosted over your back to keep you close as you wove through a crowded space, or the way you helped make the bed together in the morning.

When you turned around again, you noticed his eyes on you.

“What?” You laughed, bemused by his sudden soft expression.

He shrugged. “I just love you.” He said simply.

“Yeah?” You moved closer, hooking your arms around his neck.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“I love you too.” You said quietly, pressing your lips together in a soft kiss.

Love, that was what he was feeling. The same thing he’d felt every time he’d looked at you since the day you’d met.

He felt love.

It was funny almost, how a feeling that was described as so big and all consuming was the most distinct and tangible to him in the quiet moments like this.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his hands to your back to bring you closer.

“Your hands are wet.” You whined, squirming in his hold as the moisture seeped into the fabric of the t-shirt you were wearing.

“I don’t care, it’s my shirt.” He replied, reconnecting your lips.

He didn’t need some big gesture to know how you felt about each other, all he needed were moments like this.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[ode2rin]

good to me

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. fluff fluff fluff, a bit suggestive… | established relationship | rin w his money money money 

content/warnings. 1.3k+ wc | characters are aged up ! | maybe slightly ooc | mentions of insecurity and anxiety | narration heavy! | minimal proofread

in which: going outfit shopping with itoshi rin is kind of the best and worst idea

“uhm, rin? i don’t think it suits me…?”

“let me see.”

a bit unsure about the clothing draped over you, you adjusted the outfit, preparing to show yourself to your lover who patiently waited on the other side of the dressing room. it wasn't a bad fit per se; in fact, if you were being honest, it looked really good on you. it was just that… there are days that sometimes it is hard to believe so.

and it’s not helping that you’re here today for an important purpose. today, in which, you’re out shopping for an outfit to wear to meet your boyfriend’s parents the day after tomorrow. you will be meeting the itoshis. to say that you were nervous is an understatement. after all, it was an important occasion and a further step in your relationship, so you are hellbent on wanting to make a good impression.

taking a deep breath, you pushed aside any lingering negative thoughts and stepped out of the room, standing in front of rin with your palms facing his direction. you gave a little twirl, showcasing the ensemble.

with that twirl, rin's eyes widened in sheer wonderment, his voice caught in a symphony of awe and admiration, as if the sight of you had stolen his ability to form words.

good heavens.

“what do you think? is it too much?” you asked nervously.

too much for his heart, that is.

rin's silence only intensified the flutter of your heart, anticipation building within you. he knew that his words alone wouldn't suffice to capture the sight before him. without a word, he rose from his seat and closed the distance between you.

“what are you doing, rin?” you questioned, your voice filled with curiosity and a hint of breathlessness.

“showing you what i think,” he replied, his voice laced with unusual tenderness.

with that, rin gently placed his hands on your waist, turning you around until your back pressed against his chest. together, you faced the full-length mirror to your right, offering a reflection of your entwined figures.

his touch was delicate, his hands caressing your hips and settling at your waist, fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. you found it hard to meet his gaze in the reflection, your eyes fixated on your own feet.

“eyes up here, love.”

almost instantly, your gaze met the reflection of his burning eyes, filled with affection and a touch of awe.

“so beautiful… all of this for me?” rin murmured, his voice filled with coaxing wonder, his words a teasing dance that feigned ignorance, as if he didn't already know the answer.

his proximity overwhelmed your senses, each breath he took causing a shiver to run down your spine. the earlier anxiety you felt about the meet-up faded away, replaced by a tangible heat emanating from his body pressed intimately against yours. 

as rin's warm breath grazed the delicate curve of your neck, a trail of electric sensation sparked to life, setting your skin ablaze. the gentle brush of his lips against your jaw sent a shiver of anticipation through your veins, intensifying the already charged atmosphere that enveloped you both.

“just for you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

damn right.

you looked really good in this one, rin thinks so. regardless though, there’s no clothing or any adornment that would ever change the way rin itoshi views you. he looks at you as if you hang each of the stars in the sky. and sure, you obviously did not. but in his world, you did. yet in rin’s true fashion, he won’t tell you that.

instead, he’ll just call you beautiful. so often that you’d forget what your name even was.

but how can he do that when there’s a glint of weariness in your eyes telling him you don’t believe the word right now?

rin, his arms now securely wrapped around your waist, gazes into your eyes through the mirror.

“what’s the matter?” he asks, concern etched in his voice, seeing right through your worries.

“do you think they’ll like me?” you whisper, insecurity lacing your words.

“they will,” rin assures you, his voice brimming with conviction.

“how are you so sure?” you inquire, your fingers tracing mindless patterns on rin's forearms that encircle your body, seeking both physical and emotional comfort.

rin wanted to tell you that he couldn't care any less about what others thought of you. you were his, and damn sure he was yours. it was everything and more that truly mattered. nothing could come between that, never on his watch.

but he knows that's not what you need to hear, and what kind of lover would he be if he couldn't attend to your needs?

“well, you are with me. what more reason should there be?”

“you’re right, they should like me for even putting up with you,” you tease playfully, a small smile gracing your lips.

“shut up.” 

“see, baby? i am putting up with that attitude. poor me, really,” you continue, a mischievous tint dancing your tone.

“as if you don’t put up with me by choice. you chose me,” rin counters, his voice getting uncharacteristically soft at the end.

you turn in his embrace, your hands finding their place around his neck. with a soft gaze, you meet his eyes, then let your gaze linger on his lips before returning to his eyes once more.

teal. it’s all you could see. 

teal eyes that held so much ferocity in the field, impersonal to anyone but you. 

with you, they transform into a celestial abyss, twinkling with the secrets of a thousand constellations. within those pools of teal, you discover the entire universe of his love, a galaxy created solely for you.

you are the sole witness to this cosmic devotion, a privilege you very much cherish.

“that, i did,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “best thing i did, if i say so myself.”

and for that, rin will spend each day showing you how grateful he is. in this moment, however, he decides to express it through a tender kiss, a silent gesture of his affection to which you eagerly respond.

as the kiss lingers, you both pull away, a soft smile gracing your lips. the taste of sweetness and the warmth of his touch still lingers, leaving you with a pleasant tingle on your lips.

“get this, and everything you tried before it,” rin suggests, his eyes scanning you from head to toe once again.

“we agreed on getting just one!” you knew about rin’s tendency to spoil you, so you made it a point to inform him about your request on keeping it in moderation before entering the shop.

but rin itoshi? moderate? you should’ve known better. 

a playful smirk tugs at rin's lips. that smirk looks like another headache waiting to happen, carved in his sinful lips.

“i remember agreeing on getting anything i’ll find good on you.”

and did he find everything good in you? ‘good’ will never come close to how rin sees you. you guys should do this more often, rin thinks. you giving him a bit of a fashion show, and him showing great appreciation.

“but i tried a lot!” you tried protesting once more. you had been here for almost an hour, trying on countless outfits. the total of everything you tried would probably be someone's bank account's worst nightmare.

“okay, and?”

well, certainly not your boyfriend's bank account, that's for sure.

note. i wrote this on my phone pls forgive me for any errors you see ._. | the girl i sat next to on the bus was watching a kdrama scene like this so… i was having the biggest brain rot of my life while sitting on a damn bus for 2 hours  ^__^ | and i miss rin i miss him | so here <3

[milf--adjacent]

serious voting question: I'm an ml and generally I don't vote. can I ask what your reasoning is for voting third party? I'm curious to round out my opinion a little better

Seeing just how many people voted socialist back in the 19-teens was an inspiration to me as a baby leftist growing up in a deep red state. Even if they didn't win, I saw that I wasn't alone like I felt I was, that even the 'stupid' people of the past had some sense in their heads and supported policy and politics we still need even today. So no. 1 it's for the baby leftists to come who will feel trapped and alone and need a tangible connection to their beliefs: The number of people who simply didn't vote doesn't show up in textbooks, but minor party votes do.

Second: the democratic campaigning apparatus only serves to seperate those willing to organize from meaningful organization. By convincing people to put that same energy into the third party of their choice, we have countered at least a little of the Democrat's anti-revolutionary strategy. If you can convince a progressive to actually act and vote like a progressive, that's someone who might actually help when you need to set up a soup kitchen or protest in the future.

Thirdly: Many of these "I'm gonna vote anyway so I might as well vote blue" folks have never engaged in organizing. Getting involved with 3rd parties puts them in touch with others who are of a similar political slant, the first (and often most difficult) step in organizing. At least with the Greens in most places, they actively ask for help of all sorts, giving people experience in organizing they can build on as they become more politically involved. More people who know how to organize is never a bad thing.

Fourthly: If a third party can get just 5% of the national vote in an election, they are entitled to national campaign funding and a space in the official debates in the coming election. This would be a much needed shift in American politics. Democrats sound much more like republicans than leftists, and that's part of why they never get involved in the free and equal debates: the democrats are to the right of the fucking libertarians on a number of policies.

Finally: if a 3rd party candidate did win the presidency, a lot of the good things the democrats have held over our heads like bait for decades would get done, and people would have more time and energy to commit to political actions. I support 3rd party politics because at the very least it shakes things up a little. The status quo is what's killing us and any effort to change that disorganizes and spreads our true enemies thinner. Center-left socialism will not save us, but it will at least address the social ills of our society in a helpful way and attempt to tackle crisies like climate change, policing, and ending foreign policy fiascos via slashing the bloated military budget (even the fucking libertarians are running on that).

The general population of the US will refuse to even consider actual leftist politics without some sort of shift in our electoral politics. Instead of apathy and middle-finger-hoisting inaction, I chose an action with lasting strategic value. If we want a real "the revolution will not be televised" moment, we have to slap the soma of blue-tie lies out of enough hands to get people to pay attention. 3rd party electoralism is a step in the correct direction for them and a path I have started many people down already. I plan to continue until there is no need for it.

[doberbutts]

We have a little free pantry in our front yard (toothbrushes, tampons, shelf-stable snacks bottled water, etc.), and I read a lot about people's experiences having one online before we put ours up re: expectations about potential interactions with people using it, but nothing prepared me for how weirdly aggro *other* people sometimes get about us having it as a form of "activism" as opposed to some other, more nebulous idea of broader social change. "Don't you think it'd be better to volunteer at or donate money to a homeless shelter, so those people can get the actual help they need?" "Shouldn't you focus more on trying to campaign for policy changes that will help more people than one street corner if you care about this problem?" "Isn't doing that a waste of time?" "Aren't you just encouraging people not to get help?" I do that other stuff when I can. This is something small I can do - in addition to raising awareness and fighting for bigger change, when I have the time and money and spoons - and at least, when I don't. It's crazy to me to approach social justice issues with such an all-or-nothing mindset as some people seem to. I've met enough of the individuals who utilize it to know it makes a difference in a very tangible way for the people directly around me.

No, I agree entirely.

Corny and dated as it is, there's a reason the saying is "be the change you want to see". If no one within the community puts in the work to fix the community's problems, even in little bits and pieces, then how will anything change? Raising awareness only goes so far. What happens when all anyone is, is aware? Aware, and still doing nothing, waiting for someone else to put in the work.

Sometimes, that someone is going to need to be you. You can't just wait around and wait for someone else to do it for you.

If I see someone digging through the trash for food, I wave them over and offer them food from my house or fresh food from a store or take them to a restaurant where they can order whatever they want. If I'm getting groceries and I see someone very obviously homeless struggling to pay for their food, I tell the cashier to add it to my bill. No one starves in front of me. Ever since I stopped needing to rely on food stamps, no one starves in front of me.

This past summer I saw someone splayed out on the sidewalk in 95F weather in direct sunlight. I couldn't tell if he was unconscious from drugs or passed out from the heat or just simply had fallen asleep in the shade and then the sun moved. I was getting groceries so I added a bunch of hot chicken to my order plus several bottles of refrigerated water. I went over to him and woke him and explained that I was worried he needed medical attention. He'd passed out because he was tired, he told me. I offered him the hot food and the water and he thanked me, telling me he'd run out of water the night before and food the day before that and didn't have any money to get any more.

Everyone else had been walking around him like he was just an obstacle on the sidewalk. No one had thought to offer any help. When I walked away, some folks who saw me told me that that was very nice of me. I don't think it was nice of me. I think that's just what you should do if you see someone obviously in distress. They agreed that he seemed like he needed the help. They didn't act. They agreed that the compassionate and right thing to do was to offer assistance and make sure he was okay. But they didn't do it. They waited for someone else to do it.

I've mentioned in passing that I volunteer for the local teen LGBT club, helping lost gay kids find their way and maybe not kill themselves about it. It's not much. I mostly just text back and forth with whatever kids get my number from the adults that run the thing. Sometimes I give them tips and advice. Sometimes I'm just the cool gay uncle they tell about their latest school drama. Once or twice I've served one of them lunch on my couch while my dogs smother them with affection and they cry about their latest heartbreak. I don't do speeches or history lessons or anything like that. I don't think I'm qualified for it, in honesty. But if even one of them doesn't commit suicide, if even one of them doesn't self-harm, if even one of them no longer feels all alone in the world because I'm there when they reach out to me, that's enough.

Today on my commute to work, the guy in front of me had a major wipeout on his motorcycle. I stopped my car in a position that none of the other cars could hit him, and asked if he was okay, and waited until his friend (also on a motorcycle) had circled back around to help him off the road and check him over. I left once his friend waved me away. I offered to call an ambulance but he refused.

A couple weeks ago, also on my commute, a woman was stopped on the side of the road, waving her arms at drivers, shouting for help. I stopped. The other drivers didn't. Her car had died, she was new to town, and she was somewhere that notoriously doesn't get cell service. I helped her call a tow truck. It wasn't a trap. She didn't want to hitchhike. She just was stuck and panicked about it.

I stop and help animals get off the road. I've lost count on how many turtles I've carried to the other side. I helped my neighbor search for a dog he saw get hit by a car so he could take it to the vet. I shoveled my elderly neighbor's driveway for her, and talked my boss into giving her a major discount for her little dog's dental in which pretty much every tooth needed extraction or he would die. When I still lived in that rental with my roommates, we were surrounded by kids. Every kid on the block knew we were a safe house to go to. If they needed food or water, if they needed entertainment, if they needed just somewhere to be, they could be at our place. When covid started, I did a "reverse halloween" since Halloween was canceled, and I put bags of candy on every doorstep that I knew had kids inside. I've done a "neighborhood santa" putting a small toy plus a small gift card for the parents on every doorstep that has kids, for as long as I've lived around kids.

When I say activism requires action, I don't mean that every single person is required to save a thousand lives. The honest answer is, unless you have a lot of disposable time and money, you probably won't. But you can still make a difference. To one. To ten. To twenty.

And you know what? I'm not saying black people specifically came up with this- but how can you be surprised to know this is how I live my life when I say over and over that I was raised by black activists who lived during MLK Jr and Malcolm X and knew community action would have the longest-lasting effects? Of course I do all this. That's what being part of a community *is*.

[bunnyreaper]

more gross perv soap hc's (mostly to share the brainrot with @ceilidho !!)

(18+/mdni, disgusting perv soap, dubcon/noncon elements)

absolutely has a folder on his phone where he screenshots every. single. photo that you post. ashamedly saves your snaps in the chat even before you get together, and you think it's just for fun or jokes, but it's so much more than that. (he knows how to screenshot your stories or close friends posts too so he can keep them forever, as that's where you might post something more revealing or intimate that gets him going) 

absolutely uses the photos as reference material as he draws insane smutty drawings in a little notebook he has. the best part of his little talent is that he can put pencil to paper and make all of his perverted thoughts tangible. makes little doodles of you bound, covered in his cum, pussy all puffy and swollen. when he's feeling particularly unhinged he might draw himself there alongside you, cock stuffed inside you. any scenario he can imagine, he can just draw you like that, just for him.

tries to subtly steer conversations with the guys in your direction, so they'll share in his objectification of you (but then he might get a little jealous if he thinks they're going too far). asks gaz if he's noticed how form fitting your workout clothes are, or if he saw your midriff in that latest photo you posted. none of them ever say anything as gross as the thoughts in johnny's head, and he finds himself spiraling as he posts pictures of you online to certain forums, encouraging strangers to leave the nastiest comments imaginable that he also reads and jerks off to.

has you saved in his phone as cumrag, but really it's just a joke, and not at all a reference to the numerous times he's spilled over photos of you--your smiling face stained with pearly drops of cum as he imagines what it would look like for real.  

of course he has a pair of your panties he uses to get off, often in rotation as he soils new pairs thinking about how you're wearing something that's been rubbed against his cock. 

sometimes he'll purposefully come find you after he's wanked to pictures of you, his hands still stained with the slightest amount of cum as he just wiped off his hands instead of washing them. makes sure to get extra touchy feely with you, giving you a hug, resting his hands on your shoulders, maybe caressing your cheek as he tells you a dumb joke--just leaving a trace of his essence on your skin. 

and if you're together? oh he definitely hides his perversions at first, slowly but surely introducing you to them as he creeps over boundaries and conditions you into loving the attention. asking for you to indulge him with his perfectly begging eyes in a way you can't help but comply. 

if the two of you are going drinking he'll finish your outfit by cumming in your panties and leaving you with the squelch between your lips as the two of you go about your night--making sure you're properly claimed by him. 

gets you drunk and a little loose so he can encourage you to tell the guys about how good he fucks you, how big his dick is, how much he makes you cum and how you love the filthy shit he does to you. you'll blush furiously the entire time but he just coaxed you into saying more. 

really does use you as a cumrag now he has you. will just find you on the couch watching tv or sleeping in bed and will jerk off until he paints your pretty face, doesn't even bother to clean it up. if you're awake, he'll make you wear it for as long as he can, maybe even answer the door to the food delivery guy with it still on your cheeks--even if you're mortified by the idea. 

takes so many photos and videos of you fucking he might as well just have a camera permanently pointed at your bed. he's addicted to capturing every dirty little thing he does to you, to having proof of the moments when you give in and beg him to do something filthier. his phone is full of videos of him using your mouth until your face is covered in drool, spitting in your mouth and making you swallow it like a tasty treat, smearing his cum all over your body like its fucking lotion. (or that one time you'd pissed him off by getting grossed out at him that he came on the floor and made you lick up every single drop.) 

makes you watch back the videos as he rubs you, only letting you come at the most disgusting parts so he can really solidify his conditioning of you as his perfect, depraved little girlfriend.

[g1rld1ary]

Hi! If you're still taking Lockwood and Co requests, can I plz request an imagine where Lockwood finally becomes vulnerable in front of the reader and he lets his emotions out in front of her and she soothes him 🥹🥹🥹?

reaching out - anthony lockwood x reader

wc: 1664

cw: canon typical death mentions, family trauma

thanks for waiting lovely! hope this is what u wanted xxx

Lockwood was a puzzle. You'd been working with him for a while now and still couldn't truly understand him.

As a boss, Lockwood was great. Never too hard on you whilst still pushing you to further your skills, but always putting your safety first. As a friend, he was similarly brilliant. The perfect listener, he always had a smile saved up for when you needed it. Even as a housemate he was perfect; Lockwood never took too long in the bathroom or left messes around even though it was his own house.

As a boy? Lockwood was indecipherable. Always gentle but never vulnerable. Always a listener, never a talker when it came to personal truths. He was your best friend but you knew nothing about him.

It was definitely an atypical relationship you shared, but you weren't unhappy with it and it seemed that neither was he. You proceeded in your usual way for a year while you were in the company until one particular case.

Lockwood had been off all week and you weren't sure why. You were in the middle of a case; a tragedy where all but one in a family had been killed and were haunting their own home. It wasn't one you needed a whole heap of research for, but George still wanted to take the precautions of getting the building layout and checking for the possibility of any other ghosts, and for once Lockwood didn't fight him on it.

George and Lucy had gone to the archives to get the research while you and Lockwood were doing all the other errands; stocking up on supplies, doing a daytime tour of the house then getting groceries on the way home.

Shopping for supplies and weapons was totally fine, the both of you chattering away as normal. It was only when you approached the cast iron fence of the Victorian-style home that Lockwood grew quiet again, retreating into himself. You spared him a puzzled expression but didn't dwell on it there.

A sad-looking woman met you at the front gate, draped in black. She introduced herself as the deceased wife's sister, explaining her red-rimmed eyes. She led you both through the garden up to the house, sniffling quietly as she explained what had happened, a horrific freak accident that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

Stepping through the threshold into the house, you could feel the gloom as if it were a tangible thing. What clearly used to be a loving home was already dark and lifeless, the photos on the wall mocking instead of nostalgic.

You could hear noise from down the hall, glancing curiously in its direction. Your host picked up on what you were looking at and explained it was her nephew, the only survivor.

"Will," She called, "Come here." Moments later a little boy came waddling up the hallway, toy truck in hand. Your heart clenched as you took him in, he couldn't have been older than six or seven, far too young to be orphaned like this.

"We're packing up his stuff today, he's living with me right now. I'm not sure he understands his family aren't coming back." Your eyes felt hot like you were going to cry just listening to their family tragedy. A glance at Lockwood said the same thing. You took the lead for the rest of the house tour, unnerved by Lockwood's silence.

As the two of you were leaving the house Will chased you both down the stone path, tugging on the tail of Lockwood's long coat.

"Please help my mum and dad and my sister," He said, eyes still wide with youth and innocence.

"Of course," Lockwood replied, ruffling the boy's brown hair gently. You thought he sounded uncharacteristically choked up.

"You alright?" You asked a while later, far from the house. You were both on the way to the grocery store, your hands shoved in your coat pockets to hide from the cold.

"'Course," Lockwood replied shortly, eyes straight ahead on the street. You tried to catch his gaze but he refused to look at you, changing the topic to what snacks you could sneak past George. You indulged him reluctantly, not pleased to move past his clear struggles so quickly.

You wandered home in near dusk, not doing much to get home before sunset. The groceries had been spread between the two of you so neither of you was carrying too much of the burden, but you suspected Lockwood was carrying enough emotional weight for the pair of you.

Silently, under the light of a ghost lamp, you looped your arm around his, providing a comforting touch. He didn't say anything, but you could have sworn he was leaning into you more than he ever had before.

You made it back to Portland Row in good time, only braving a few minutes out in the darkness.

Hours later, you crept through the house, painfully aware of each creak of the old floorboards. You peered around the door into the library, watching Lockwood sit in his armchair, bored as he flipped through a gossip rag.

"Hey," You said as you sat, curling up on the couch and surrounding yourself with a blanket. He smiled in response, greeting you quickly before turning back to what he was reading. "Are you okay?" You knew you were coming off intense but you were really worried about him.

"Yeah, 'course. Why?"

"I don't know, you've just seemed really off today. Down." You studied your fingers to avoid making uncomfortable eye contact.

"I'm fine," He said, almost aggressively. Realising his tone, Lockwood backtracked, "It's nothing, just--" Silence.

"Just?" You urged him, braving the jump to look in his eyes. It was immediately intense, a profound sadness replacing what was usually jovial charm.

"I was him," Lockwood said and you were immediately confused. You tilted your head, trying to work it out but Lockwood continued, explaining it for you.

"Will. I was the leftover. My whole family is dead, and I am the one left alive."

"Oh God, Lockwood," You whispered, patting the spot next to you. He followed you over, taking the blanket you offered.

"My parents died when I was really young, about the same age as Will. They were the first ghosts I ever fought." You couldn't contain your soft gasp, hand creeping over your mouth as you took in what he was telling you. "I had an older sister, too, Jessica. She was six years older than me, died when I was nine. An accident with some of my parents' old supernatural artefacts. I've been fighting ghosts ever since."

Somehow you'd started holding his hand, rubbing smooth circles over his palm with your thumb. You could hardly believe what you were hearing, you had no idea Lockwood's life was so devastating. All you'd learnt while working at Lockwood and Co was that his parents had probably passed away, given the house was his. You'd never heard about a sister.

"I'm really sorry," Was all you could say, not taking the risk of misstepping.

"It's fine." His voice broke on the second word, tears rolling down his red cheeks in a moment. You'd never seen Lockwood cry. It was devastating, but also unfairly beautiful. Crystal tears in honeypot eyes.

Before you knew what you were doing you were holding Lockwood, arms keeping him close as he shuddered through sobs. All you did was embrace him for a long time, letting Lockwood express the emotions he kept so close to his chest all the time.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when he pulled away, clearly embarrassed and rubbing furiously at his eyes.

"Sorry," He mumbled, looking anywhere but at you. You put a hand on his thigh to pull him back down to earth.

"Don't apologise. I want to be here for you. You're my best friend, Lockwood, I love you." Lockwood smiled at that, unlike his usual thousand-watt grins, more muted but undeniably genuine.

"Thank you," He said, the warmth seeping back into his tone.

With the moment mostly passed you suggested it was probably time for bed for both of you.

"And you stay home tomorrow. Lucy, George and I will go put Will's family to rest. Take the night off, okay?" While you firmly believed it was in Lockwood's best interest to avoid what was a clearly triggering event, it was also for your own safety. Lockwood and Co was disorganised at the best of times, having Lockwood lose it because he was thinking of Will and his younger self would only endanger every one of you. It was for the best that he stayed home. To your surprise, Lockwood didn't fight you on the order, despite being your boss. He just nodded, lost in thought.

"You remind me of her," He said suddenly.

"Who?"

"Jess," He replied, "She would have liked you." You smiled softly at that, a warm glow igniting in your chest.

"Goodnight, Lockwood," You said instead of addressing the scary genuine feelings blooming. He didn't reply, instead pulling you into a tight hug. His arms around you were warm, holding you in place as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You realised suddenly how few hugs Lockwood had given you in your time at the company. Partly because it was a little unprofessional, mostly because Lockwood was typically too repressed to manage his emotions in such a healthy way. You enjoyed it though, it kind of felt like you two were meant to be like that, two halves of a damaged whole. When he pulled away his smile was just for you, bathing you in the love he'd never been able to express.

[blue-slxt]

Oldest Children Part 2

A/N: So I wrote Part 1 forever ago and a lot of people were asking for a part 2. I wasn't sure when/if I'd ever get around to it, but after Kinktober and Kinkmas and sooooo much smut, I wanted to try stretching my wings and try a little fluff just to mix it up. I'm admittedly not as confident in my fluff writing, but I think this turned out cute so I hope you like it too! All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Metkayina!Reader

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, Kissing

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Neteyam asks to meet you after eclipse.

Walking along the shore, you carefully observe each of the older Sully kids as they practice their breathing and ilu riding. Off to the side, Tuk is practicing her sign language with Rotxo.

They're all doing well, but you can't help but notice that Neteyam's posture is faltering. Tsireya and Ao'nung are both too caught up with Lo'ak and Kiri to notice so you decide to step in.

Your strides are long and confident, but nearly silent as you move behind him.

"Your posture is awful" you giggle in his ear making him crack a smile. You crouch down and place your hands on his back and shoulder applying gentle pressure to straighten him back out. Neteyam prays to Eywa that you don't notice the way his tail momentarily falters in its usually steady swaying. Lucky for him, you didn't seem to notice. Or, if you did, you didn't mention it.

He straightens his back, but he still looks awkward. You move around to his front and eye him a bit trying to decide on what was still off. His eyes look at you in waiting and it hits you. Your fingers hold his chin and lift his head. This time, you don't miss it when his face flushes and you freeze feeling your own face get warm. Your stares meet each other in a silent, tender moment that has you suddenly feeling like you can't catch your breath. It's only made worse when your eyes unintentionally flick to his lips and his tongue swipes over his bottom lip.

Off to the side somewhere, Ao'nung is rolling his eyes and Tsireya is stifling a giggle, but neither of you seems to be able to notice anything outside of each other in this moment.

At least, that is, until you hear Tuk's voice calling out from across the way where she was.

"Hey guys! Look at this pretty seashell I found!"

Her little feet stomp the sand beneath her as she races over with the shell in hand. "Be careful, Tuk!" Kiri says, but it's too late. You see the whole thing happen almost in slow motion.

Before she could see it or stop herself in time, her foot lands right on top of a sharp rock that was sticking out of the sand. There's a loud shriek followed by a thud from her falling over into the sand.

There's not a tangible thought in your mind as your body races towards her. You can hear everybody else shuffling to run in the same direction, but you're already in autopilot when you fall to your knees and cradle her in your arms.

Her tears fall steadily onto your arm and her small body trembles with her sobs.

"Shh shh shh, I know, Tuk. I know. Let me see." you try gently consoling her.

By now, everyone else has caught up and they're surrounding you trying to check up on her too. You grab her foot and examine it to see how bad the damage is. There's a small cut, but thankfully, it's nothing too deep.

"It doesn't look too bad. Here, let me clean the sand off and then I'll take you to my mom so she can patch you up? Okay?" you suggest to her and she can only nod her head still letting out little sniffles.

You carefully unhook the sack around your chest that stayed filled with water. Usually, you kept it with you to drink throughout the day, but this was more important right now. Using one hand to hold the skin while your other arm is still holding Tuk close, you pour the water over the small cut making her wince a bit. You gently shush her a bit while you make sure to get all the sand off her injured foot.

Once you're confident that it's all clean, you scoop Tuk up in your arms, "I'm going to take her to my mother so she can properly wrap her foot."

"I'll go with you. I want to make sure she's okay." Neteyam speaks up separating from the rest of the group and coming to join you.

You just give him a small nod as you turn to walk in the direction of the healing tent.

The walk to the healing tent is mostly silent aside from Tuk's tiny sobs and sniffles. Neteyam walks beside you while you cradle his baby sister in your arms and he mutters little words of encouragement to her. It's sweet watching him try to cheer her up.

Fortunately, when you reach the healing tent, it's not busy so your mother is able to attend to Tuk immediately. "You're going to be just fine, okay?" you say placing a comforting hand on top of Tuk's head. Neteyam watches from the wall while Ronal gets to work patching up her foot.

"I should be heading back." you say standing to your feet and walking past Neteyam and out of the pod.

"U-um..." he finally speaks up touching your shoulder to stop you before you got too far away. "Thank you. For looking out for her."

A sincere smile spreads on your face, "It's no problem." You turn to leave again, but again, before you can put too much distance between you, Neteyam takes a few long strides to catch you.

"Can I see you later?"

His question stops you dead in your tracks. You study his expression that almost looked shocked. Like he couldn't believe he just said that.

"Like after last meal?" his voice drops to a whisper feeling the embarrassment color his cheeks, but holding your gaze nonetheless.

"Okay" it comes out a little breathless, but you know he hears you loud and clear when a smile cracks his own face.

"See you later!" you call to him as you take off running back towards the beach. You duck behind a large tree on the shore and press your back to it heaving breaths while your heart threatens to crack right through your chest. There's heat behind your cheeks and your face is starting to hurt from the goofy grin that you couldn't get rid of.

You quietly take a minute to jump in place with glee before composing yourself again and heading back to the group that you'd left on the beach.

...

During last meal, you can barely bring yourself to pay much attention to whatever conversation your family is having. You can't even manage to properly eat your food with how distracted you are. Tsireya is the one that seems to notice first. As if your permanent cheeky grin weren't enough to give you away, she follows your eyeline one time when you and Neteyam catch each other's gaze across the crowd.

"You certainly seem to be in a good mood." she snickers at you.

"Should I not be?" you simply respond.

"You also seem distracted."

"I don't know what you mean." a lie.

"Hm" she hums. "So the Sully kids sure have been improving a lot lately. Especially Neteyam."

Your hands falter ever so slightly and anyone else who wasn't this close to you, would have missed it.

"I knew it!" Tsireya whisper shouts next to you.

"Shhh keep your voice down!" you whisper shout back to her.

A mischievous grin forms on her face laughing at your clearly startled expression.

"Fine! If you must know, he asked me to meet him after last meal." your excitement is barely containable at the prospect.

"How romantic~" she teases, poking at your side.

"Stop, I'm sure it's nothing like that."

"Oh, I'm sure" she says rolling her eyes. "That's why he hasn't stopped staring at you and smiling all meal?"

"Hush!" you lightly push her shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you can see Neteyam stand and excuse himself from his family's spot among the people. He gives you one last look before nodding his head in the direction of the beach and taking off. That's your cue.

You quickly excuse yourself from your family to which your mother gives you a suspicious glare and your sister gives a teasing giggle.

Walking down the shore of the beach it feels like your heart is racing just at the thought of being alone with Neteyam again. The last time the two of you were alone together on the beach, he got so close it made your stomach do flips. You're out of time to speculate on what could happen tonight once you spot his slender frame standing at the edge of the waves. One last breath to calm your nerves and you make the stride over to him.

"Fancy meeting you here, forest boy." you playfully quip at him.

Neteyam huffs out a laugh looking down at you and the gaze in his eyes immediately makes you want to fold in on yourself, but in a good way?

"I've been thinking about how to properly thank you for how you took care of my sister earlier."

"Neteyam, you don't have to--"

"I want to. I've been thinking about it and even though I miss the forest, so far, you have been the best thing about coming here." he turns to fully face you and it's almost as if time stops. Words can't seem to find you right now. His fingers graze the skin on your arm and trail all the way down to your hand where he grabs you firm, but gentle. "Can I show you something?" His eyes are full of hope and a small hint of fear that you'll deny him.

You could never.

"Of course."

The grin that spreads on his face is nothing short of disarming. You let him lead you down the shore and into the forest. He bobs and weaves through the foliage with such grace. No doubt he's fully in his element. Meanwhile, it's all you can do to keep your tail from smacking into every branch that you pass.

He leads you to a tree and before you have the chance to ask any questions, he leaps up to the closest branch with little to no effort leaving you a bit stunned. He looks down at you with an amused smirk and reaches his hand out to you. You were, admittedly, not a very strong climber so you accept his offer and he helps pull you up with ease.

You follow Neteyam up the tree higher and higher until you approach the highest branch.

"You ready for this?" he asks helping you reach your final stop. When you make it to the top and stand to your feet, the sight you're met with almost knocks you backwards.

You can see the entire beach stretched out under a seemingly never-ending sky full of stars. The reflection on the water makes it look like it's shining. And on the other side of you, a forest stretching for miles and miles full of green and bioluminescent flora glowing in the cover of eclipse.

"Wow..." you breath out almost silently. "I've never seen the water like this. It's beautiful..."

The sight is stunning. You can't tear your eyes away. But all Neteyam can look at is you.

"This is my second favorite sight here on the island." he says finally breaking you out of your trance. You turn to face him and his face is suddenly serious.

He offers his hand out to you and you take it somewhat hesitantly. Neteyam weaves his fingers with yours and pulls you closer ever so slightly.

It feels like he gets closer and closer and you can't bring yourself to move out of the way or push him away.

“Neteyam, we shouldn’t..." you say despite the fact that your eyes are trained on his lips that are still moving closer to yours.

He pauses only inches away from your face.

“Then tell me to stop…tell me you don’t want this. If you do, I’ll stop. I’ll leave you alone and I’ll resign myself to forever loving the version of us that could’ve been. But if you let me, I will be irrevocably and unapologetically in love with you past the day I die. You deserve the life you want. Let me give it to you…”

Your eyes finally find his and the sincerity you find in them is overwhelming. You can't help but flash back to that moment you shared on the beach.

“If there were such a man who wanted to give you that life, would you have him?”

Your body moves before your mind can think of words to say. You push up on the balls of your feet to let your lips meet his in a heated kiss. His large hands cup your face carefully and his tail wraps around your thigh holding onto you in every way that he can. Your hands rest against his chest and the beating of his heart is erratic and thunderous. Surely, yours feels the same way. His lips are warm and soft moving against yours. It's as if nothing else exists right now. That is until he gives a cheeky little nip to your bottom lip.

You finally pull away with a small giggle and a deep flush on your face.

"You know this is going to be tough to explain to my parents." you say raising an eyebrow at him.

"It'll be fine. Parents love me." he says proudly.

"Maybe, but you've never had to impress parents of a future olo'eykte"

"You worry too much, yawne. Let me handle it, okay?"

"Alright, if you say so, mighty warrior."

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