#beg pardon sir?????????

[goldensunset]

what

[drtanner]

Sir?

Sir??

SIR???

[freelyhauntedduck]

Aaravos: "Our child." Points to Sir Sparklepuff.

[his-tamine]

when you say you're into degradation and this man calls you the hard-r.. ..........like....... THAT....... THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT. LIKE AT ALL.

..HOLY SHIT.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

me: *writes a lot of unhinged porn not shying away from any topic/pairing really*

elio: see that’s your sagittarius placement in mars right there, you little freak

[imnameimswrld]

I have malfunctioned.

[shit-talker]

Just found out some random guy in my year doesn't like me??? I have???never?spoken to him in my life??

[blondiexbiites]

Chris stares at what was once his living room now adorned in pink. Brown hues scan his record player adorned frills and even his eldritch cat held a pink bow. His hellhound scowled at the frills that decorated his paws. "...Maddie," he sighs with a sip of his coffee, "You know I don't mind you staying with me for a bit....but if you're gonna make some changes, you're going to have to start paying rent."

The blonde looked up from her drying nails, blinking. Her interest caught—who was rent?—Madison stared at Chris before the realization settled in…and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

Oh.

The witch stared at her with the same firm, unblinking gaze she remembered whenever she crossed the line and broke a house rule. Oh, he was serious. Shock slammed into her like a tidal wave and her lips curled; she was the rent he was talking about. No other women were in the room, no one else he could mean. "You're going to have to start paying rent." Icy fingers of sheer panic laced around her spine, but then common sense reasserted itself and she relaxed. Rent? Oh, that was easy!

She already had a sugar daddy who spoiled her rotten.

"Okay, but I get to choose which of my jewelry you can pawn off. Just not this one." Madison lifted her dainty foot and studied the platinum and diamond anklet that circled her right ankle, enjoying the way the dangling diamond glittered in the lamp lighting of the living room, the way the platinum glowed against her pale skin. The anklet had been one of Mr. Rochester's many gifts when he’d been very pleased about her making him look good in front of all his big wig friends at the evening yacht party.

In fact, she wouldn’t mind a matching bracelet—not that she ever hinted.

She was always very careful not to ask Mr. Rochester for too much, and to ooh and aah over everything he gave her even if it was garish, because even garish crap could be sold to pay rent. Madison had no illusions about the permanency of her position in Mr. Rochester's life as his sugar baby. Right now she was at the top of her game, mature enough to be womanly, young enough that she didn’t have to worry about gray wrinkles. She was a vampire and eternal youth came with the mental anguish of never seeing the sun again or eating chocolate.

"Or you could sell some of your vinyl records. I mean, I know it's vintage and all, but like, you should totally start investing in Apple products to play your super old music."

To keep from looking at him and maybe finding that disapproving stare locked on her again, Maddie pretended to examine the magenta polish on her toenails. She had put it on just that morning, thinking it would look interesting against the creamy white pink of the silk lounge outfit she was currently wearing, but the purple under-tones were too vulgar and made her look like a cheap tramp. She should have gone with a shell pink, something delicate and almost transparent to compliment the outfit instead of contrasting with it. Oh, poo. What to do? What to do?

Speaking of shell pink.

"FYI, I'll be doing some more redecorating to the living room." The blonde picked up a catalog and threw it at him to catch. "The entire set for the living room costs one grand. You're going to pay for it, right? It's all the rage in Paris."

@bewitchingbaker

[hanrinz]

so if anyone asks why rafayel was somehow kicked down to no. 2 its bc of 🐦‍⬛

[nanonews]

Hahahaha two weeks🙃

OMFG🔥🔥🔥

[raven-dor]

you are my moonlight

In which gwayne hightower meets his future wife, and his timing is most unfortunate

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, friends fighting, creepy viserys, horrible timing

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

AN: this could be read as a prequel to come back to me, but does NOT have to be read to understand any context!!

The tourney was in full swing, Y/N sitting eagerly on Rhaenyra’s left. The first two matches had finished rather similarly, with Sir Criston Cole being the winner. What the trio was actually waiting for was Prince Daemon’s match. It was all Rhaenyra had talked about for days and the fact that he’d gifted her a necklace of Valyrian steel, a rare and precious token that many in the realm could not afford. Of course, Rhaenyra and her family were the exception, as they were one of two of the only remaining High Valyrian houses left.  

The knights of the realm lined up before the Prince, the Master of Revels, announced the man himself. “Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent.” The prince rode down the line, inspecting each knight briefly. He quickly settled on Alicent’s brother, Ser Gwayne. “For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.” 

Alicent grew restless, picking at the skin surrounding her fingers. Y/N wished she could comfort the auburn haired girl herself, but Rhaenyra grabbed her friend's hand quickly, stopping her from further injury. The two men lined up on their respective sides, racing towards each other. 

Ser Gwayne released the first blow to the shock of the stands. Y/N beamed, though she did not know why. She hardly knew the knight, only hearing of him through Alicent when she recalled her childhood. The second round was quick, and at the last second, Prince Daemon lowered his joust in front of the horse's legs, causing it to topple over, taking Ser Gwayne with it. She gasped, a hand covering her mouth. She mumbled, knowing Rhaenyra would not stand for any untoward talk of her uncle. “By the seven.”

Ser Gwayne did not move, and Alicent grew more anxious by the second. Y/N reached her hand out, grasping Alicent's briefly. “He will be alright, Alicent, I know it.” The squires lifted him from the ground, walking him over to the medicine tent. He would be transported later to the sept, Y/N assumed. She would have to visit him and keep him company while he recovered. 

Prince Daemon approached the Royal apartment, and Rhaenyra instantly approached her uncle. “Nicely done, Uncle.” Alicent and Y/N followed suit, still squeamish from the clearly immoral act.

“Thank you, Princess.” Daemon nodded his head. “Lady Y/N.” 

“My Prince.” 

He turned to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.” Alicent walked away, and Daemon smiled once more at the ward of the crown. “Next tourney, my lady, I shall ask you.” 

Y/N laughed. “I look forward to that day, my Prince.” 

Alicent returned swiftly, placing her favor on the Prince’s joust. “Good luck, my Prince.” The three girls sat down, waving at the crowd. The tourney had turned sour near after, with three fights breaking out, all ending in death. The knights, who had never seen battle, were bloodthirsty from what she could tell.

Y/N grew nauseous quickly, begging Rhaenyra for pardon so that she did not grow sick. Rushing out of the royal apartment, she decided to visit Ser Gwayne while she still had the nerve. The tent was quiet, with the exception of a few masters concocting ointments. Y/N peaked around the corner, coming face to face with Alicent’s brother. She curtsied, bowing her head. “My lord.” He tried to sit up, but she quickly stopped him. “Please, there is no need to further harm yourself.” 

He smiled gratefully. “I must ask for your forgiveness, my lady; I do not remember meeting you.” 

“I am Y/N of House Hawthorne. A ward of the crown and a friend of your sister’s.” 

“A pleasure, my lady.” He tilted his head. “Has she sent you here then?” 

“Alicent remains at the tourney. I-” She blushed, realizing how foolish it sounded. “I saw your joust, and I wanted to see that you were well. For Alicent’s sake.” 

He nodded, a smirk growing on his lips. “For Alicent, of course. I must say, I have not heard of House Hawthorne.” She smiled, sitting beside him.

“We are located in the Westerlands, my lord, and are sworn to House Lannister.” She looked closer at his wound, wincing. “Your wound looks rather agitated still. Would you mind if I-” 

He shook his head quickly. “Please. I would be most appreciative.” 

She stood, sneaking a cloth and an herb she knew caused numbing. Wrapping it carefully, she dipped the cloth in water, tapping it lightly on his skin. “This should numb the pain, for now, my lord. I’ve known this herb to speed the healing process along quite nicely.” 

He hummed, closing his eyes. “How did you become so well acquainted with such knowledge?” 

“My mother was a trained healer, my lord.” 

“Please call me Gwayne.” He peeked through his eyelids, giving her a kind smile. “You’ve all but earned it.” 

“Very well, my lo- Gwayne.” She nodded. “If I can call you by your name, it is only fair that you call me by mine.” 

He scoffed. “Hardly. That would be highly improper.” 

She raised an eyebrow, still delicately tapping the cloth. “Opposed to what you have asked of me?” 

He nodded, steadfast. “You are a lady. You should be addressed as such.” 

Dipping the cloth back in the water, she laughed. “Hardly.” 

“Using my own words against me.” He laughed back. “My, you are a wonder.” 

“Y/N?” 

She froze, turning around quickly. For some reason Y/N felt guilty, caught even. But seeing Alicent stand at the end of her brother’s bed, her face as pale as the winter snow, made the girl forget her worries. Y/N dropped the cloth in the bowl, rushing to Alicent’s side. “What is it? What’s happened?” 

“The Queen. She’s-” Alicent leaned closer, whispering in her friend's ear. “She’s dead.” Y/N gasped.

“I-” Y/N turned back to Gwayne, waving quickly. “It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, my lord.” The two girls rushed off, leaving the knight thoroughly confused. 

“Call me-” The girl was out of the tent before he could finish his sentence.

The funeral was a somber affair, as to be expected. Alicent and Y/N stood close by to Rhaenyra, staring at the covered bodies. Syrax, the Princess’s dragon, stood at the top of the hill, waiting for its orders. They stood in silence for the better part of an hour before Prince Daemon whispered in Rhaenyra’s ear, no doubt telling her that she would have to be the one to give the order. 

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine as her friend stepped forward, catching a sob. “D-” Rhaenyra took a deep breath, commanding her dragon. “Dracarys.” 

The yellow fury let out a great blast, effectively burning her mother and brother’s corpses. Rhaenyra turned away, unable to look at her deceased loved ones. Soon after, the crowd dissipated, leaving Rhaenyra, Y/N, and Alicent still standing by the sight. Y/N stayed back as Alicent approached their grieving friend.

“My lady.” 

Y/N turned, smiling lightly at the Hightower. “My lord.” 

“I believe last we met, I asked you to call me by my name.” He smirked. “Or am I mistaken?” 

She laughed quietly. “I believe the herb I applied made you hallucinate, my lord. You never said anything of the sort.” 

He laughed. “I’m sure you would never lie to me, so I shall take your word for it.” 

Y/N looked back at her friends, her heart aching. 

“She is an unlucky Princess,” Gwayne muttered. 

“Yes, indeed. Losing a parent is never easy.” 

“I am sorry.” Y/N turned back to the young knight, confusion etched on her face. “It is just- I assumed that with you being a ward of the crown-” 

“You would be correct. But it has been so long, I hardly remember what it was like to have parents.” 

He frowned. “That is horrible. I lost my own mother just a year ago.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she tried to ignore the shock that rang through her body. “It is never easy.” 

She shook her head, placing a hand delicately over his. “You are, unfortunately, correct.” 

A cough broke the pair apart, Y/N practically jumping at the interruption. “I could use some company on Dragonback.” Rhaenyra practically whispered. “Would you join me?” 

“Of course.” She turned back to Gwayne, curtsying quickly. “My lord.” 

The two girls walked up the hill, arm in arm. Alicent looked curiously at her brother. “What are you doing?” 

He whipped around, laughing at his sister. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“I only meant to say, you’ve taken a recent fascination in Y/N.” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “And your point?” 

Alicent smiled, shaking her head. “Merely a statement, brother.”

The palace gardens were in full bloom this time of year, and Y/N always found comfort in the little corner with a quaint fountain and an outlook of the ocean. Rhaenyra and she frequented this spot often in their youth, and Y/N needed respite from the high tensions at court. She’d been stuck on the same page for what seemed like hours when a voice broke through her focus. “We meet again.” Gwayne bowed his head, grinning much too widely. “My lady.” 

Y/N made no effort to stand, raising her eyebrows. “I am beginning to think, my lord, that you have been following me.” 

“Not that I am…” He started, sitting at the end of the cushioned chair that she occupied. “But if I was, it might have something to do with the fact that you are still not calling me by my name.” 

She laughed. “Is it that simple?” 

He nodded. “Quite. But do not worry yourself, I’ll wait.” His eyes sparkled. “My lady.” 

Y/N welcomed the challenge; she could sit there for hours, reading and ignoring the handsome knight. She glanced down at her book, ignoring his devilishly handsome smile. “You’ve read that page three times already.” She glared over the top, and he held his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Sorry.” 

She looked back down, flipping the page to prove a point. He sighed, standing and walking over to the daisies that bordered the fountain. Picking the fullest one he could find, he stopped in front of the girl, holding it out. “May I?” 

“I will not wilt at the sight of you because you are a lord.” She stood, closing her book. “I am not a flower like the thing you hold in your hand.” 

He nodded. “You are not.” He raised the daisy, tucking it behind her ear. “You are however, as pretty as one.” 

Her cheeks turned pink, and she murmured. “You flatter me, my lord.” 

“And why shouldn’t I? One should always flatter a beautiful woman when given the chance.” He smiled. “I believe calling me by my name shall suffice as thanks.” 

She scoffed, smacking his chest lightly. “You are quite confident, Gwayne.” 

“You’ll find-” He stopped, his smile brightening ten fold. “You said my name.” 

Y/N nodded, walking away. “I did.” 

He followed after, like a lost puppy. “What shall you do with the rest of your day, I wonder?” 

She shrugged. “I do not know, but it will most certainly be out of your presence.” 

He gasped, holding his chest. “You hurt my heart when you say such things.” 

She laughed, stopping and pretending to check him over. “However will you survive?” 

“I think it is terminal my lady.” 

“And what affliction have you caught, Ser Gwayne?” Y/N forced a giggle back, trying her hardest to behave seriously. 

“Lovesickness.” He sighed. “I’m afraid there is no cure.” 

She stepped closer, a pink dusting her cheeks. “I shall mourn you then.” 

“Well, I’m sure we could-” 

“Y/N!” 

Gwayne had never hated the Princess Rhaenyra more in his life than that moment. She was a generally tolerable girl, and a good friend to his sister, but in that moment she stood between him and you, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to leave. He stepped away from you hesitantly, bowing quickly. “Princess.” 

The Targaryen made no effort to hide her humor at the situation. “I apoligize for the intrusion. Alicent and I were about to go to the Sept, and I did not want you to think we left you behind.” 

Y/N smiled brightly, waving disapointedly to the knight. “Feel better, my lord.”

Alicent tilted her head, yelling back at her brother. “Better? Are you quite well brother?”

Y/N yet again found herself in the gardens, but this time she was here for the soul purpose of seeing Gwayne. She wore her best dress, had her maid’s put her hair up intricately, and even applied some rouge. Not too much, she wouldn’t want people to think the wrong thing. She was a lady, as Gwayne never ceased to remind her. Sitting carefully on the cushioned chair, she positioned herself towards the entrance, waiting for the familiar mop of auburn hair to peek through. She’d begun to think he wouldn’t show when his familiar tenor broke through the tranquil silence. 

“My lady, I thought I would find you here.” She lowered the book, her stomach fluttering when his eyes widened slightly. “You look-” 

“Gwayne, I-” They both stopped, laughing at their ill timed words. “It seems that we cannot find a moment of peace.” 

He nodded, breaking the distance between them. “I have wanted to tell you something for quite some time now. I cannot seem to summon the words to leave me.” He laughed, but his nerves were evident. “It is just…” 

“Yes?” Y/N smiled, hating how nauseous she felt. 

“I wanted to say that-” 

A loud sob rang through the garden, pulling them out of their haze. Gwayne drew his sword, in case the sob resulted in any trouble. Y/N tried to round the corner before him, but he shook his head, leading her carefully through the hedges. 

“Rhaenyra?” Y/N quickly left her place behind Gwayne, rushing to her friends side. “Are you alright?” 

“She’s betrayed me. I cannot- I can’t-” The princess looked up, glaring at the knight. “Can we go some place else?” 

Y/N nodded, her face visibly disappointed. She walked Rhaenyra out of the gardens, sparing Gwayne one last look, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’

The castle had been throw off it’s axis by the sudden shift within it’s walls. Rhaenyra was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant Y/N was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant that the once close knit group of friends were no longer a trio. 

It had been that way since they were children, almost ten years ago. Y/N not speaking to Alicent meant she could not speak to Gwayne, or so she assumed. She and Rhaenyra had not talked about it much since the day it was announced, always leaving a sour taste in the Princess’s mouth. 

Y/N just wished Rhaenyra could forgive her friend for something she had no control over. The Royal Wedding was tonight, and Rhaenyra had insisted that Y/N walk in with the princess, even though she wasn’t family. When Y/N brought this up, her friend scolded her, saying that ‘My father has insisted, I’m afraid. You are his ward, and he has grown to think of you as his own.’ 

Now, she sat beside Rhaenyra while the ceremony took place, sneaking glances at the brides brother. Rhaenyra had picked out Y/N's dress herself, saying that she needed something worthy of a princess. She was not one to argue and let the Princess do whatever she wanted as long as she was distracted from the day at hand.

Arm in arm with the Princess, she dreaded when they finally reached the hall and had to congratulate the ‘happy’ couple. Poor Alicent, married at fifteen, was not something she wished on her worst enemy. Especially to a man twenty years your senior. The doors opened wide, the crowd quieting at the sight of the princess and her companion. Among that crowd was Gwayne, staring at her with desperate eyes. 

Her cheeks turned pink, quickly breaking the contact. Chatter quickly filled the hall once more as Rhaenyra reached the top of the steps, curtsying quickly. “Congratulations, step-mother. Father.” 

Y/N shivered. Rhaenyra's tone was as cold as the Wall. She wanted to curse her friend for making her go after that display. She sunk to the floor, bowing her head. “Many happy returns, My Queen, My King.” 

Viserys smiled gratefully. “Thank you Y/N. You have been a loyal friend to my daughter and wife. I shall not forget it.” 

The young girl nodded, equally disgusted and horrified at what the king had just said. Surely he realized how immoral it was. “Of course Your Grace. I live to serve and provide assistance to my Princess.” 

She released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, sitting down beside Rhaenyra. “Could you at least have tried to be nice?” 

“I was.” The princess raised an eyebrow, and Y/N almost laughed, realizing her friend was being serious. 

“Of course. A jest, my lady.” 

Rhaenyra laughed. “So formal.” 

“We are at a wedding, Rhaenyra. It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than my lady, by the court's standards.” 

“Well I am the princess, and I say you call me Rhaenyra.” 

“Very well.” Y/N smiled, taking a large sip of her wine. “This will be an entertaining night.” 

Besides the occasional snide comment thrown at the obviously overwhelmed bride, the night had been otherwise peaceful. Y/N tried her best to sway Rhaenyra from attacking the queen outright, and she’d been successful. So far. She’d been in the middle of listening to Rhaenyra’s adventure of gathering the stolen dragon egg from her uncle when a cough interrupted. 

“Excuse me, Princess.” The pair turned around to see Gwayne staring at Y/N not Rhaenyra. Odd. He had addressed Rhaenyra, not her. “May I ask the Lady for a dance?” 

Y/N widened her eyes, looking in between the two. She was sure Rhaenyra would say no or burst out in flames from having to talk to Alicent’s brother, but she simply nodded her head, going back to her meal. Gwayne extended his hand, leading her to the dancefloor. He whispered as they moved, keeping in mind the intruding ears that surrounded them. “I have missed your company, my lady.” 

“I have missed yours as well.” 

“I know much has happened since we last spoke, but it has not deterred me. If anything, it has made me realize that I cannot stand to be apart from you.” Her cheeks turned pink for the second time that night. 

“You are very kind, Gwayne.” 

“Yes, well, it is not hard when you are the one I compliment.” He shook his head. “I am returning to Old Town soon. In two weeks time, after my sister settles into her new life.”

Her heart fell, eyes watering. “I hope your journey is swift.” She gulped, mumbling. “I shall miss you in truth.” 

He tilted his head, smiling. If she were not in a public place, she would admonish him for smiling at her pain. “What I mean to say is, I am infatuated with you. And I would like to seek your hand in marriage. From the king of course.” 

She gasped, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I would like to marry you.” He spoke softly, now fully grinning. “If you would have me. You do not have to say yes, but I assure you, your affection for me will grow with time.”

“With time? Gwayne, I-” Y/N whispered so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken. “I have already grown to admire you. Much more than a friend should. That is no concern of mine.” 

“Ah.” The knight nodded. “Well, that settles it then.” 

“Settles what?” 

“We are to be married.” 

“Yes, well…” She sighed. “You cannot propose to me at your sister’s wedding. It would be improper.” 

“Damn impropriety.” He hissed, twirling you as the dance required. “Praytell, when would be a proper time then?” 

“Any other day, my love.” 

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, her face growing red. “Gwayne people are looking.” 

He seemingly did not hear her. “My love.” 

“If you are going to tease me-” 

“You called me, my love.” 

“Gwayne…” She whined, gesturing to the prying eyes. “Can we please leave the floor? People will start to wonder…” 

“I desperately want to kiss you.” 

Thank the Seven the dance ended then. She bowed quickly. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.” Rushing back to her seat, she stared at the table, shock running through her veins. 

“Did he propose then?” 

Y/N whipped her head over, glaring at her friend. “You knew?” 

“Of course I knew. Y/N, I’ve known he was going to propose since I saw him approach you at my mother’s funeral.” 

“Rhaenyra, I’m so sorry.” 

“Whatever for?” 

“I don’t want you to feel betrayed. I had no intention of-” 

“Do not apoligize to me.” She placed her hand in Y/N's. “You are my friend. I am happy for you, truly. He is a good man, he will treat you well. I know it.”

“I haven’t said yes, Rhaenyra.” 

“Yet.” Her friend laughed. “You haven’t said yes, yet.”  

[macabr3-barbi3]

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed. 

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh. 

Right over his head. 

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring. 

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you. 

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of. 

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him. 

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed  Val coming into a room. 

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants. 

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck,��please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with. 

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“ 

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach. 

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

[tsukimefuku]

I’m so happy to have FINALLY found the time to read this. I was cackling the entire way (full commentary provided in tags in real time as I read - I finally understood how to do it, now I’ll never comment on anything in any other way ever again, get ready peeps ✨)

The Transformation of Nanami Kento

Part 7

In which Nanami-pom GETS SWEET, SWEET REVENGE.

CW: Violence. Yes, you read that right. Violence.

The haunted house exhibit was deathly still, made even more eerie by the dilapidated interiors, an irony not lost on Yuuji. He moved slowly and carefully through the side entrance, eyes adjusting to the dark. Somewhere to his right, he could hear Ino's cautious footfalls.

Nanami-pom had slipped from his shoulder right before they'd entered, but Yuuji wasn't overly concerned. His trusty mentor, even in this state, never made rash or hasty decisions. Remembering the way the rogue curse user had kicked the small, golden body made Yuuji grit his teeth.

Scumbag.

But this time they were prepared, and they had backup -

Before he had a chance to process what was happening, his body had reacted, as it often seemed to do since he had started serious jujutsu training. Something shot past his head, so close it must have grazed the fine hairs beneath his ear. The familiarity of the cursed energy was enough to tell him exactly who had attacked.

"Cover!" he shouted, watching Ino roll behind a large metal screen. Behind him, he heard the tell-tale 'shink' of Nobara's nails slipping into position between her fingers. From somewhere above them, beams of cursed energy were raining down, ricocheting off the walls and forcing them to stay alert, even behind the protective barriers.

"Stay back, you monsters!"

The slightly high-pitched voice of the curse user, Ichimura, echoed within the dilapidated walls, making it hard to pinpoint his position. Cursed energy was condensing in a distinctive spiral shape around Ino's fist, the dark material of the beanie, now revealed to be a ski mask, pulled down over his face. His voice was muffled as he called across to Yuuji.

"I'm gonna bring him down from the rafters, but I can't use full power. Too risky in here. You two get ready."

"Got it!"

Ino launched his spiralling attack, the energy-seeking missile shooting upwards to where Ichimura was firing from. There was an explosion and light suddenly flooded the large, cluttered room as Ino's attack tore through the rickety ceiling.

"Get back!" Nobara shouted. Shards of rusty iron and large pieces of wood were raining down, and they heard Ichimura screaming incoherently in rage. The dark shape of the curse user plummeted towards the floor, but he shot out beams of cursed energy, managing to cancel out the impact of his fall. He dropped to the floor, rolling out of the way as Nobara's nails pierced the wall behind him.

"Damn, he's a slitherer," she muttered.

Ino held up a hand, gesturing for them to hold positions. There was nowhere for Ichimura to run. They had the entrances covered, and attempting to escape through the large opening in the ceiling would leave him open to their attacks. It was now a deadly game of cat and mouse.

_________________________________________________________

Ichimura winced slightly and placed a hand against his side. Whoever had sent that damn missile at him packed quite the punch. If his natural defences hadn't kicked in, he'd be in a much worse position. His shirt was torn to shreds on one side, along with his nice suit jacket and the abrasions on his skin were making it painful to move.

Air hissed between his teeth as he took a breath and folded his arms across his body. His time on the run had forced him to practice certain elements of his technique, developing them much faster under the pressure of his circumstances. He'd learned that the cursed energy beams could be emitted from anywhere on his body, freeing up his hands if he needed to move or defend himself. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he unleashed the next volley of beams, hearing those pesky vermin shout warnings to each other as the energy ricocheted in unpredictable swarms from every surface of the room.

Good. That would keep them occupied while he - Wait. What was ...

From across the room, he saw the light streaming through the hole in the ceiling reflect off something. It was close to ground level, so he couldn't be sure, but it looked like ... a pair of glasses? He blinked, and it disappeared.

Must have been a trick of the light.

And then, behind him, he heard a soft, swift pattering. Whirling around, he readied the next set of beams, hands raised defensively.

Was this one of their techniques? Well, they wouldn't catch him off guard.

His cursed energy attack came in another volley, slicing through the darkness of his side of the room, forming a fast-moving web that made it impossible for anyone to get close to him. He paused, eyes searching through the gloom, breathing hard. Something clattered to the floor on his left. Spinning, he reflexively shot more beams in that direction. The cursed energy illuminated what had caused the noise. There was a small vial, rolling slightly from the impact of his attacks. Picking it up, Ichimura turned it over and read the label:

'Ton Ton's Natural Leave-In Conditioner for Pampered Pooches. NEW Caramel Pudding Scent!'

What -

Something collided with his side so hard it completely knocked the breath out of him. Ichimura yelled out in pain as he rolled across the debris-strewn floor and came up against a painted mural of a ghastly clown. Gasping, eyes tearing, he looked up at the barrier he had been crouching behind a short while ago. Something was standing on top of the barrier. A very small, furry shape, wearing what looked like a miniature business suit and a pair of tinted glasses. One of the floppy ears raised slightly as it looked down at him.

Wait, was that - No! It can't be! It's that man, from before. How was this possible? All the other mascots were small, soft and helpless -

He had no more time to mull things over, because the Pompompurin hopped lightly down from the barrier, unhurried, it's progress almost casual. Light glinted off its glasses as one small paw reached up and unbuttoned its coat with a deliberation that looked uncharacteristically threatening. It reached back and brought out what looked like a blade wrapped in mottled cloth.

Gritting his teeth, Ichimura gathered up his cursed energy and sent out a flurry of beams, impossible for anyone standing before him to dodge. Somehow, this was exactly what the Pompompurin did. It moved like lightning, gracefully dodging and weaving, the tiny blade moving like a whirlwind as it deflected many of the beams that were launched its way. The small size of its body and the speed of its movement was a natural counter to his technique!

"Get back, you little freak! You aren't even cute! You're an ugly eyesore! You don't deserve my beautiful transformation!" Ichimura screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as he upped the ante of his attacks.

Undeterred, the Pompompurin slid seamlessly across the floor toward him, the tiny paw flicking the blade out with clinical precision, once, twice, as it passed right between Ichimura's legs. The curse user gasped as he heard what sounded like a loud snap, his legs suddenly losing their ability to hold him upright. A piercing pain lanced from his ankles upward, and he cried out as he folded over and crumpled to the floor.

"You! What did you - "

He stopped, gasping sharply as the Pompompurin calmly put away its blade and approached him again.

"No ... No! Get away from me! Stay back!"

His screams had obviously alerted the other vermin, because he could see them now. Three youngsters who looked like they were barely out of school! And there was that pink-haired boy! They were ... just standing there? Why? And why were they smiling like that? Were they mocking him? Mocking him! He'd show them -

A sound brought his attention back to the threat in front of him. The Pompompurin took off its glasses ... and yes! He'd been right. It was that man. Those round brown eyes were unmistakable, but right now they weren't creased in confusion and pain. They were narrowed in a gaze that looked incongruously hard and deadly in the fluffy face. The Pompompurin approached him again, reaching up and loosening its tie with a paw. With a small flip, the tie wrapped around the tiny fist, along with a dangerous amount of cursed energy. Ichimura scrambled back, whimpering in pain as his damaged legs dragged against the floor.

No! No! This couldn't be happening! All he'd wanted was -

In a flash, faster than his eye could follow, the Pompompurin was right before him. It raised its paw and landed a blow across Ichimura's face that rattled the teeth in his skull. It was followed by another, and another, and another, spraying blood across the floor and ... were those his teeth? The Pompompurin paused and he felt its paw (how could it be so strong?) tangling in his hair. It jerked his head up, forcing him to meet its gaze.

"It's not my fault!" Ichimura screamed, eyes tearing up again. "I just ... I just wanted to see all the happy smiling faces!"

There was a shift in the Pompompurin's tiny, solemn face. Its mouth, downturned and serious, slowly straightened, then curved upward in the most horrific, menacing little smile Ichimura had ever seen. There was a small golden blur, the outline of its fist clad in cursed energy coming straight towards his face and then ... darkness.

________________________________________________________

Gojo whistled.

"Well, well. Looks like he didn't need anyone's help with this one."

They were in Ieri's room, the unhinged curse user, Ichimura, restrained appropriately on the metal table as he received treatment from her. He was still out cold, his face bloody and battered, looking distinctly worse for wear.

Yuuji grinned.

"Hell yeah. You should've seen him. That curse user didn't stand a chance."

Nobara was moving her feet across the floor rapidly as she shadow-boxed.

"Just like this. Move like a butterfly, sting like a Pompom."

The door opened and Ino and Megumi came in, Ino's grin as wide as Yuuji's. Nanami-pom was riding on Megumi's shoulder, well fed, fur washed and brushed clean of dust and debris, his tiny frame now encased in the cotton pyjamas Ijichi had procured for him. As much as the expression adorning his small snout was as serious as ever, there was a distinct air of accomplishment in the way he carried himself.

"So, what now?" Ino queried.

Gojo spun on his heel and clasped his hands behind his back.

"When he wakes up, we tell him to reverse the technique. Or else. Simple."

Gojo's easy smile belied the weight of his words. Ichimura would be waking up to a very unwelcome surprise when faced with the acknowledged strongest sorcerer in jujutsu society.

Megumi nodded. "Ijichi told me that they managed to find all the daycare employees that Ichimura transformed. They're with Ijichi right now and hopefully, this dude will undo the curse on them too."

"Great!"

Clapping his hands, Gojo turned to Nanami-pom. He began to poke his index fingers together in a gesture that wasn't exactly as cute as he thought it was.

"So, you'll be back to normal soon, Nanamin. And since, well ... you'll never be like this again ... wanna cuddle?"

Nanami-pom's expression never changed as he stared back at Gojo. The students and Ino watched with bated breath as he hopped down from Megumi's shoulder and approached his long-time senior and colleague. Was he really going to ...

Their eyes widened as Nanami-pom stopped right in front of Gojo and reached up, his tiny arms stretched out, as if asking to be carried. Gojo's mouth was hanging open slightly, but his expression rapidly morphed to one of quivering sentimentality as he dropped to one knee.

"Nanamin! Come here, I've got a big ol' shnuggle for you!"

The others watched in disbelief as Nanami-pom allowed Gojo to pick him up and press his face into the soft golden fur, sighing in happiness as he inhaled the sweet puppy smell and the lingering scent of caramel pudding from the conditioner Megumi used while brushing.

"Oooh. So soft! Amazing!"

Nanami-pom's paw came up and gently stroked Gojo's hair, earning a choked sound of ecstasy as the soft pads carded through the white strands. The paw dropped a little lower and came to rest on Gojo's nose. It was then that those watching the touching scene realised that all was not well.

Gojo's expression went through a series of changes, from confusion, to surprise, to realization and then ... a profound sense of betrayal. He gasped, inhaling and sputtering, his face suddenly turning an alarming shade of puce.

"What did you - you little - "

He grabbed, but Nanami-pom was faster, ejecting himself with enhanced speed from Gojo's off-kilter embrace and shooting across the floor to the exit. The heard the small patter of his paws in the corridor outside as he made his swift escape.

Gojo was doubled over, eyes streaming, coughing hard, beating the metal table with his fist. The others looked at each other in deep confusion, before Megumi's brow cleared and understanding dawned on his face.

"Oh. So that's why he wanted that sachet of cayenne pepper when we went to the kitchen for supper."

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: what the HELL are you doing, Merlin??? You're killing him!!!!

Merlin *through the coms*: Arthur, I need you to stay calm. I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you just cut that guys chest open!

Merlin: Arthur, I need you to breath. Caleb, keep the wound open; Sarah, get the heart ready

Arthur: you're taking out his HEART?

Merlin: I am a physician, Arthur, I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you're cutting that man's heart out!!!!

Second surgeon: Dr. Emrys, should we have the trespasser removed?

Merlin: does he have a sword with him?

Surgeon: ... No?

Merlin *very calm*: good. The entrance is protected by several medicine students and Arthur's lacking sense of direction. But Excalibur can kill the undead, so I'm not sure if a bulletproof window could stop him.

Surgeon: i beg your pardon?

Arthur: MERLIN, I know you can do magic, but this is dark, even for you!

Merlin: Eddie, we're ready for the exchange. Arthur, calm down. This is science, not magic. Science has evolved since you've last been around.

Eddie: when has he last been around?

Arthur: *hectically searching for something to break the window*

Merlin: Five minutes ago if he doesn't shut up. Alright, Eddie, we're good to go.

Arthur: *throws chair and fails to break the glass*

... Later... In the wake up room

Arthur: Sir? Sir! Can you hear me? Do you still feel like the same person?

Patient: *dizzy from Anaesthesia* you got golden hair mate. You must be rich

Merlin: Arthur, you are trespassing. You should not be in here.

Arthur: look at what you did! He's lost his mind! Has no idea who he is!!!

Merlin: that's cause he's on drugs. I'm gonna wait til he's fine and tell him he got through it all okay.

Arthur: wait- he slept through all that?

Merlin: it's one hell of a drug

[baronessvonglitter]

🫠

WHY PEDRO...WHYYYY

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 20] || [Chapter 22]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: - Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: yikes.

Chapter 21: I BEG YOUR PARDON?

It was a familiar sight.

Gaz across the desk, Soap next to him behind the spare chair, Ghost in the back of the room a foot against the wall and arms crossed.

Except this time, Price was standing up, pacing the narrow space behind his desk, from the window to the wall.

“Explain it to me slow.” He demanded. “Like I’m five years old.” He had his arms crossed over his chest as he paced.

“Well, when Ma and Da love each other very much-” Soap began.

“Soap, I will put your head through the bloody wall.” Price threatened.

The shit-eating grin that had been on the Scot’s mouth was suppressed by a pressing of lips together, rapid blinking, and a nod. He had tried and failed at having a laugh at the Captain’s expense.

“Sorry, sir.” He replied.

“Explain.” Price demanded again, hands folded behind his back.

“I started it.” Ghost said from his corner of the room. “Kept talkin’ with ‘em after you had your little one-night stand.”

The younger sergeants didn’t look over. It’s become a strange thing to see Ghost at work, when they’ve gotten a bit more familiarized with Simon instead, back in your flat.

“Why?” Price asked in earnest as he looked at Ghost, stopping in his tracks to properly face him.

“‘Cause they make me feel good.” Ghost replied and crossed his arms.

Price stared at Ghost and, for a moment, his glare softened and his brow relaxed. “I see.”

With a deep breath, the older man tossed himself down onto his desk chair, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs.

“That doesn’t explain the two of you lot.” He pointed at Gaz and Soap.

“I found out about Ghost dating ‘em after they reached out to me to check on him because he went MIA.” Gaz replied.

“And how does that in you bein’ a bloody… polycule?” Price asked.

“I sort of took ‘em on a date on accident and realized how they made me feel and that I wanted to date ‘em.” Gaz said simply.

“And I thought Gaz and Ghost were dating and then found out they’re in fact also dating the same person and not just each other and-” Soap began to explain.

“Pump the breaks.” Price demanded. “Dating each other?” He repeated, sounding like he was this close to blowing a gasket.

“Nicely done, mate.” Gaz said sarcastically and hid his face in his palm, accidentally dislodging his baseball hat from his head.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON? YOU BLOODY FUCKIN’ IDIOTS ARE DATIN’ EACH OTHER?” Price raised his voice and stood up swiftly, sending the chair rolling back against the cabinets behind him.

When no one replied, he glared specifically at Ghost in the back of the room who, himself, was looking off to the side and looked at Price with an incriminating gaze..

“SIMON’S IN YOUR DIRECT CHAIN OF COMMAND!” Price scolds… Soap and Gaz only. “DO YOU KNOW THE TROUBLE THAT CAN BRING?!”

The three men remain silent, eyes forced open out of worry that blinking again will just set the captain off some more.

“IT’S ALREADY BAD ENOUGH THAT YOU’RE ALL DIPPIN’ YOUR DAMN COCKS IN THE SAME HOLE LIKE THEY’RE SOME SORT OF BARRACKS BUNNY BUT-” Price continued his tirade.

“Calm down.” Ghost commanded as he pushed away from the wall and approached the desk.

“Simon, don’t you tell me to calm down.” John ordered, though his voice sounded a lot more calm indeed.

“I’ll tell you to calm down if I reckon I should.” Ghost quipped and set his hand on the edge oof the desk, using his height to go toe-to-toe with their boss.

“You had fun with ‘em too, didn’t you?” Ghost asked with a cocked brow.

“That’s neither here nor there-”

“Cut the bullshit. Answer the bloody question.” Ghost commanded.

“I did.” Price admitted with a grumble and looked away.

“We’re just enjoyin’ ourselves too.” Ghost replied. “They’re considerate, funny, good company…” He trailed off.

“And they have a bloody flat that we can spend time in, with a proper kitchen for good meals, and a proper bedroom with a comfortable bed, and a proper shower that doesn’t have 20 other blokes bum ass naked-” Gaz joked.

“Right, it’s only 2 other blokes instead.” Soap added and him and Gaz nudged each other, earning a stern glare from the two officers in the room.

“Point is-” Ghost replied as he looked at Price. “You saw they’re nice.” He said directly. “Can’t fault us for likin’ ‘em.” He said directly.

“No, but I can fault you idiots for bein’ involved with each other on TOP of ‘em.” Price argued.

“Okay, so it’s not our proudest moment-” Ghost acknowledged. “But it’s happenin’. And you need to keep your mouth shut.” He demanded.

“OF BLOODY COURSE I’M KEEPIN’ MY MOUTH SHUT, SIMON! Fuckin’ hell!” Price complained and threw his hands up before turning to grab a cigar from his case.

“The brass will have all our bollocks f’r breakin’ nonfraternization rules. You f’r doin’ it, me f’r knowin’ it.” He grumbled as he cut the tip of his cigar with a huff.

“Not to mention I’ve been involved in this mess to begin with ‘cause I let you lot talk me into havin’ a one-night stand with ‘em.” Price continued, murmuring under his breath and scolding them without really scolding them.

“I can never get a ’old of you lot noawadays.” Price explained. “You’re meant to be on call.” He reiterated. “Always reachable. Always ready to fly out.”

“Yet I had to call Soap over 40 times two weeks ago ‘cause he was ‘asleep’-” He continued his rant.

“Aye, I was.” Soap replied, earning a shush from Gaz and a smack on the arm.

“And the moment we dismiss you lot from debriefs or meetings, you’re all running off to go be with ‘em, ‘xcept I didn’t know that was the reason until now, and it’s so much bloody worse than I ‘xpected.” Price complained.

The man was halfway through lighting his cigar and taking a puff when Ghost spoke again.

“If they didn’t find out about Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, or Tel Aviv, they won’t find out now.” Ghost retorted.

Price whipped around so fast the younger lads could swear he’d give himself whiplash. “Don’t you bring that up.” He said to Ghost as he used his cigar to point at Ghost.

“I’m just sayin’.” Ghost replied, completely calm and unbothered. “If the brass hasn’t found out about the shite we’ve done while on the field, they won’t find out about us during leave.” He replied.

“Simon-” Price tried starting before he huffed through his nose and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Ghost simply shrugged and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell.” Price complained and sat back down on his chair, setting down his cigar on the lip of the ashtray and rubbing his face.

“Just get out.” He grumbled and waved them off with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

He didn’t peek from the spot where his face was hidden in his hands as he heard the men shuffling around and leaving the office.

Just as the door slipped to a close behind them, he heard Soap asking Ghost: ‘What happened in Cardiff?’

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