#daily wire plus

[greater-than-the-sword]

If you liked my book "The Kingdom of Heaven", don't miss this episode where Jordan Peterson interviews a former KGB agent who became a Christian after moving to the USA as a deep cover agent. It's kind of the real life version of that

[jetii]

On Impulse

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 10,703

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends to lovers, kind of enemies to lovers? but in a goofy silly way, Tech's autism rizz, fluff, arguing as a form of flirting, smut, thigh riding, unprotected sex, fingering, semi-public sex, naked female clothed male

Summary: You've made it your personal mission to convince Tech that letting loose and taking risks for the sake of fun can be a good thing. During your day off on Coruscant, your efforts are unexpectedly rewarded.

A/N: There's no excuse for this I just love writing feral Tech. Also wow! 400 followers! Hello! Thanks for being here.

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Tech knows he can be a little... much.

It's not really his fault. The Kaminoans who designed him and his brothers didn't really think to account for things like social awareness, or tact, or "when not to talk." All they programmed him with was an insatiable thirst for information and a single-minded desire to be useful.

The others in the squad had been able to pick things up on the way, seeming to possess a natural sense for the sort of thing one says or does at any given time. Tech, though, just doesn't have that. He has a brain that's constantly running and processing data, and an all-consuming need to do something about it.

So he can't help it that his mouth tends to get away from him when he's excited. The information just comes pouring out.

His brothers call it a data dump.

The Kaminoans call it an unfortunate defect in his otherwise exceptional programming.

But you call it charming.

"And furthermore," Tech is ranting, following you as you walk through the halls of the Senate building, “the use of such a heavy gauge power coupling is inefficient and a waste of valuable resources which could be better spent in other areas. The new couplings are half the size, and can be manufactured on-planet instead of having to be shipped from across the galaxy."

"Not my fault if you were wrong, Tech," you toss over your shoulder at him, smirking as he splutters in offense.

"Wrong?!" he repeats, sounding aghast at the mere suggestion. "I don't think so."

You roll your eyes, but there's a fond smile on your lips. Tech is a genius, really, he is. But his ego is sometimes as big as his brain, and you love to wind him up a bit. 

He gets so flustered and huffy and cute when you do, and you can't resist. He's just too adorable not to tease a little. So you keep walking, even though you've long ago lost track of where you're actually going.

"I mean, I can admit when I'm wrong," you go on, slowing your pace just a bit. "It's a sign of a healthy psyche."

Tech scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, and you bite back a laugh. He's wearing his full armor, minus his helmet, and it only adds to the ridiculousness of the moment. The two of you are quite the duo, sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs among the throngs of politicians and Senators going about their daily business.

You'd thought this outing would be something fun, an opportunity to get Tech out of the Marauder for a bit. You know that he gets antsy, and he loves nothing more than a good lecture or an impromptu lesson. 

Plus, it was your off day, and you wanted to spend some time with him, since you knew he was only planning to hole up in his bunk and work on fixing up some broken circuit board or another. Not the most thrilling way to spend an afternoon.

And you can't even count the number of times you've come back to the Marauder, only to find him elbow-deep in some project, surrounded by scrap parts and wires and tools and completely oblivious to the world.

That's fine, though, really. It's just who he is, and you know better than to interrupt, but you can't deny you like it better when his brain is occupied with you instead.

The way he lights up when he gets the chance to talk about whatever is on his mind is endearing, and you love listening to him speak. You'll take Tech the lecturer over Tech the hermit any day.

So, you'd come to the Senate to let him geek out. One of your friends was an assistant to a Senator, and you'd asked if you could give Tech a tour. It was more of a chance for Tech to give you a tour, actually, because you were clueless, and he knew exactly where to go and what to see. But he doesn't know that.

What had started out as your attempt at tricking Tech into a date has quickly turned into another argument, but that's nothing new between the two of you.

It's become your routine, something you've done since the first time you met. You and Tech bickering about this and that, teasing and mocking each other but with a light in your eyes and a smile on your faces. Sometimes it feels like it's the only way the two of you communicate.

You can't even remember now what the first fight had been about. But you know that he had said something blunt and off-hand, and you'd gotten offended and given him a piece of your mind. He'd argued back, and the two of you had gone back and forth until you had run out of steam.

It's what always happens.

But you had seen a glimmer of something in Tech's eyes that day, and when he'd started arguing back, there had been a spark there. It wasn't boredom, or apathy. It was excitement, passion, a fire in him that you had never seen in anyone else before.

He had liked it.

You had, too.

And that's when the real games had started.

It's not the same now. You've gotten used to each other, and you can tell when he's trying to rile you up. He does the same thing every time. He'll say something rude, or condescending, and you'll shoot him a dirty look and a sharp comment. Then, he'll say something even more rude and condescending, and then, finally, you'll lose your temper, and the two of you will bicker and banter until the both of you have worked through whatever is bothering you.

It's kind of like therapy.

Or foreplay.

Maybe a little of both.

And now, here the two of you are, doing it again. You're wandering the halls, not even paying attention to where you're going anymore. You're far too distracted by the way Tech's brow is furrowing in concentration as he thinks of how to prove himself right, and the way his nose is wrinkling in irritation at your constant teasing.

You're both enjoying this a little too much.

"I assure you, my psyche is perfectly healthy," Tech is saying as he follows behind you, and you grin at him over your shoulder.

"I don't know, Tech," you taunt. "I can't help but notice how much you love being right. That sounds like a classic case of an inflated ego to me."

He scoffs.

"My ego is perfectly sized, thank you," he tells you, his tone haughty. "It's not my fault that my intelligence is far superior to the vast majority of beings in the galaxy."

"Oh, and humble, too," you add, rolling your eyes. "My mistake."

He ignores your quip, still following you down the corridor, his steps slowing just a bit.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he asks, peering at you curiously. "This isn't the way back to the hangar."

You smirk, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Tech nearly runs into you, stopping short at the last moment, and the two of you stand only inches apart, your face turned up to his. He's almost a full foot taller than you, and the way he's staring down at you makes your heart beat a little faster. He's not smiling, not really, but you can see the amusement in his eyes.

"We're not going back to the hangar," you inform him, and his expression changes to one of confusion.

"Then where are we going?"

You don't answer. Instead, you grab him by the wrist, pulling him after you as you continue walking. "I have something else in mind."

He stumbles after you, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to keep up with your sudden change of pace.

"Where are we going?" he repeats, his tone slightly higher than usual. He sounds flustered, and you can't help the little laugh that slips past your lips.

"You'll see," is all you say.

He grumbles, but follows along nonetheless, allowing you to tug him after you.

"We don't have time for detours," he tries.

"We made a detour for power couplings, didn't we?" you counter. "What's the difference?"

"A power coupling is a necessary component of the Marauder's hyperdrive," he protests. "A 'detour' is merely a waste of time."

"But the ones we had were just fine," you argue, still pulling him along.

"Just fine is not good enough," he replies. "I will prove it to you. Once I have the new couplings installed, I will run a simulation, and you will see how much more efficiently the Marauder will perform. You will admit that I was correct."

You can't help but laugh at his self-assurance.

"If you say so," you tease.

"I do say so," he counters. "I am a man of science, and I always back up my claims with evidence. If I say something is fact, it is a fact."

You snicker again, and Tech glares down at you.

"You can be rather vexing," he says with a sigh of resignation.

"I try."

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the hint of a smile on his lips.

"I'm sure you do," he mutters, and you bite back a grin.

You love teasing Tech, but not just him. You like doing it to the others, too, especially when they least expect it. You have a reputation for being sweet and innocent and nice, but the truth is, you can be just as devious as the rest of them when you want to be.

You just choose your targets more carefully, and Tech is the perfect victim.

He's so serious, and so uptight, and so easy to get worked up. It's a challenge, keeping up with him and his constant rants and lectures, but you're nothing if not determined, and you have a lot of fun doing it.

But your favorite is the way Tech will get so frustrated and worked up, and then, once he's exhausted himself, and he knows that you're not going to change your mind, he'll start grumbling. And pouting.

And it's just the cutest thing in the world.

You don't mean to upset him, or anything, but the way he puffs up like an angry bird when you challenge him is just adorable, and you can't help yourself. You just can't stop.

And if the way he's looking at you is any indication, he can't stop, either.

"Oh, come on, Tech," you chuckle. "Lighten up a bit. Today is supposed to be fun. We're on Coruscant, there's nothing dangerous happening, and the weather is actually nice for a change. Just try and enjoy yourself a little."

"I am enjoying myself," he argues.

"By arguing with me?" you counter.

Tech looks down at you, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He doesn't look as irritated anymore, and there's a twinkle in his eyes that tells you that he's having a good time. He's enjoying himself, despite his protests, and he knows that you're onto him.

"Yes. I enjoy our debates," he answers simply. He pauses, then adds, "Though I would hardly consider it a debate. It is a mere fact that the new couplings are better than the old ones."

You roll your eyes, and Tech's lips twitch at the gesture. There's a warmth that spreads through your chest when you see him like this, happy and relaxed. You like seeing him smile, and you like it even more when it's because of you.

"Sure, sure," you placate him. "Whatever you say, Tech."

"That is what I say," he confirms, and you can't help but laugh.

"Okay, well, whatever."

"I win, then?"

"Fine," you sigh, pretending to be put out. "You win."

He smiles, smug and self-satisfied. "Of course I do."

You snort, rolling your eyes again, and he just keeps grinning. He looks so proud of himself, and you can't help but feel a surge of affection for him. You like this side of Tech, the one that's playful and teasing and fun. It's a side that not many people get to see, and you can't help but feel lucky that you're the one he shows it to. 

You like this, the two of you together, alone, no one around to hear your conversations or watch the way you look at each other. There's something intimate about it, something that makes your stomach flutter and your heart beat a little faster. 

It's different, when it's just the two of you. The arguments and banter are still there, but there's something else, too, something warm and gentle and special. You want to drag this moment out as long as possible, and you intend to.

"So, where are we going, then?" he asks, and you bite your lip, trying to hide your smirk.

"Nowhere," you say, and he gives you a puzzled look. "Or, well, nowhere interesting."

"Then why did we take the detour?" he asks, and you can hear the curiosity in his voice. He's not annoyed or angry or irritated. He's genuinely interested in what you're doing, and why. It makes you smile.

"Because, Tech," you explain, "sometimes, it's the journey that's important, not the destination."

He cocks his head to the side, considering your words.

"But if the destination is not important, then why bother going at all?" he asks. "What is the point of the journey, if not the destination?"

You can't help but laugh again. He's so literal sometimes. You've tried explaining the concept of "just because" to him, but it's a hard concept for him to grasp. There is no rhyme or reason to some things, no logic or scientific explanation. Some things just are. They're fun, or beautiful, or special. And sometimes, that's reason enough to do them.

You tell him as much, and Tech rolls his eyes. He doesn't believe you. He can't understand why you'd do something for no reason at all. But you know that he's listening. He's still following along with you, and there's no indication that he wants to leave.

"So you just wanted to wander around the Senate?" he asks, and you nod. "Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I just wanted to. And I thought it might be nice to do something together. You and me."

He looks at you for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. There's a softness to his features, and his eyes are warm behind his goggles. It's a look that you've only ever seen him give you.

Sometimes when Tech looks at you, you feel like a bug under a microscope, like he's dissecting and cataloguing your every move. It's unnerving, and it makes your stomach twist with anxiety. But sometimes, like right now, he looks at you like he's seeing something new and wonderful, like you're a mystery he's trying to solve.

You don't mind it so much when he looks at you like that.

"It is...nice," he admits after a moment, his voice quiet. "Being together."

He says the words carefully, almost hesitantly, and you can see a slight flush creeping up his cheeks underneath his goggles.

You smile at him.

"It is, isn't it?"

You're still holding onto his wrist, and you slide your hand down to meet his, your fingers intertwining with his own. Tech doesn't pull away, and he doesn't seem surprised, or uncomfortable. He just lets it happen, and a soft, shy smile appears on his lips, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

"I—"

Whatever Tech was about to say is cut off by a shout from behind him. Both of you jump, and Tech whips around to face the source of the sound. He steps in front of you, instinctively shielding you with his body, his free hand going to the blaster on his hip. You can feel his muscles tensing, and his grip on your hand tightens.

You peer over his shoulder and see a Corrie Guard, one of Fox's men, coming down the hall toward the two of you. Your blood runs cold.

"Hey!" he shouts. "This is a restricted area."

Tech glances at you over his shoulder. "It is?"

"Oops," you mutter back. "Guess we better get out of here."

The two of you turn and bolt down the hall. You can hear the guard's boots pounding behind you, and Tech's fingers are still interlaced with yours. Laughter is bubbling up inside of you, a mix of adrenaline and nervous energy. Tech lets out an amused huff, and the two of you turn the corner.

You nearly slam into another group of troopers, and Tech pulls you out of the way, keeping a firm grip on your hand. You barrel past the guards, who shout in alarm as they see the first guard chasing the two of you. 

It's chaos, and the laughter spills out of you as Tech drags you through the maze of halls and corridors. The sound of your feet and the guards' boots echoes off the walls, and Tech is pulling you along behind him, not letting go. You can see the smile on his face, even as he turns and yells at you.

"Why are they chasing us?!"

"No idea!" you shout back, laughing.

"We should not be doing this!"

"Too late!"

The two of you sprint through the building, twisting and turning down hallways, the sound of the guards' footsteps following close behind.

"Tech! Over here!"

There's a door at the end of the hall, and it's unguarded. The two of you make a beeline for it, and you're both panting by the time you reach it. Tech slams his hand against the access panel, and the door slides open. He shoves you inside, and you have to duck under his arm before he follows close behind.

"Where are we?!" he asks, looking around.

You shrug, breathless, and he looks at you incredulously.

"We're in a closet," he says, and you can't help but giggle.

The room is dark, empty, and quiet. It’s also extremely cramped, and there's barely enough space for the two of you. The closet is clearly built for a maintenance droid, and the shelves are lined with cleaning supplies.

It's a tight fit, and you're pressed close together, chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. Tech is forced to bend down toward you to avoid hitting his head on the shelves above you, and his nose is practically touching yours.

"This is not an ideal hiding place," he complains. “It's not defensible. If they find us here, we'll be trapped."

"I know." You sigh, looking up at him. "I'm not an idiot."

"But you are the one who pulled me in here," he points out.

"Well, we had to get out of sight, didn't we?" you argue. "They were right behind us."

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You are unbelievable."

"I'll take that as a compliment," you say, and you can hear his amused huff.

"You would," he murmurs, his tone dry.

"What are they gonna do?" you ask, looking up at him with a smirk. "Arrest us? For taking a shortcut?"

"I don't know why you're being so difficult about this," he grumbles. “We—mmph!”

Your free hand clasps over his mouth, silencing him. Tech's eyes widen behind his goggles, and he blinks at you in surprise. His other hand is still holding yours, and the two of you are standing so close together that you can feel the warmth of his body through his armor.

"Quiet," you hiss, and he gives you a look that is part exasperation, part amusement.

You keep your hand over his mouth, and the two of you stand there in the dark, the only sounds the hum of the ventilation system and the muffled footsteps of the guards outside. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you stay as still as you can, and the feeling of Tech's lips beneath your palm is sending tingles down your spine.

You can feel his breath, warm and uneven, and you're suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of him that's touching you. Your fingers drag along the curve of his jaw, catching on the stubble there, and he shivers. It's barely noticeable, but you feel it, and you can't help the flush that creeps up your neck as you pull your hand away.

Tech's eyes are still wide, and his lips are parted, but he stays silent. He straightens, shifting a bit in the tight space, and you can feel his chest brush against yours. You can smell the leather of his armor, and the faint scent of grease and soap that lingers on his skin.

He's so close.

His leg is wedged between yours, and his body is radiating warmth. You're practically plastered to him, and every part of him that's touching you feels like it's burning. The hand that's holding yours is trembling, just a bit, and the closeness of the space, the heat, and the adrenaline from the chase are making your head spin. And you can't seem to stop staring at his mouth.

The voices in the hallway grow louder, and the two of you tense as you listen. They're right outside the door, and you suck in a sharp breath.

"Maybe they went the other way," someone is saying.

"They couldn't have gone far," another voice replies.

Tech's free hand comes up to rest on the shelf next to your head, bracing himself as he looms over you. His eyes are fixed on the door, and his brow is furrowed, a small frown on his face. You know he's probably running through a million different scenarios in his head, calculating the odds of each one, weighing the options and possible outcomes.

You know he's trying to figure out a way to get the two of you out of this, a plan, an escape route, something. Meanwhile, all you can seem to think about is how soft his lips look, and the way they had felt, warm and gentle against your hand.

"Let's just radio Fox and let him deal with it," a guard says. "I don't get paid enough to run around the Senate."

"We don't get paid at all," the other retorts.

"Exactly."

Tech adjusts his stance again, trying to get a better angle on the door. The motion presses his thigh harder between your legs, directly against your center. The touch sends a shock of arousal through you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from gasping aloud, praying he doesn't notice.

Of course, he does.

Tech snaps his head to look down at you, his eyes locking with yours, and you can see the surprise written all over his face. His lips part slightly, and his gaze flickers down to where your bodies are connected, then back up to your face.

You can see the moment realization dawns on him, and the way his pupils dilate behind his goggles is unmistakable.

"We'll search this side," someone is saying.

"They've gotta be around here somewhere."

You can barely hear them over the sound of your pulse pounding in your ears. You swallow thickly, and Tech's eyes dart to your throat, his lips parting a bit more. He looks a bit dazed, like he can't believe what just happened. Or maybe he can't believe the effect it's had on him.

You're having a hard time believing it yourself.

Tech is never one to be lost for words, or speechless, but now, he doesn't say a thing. His eyes are fixed on yours, and he's so close to you that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. He looks like he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it, his lips pressing together.

"Do you think they went upstairs?"

"Nah, it's too risky. They're probably still on this level."

Tech lets out a shaky sigh, his hand flexing against the shelf. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his eyes flutter closed before he takes a deep breath, and then his leg is moving up against you again, and this time, it's deliberate.

A small, choked gasp slips past your lips, your hand squeezing his, and Tech's eyes fly open. 

You know you should say something, or do something, but you can't seem to form words, or even a coherent thought, really. All you can focus on is the way his leg is rubbing against you, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body with every minuscule twitch.

Tech's breath hitches, and his grip on the shelf tightens. He's watching your reaction closely, his eyes roaming over your face. He's testing you, you realize, seeing what you'll do, how you'll react.

You don't move, and the pressure against your core increases, just a little, but it's enough. A whimper escapes you, and Tech's nostrils flare. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you're pretty sure you're the color of a sun-ripe pomfruit.

"Tech," you whisper, your voice coming out husky and breathless.

He doesn't say a word, his eyes boring into yours, his leg still moving, ever so slightly, against you. The guards are arguing now, but neither of you are paying attention. There's nothing but the two of you and this tiny, dark closet, and the friction that's building between you.

"Tech," you breathe again, a little louder this time.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out a shaky breath. He's enjoying this, you realize. He's getting off on it. And the thought makes a fresh wave of arousal rush through you.

Tech is not usually an impulsive person. He's meticulous and precise and methodical. Everything he does is calculated, planned. He's not spontaneous, and he doesn't do things without thinking them through first. But right now, he's acting on instinct, and he doesn't seem to care about the consequences.

And the thought is making you feel things that are definitely not appropriate for this particular situation.

Another insistent brush against your core, and you're done for.

"Fuck," you whimper, your hips rolling forward into the contact. Your free hand shoots out and grabs his shoulder, giving you leverage as you press yourself harder against his thigh.

Tech makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and his fingers curl harder around the edge of the shelf above you. The metal groans and bends under his grip.

The two of you are lost in a haze of pleasure and desire, your bodies moving together, desperately seeking more friction, more pressure, more contact. Tech is panting now, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps, and the sound is like music to your ears. He's always so in control, so put-together, but now, he's completely undone.

You can't stop staring at him, drinking in the sight of him, and his eyes are locked on yours, too. You're close, so close, and Tech must be able to tell because he's grinding his leg against you faster. The hand that was holding yours has moved to your hip, and he's pulling you closer, tighter, helping you grind against him.

His goggles are fogging up, and he's got that look on his face, the one he always gets when he's working on something. But this time, it's not the Marauder's circuitry or a busted datapad, it's you, and the realization makes your blood burn hot.

The voices outside the door are still going, but they're faint and distant, moving farther away, the words nothing but a meaningless buzz in the back of your mind. All that matters right now is the way Tech's thigh is rubbing against you, and the heat pooling in your core.

"Tech—"

Your words are cut off by a whimper, his name coming out like a plea, and you can't help the way your hips are jerking, seeking more contact. Your fingers are digging into his shoulder, and he's practically shaking, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"I can't—" he gasps. "I can't think like this."

"Don't," you choke out, your voice trembling. "Don't think. Just...just..."

You're not even sure what you're asking him for, but you don't need to say anything else. He knows.

The pressure against your center increases, his leg rubbing harder, faster, and you can't hold back anymore. Your climax washes over you like a tidal wave, and your knees nearly give out, only Tech's firm grip on your hip holding you upright.

You barely make a sound before he's crushing his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers, his own muffled grunts echoing in your ears.

You cling to him, riding out the aftershocks of your release, and his mouth is hot and insistent against yours, his tongue stroking against yours. He's warm and soft and sweet, and he tastes like caf and something else that is distinctly Tech. His kisses are hungry, and his hands are roaming, and you're not sure if you're dreaming or if this is actually happening.

Tech kissing you. Tech, who has barely even touched you before today, who has avoided any and all physical contact with you since the moment you met, who has never, ever, shown any kind of interest in you, is kissing you, his hands and mouth and tongue setting your nerves on fire.

And all because of an impulsive idea, an accident.

You should stop. You know you should stop, but you can't bring yourself to.

"Tech—" you breathe, and his mouth moves to your jaw, kissing and licking and biting at the sensitive skin there. You're practically melting under his touch, your fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently. "Tech, the guards—"

"I know.”

He sounds just as wrecked as you do, his voice raw and husky, and you can't believe this is happening.

"We—"

Your words are cut off by his mouth again, and you're panting and writhing against him. His hands are on your ass, and he lifts you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The shelves shake and rattle as he presses you against the wall, and the new position allows him to grind his codpiece against your heat, the feeling making you both groan into each other's mouths.

You've never wanted anything more than you want him right now, and the desperation in his kisses is telling you that he feels the same way.

"Tech," you whimper.

"I know," he breathes, his lips moving against yours.

The guards' voices are fading, growing quieter and more distant, but neither of you notice. You're both too lost in each other, in the feeling of finally, finally, giving in to the tension that's been building between you for weeks, months even.

"Tech—"

"I know," he says again, kissing you harder, deeper.

The guards' voices are gone, now, and the only sounds are the hum of the ventilation system, the creak of the shelves, and the wet, desperate noises of the two of you devouring each other.

"We have to—we can't—" you manage, and he pulls back, his mouth moving to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin.

"I know," Tech breathes, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "We can't. This is—"

His hips buck, and he presses himself harder against you, making you both moan.

"This is dangerous," he finishes, his mouth moving lower, to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"It's wrong," you gasp, but your fingers are tangling in his hair, and you're tilting your head to give him better access. "We can't let anyone find out about this."

"No," he says, his teeth nipping at your throat. "No one can know. If the others found out, they'd never let us hear the end of it."

You shudder, and his hands are everywhere, roaming, grabbing, groping, and his lips are tracing patterns across your skin. You're not sure if he's trying to prove a point or not, but you can't stop the little gasps and moans that are falling from your mouth.

"What—what are we gonna tell them?" you ask, your voice breathless and shaky.

"I don't know," he groans, his hands sliding down to the backs of your thighs, squeezing hard. "I can't think."

You laugh, the sound coming out as a desperate, breathless thing. "Me either."

His mouth is on yours again, and he kisses you fiercely, hungrily, like he can't get enough. Your hands are in his hair, tugging and pulling and holding him to you, and his hips are bucking against yours, grinding his codpiece against you. It's not enough, and you need more, but you can't take it. You're too wound up, and the friction is delicious torture.

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are wild, his pupils blown wide, and he looks like he's going to come apart at the seams.

"Tech," you gasp. "Tech, please."

"Yes?" he asks, his voice rough and strained.

"I want you," you admit. "I want this. I want you, right now."

He groans, his fingers digging into your hips, and his forehead drops to yours.

"I want this, too," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

You're clinging to him, and his mouth is on yours, and it's all a blur, a mess of tongues and teeth and moans. You're clawing at his armor, and he's tugging at your clothes, and there's barely any space left between the two of you. It's a frenzy, a frenetic energy, and you're both chasing the same thing, the same end goal.

Tech's fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, and he tugs, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. His hand is fumbling, clumsy, and you know he's not used to this. He's not used to the intimacy, or the desperation, or the lack of control. He's not used to being this wound up, and it's showing.

It's cute.

He's cute.

He's so fucking cute, and you have no idea what you're going to do with him.

You don't know where it comes from, or who started it, but suddenly, you're both laughing, a mixture of nerves and excitement and relief. You're smiling, and he's smiling, and you're just so happy, and so overwhelmed, and you're not sure if you've ever been this happy before.

Tech gives up on the clasp, and instead, he tugs off his glove with his teeth and shoves his hand down the front of your pants, his bare skin hot against your flesh. His fingers slide between your folds, and the moment they meet the wetness there, you're both moaning.

You can feel his fingers stroking you, rubbing at your clit, and your hips jerk, bucking against him.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, all breathless and awestruck, sends a shiver down your spine.

"You—ah, fuck," you gasp, unable to continue as his fingers swirl over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He smirks, and he looks so goddamn smug, so satisfied, and you're pretty sure you've never been more turned on in your life.

"Tech," you whine, and he chuckles, a low, deep sound that sends a tremor through your body.

"Is this good?" he asks, his voice teasing, and you can't help but giggle.

"You know it is," you manage, and he grins.

"I do," he says. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

He's still smirking, and you roll your eyes, even as he slips a finger inside of you. You're panting, and your hands are scrabbling at his chest plate, trying to find purchase. He's got you pinned, and you're practically hanging from him, your thighs locked around his waist.

"Tech," you gasp, and his hand is working, pumping in and out of you.

"I can't believe how wet you are," he mutters. "I've barely even touched you."

"I'm not usually like this," you argue. "It's—mm, fuck—it's just you."

He moans, his forehead dropping against yours. "You have no idea what that does to me."

"Show me," you reply, and his grip on your hip tightens, his fingers flexing against your skin.

"I will," he promises. "I will."

You can feel his breath on your face, hot and uneven, and his mouth is so close, his lips brushing against yours.

"Just—fuck, Tech, just fuck me," you plead. "Please."

He lets out a ragged groan as he pulls his hand away, and you nearly sob at the loss. You can feel him fumbling with his belt, his other hand holding you up, and he's cursing, his fingers shaking.

"Why—why are these damn things so—ugh!"

He finally manages to undo his belt, and it hits the floor with a thud, the ridiculous amount of pouches and gadgets clattering to the ground. The sound makes you laugh, and he shoots you a glare.

"Stop that," he chides. "This is a serious matter."

"I'm sorry," you gasp, barely able to contain your mirth. "It's just—the sound!"

He rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching, and his fingers are back on his codpiece, fumbling with the clasps.

"I will never understand why you need so much equipment," you tease, and he scoffs.

"The amount of equipment I carry has nothing to do with my ability to—"

"Just take it off, Tech," you groan. "I'm dying here."

He glares at you, but the effect is ruined by the flush that's creeping up his neck. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"I'm trying," he huffs, "but I can't do anything when you're distracting me."

"Sorry," you apologize, biting your lip.

Tech gives you a look, but his attention is already back on his codpiece, and his fingers are flying over the clasps. He's got a look of intense concentration on his face, and he's practically vibrating with impatience. You undo the buttons on your shirt, tugging it down and exposing your chest, and Tech's gaze flickers over to you, his lips parting as his eyes travel down your body.

"That is not helping," he mutters, and you laugh, leaning back and bracing yourself against the shelves.

"Maybe if you had less equipment, it would be easier to get out of it," you tease, and he lets out an irritated huff.

"If I had less equipment, I wouldn't be able to do half the things I do."

"True," you concede, a grin on your face. "And then I wouldn't be nearly as interested in you."

He looks up at you, his eyes wide, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a half-smile.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" he asks, his voice soft and teasing.

"Maybe," you say, biting your lip.

He doesn't say anything, just stares at you, and his expression is so earnest and sincere that it makes your heart flutter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, letting out a huff of laughter.

"You are," he says, his voice quiet. "You're telling me that you're interested in me."

"Well, duh," you laugh. "Why else would I have dragged you along today?"

He doesn't say anything, but you can see the flush on his cheeks darken.

"You're such a dork," you tease.

"And you are the most infuriating, confusing, aggravating, and fascinating person I've ever met," he replies as his eyes open again, his gaze locking with yours.

"That's one hell of a compliment."

"It's a fact."

You're not sure what to make of the sincerity in his tone. You're not sure what to make of any of this. It's not exactly what you'd planned, but you can't help the thrill that's running through you.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do with you," Tech says, and the fondness in his voice makes your heart swell. 

He finally gets his codpiece undone, and it falls to the floor with a clang. You can't help but glance down at his groin, and you see his erection straining against his blacks.

"I have a few ideas," you murmur, and he lets out a strangled laugh.

"So do I."

Tech sets you down on the floor, and your legs are shaky, but he keeps you steady, his hands on your hips. His hands hook into the waistband of your pants, and you can feel his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down. It’s an agonizingly slow process, and the anticipation is making your blood pound in your veins.

"Force," he hisses as your underwear sticks to your skin, the fabric clinging to your slick folds.

"You did this to me," you say, your voice trembling. "It's your fault."

"I'm willing to take the blame," he replies, his eyes locked on your cunt.

He pulls your pants down, and you step out of them, your shirt still hanging open. You're bare before him, and he's still fully dressed, the plastoid armor covering almost every inch of his skin. You're about to ask him to take something else off when his hands are on you again, gripping your ass and lifting you up.

You let out a startled yelp as he pins you against the wall, his hands spreading your thighs and holding them apart. You can feel the hard line of his cock pressing against you, separated only by the thin fabric of his blacks, and you can't stop the moan that spills from your lips.

"I want you so much," he breathes, his hips thrusting, the friction making you cry out. "I want this, so much, and it's—"

"Tech," you gasp. "Don't stop."

"I want to take my time," he says. "I want to do this properly. I want to do this right, but I can't, not right now."

"Tech," you plead. "It's okay."

He lets out a frustrated groan, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

"This isn't—we shouldn't—"

"Tech," you gasp. "It's okay."

You grab his face, forcing him to look at you, and his eyes are wild, frantic.

"We can take our time later," you whisper. "We can take all the time in the world, but right now, I need you, okay? I need you, and we don't have time."

He shudders, and his cock twitches against your heat, making you moan.

"We can take this slow, later," you promise, and his eyes search yours, looking for any hint of uncertainty. He must not find any, because he nods, and the tension drains from his body.

"Okay," he says, his voice shaky. "Okay."

His hips rock, and you whimper as his clothed erection slides between your folds, the friction making you tremble. You're practically drenched, and you can feel the slickness dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his blacks. He's not doing any better, his cock throbbing and straining against the fabric.

"Fuck," he hisses.

"Yes, that," you groan.

“You’re impossible," he growls, his hand moving to pull down his blacks. His cock springs free, and the sight of it, thick and heavy and dripping, makes your mouth water.

"And you're taking too long," you shoot back, your fingers curling around his length.

He's hard and silky soft, and his skin is feverishly hot, and the feeling of him, so hard and desperate, makes you moan. You drag your fingers along his shaft, tracing the vein, and his hips buck. He's panting, his eyes fixed on your hand as you pump his cock, and you can feel his muscles twitching and trembling.

"I'm not going to last," he gasps.

"Good," you reply, guiding his cock toward your entrance. "I don't want you to."

You can feel the head of his cock brushing against your slit, and you both moan. He's leaking, and his pre-cum is mixing with your arousal, slicking him up and easing the way. You can feel him sliding through your folds, teasing you, and it's driving you wild.

He pushes forward, his hips jerking, and you both moan as the head of his cock slips inside. You’re about to tell him to keep going when he slams into you, his entire length sheathing itself in your cunt in one swift thrust. 

The cry that falls from your lips is muffled by Tech’s mouth as he captures yours, swallowing the sound. He's so big, and the sudden intrusion is almost painful, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and you cling to him, fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders.

His hands are bruising your thighs, and his hips are stuttering, the rhythm uneven and sloppy. There’s not much room to move, but he manages, thrusting shallowly, grinding his hips against yours.

"I'm sorry," he pants, his words slurring. "I'm not—fuck, I can't—"

"It's fine," you gasp. "It's fine, just—ah, Tech!"

Your back arches as he hits that spot inside of you, and he groans, his forehead dropping against yours. His goggles are pressing against your face, and you can feel the cold metal against your heated skin.

"You feel amazing," he pants, his hips rolling.

"You—you're not bad yourself," you gasp, and he laughs, a low, husky sound.

"Not bad? That's the best you can do?"

"You're ruining the moment," you groan, and he scoffs.

"Apologies," he says, his tone mocking. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

You roll your hips, and Tech grunts, his grip on your thighs tightening.

"You can start by fucking me properly," you breathe.

"As you wish."

His thrusts pick up speed, his hands moving to grip your ass, lifting you up and down, helping you bounce on his cock. The shelf behind you rattles, the items stacked on it shifting and wobbling, and Tech lets out a breathless huff of laughter.

"You're—Force, you're a hazard," he gasps, and you laugh, the sound morphing into a moan as he grinds against you.

"I've always wanted to say this," you pant, your nails scraping across his scalp, "shut the hell up and fuck me, Tech."

He growls, his pace picking up, and the angle of his thrusts changes, and suddenly, he's hitting that spot inside you again. Your orgasm is building, and you're teetering on the edge, your body thrumming with pleasure.

Tech is panting, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps, and his forehead is resting against yours, his lips brushing against your skin.

"Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice rough and hoarse. "I want to feel you come."

You comply, your hand slipping between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit. Your eyes flutter shut as the first jolt of pleasure hits you, and Tech lets out a choked groan.

"Look at me," he pleads, and you open your eyes, gazing up at him.

He looks utterly wrecked, his cheeks flushed, his mouth hanging open, his brow furrowed in concentration. He's gorgeous, and you can't believe this is actually happening.

Tech is fucking you, in a closet, while a bunch of Corries are patrolling the halls outside. It's the craziest, most insane, and most arousing thing that has ever happened to you. There's no doubt in your mind that you're going to be sore for a week, but it's totally worth it.

"You're so beautiful," he pants, his words slurring together. "You're so perfect, so tight, and Force, the sounds you're making—"

He cuts himself off with a groan as he drives into you, and you cry out, the pleasure building. He's babbling now, and it's not even coherent, just a stream of nonsense and curse words and half-formed sentences. He's saying something about how good you feel, and how much he's wanted this, and how he never thought he'd have this chance, and it's all a jumbled mess, but it's the sweetest thing you've ever heard.

His rhythm is erratic, his hips jerking, and his face is twisted with desperation and need. He's getting close, you can tell, and you're right there with him, teetering on the edge.

"Tech," you hiss, your hand speeding up, your fingers rubbing furiously at your clit. "Oh, fuck, Tech—"

He slams into you, the tip of his cock hitting that spot deep inside, and you shatter. You come hard, clenching around his cock, and you barely have time to clap a hand over your mouth before your orgasm crashes over you. You're biting down on your palm, your teeth leaving deep indents, and the sound that escapes your lips is muffled and raw.

"Oh," Tech gasps, his eyes fluttering closed. "You're going to make me—"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. The tension inside of him snaps, and he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt and grinding against you, forcing you to take every last inch of him. His cock twitches, and his whole body goes rigid as his orgasm hits him.

He doesn't make a sound as he comes, his lips parting and his mouth opening in a silent cry. His hips jerk, his movements stuttering and uneven, and you feel the bloom of warmth as he fills you, his release spilling out of you, dripping down his cock.

Finally, he slumps forward, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, and he lets out a low, satisfied hum.

You can't stop the stupid grin that spreads across your face.

Tech is nuzzling at your neck, and you can feel him smiling, too, his lips pressed against your skin.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms, breathing hard and basking in the afterglow. It feels like hours, but it's probably only a few minutes.

Tech pulls back, and you look up at him. He's gazing down at you, his expression soft and content. His goggles are crooked, and his hair is mussed, and his lips are swollen and red. You reach up, smoothing his hair down and straightening his goggles.

"Well," he starts, his tone dry despite his ragged breathing, "this has been a most enlightening day."

You burst out laughing, and he smirks, his nose bumping against yours.

"Nothing like a bit of field research to broaden the horizons," you tease.

"Indeed," he chuckles, his hand cupping your cheek.

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and the moment is so tender, so sweet, and you can't help but kiss him again. It's slow and lazy, and he sighs against your lips, his mouth warm and inviting. You could kiss him forever, and never get tired of it.

Finally, he pulls away, and you reluctantly let him go.

"I must admit," he says, his tone light, "that was far more satisfying than I'd imagined."

"Oh, you imagined it, did you?" you ask, and he smirks, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.

"Perhaps once or twice," he confesses.

"Just once or twice?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Perhaps more," he amends, and the admission sends a thrill through you. “Though I had not anticipated anything quite so vigorous."

"I didn't know you had it in you," you tease. "I never would have guessed that you were such a deviant."

"Evidently you bring out a certain side of me," he replies. "One that I had not been aware of until today."

"Well, I'm happy to explore more sides of you, if you'd like," you murmur, and Tech hums.

"I would enjoy that.”

His lips brush against yours, and the kiss is soft and sweet, and your heart swells.

"But," he says, breaking the kiss and looking down at the floor.

You follow his gaze, and you both wince. Your pants are lying in a pile on the floor, along with your shirt, and Tech's codpiece and gloves. There are a few pieces of cleaning supplies strewn about, and your boots are on opposite ends of the closet. Tech's belt is laying on the ground, his pouches spilling out and his blasters resting haphazardly on the floor.

"We need to clean this up," he mutters.

"Yeah," you agree.

Neither of you move. You stay where you are, clinging to each other, and savoring the moment. It's not going to last forever, and you both know it. 

Once the two of you step out of this closet, things will change. Everything will change. But you can't find it in yourself to regret anything. Not the teasing, or the flirting, or the banter, or the argument, or the frantic, desperate sex. None of it.

And from the way Tech is looking at you, with a mixture of tenderness and awe and fondness, you know that he doesn't, either.

Eventually, though, Tech is the one to pull away. You both groan as he slides out of you, and the sound echoes through the tiny room. He sets you down gently, and your legs shake as you try to find your footing.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his eyes roaming over you, concern written all over his face.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little…" you trail off as you glance down at yourself, taking in the sight of your bare thighs and the streaks of white that are slowly dribbling down them. "Uh, sticky."

"Yes," he agrees, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs. You watch his tongue flick out to lick his lips, and the hunger in his gaze is enough to make you blush.

"What?" you ask, and he blinks, seeming to snap out of his trance.

He flushes and looks away. "Nothing," he mutters, pulling his blacks up over his cock.

"Tech, come on," you say, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"I must admit the sight of you like this is rather... enticing," he says, his tone nonchalant. He's not looking at you, and he's pretending to straighten his armor, but you can see the pink flush on the back of his neck and the tips of his ears.

"Yeah?" you question, and his eyes flick up to meet yours.

"Yes," he murmurs, and the look he gives you makes your knees weak.

"Good to know,” you breathe. He raises an eyebrow at you, and you can't stop the grin that spreads across your face.

Tech shakes his head and picks up his belt, fastening it around his waist. He begins stuffing his pockets, and you watch him, amused. He's always so proper, so put together, and to see him like this, all riled up and horny, is an incredible sight.

"Are you just going to stand there?" he asks, eyeing you, and you grin.

"Maybe," you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

"I will leave you here."

"Sure, you will."

"I will," he insists, but the look in his eyes gives him away.

"Okay, okay," you chuckle. You grab a cloth and wipe off the worst of the mess, and Tech hands you your pants and underwear. You pull them on, wincing at the damp fabric, and Tech holds out your shirt.

"Thank you," you say, and he nods.

"Of course."

You take the shirt from him, and your fingers brush against his. His touch sends a shiver through you, and you can't resist the urge to lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek.

Tech stiffens, surprised by the gesture, but you see the corners of his lips quirk up in a smile.

"Now what was that for?" he asks, and you shrug.

"Do I need a reason?"

"I suppose not," he admits, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your face, and neither can he. You finish getting dressed, and the two of you straighten up as best you can. Tech smooths down his hair and adjusts his armor, and you wipe the smudges off his goggles with the cloth in his belt. He helps you button your shirt and tuck your hair back into place, and he looks like he's enjoying himself. 

You have a sneaking suspicion that he likes undressing you, and putting you back together again.

When he finishes, he presses a kiss to your forehead, and his lips linger on your skin.

"Thank you.”

"For what?" you ask, confused.

"For helping me see the value of a little spontaneity.” Tech gives you a small smile, and his eyes are warm. "I may have been...wrong, about today. It's been an illuminating experience, and I'm grateful for it."

The rush of affection you feel for him catches you off guard. He's such a dork, and he's so sincere, and the way he's looking at you makes your heart flutter.

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, pulling him down for a quick kiss. He lets out a startled sound, but he kisses you back, his lips gentle and warm.

"Who would've thought," you murmur as you pull away. "You have a healthy psyche after all."

Tech scoffs. "I told you—"

A shout echoes down the corridor, and the two of you freeze.

"They've gotta be around here somewhere," a voice calls.

"Shit," you whisper.

"Time to go," Tech replies, and the two of you burst into motion. You both dart to the door, and Tech cracks it open, peeking out.

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod, your cheeks still pink.

He pushes the door open, and you dash out. Tech's fingers curl around yours, and you follow him as he leads the way. Your feet slap against the floor, and your breath is coming in short, harsh gasps. Tech's hand is hot in yours, his grip firm, and his thumb rubs comforting circles into your palm.

You don't even bother trying to remember where you're going. You just follow him, trusting him to lead you to safety. You can hear the voices of the troopers echoing behind you, and their footsteps are growing louder.

"There!" a voice shouts, and Tech curses under his breath.

He tugs on your hand, pulling you around a corner. The two of you are sprinting now, and you're panting, and your heart is pounding. A bubble of laughter escapes your lips, and Tech shoots you a look, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a smile.

"This is insane," he mutters, and you grin.

"It's fun," you correct.

"This is the last time I ever listen to one of your ideas.”

"We both know that's not true."

"Unbelievable," he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm just saying," you argue, "we both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"

"Yes," he admits reluctantly. He suddenly pulls you to the left, ducking down a side corridor. "But next time, I choose the location."

"Next time, huh?"

"Yes, next time," he huffs.

Tech pulls you through another doorway, and the two of you race down a flight of stairs, then another, until you reach the ground floor. You can see the entrance up ahead, and you muster the last of your strength, putting everything you have into one final burst of speed.

The doors slide open, and the evening light streams in, bathing you both in its warm glow. Tech's fingers are still laced with yours, and he doesn't let go, not even as the two of you burst out of the building and onto the streets.

Tech tugs you to the right, and you follow, his hand warm and firm in yours. You can still hear the shouts of the Corries behind you, but they're getting fainter. You're both out of breath, and your hearts are racing, but the excitement is intoxicating.

Tech finally slows to a walk, and he glances over his shoulder, checking for any pursuers. He doesn't let go of your hand.

"That was certainly a memorable excursion," he remarks.

"Told you it would be fun," you grin.

"Yes, yes, you were right, and I was wrong," he concedes with a long-suffering sigh.

"Never gets old, hearing you say that."

"I can tell," he grumbles, but there's a smile playing on his lips.

The two of you continue on, your steps slow and leisurely, and the streets are quiet around you. It's later than you thought it would be, and there's no doubt the others are wondering where the two of you are. But you can't find it in yourself to care. Not when Tech is looking at you like that.

"So," you start, and Tech raises an eyebrow. "What do we do now?"

"Well," he replies, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "I suppose we should head back to the ship."

"Right. Of course." You try your best to keep the disappointment from your voice, but the way you deflate must give it away. Tech glances at you, his expression inscrutable, but there's a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"And then," he continues, his hand tightening around yours, "I'm going to need some help with the power couplings."

You blink and look up at him. His eyes are twinkling, and the corners of his mouth are turned up in a small smile.

"Oh, do you?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corner of your own mouth.

"Yes," he replies. He lets go of your hand and places his palm against your back, his thumb stroking your spine. "I'm afraid I need someone to help test them. Someone with a very discerning eye."

"I see," you murmur, biting your lip to keep from smiling. "I guess I could help."

He slows to a stop, and turns to face you. The evening sun is setting, and the light is catching in his dark brown eyes, making them glow golden. His hand is still on your back, and he pulls you closer, until the two of you are nearly touching.

His free hand tilts your chin up. "I'd appreciate it."

"And maybe after," you continue, a mischievous glint in your eye, "we could test the other parts of the ship."

"That's an excellent idea," Tech replies, and his fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt. "We will need to make sure we are thorough. It wouldn't do to leave any part of the ship untested."

"No," you agree, a grin spreading across your face. "It would be irresponsible."

"Precisely."

Tech meets you halfway, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Your hands find his neck, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you. You can't stop the sigh that escapes you, and he swallows it, his mouth slanting over yours.

He breaks the kiss, and he's smiling, his cheeks flushed. Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, his head tilting into your touch.

"So," you start, your thumb stroking his skin, "shall we head back to the ship?"

"After you, darling," he replies, his voice low. He presses one more kiss to your lips, and then he's stepping back, offering his arm.

You reach out to take it, and then you pause, considering. Your fingers drift over his bicep, and you look up at him, your eyes sparkling.

"Race you," you say, and then you take off, your footsteps echoing down the street.

Tech stares after you for a moment, before he shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Infuriating," he mutters, and he sets off after you. 

The two of you run, chasing each other through the streets of Coruscant, and the air is filled with your laughter. It's a beautiful night, and the city is alight with the glow of the sunset. There's a breeze blowing, and it rustles your hair, and the scent of flowers is in the air.

And there's a warm feeling in your chest, something bright and light and free, and you can't stop laughing.

It's impulsive, and foolish, and everything Tech would normally hate. But it's perfect, and as he chases after you, the smile on his face only widens.

Maybe there's something to be said for spontaneity, after all.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild

[dimepdf]

★ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request?

synopsis. you were a sucker for jealousy sex, man.

pairing. toji fushiguro x reader

genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, established relationship, domestic fluff, dilf!toji, milf!reader, tattoos, jealousy sex, exhibitionish, Toji being childish, cowgirl position, hints of subby Toji | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍 800+ w.c.

Dilf!Toji who comes home from picking up Megumi and your daughter Nya from their kindergarten after-school activities. 

Toji scolds the two for running down the hallway as soon as the front door opens, their little pitters from their feet slapping against the wooden floor as they rush into the living room where you were lying snuggly just to tackle you into a hug. 

The two are all smiles and giggles as they kick off their sneakers and snuggle up next to you.

They were practically glowing with excitement, as if they hadn't seen you just hours before, on the same day you had taken them to school. "Mommy! Mommy! Can I show you what I made in art today?"

Despite posing the question, the girl had already started unzipping her bag and shuffling through the strange, cryptic amount of things she had packed inside of her small Hello Kitty backpack.

If you hadn't had quick enough reflexes, you'd have thought she was trying to take your eye out by shoving the bendy wire figure right into your face.

"Oh wow, honey, it looks so creative; I can tell you worked really hard on it." You honestly couldn't tell what it was—fuzzy purple, red, and green covered wires all bent into some sort of shape that you could only assume to be a figure, but you put on your best motherly smile for your child.

"It's you, mommy! Can you tell, I even gave it a big butt." When Toji came into the living room, slouching his shoulders on the back of the couch and leaning forward.

Looming over the exchange, you decided to change the direction of the conversation before he could get remotely lewd about his favorite body part of yours.

"Did you make anything, Megumi?" Despite not being your biological son, the coal-haired boy still showed the same amount of admiration for you as your own daughter did. 

But it was still very clear that Megumi had all of Toji’s attitude, with the boy showing no interest in his sister's show-in-tell and not even bothering to cover up his glare at her art project. "That looks like crap," Megumi states bluntly, earning a dramatic gasp from Nya. 

The girl held the figure to her chest as if she were protecting it from him.

"You look like crap." Toji teases, no better than the children. As the three start bickering back and forth with each other, you reach for the TV remote and pause the Netflix show that you were trying to binge.

It was like you were raising three kids, as the argument only became pettier by the second.

"Why don't you tell mommy about how Itaduri’s mom liked your tattoos?" Megumi shrugged, your brow furrowed in surprise as the two children abruptly switched teams to go against their father.

"Is that why she was touching your arm?" Nya asked naively, unaware that she had just unpinned a grenade.

Your palm pushed away Toji’s face as he tried to distract you with a kiss, curving him as you dug for more information between the two. "And what was daddy saying while she was touching his arm?"

“He said thank you.”

Now that you understood the cost of having a super hot husband, you weren't blind to Toji’s charm, but over the years of being in love with him, it was pretty easy to say that he was just blessed with his attractiveness.

Having women throw themselves at him was nothing new,it was just another daily problem added to the things that Toji had to go through. 

It's not like he entertained any of the women that came up to him because he truly only loves you, but that didn't mean that you weren't allowed to be a little needier sometimes.

Plus, he wasn't complaining much while lavishing you with affection. His hands lingered on your body long after the kids had fallen asleep for their naps. 

It was daring, having to straddle his lap on the couch in the family living room knowing that the kids could wake up at any moment, but for Toji.

It was just another goal he was willing to complete, seeing how fast he could make you cum in that circumstance.

Handing his hand down to your thighs, he gives them a squeeze as he catches his breath, watching you ride him with an admiring glint in his eye. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

"Really? more beautiful than that other bitch?" You knew Itadori’s mother wasn’t a bitch.

If anything, she was a kind lady who knew how to make really good brownies.

You’d probably scalp her if you ever saw her skirting with Toji again.

No hard feelings, but she should know better than to touch what was yours.

"So much—ah, you’re the most beautiful woman I know." Toji whimpered, reaching his tattooed hand in between and sharing some attention to your clit. 

You were a sucker for jealousy sex, man. 

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not me making another milf!reader man,,

[sinsinsininning]

A little bit softer

Chapter 5

Eustass Kid x crewmate!fem!Reader

TW: some street harassment from an unnamed man, cursing, allusion to prev smut, very brief descriptions of sexual harassment, drinking

A/N: this one was loooooooong, sorry I’ve been struggling with work and I can’t work on this as much as I’d like too

~~~~~~

It was nothing. You thought the moment you woke up.

It was nothing. Over and over in your mind as you rolled out of bed.

It only happened because you were tired. You almost said it out loud while getting dressed, your mumbling earned you a look from House.

Because you couldn’t think of anyone else. You felt like a zombie trudging to the galley for coffee and your daily assignments.

And you couldn’t think of anyone else, because you were tired.

You rubbed your eyes and tried to not think, as Killer greeted you, the coffee still brewing.

The rest of the morning crew were giggling and chatting away, you kinda wanted to shoot one of them out of jealousy. Instead you tucked into the plate of eggs and fruit Killer placed in front of you.

He paused at your tired expression, but went back to cooking. Today would be long, you decided.

It’s my punishment for last night. You shook your head quickly to clear your mind. A few crew mates nudged each other, grinning.

“Hey sunshine,” Hop called out. “You look a little rough, long night?” Quincy giggled, you sent them both a withering glare.

“Maybe if you hadn’t chipped your sword in 5 different spots I wouldn’t have been up all night.” You grouched, she blushed and clammed up. You turned to Quincy. “Stop giggling, how the fuck did you manage to break the bolt on your gun?”

“Hee~ it’s a mystery.” She winked.

“You’re a menace.” You said, stuffing more eggs in your mouth. Killer places a mug of coffee in front of you and clears his throat, gaining everyone’s attention.

“We won’t be docking until a little past noon, if everyone gets their tasks done before that then you can do whatever you want on shore,” He paused for the usual cheers, being morning crew on shore days was the best. Afternoon crew had to do supply runs and maintenance, but at least they got to sleep in. “Now finish eating and I’ll give you an assignment.”

You don’t take your time, hoping to rush through whatever cleaning you have to do and get a nap in before docking. After rinsing your dish and chugging your coffee, you wait in front of Killer.

“You only got two chores today, mopping the hallways and helping Wire with some charting.” Killer pauses for a moment. “After that try to get some close range target practice in before going on shore. Captain wants everyone in top shape.”

You almost groan, charting maps with Wire and sharp shooting practice would easily take the full morning, if not the whole day. Maybe you can get Wire to have mercy on you, doubtful though, he’s way too passionate about maps. Killer dismisses you and you refill your mug before heading out to mop.

The hallways weren’t difficult to mop per se, but they were long and winding, plus there was frequent foot traffic to account for. Too many people walking around leads to slipping, so it was best to mop a section then go back with a towel to dry it then rinse and repeat. Your caffeine buzz gave you a burst of energy and it only took you an hour to get it done.

Now you just had to help Wire and you could nap, though you weren’t sure how you could help with charting it wasn’t your area of expertise.

Still, it was an order from Killer so you met with your tallest crew mate on the deck. There were several crew mates milling about, either working on chores or sparring. Wire was already sitting, pencil moving briskly with a smile on his face.

“You’re literally the cutest,” You said as you sat down. “Seriously I could eat you up.” He looked up at you with his heavy eyes and smiled again.

“Oh sweetie I doubt you have the appetite.” He said demurely, before the both of you burst out with laughter. Wire was easily the biggest flirt on the crew, besides you of course. He took a moment to observe you as you sat, noticing your eye bags and red sclera. “You look like you had a long night. You got a special someone I don’t know about?”

“Ha! Yeah right,” You snort, taking a sip of your now cold coffee. “You’d be the first to know if I had a new beau.”

“Oh I better be.” Part of you worried he’d start making assumptions again, but he spared you instead rifling through some papers.

“So what do you need me for? I’m not exactly a navigator.” You ask, he smiles again.

“True, but charting isn’t just marking a path on a map, it also involves some local intel.”

“Oh? How can I help then?”

“Well you know how Captain has changed course to go to the West Blue yes?”

“Uh- yeah I guess.” You feel an anxious pit in your stomach.

“Well we’re going after a specific crew, have you heard of a Captain Badger?” He asked, pulling out an old faded bounty, the picture was grainy but you’d recognize that face anywhere.

“Ummm.” You grabbed the paper, playing up your pause. “Yeah I think I have.” Wire seemed excited.

“Wonderful! Do you know where he operates out of? Or what his crew name and size is?”

You knew, but getting the words out was difficult. You didn’t think Kid had been serious about going and killer you former captain. Now you’d have to explain you past to everyone, who knows how they’d react. They’d think you were a coward. Or worse they’d pity you.

“Pretty sure he’s got a smaller crew, like less than 20 people. And I uh- I don’t remember his crew name, it was something like Wave or Tide Pirates.” You offer with a sheepish grin and a shrug, Wire tilted his head then started writing again. “Did the Captain say why he was go after him?”

“He said he wants him dead and that’d I’d know more when I need to know more.” Wire grinned. “Which is what he usually says so chances are this guy insulted him once like a year ago and now we’re gonna kill him.” He chuckled, you tried to join in but it sounded watery.

“We-Well if you don’t need anything else-”

“Oh, yes do you know where he operates out of? Does he have a base camp or anything?” Wired asked.

He wishes, you thought wryly.

“Hmmm, I think he stays around Toroa. That’s all I can remember.” You laugh shakily again and dismiss yourself. Wire frowns, he’d rather have you here while he finished the map to answer any other questions. But you seemed so unlike yourself today, he hoped you went and rested a bit.

Part of you wanted to scream, Kid was seriously delaying their journey just to go kill some guy he’s never even met. You laid back down on your bunk, Hip was getting dressed while Emma brushed her hair.

“Morning, Doll.” Emma smiled at you, you grunted out a greeting and pulled the blanket over your head. “Oooff you alright?”

“She got in late last night,” Hip answered for you, fixing her lipstick. “Let her get some sleep before we dock.” She flicked the lights off.

“Hip I could kiss you right now.” You groaned out, grateful to your friend. The two opened the door to leave, Hip poked her head back in.

“You’d ruin my lipstick~” She purred dramatically.

“Tragic, how will I ever recover?” You chuckled dryly, taking the time now to remove your outer clothes before your nap. You ended up in your underwear and a baggy top.

“Have sweet dreams love!” Hip called out, Emma slammed the door shut probably sick of your jokes.

You didn’t sleep deeply, constantly tossing and turning, you tried not to think about Kid or why he was doing all of this. It was so out of nowhere, a month ago you barely even spoke.

Eventually you settle enough to dream of nothing, of course that didn’t last long and soon enough someone was pounding on your bunk door. You jolted awake, worried there was a fight or something, and grabbed one of the many knives off the wall before yanking the door open.

Kid seemed surprised to be on the business end of your knife, you stared at each other for a bit before he started laughing. You flushed and lowered the blade with a muttered apology.

“Shit you’re a fucking sight!” He cackled, leaning against the doorway. His eyes drag up and down your form and you feel like bursting into flame when he gives a low whistle. “What’s with the get up? You trying a new look?”

You slam the door shut and go to put some clothes on, you wouldn’t bother to put clothes on if the ship was under attack. But you didn’t really feel like talking to your captain in your undergarments. At least you’d worn boxers so there was a little bit of coverage.

Kid shoved the door open as you picked up some clothes.

“Oi could’ve broken my nose!”

“Why were you pounding on my door like that?” You asked trying to yank your pants on. “Thought we were under siege or there was a fire!” He laughs again.

“Well nice to know you’re always ready for a fight!” He’s grinning and if you weren’t so embarrassed you’d have found the situation funny too. “Anyways we just docked and you weren’t on deck so I came to grab ya.”

“Thanks, Boss.” She buckle your belt, making sure it sat well on your hips before pulling your tank top on. His eyes were still watching you, you felt warm again. “Sorry, I was sleeping, didn’t hear the call on the comms.” He grinned again.

“Yeah? You were up late last night.” He didn’t say it like a question, but you still answered like it was.

“Yup weapon repair took longer than expected. Didn’t finish until late.” You yank on your boots now, he’s back to leaning on the doorframe.

“I know.” His smile was wide and at that moment you felt exposed again.

“Huh?”

“I was up and saw your dinner still in the fridge.” He shrugged. “Figured you weren’t done yet.” He didn’t reveal more, just in case you suspected it was him outside the showers last night. You feel a little bit better now.

“Yup, like I said. Took a while, I ate eventually before bed.” You kept it short, hopefully you seemed relaxed. Probably not. “You need anything else?”

He frowned at the dismissive tone, but didn’t comment just walked out towards the deck, leaving the door wide open. You sighed, glad he was gone. That conversation could’ve been much worse, you count it as a victory.

Heat popped his head in as you finished getting ready, eyes suspicious.

“You alright? Just saw Kid walk out of here like he was pissed.”

“I’m good, he woke me up from my nap and I kinda held a knife at him.” You tie your hair back away from you face with a grin.

“Woah why’d you threaten him?” He looked impressed.

“He scared me! I thought we were under attack so I was just prepared for an enemy to be at my door!” You laughed while trying to defend yourself. “I’m sure he’s pretty pissed about it. Surprised he didn’t revoke my shore leave.”

“Nah there’s no way he’d be mad at you.” Heat walked with you to the deck. “He’s probably into that typa shit.” You make a face and cover your ears as he opens the door for you, cackling at your blush.

“I don’t need to know your theories, thank you!” The deck is mostly empty, just a few people who are on duty milling about. Killer and Kid are next to the exit, talking together with Wire.

Heat walks with you to the exit, you have no plans at shore but it’s mid afternoon so there’s plenty to do. You pass by Kid without looking at him, hoping to escape without an incident. Wire waves you over and you feel like crying.

“I’ll catch up with you,” You let Heat go on without you. “Let’s meet for drinks in an hour. Same spot as last time, yeah?” He gives you a thumbs up and climbs down. You walk over to the group and nod your greeting, eyes on Wire.

“I was just letting Captain and Killer know, I’ve finished charting our course!” Wire was lit up, lidded eyes shut as he smiled and swayed. “Thank you for the help, by the way.” Kid looked bored and Killer looked….well like Killer.

“Of course, not a problem.” You desperately want to leave right now, but with 3 high ranking crew mates you knew better than to go without being properly dismissed.

“If you remember anything else, let me know! I’m hoping to figure out his crew’s name.” Wire hummed distractedly. “Maybe I can find a more recent bounty with it.”

Killer cocks his head to the side, an exaggerated confusion, while Kid just flat out gapes at you. Your smile is wobbly and you hope they don’t ask you about it. You just didn’t want more people knowing about your old captain, it’d be too much of a hassle.

“I think it may be a good idea for you and Wire to have a session together.” Killer said slowly, Kid opened his mouth but a nudge from his first mate kept him quiet. “You’ve been here for months, it’d be good for you to have a check up.”

“Oh?” Wire perked up, he knelt down so he was a little closer to your height, something he did when a sensitive moment popped up. “You know, I didn’t realize it, but we never had an official talk before have we?”

“I guess not,” You cringed, the idea of having a sorta-kinda therapy session didn’t interest you at all. “I don’t think it’s necessary.” Wire waves at you are with a smile.

“Nonsense! It’s part of my duties, plus it couldn’t hurt.” Wire patted you gently.

“So it’s decided,” Killer said. “You two make a plan for it, if there’s a problem, let me know.” He said that last part to you, you could feel it.

“Wonderful!” Wire smiled and you tried to mimic him, but it definitely looked like a scowl. Kid was frowning now as you were finally dismissed and practically ran off the boat.

“I’m getting a drink.” Kid announced, feeling pissy as he followed slowly after you. He pretended he didn’t hear Wire’s little chuckles.

You had a sizable lead on him by the time he actually dismounted, but he kept a close eye on you as you darted from stall to stall in the marketplace. It was a rare luxury to be able to choose from such a variety of stores, he found himself taking his time at certain spots. His bounty proceeds him so most places gave him a hefty discount, he grinned as he browsed a stall full of niche tools.

He hadn’t meant to get distracted from you, but he was conversing with the elderly man at the stall about which item would be the best suited for his style of work when a commotion from on the other side of the crowd started up. A man’s voice could be heard, cocky and forward. Kid could make out something about a date.

“Oh boy, looks like another young man is causing trouble.” The old man said tiredly.

“Huh?” Kid tried to peer over the crowd but the commotion was around a bend, obscuring his view.

“There’s a lot of very…insistent men around here.”

“Insistent? What the fuck does that mean.” The old man curled his lip at the cursing, but Kid was too busy being nosey to notice.

“You know, insistent…with the ladies. Especially in such a crowded place.” The man shrugged as Kid turned to sneer at him. “Try not to let it disturb your browsing. It’s a minor nuisance.”

“So you don’t try to stop it?” Kid felt himself getting angry. “Even though you know it’s a problem?”

“Not really, it really can’t be helped, especially with so many new, beautiful women coming though every day. The boys will grow out of it eventually.” The man chuckled, like he thought Kid would laugh too.

The red head snarled and shoved his way back onto the streets, easily knocking several people out of his path. He came upon the scene and nearly exploded.

Of course it was you giving him a damn head ache.

You were facing a tall, spindling young man. His face pinched in a frown as he tried to grab your arm again. You yanked your arm back, lips curled back in a sneer.

“Fuck off, I said I’m not interested.” You told the man, the crowd continued moving around you both as if they didn’t even notice. The man tried to step closer, you put your hand on your holstered knife, he paused.

“Come on now, a pretty thing like you ain’t gotta carry a knife.” You caught sight of Kid, relief flooding your face, until he started grinning.

“Nah,” Kid interrupted, stepping behind the guy. The scrawny man turned to glare at him but went pale when they made eye contact. “Pretty thing like her ‘as gotta carry a knife. Too many little shits out there tryin to be creeps ya know?” He grinned down at the guy, then walked to stand by you nudging you with his elbow.

“I think you should stab him.” Kid continued, eyes locked on you.

“Wait a min-“ The man starts.

“Unlike some people I actually try to keep a low profile on shore.” You ignore the man, glaring up at your captain. “Let’s just leave.” You move to walk off, but Kid grabs you by the belt loop, gently halting you.

“Who? Me?” He laughs, the crowd is thinning out as they sense his threatening presence. “Did you even tell him you were a pirate?” You shrugged, peering up at him now.

Oh shit, he wanted to show off for you.

“Woah a pirate?” The man, who Kid had honestly forgotten about, shouted. “No way you’re fucking lying!” Kid rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you’re annoying,” He drawls and raises his hand to the Bowie knife strapped across his chest. “I’m sick of hearing you talk. If she won’t kill ya, I sure as fuck will.” The man jumps back, knocking into someone, Kid starts to move towards him but your hand on his arm stops him.

That’s right, I’m supposed to make her not scared of me.

His pause gives the creep enough to run off blubbering and the crowd of people come forward to occupy his now empty place. Kid nervously glances down at you, wondering how much he set your relationship back. He was met with your bored stare.

“Seriously? We’ve been on shore for what? And hour?”

“Hey don’t lecture me, I’m the captain I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” He grumbled, but allowed you to lead him down the street. Your hand was still on his arm, the one not covered by his coat, and the feeling makes him flush.

“You are, but everyone’s gonna be pissed if we have to deal with Marines already.” You press into his arm now to direct him down a smaller path. It’s less crowded so you let go of him and give a little space, he tries not to yank you back to him.

“Whatever, can’t believe you let that fucker live.” He knew he should leave it alone and just be glad you didn’t run scared from him. But he couldn’t help poking at that bear.

“If I killed every creep that flirts with me, I’d be in jail.” You chuckle a little, one look at your captain though and he looks pissed.

“Who the fuck is flirting with you all the time?” He barks and you bristle.

Oops.

He realized now it kinda sounded like he didn’t think you were attractive enough to be flirted with.

“So two seconds ago you were calling me pretty. Now I’m not?” You tried not to feel insulted but… it stung a little. You don’t know why, but you didn’t like the thought that Kid found you unattractive. It’s nothing.

“That’s not what I meant!” He tried to argue, but you spotted Heat waiting outside a bar ahead. So you took the easy way out and sped up to a jog. Kid kept his pace, but followed after you, desperate to make his case.

“Heat!” You called out and hugged your friend.

“Took ya long enough,” The stitched man smiled, then did a double take as Kid trailed behind you. “Hey captain. What’re you doing here?”

“We ran into each other,” You said dismissively, pulling Heat to the bar’s entrance. “Do they have food? I’m fucking starving.”

“Yeah I think so.” Heat glanced back to watch Kid follow you both in. “He good?” He asked you in a hushed tone as you sat down at a booth in the corner. Heat stood glancing between the two of you.

“Probably?” You shrugged. “There was a guy I got into it with, he’s probably pissed I didn’t kill him.”

Heat slid into the bench opposite from you, as Kid sat at the bar. The place wasn’t busy, but late afternoon would fade away into night soon and it’d be packed. The bartender served Kid then came over to get your order.

“Hey I remember you!” He said as he pointed at you. “You were here a few weeks ago, yeah?” You smiled politely and nodded, Heat had a guarded expression, but the guy just took your orders and left for the kitchen. Kid glanced back at you as you sipped your beer.

“Weird that he remembered us.” Heat started, you chuckled.

“I mean, you and captain are pretty memorable.”

Heat grunted but didn’t continue. The time passed by quickly, you and Heat ate and drank your beers. Slowly more patrons started trickling in, mostly your crew but some locals too. At some point you pulled out a deck of cards and started a no stakes game with Heat, hoping to improve your skills.

Kid was suspiciously quiet, you’d glance at him often, but he just drank in solitude. Occasionally a crew mate would come up and chat with him, but when they left he’d just fall silent again. He glanced at you about as often as you did him, until Killer finally joined on the stool next to him.

“Pay attention before I make us play Go Fish.” Heat admonished you, your face turned red.

“Jokes on you I’m a shark at Go Fish.” You grin at him despite the shame of being caught.

As the night finally kicks off and nearly the entire crew, minus those on ship watch, are here, you and Heat finish your game. He splits off to find Wire and you go up to the bar for some stronger drinks. There were no open spots so you tapped on Killer’s shoulder, he made space between him and Kid. You waved at the bartender, having to stand on the barstool’s foot rest to be tall enough.

“What can I get you, gorgeous?” The man asks smoothly. Both men beside you tense, but you through your head back in a laugh, the previous drinks got you a little more comfortable.

“Can I get 2 shots of whiskey and a rum and coke?”

“Of course!” The bartender starts working on that, you keep an eye on him as Killer leans to speak with Kid over your head. You can’t really hear them, but ignore to focus on the man making your drinks. “Here you go.” He places the 3 glasses down and you put a few Berries on the counter, Kid swipes them back to you quickly.

“Hey!” You and the bartender say at once, your captain sneers then throws down his own Berries.

“Shut up both of ya!” He avoids your eyes and tucks back into his drink. Killer let’s off a restrained chuckle, you can feel it more than hear it against your side. You shrug, ready to let your captain’s weird behavior go if it meant free drinks, the bartender though didn’t seem as willing.

“Aw what a gentleman,” He grins at you. “Here I thought chivalry was dead.” Kid glowered at him, but Killer shook his head, which made the redhead frown harder.

“Thanks, Boss!” You say to ease the tension, then offer him one of the shots. “This was for Heat but he ditched me, you want it?” He regards you for a moment and takes the shot without a word. He grunts at the burn and watches you take yours then take a quick sip of your coke to chase it. Killer let’s out a brisk goodbye and vacates his seat, yanking you onto it.

“This shit is cheap, let me get some of that.” He gestures to your glass, normally he wouldn’t need a chaser, but he didn’t want you running off just yet. Or worse, talking with the stupid bartender again, who seems to be hovering around you. You slide him the drink, he takes a sip and grimaces again. “Fuck that’s strong, got what? Like an spit’s worth of coke?” You nod.

“Yeah it’s kinda strong,” You make a face as you take another sip. “Maybe I just gotta stir it.” You swirl it with a straw from the bar and try again. Nope, still strong.

“Tryin’ to get her drunk fast?” Kid shoots at the bartender, who pretends like he wasn’t listening.

“Does the lady not like her drink? I can certainly remake it for you.” He ignores Kid to speak with you, who is steadily considering murder. You wave his question off.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You’d rather just drink it, this guy was really annoying Kid and it was better if he just gave you some space.

“If you change your mind~” He winks at you and you fight back a laugh. This guy was over the top with his flirting. “Just let me know, my name is Jon.” He finally walked off to service some more patrons, the second bartender, an older woman, arrived to help with the orders.

“Fucking annoying ass dick head.” Kid mutters, you roll you eyes, but he doesn’t see it.

“He seemed nice enough.” You said lazily, eyes scanning the crowd as you stir your drink again. “Kinda cute too.”

“What? Seriously?” Kid looks you up and down like you’ve grown another head.

“Yeah, he’s nice at least.” You shrug.

“Gross. You’re way outta his league.” He needs to shut up, right now.

You’re stiff again, suddenly remembering his insult earlier. He can feel the change in you and quickly looks away, staring at his beer like it would hide him.

“Whatever.” You hop off the stool and go to leave, his hand grips your upper arm tightly. You flinch and tense, his grip softens but doesn’t leave, you let him pull you back onto the stool.

“That wasn’t what I meant… Earlier.” He said slowly, his hand slips down to hold your forearm.

“When you said I wasn’t pretty enough to be flirted with?” You clarified for him, he scowled but tried to force it away.

“I never said that!” He cuts himself off. “Look, you’re plenty pretty. I just meant that creeps shouldn’t be bothering you, ya know?” He finishes lamely, heat on his face, trying to look at you. A pause hangs in the air and he finally looks at your face, you keep it neutral for a moment.

“So… you think I’m pretty?” You ask with a grin, he snatches his hand away from you with a growl. Your face is also red, but you poke his arm playfully. “What’s next? You gonna propose?” He flushes more and grits his teeth.

“Knock it off will ya! I’m trying to be nice for fucking once!” He bats your hand off of him, hoping he seems as annoyed. “Acting all hot and cold on me.”

“Calm down, Boss. You know I don’t mean anything by it.” You hold your hands up in mock surrender. His eyes cut to you then back to the crowd.

“Yeah, I know.”

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

Porridge for— you guessed it— A Bashful Captain (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After hearing the shocking news that Gepard is sick, Serval entrusts you with the task of making sure he doesn’t burn himself out while no one is watching. Good luck with that.

▸ Genre(s): fluff

▸ Word Count: 5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions

A/N: I’ve been struggling to get my posts to show in the tags, so let me know if you want to be taglisted! It’s really demotivating seeing my work get demolished by the algorithm.

MASTERLIST

How nice it was to have a moment of respite after a long and arduous campaign.

At least, that’s what the captain wished he could say.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to stay in bed after he woke up that morning. His throat felt like it had been scraped with steel wool and then some. Plus, his body felt chilled, even after piling far more than the usual number of blankets on his bed.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Serval had said. Aeons, she was right.

Gepard vaguely registered the fact that this combination of symptoms spelled disaster, but nevertheless, he had to get up. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to gather the strength to hoist himself out of bed, but the air seemed to have invisible barbed wire that scoured his already painful lungs. He broke into a hacking cough that echoed throughout the estate and immediately sat up to cover his mouth with his elbow.

A knock on the door drew him out of his misgivings.

“Young master Gepard?” A concerned voice— which belonged to one of the maids— called.

Although the captain felt like his stomach was churning like butter, he shifted the blankets aside and treaded towards the door. Even the estate felt dreary that morning as the sunlight reaching through the window was weak and scattered (Due to a thick cloud covering, indicating an impending snowstorm.) The expensive plush carpet on the floor of the room did little to ease his newfound dislike of standing upright.

How silly he felt, a man who trudged through waist-deep snow on the daily, was now reduced to a sniveling mess in his family home. Gepard, still rubbing his nose, opened the wooden door slightly.

The shock on the maid’s face was evident as she caught her first glimpse of him. He really did look worse for wear, his golden hair was unkempt, his complexion was pale, and he had to lean on the doorframe to keep the room from swaying and bending inwards and—

“Um— young master. I heard you coughing,” she blurted out, eyeing his drooping eyelids. “Would you like me to fetch you a glass of water?”

Gepard raised his voice to respond but instead let out a ghastly wheeze followed by coughing that sounded like thunder. He turned his head away so as not to catch her in the blast.

“Y-yes, please,” He resumed looking at her. “That would be much appreciated,”

His voice was uncomfortably hoarse. She glanced up at him. “Would you like it with lemon or without?”

The young man didn’t get a chance to respond. His calloused hand slid down the doorframe, his vision went fuzzy—

—and then everything went dark.

The maid’s shriek echoed off the walls, causing the sparrows that perched on the windowsills to take to the sky.

Her voice turned heads, both maids and butlers alike, all throughout the manor.

(It is said that they still speak about it to this day, much to her chagrin.)

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You were convinced that work was going to give you a heart attack.

With the Solwarm festival upcoming, flower sales practically exploded. Your job as a florist was a source of many joys, but even you had your limits. Your hands were permanently stained with a mix of red and orange from all the Solarflowers you’d been handling. It looked like brilliant flames adorned your arms, but it lost its novelty after you realized you couldn’t wash it off, even with industrial strength soap.

And you had a catch-up with Gepard in three days. Just great.

He’d sent the invitation through a surprise letter a week before he came home. He said he’d be busy for a bit with mission debriefings and yada yada, but he’d like to meet at Serval’s for lunch once he got the chance.

Couldn’t he have just texted me? You snorted when you opened it. Those nobles. (You betted that he’d never gone on a date that was anything other than a fancy matchmaking dinner.)

But then you realized that was dumber than dumb. He wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone on military expeditions. You nearly smacked yourself with the first edition copy of the Gardener’s Almanac in shame.

You cast a mournful, longing glance through the paned glass windows and out at Qlipoth fort. Of course Gepard had ten thousand meetings to attend to after getting home.

A pang of pity reverberated throughout your chest. Didn’t he at least deserve a short break? He was like a herding dog that never got a day off.

You looked up from where your head was resting on the counter, feeling the warmth of a Solarflower bouquet spread across your face almost like a blush. Handing the customer’s change across the counter whilst simultaneously stifling a heartbroken sigh wasn’t much, but it was one of the hardest things you’d done all day.

I am so. Friggin. Tired. You groaned. The overcast weather was really getting to your mood.

A clatter came from the back, which caused you to prick your ears.

“Hey, (Y/N)? The plumbing in the upstairs sink broke. We’re missing the right kind of wrench. Would you mind going out and grabbing it?” Meg spoke.

“Sure,” you perked your eyebrows, eager to escape your thoughts for a split second. “What kind is it?”

Your boss handed you a paper with the details, and you swung your florist’s bag over your shoulder with newfound gusto. A trip to Serval’s workshop was exactly what you needed.

The breeze outside the shop was stagnant. It made you shudder. You couldn’t control the weather, but you could sure as hell skip to the shop to spite the bad hand you’d been dealt recently.

The bronze shop bell dinged to announce your entry. And Serval, the owner of the Neverwinter Workshop, was fast asleep on a pile of papers.

That can’t be comfortable,

“Hey, Serv—,”

She shot up from her desk faster than you could blink.

“Welcome to Neverwinter Workshop! What can I— Oh! (Y/N)! Sorry about that, I just uh… dozed off for a bit,”

You chuckled. “Not a problem. I just came by for an 18x18mm wrench. Would you happen to have one of those?”

Molly, the assistant, peeked her head in from the back. “Only a few hundred of them,”

You stared back, flabbergasted. “Why so many?”

“Miss Serval put an extra zero on the order form,” she said with a shrug.

Serval looked at you sheepishly, her blue eyes filled to the brim with embarrassment. You shot her a glance loaded with concern.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” You inquired.

“Yeah, totally! Well… The band and I have been pretty busy with rehearsal lately. Y’know, with the Solwarm festival coming up and all—,” She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “—anyways, the person who’s case you should REALLY be on is Gepard’s,”

You lifted an eyebrow at her attempt to deflect the blame. “Yeah? And why is that?”

She paused, not paying you the slightest crumb of attention before she let out an planet-shaking yawn.

“Huh? Oh, he’s sick. Real nasty case. He got it from Pela,”

“Jeez. Seriously?” You exclaimed. “That sucks. I hope he gets better soon,”

She blinked slowly and tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. We do too. He actually passed out this morning,”

Your eyes went wide.

“He WHAT???”

“Ah, well, he passed—,”

“Nope, nope, nope. I got it,” you said, rubbing your temples while staring at the floor. “Holy crap. It must be really bad then. Did he have to go to the hospital?”

Serval shook her head. “Nope, thank Qlipoth. Lynx has had to crash here so she doesn’t catch it,”

You glanced around the workshop. “She has? Where is she?”

Your friend pointed at a stack of cardboard boxes stacked beside a shelf.

“Right there,”

And clear as day, you spotted the white tufts of fur from Lynx’s hat sticking out of her sleeping bag.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

“Okay… So, let me get this straight. Gepard returned home and promptly passed out,” You gripped the edge of the reception desk so hard you thought it might splinter. “Is anyone keeping him from going to the meetings or… anything?”

“Well, yeah. He knows well enough not to spread his sickness around. What I can’t say for sure though is that he’s not forcing himself to do paperwork… and stuff,” Serval hummed to herself, sorting through another stack of papers that had been rearranged from her catnap.

You let out a withering sigh. “Someone’s gotta stop him,”

Picking up your phone, you hurriedly dialed his number. After far too many seconds, you flopped helplessly onto the desk. No answer.

“Ugh. Can’t we like… call Dunn or the household or something?” You said weakly.

“I thiiink you may be blowing this one out of proportion,” she grinned, showing her pointy canines. “Why don’t you stop by if you miss him so much? You can knock some sense into him or whatever,”

She smirked as she saw embarrassment seep into your face.

Aha! So you DO miss him,

“Yeah, if warp trotters fly, maybe,” you tried to hide your expression by running a palm over your face. “I can’t just show up unannounced,”

“You sure can! I do it all the time,” she said cheerfully. “Usually when the man of the house isn’t there, though,” A look of distaste flashed in her eyes.

“The head butler has a good memory. He should remember you. Say I sent you—,” she perked up. “Oh! Here, I’ll write you a note,”

The blonde-haired woman yanked open a wooden drawer with an ear-piercing screech and lifted a notepad and pen out from its confines. She scrawled something out quickly.

“This should do,”

You squinted at the note skeptically.

I hereby authorize (Y/N), a friend of Gepard’s, to check up on him and make sure he isn’t working himself to death,

Signed,

Serval

[A strange doodle of a smiling face holding up a peace sign]

“Now go!” She shouted, practically pushing you out the door. “Go, go, go! You got this!”

“What—? Serval, I can’t—,”

“Yes you can! Call me if they don’t let you in. Rock on!”

She dropped you unceremoniously on the stone steps outside and slammed the door.

“Cheers!” Her muffled voice called.

I really should become a matchmaker, she snickered to herself.

You looked at the note once more and wilted.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Gepard’s residence was… exactly the same all the other times you had gone, maids and all.

It was still plenty overwhelming though. You brushed the wrinkles out of your tunic as you waited for someone to answer the door. It wasted no time swinging open with a force that could’ve flattened someone, had they been standing behind it.

You nearly squawked in fear. Didn’t these people know how to open a door normally?

While gripping your messenger bag, filled with a few things you had brought from home, you requested entry from the broad-shouldered man that answered. You had no trouble keeping your voice steady but your chest felt like it was being crushed under a metal boot as you faced him.

“Ah, yes. Anything for a friend of the young master!” The butler smiled warmly at you. He didn’t show any sign that he had picked up on your nervousness. Hah, you didn’t think you’d ever get over all these pairs of eyes on you each time you came.

But wait— a friend? Hadn’t you told them each and every visit that you were a gardener he hired?

You bit the edge of your lip but kept your mouth shut.

He motioned you inside. “He’s been resting. Please, let us walk you up!”

You kept your eyes trained on the velvet carpet draped on the stairs as you followed him up. The floorboards squeaked softly under your soles.

When you got upstairs, the curly-haired man stopped in front of a particular door. “Just go on in,” he instructed.

You thanked him and rapped on the door lightly.

“Gepard?”

He looked up from his paperwork hurriedly from where it was bent over the desk to the source of your voice.

“It’s me. Serval sent me over to check if you were doing alright,” you said, leaning your head closer to the wood.

Gepard’s brows knitted together.

If she really wanted to, she could have busted my door down like last time.

He switched off the lamp and got out of his chair.

You heard a croak that sounded like “coming” and winced away from the door. Eek. He must be in really bad shape.

The door opened, causing a breeze to hit your face. After not seeing his face for a month, this wasn’t how you expected your first meeting to go.

By Qlipoth’s grace—, you clapped your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from saying it out loud.

Gepard’s hair was messy and his cheeks were crimson. Locks of his golden hair covered his eyes, which were puffy and red. Better yet, he was wearing a matching set of blue and white striped pajamas. You nearly gawked. At least he wasn’t wearing his uniform if he wasn’t working.

He took in a quick breath to greet you but a harsh bout of coughing cut him off. Turning away from the door, he hacked into his elbow and tried to shut it.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you wedged your buckled boot into the space between the door and the frame. That swift action shocked him out of his coughing fit.

“A-apologies, I wasn’t expecting a visit. Please step away before I give you my illness,”

“Oh! That’s why you shut the door,” Your mouth went wide. “I thought you knew the real reason why I came!”

His eyes went wide as you used your forearm to force the door open wider, a vaguely threatening gesture.

What real reason?

“Forget what I just said,” you grinned while sauntering into the room. “Anyways, my immune system is great! I used to eat dirt when food was scarce in the Underworld. It’ll take a lot more than a cold to kill me,”

“Oh my. Is— is that so?” Gepard cleared his throat, forming a fist over his mouth. He followed a few steps behind you as you went about the room.

“Yessir. I came to say hi! Nothing more. Definitely not,” You chirped, looking around his quarters (not at all suspiciously, by the way.) “How are you feeling?”

Wait, didn’t you say Serval—?

He didn’t get to finish that thought.

“Well— all right, I suppose. A little lightheaded and feverish,” his eyes trailed your form moving about. “I took some medicine earlier, and my condition has improved some. Nothing a little rest won’t fix,”

You nodded, not sparing him a glance. “Yes. Rest. Glad to see we’re on the same page here, Gepard. Hey— you moved your bamboo plant in here!” You spotted a joyful little green plant in a pot on top of his desk.

He gave you a puzzled look. Your behavior was…strange, to say the least.

“Ah, yes. I moved it because—,”

—it reminded me of you, he narrowly stopped himself from saying.

“—I read that bamboo didn’t need as much light as I was giving it, so, I figured it would be fine if I transferred it,”

You bent your knees a little to take a closer look at it. “I see. The soil looks nice. Mind if I turn on the light to take a closer look?”

“Be my guest,”

You rotated the little key that controlled the lamplight. It flicked on, spreading a warm glow onto the books and papers on the desk. A glint reflected off a dollop of ink resting on a half-written paper.

You froze. That ink is fresh.

Bristling indignantly, you whisked your head towards him. He picked up the change in mood immediately and blanched.

“I thought you said you’d been resting,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I have,” He paused, confused. “Well—,”

“AHA!” You shouted. “I gotcha! This ink is fresh, Captain. Don’t think you can fool me,” You said triumphantly, placing your hands on your hips.

“Serval— she did send you, didn’t she?!” He sputtered. The usual stoic captain was nowhere to be seen as he rubbed the back of his neck in shame.

“Yes. She did. But also I would’ve come either way to make sure you weren’t wearing yourself out,” you snorted playfully. “She said it was highly likely you were doing paperwork. And paperwork IS. NOT. REST.” You shook a finger at him accusingly.

Gepard flinched slightly. “I’m not exerting myself physically, so there’s no need to worry, (Y/N). Really,”

The air around you seemed to grow dark. You cracked your knuckles, staring him straight in the face.

“Sit down. Now,”

He obliged, choosing to plunk down on his bed.

“I know it feels like you’re wasting time doing nothing, but your mind needs to recover too,” you shook your head disapprovingly while giving him an exaggerated sigh. “You should know that,”

You pulled up a chair in front of him and took a seat, facing the window so he was looking at your side profile.

“I don’t care if you’re the most capable man on Jarilo-VI—,”

—and it was pretty likely that he was,

“You need time to rest, just like everyone else,” you lectured, opening one eye to peer at him teasingly.

“Right,” Gepard replied, defeated. He had nothing against you.

“Did you even wear the scarf I gave you out there?”

“I did, but I didn’t want to dirty it,” he replied. You gave him a snort, which quickly turned into laughter.

“Aww. That’s thoughtful of you,” you flashed him a smile. “I made it knowing I might have to make you another one though. Or three. Just let me know if it gets too damaged to wear, okay?”

Gepard looked down at his striped pajama pants, a small smile crossing his features. “Thank you. I appreciate it,”

His chest almost hurt with all the things he wanted to say trying to fight their way out.

“No problem. If anything, you deserve it,” you sang. “On the other hand, have you eaten anything today?”

“I haven’t,” he rested his head on his chin. “I don’t seem to have an appetite, unfortunately,”

“I see. You should get something in ya though. Natasha told me your body could use the energy,” you stated knowledgeably.

He tried in vain to stamp down the feelings in his chest that sprouted from seeing your concerned expression.

For him. You cared about him.

Aeons, he didn’t deserve this.

“You can ask the cooks to make you some porridge or something,” you suggested. “I have some instant stuff, but it might not be to your liking,”

“I’m sure yours will be fine,” he rebutted quickly. “I’d be happy to eat it,”

You looked at him disbelievingly. I’ve never seen someone so determined to eat instant porridge,

His face stayed just how it was, his eyebrows weighing heavily on his eyes, just like twin anvils.

“Yeah, ok,” you let up. “Do you have a kettle or anything close by?”

“I believe there is one in the kitchen that they use for tea. You can ask the maids to retrieve it for you,” he motioned to the left.

You shook your head and got up. What use was it to call a maid for a trip that merely entailed going up and down the stairs? (Well, there were a stupid number of stairs, but that’s a whole other issue).

Kettle, bowl, spoon, and cloth napkin in hand, you bolted back upstairs to your patient. You plugged the kettle in and set it down on a towel so the heat didn’t damage the furniture.

Tapping your feet while you waited for the kettle to boil, you took a quick glance around the room. It told you a lot you needed to know about Gepard.

Firstly, he was relatively neat. Of course the areas of high traffic, like the bookshelves and the desk, were messier, but they hadn’t more than a few specks of dust on them. His uniform was hanging off of a dark oak armoire, and his military medals were pinned on a cork board attached to its door.

Secondly, there were quite a few pictures hanging on the walls. There were a few of him at awards ceremonies, at various ages. And one of him as a cadet— and wow— he was pretty short back then. He stood almost a whole head shorter than the other guards. You almost squealed with delight.

You turned back to him, noticing his eyes were glued to where you were staring. Oops.

You hurriedly apologized for staring so conspicuously at the photographs, but he shook his head at the statement. Photos were meant to be looked at, after all.

This quickly led to a slew of questions he wasn’t expecting, such as “How old were you when you joined the Guards?” And “Did Serval ever threaten to bench press you?”.

He almost laughed at that one. Probably. His nose wrinkled a little. Or whatever. You figured he’d finally laugh for real once the moons collided with Jarilo-VI.

The kettle began to whistle.

“Ah, water’s boiling,” you said, turning towards the outlet where it was plugged in.

Gepard had since settled down in bed, pulling the covers over his waist. You poured the piping hot water into the bowl carefully, the steam forming curls in the air, and covered it with a lid.

After a few minutes had passed, you set the bowl on a library book from your bag (Eek. Bad idea.) as a makeshift tray and stuck a spoon in it.

“Voilà. Enjoy!” You flung your arms in the air ostentatiously as he looked onward.

Gepard took a spoonful and blew on it gingerly. You watched him with an expectant look on your face. Although whether you were expecting something good or bad, you didn’t quite know.

He lifted it to his mouth and you zeroed in on him even harder.

“It’s delicious,” he said with conviction, meeting your eyes. You squinted at him.

“Um. Gepard, I think the fever is messing with your brain. Are you sure you can taste right now?”

“I’m sure,” he responded.

“No way!” You exclaimed, slapping your forehead. “Let me try— actually, wait. That’s a bad idea,” you sighed. “I’ll just have to believe you,”

The captain nodded affirmatively. He brought another spoonful up to his mouth and relished it, feeling the warmth spread across his tongue. You swore as you watched him savor it contentedly that you’d buy some on your way home to try for yourself.

While Gepard polished off the contents of his bowl, you yammered on about various events that had happened in Belobog while he was away. You had been saving them for when you got together for real, but you figured now was just as good a time as any.

Once he had finished, he rested the spoon on the side of the ceramic bowl.

“Thank you for coming to visit me, (Y/N),” he said gently.

“Someone had to,” you laughed while kicking your feet up. “When I heard you’d been bumbling about all day, I nearly had a heart attack!”

He ran a palm over his face, closing his blue eyes. “Yes— and I’m sorry for that,”

“I didn’t want to believe her, but you guys both have a tendency to push yourself way too hard, you know?”

“By her, you mean Serval?”

You pursed your lips at him.

“That’s how the Landaus are,” he exhaled heavily, letting out a small cough he quickly covered. “It’s… our duty to bring glory to our name, after all,”

You folded your arms. “Maybe by fighting valiantly or repairing automatons, but crawling through paperwork?? I don’t think so. Secretaries that want to help you are a dime a dozen. It’s a lot easier than risking your life in the Snow Plains,” you chortled.

“You’ve probably filled your glory quota for the next two centuries, Gepard,” you glowed. “Bronya and Pela know just how hard you work. You can always ask for help,”

Gepard sighed again. (He did that a lot.) You made a good point.

“I’m sure I’ll recover in no time, thanks to all of you,” he said sincerely. You imitated the sound of an explosion while opening your fist.

“Boom. Magic porridge,”

To your surprise, this elicited a short chuff from Gepard; This caused your breath to get lost somewhere in your throat.

It felt strange seeing him so unguarded in his bedroom with his hair unkempt, in contrast to the well-polished emblem of strength shown on the recruitment posters everywhere in the Administrative District.

You folded your hands over your lap contentedly, silently thanking Serval for clueing you in today. Out of the blue, Gepard spoke up.

“When I recover, would you like to go to the Belobog History and Culture Museum with me?”

That startled you. “Really? I have been wanting to go,” you gnawed on your thumbnail hesitantly. “But are you sure? With all the stuff you have on your plate?”

“Positively,” he replied, his blue eyes capturing all of your attention. You quickly averted your eyes before your circuits overheated. “Volunteers can bring in one guest for free. I… know we haven’t had too many chances to spend time together because we’re both busy, but I figured I’d make an offer anyhow,”

You didn’t catch the last half of that sentence over the sound of a train whistling in your ears.

This should be illegal.

Is he even hearing himself right now?? To— to spend time together?? If I wasn’t super-duper ultra perceptive, I’d think he—,

You clamped your hands on your cheeks (internally, of course) to still yourself, while the rest of you stared straight ahead.

Oh dear,

“Sure!” You blurted out, stiff as a statue.

Smooth, (Y/N).

Fortunately for you, an alert from your phone jostled you out of your internal minefield. You flipped it open while trying to expel far too many thoughts from your mind at once.

It was Serval. You popped into your messages app to see what she had sent— and in true Serval fashion— she had sent the most mind-boggling, disorienting message possible.

From: Serval at 13:44

S: how’s he doing? did u get there alright?

S: ahh you’re probably busy.

S: tuck him in for me, will u?

You nearly spit out your drink. Gepard blinked at you.

You— you can’t just SAY something like that, you cried internally. Not when my feelings are all messed up! I should get out of here before this gets any worse,

“Is something the matter?”

You sighed, long and heavy. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

He made no move to make any inquiries.

“Anywho, I guess I should take my leave now,” you spoke, reaching down to pick up your messenger bag off the floor and rising from your seat. “before I keep you up any longer. Take it easy, okay?”

“Ah— yes,” he replied, not letting the disappointment leak into his voice. He wondered about the sudden change in mood, but he didn’t want to pry if it would cause you discomfort.

“I’ll… keep that in mind,”

You smiled warmly at him.

“Good,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Even though you had left with the reasoning that you didn’t want to keep him awake, Gepard was anything but tired.

His strict internal clock as a soldier was probably to blame. A sigh echoed throughout the room. It was way too quiet now. And the velvet curtains absorbed any sound too weak to escape them.

He had to do something to keep his mind active. Maybe reading, perhaps? But the only books he had on his bookshelf were on war strategy and history. Both of which were related to his job.

How about drawing?

Now, that didn’t sound too bad.

He got out of bed and picked up a pencil, a spare piece of paper, and the floriography manual you lent him, off of his desk to use as a hard surface. As he settled into his mattress, he peered out the window one last time. He spotted a familiar green beret against the tan limestone bouncing way faster than necessary down the steps leading to the plaza.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

Well, time to get started,

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You sat in the break room of the florist’s, reading the latest edition of Automatons Weekly while waiting patiently for the porridge you had bought from the grocers to finish absorbing the water.

Vaska sat across from you, drinking floral tea while flipping through Tales 2. You’d prepared a bowl of porridge for her as well, just a different flavor. Hers had flecks of green and black in it, and it smelled quite good. Rather savory, in your opinion. The one you had gotten Gepard was the plain kind.

They had a surprising amount of flavors of porridge specifically at the grocers, like cinnamon, coconut, banana, whatever. It was honestly overwhelming. The fact they spent so much time curating the porridge aisle was weird, considering they didn’t have anything worth buying from the Underworld. But nonetheless.

After lifting the lids and seeing that the grains were sufficiently cooked, you both dipped your spoons in and shoveled them in your mouth.

“Blech!” Vaska said, coughing her mouthful into a napkin. “It tastes like soap,” You looked at her wordlessly as you swallowed yours.

You pondered for a moment.

“You know… I think I’ve had dirt more flavorful,” you said, bursting into loud laughter. “And how exactly do you know what soap tastes like?”

Vaska gave you a look loaded with venom.

“Whatever. You up for some cookies?” You shrugged.

She snickered, cracking open the door to the sweets cabinet in response, and fished out a jar of Meg’s famous chocolate brownie cookies.

Well, so much for that plan.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

[diejager]

Meeting in the same line of work as an operator. But the ‘reader’ in this scenario isn’t ‘small’. Being only just a couple inches shorter then Simon, and built quite large on the ‘bulk’ side. Spoopy Operator Girlfriend that can pick you up who doesn’t like that..? Boyfriend operator who’s used to interacting with women who prefer the feminine dainty life, now they gotta deal with reader being almost the complete opposite of what he’s used too!

(plus side of having operator girlfriend, no need to worry about being gentle, especially when their covered in scars like Simon)

Guess they can count their calories together as they get ready to work out…how many calories do you think Simon eats daily…?

I know shit about calories and being/feeling tall, but I can sure can try and live my dream in this >:]

Unusual Size Cw: fluff, implied smut, hookups, Ghost being confused, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost always thought himself as the provider in a relationship, the person who cared and protected —the shield. He always thought he preferred pretty and dainty women, like those he dated in the past or the rare and occasional hookups he brought to a motel room from the bar. They were good fucks, pretty things mewling and moaning beneath him, their pleasures spurred on by his broad stature and mask, but none were permanent, always a staple of his lonely nights. Ghost - Simon - knew who he was and what he liked —or so he fucking thought. 

You came crashing through everything he thought of himself, a straight man into small and fragile women with painted nails and rouge lips. You were unlike anything he’d every seen, bulky and tall, limbs sculpted from hardened marble and mind made of rough wires. You rivaled him in size and broadness, taller than Gaz, broader than Soap and gruffer than Price. You were a carbon copy of him in your whole attire and equipment, decked in black and blues, lifting more than anyone he’d seen and broke through men like they were made of glass, shattering them in the same velocity of a bowling ball towards pins. 

And when you shrugged off your mask, he was sure that he knew at least one thing about himself, that he was a straight and confused man, bordering on bisexual with how strongly he reacted to you appearing as a male with your deeper voice and gruffness. You were practically a man.

You didn’t need protection, you didn’t need to be provided for or to be cared for. You were as independent and strong as he was, someone he could equally depend on for help and comfort, to reach for someone he knew could take him as a whole: all his fear, all his scars, all his trauma and all his regrets. Simon knew you can take all of him, following him through thick and thin to pull him back from the depths of his mind, scattering his nightmares and bringing him into your strong arms. 

Everything came so naturally with you, he trusted you with his life, having you watch his back when he cleared a room with you, and you trusted him just as much when you smiled at him before he left for overwatch. You worked together so effortlessly, he moved when you moved, and you stopped when he stopped, step for step and act for act. It came to the point where he was never seen without you and you were always shadowed by him, stuck by the hip and fingers touching, two giants in bulk and gear stomping around base with your masks pulled up and scaring people off. It was a sight to behold. 

And in moments of vulnerability, where he once thought he had to be gentle and careful, he could fully throw himself at you without the fear of hurting you, using his whole body to press you down and his strength to hold you still, fingers bruising your scarred skin and growling out your name. He didn’t have to hold back and he didn’t have to do all the work, letting you take care of him, featherlight touches and tender kisses, praising him and encouraging him to let go. He didn’t know he liked to be treated softly, to be loved and gently handled, it was such a difference of his battle-hardened facade he put up. 

He learned that he liked being reminded of his humanity, that he was flawed and that it was all right to be a wounded being. He learned that he liked you more than he did with small and dainty women, never having to hold back and being able to let go of his control. And he learned that it was fine to not conform to the imagine people had of him, to stand out for what he liked and favoured; to trust and to love; to be cared for and to be protected; and to share his pain.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

[thistledropkick]

Last year, Kasai Jun was interviewed as part of the interview project DEATH, which interviews various people about death in order to find a better understanding of how to live and appreciate life.

I thought it was a fascinating interview, so I decided to translate it.

Please go visit the original interview - the photography accompanying it is absolutely gorgeous.

Also, please don't repost this whole translation elsewhere. If you want to quote an excerpt of my translation for something, please make sure to also credit the original team behind this interview and link back to the original interview.

Deathmatch Fighter Kasai Jun - 4/27/2022

“It’s not a deathmatch until you return home alive” The reason this 47 year old Charisma Wrestler continues to shed blood in the ring

Within pro wrestling, there is a genre called “deathmatch.”

An extreme set of rules that allows deadly weapons and has no disqualifications. Brawls with fluorescent light tubes, and dives onto barbed wire boards. Without hesitation, wrestlers stab their opponents in the head with fistfuls of bamboo skewers. When wound-covered bodies violently collide, shards of glass and sprays of blood shower the ringside seats.

Upon first seeing it, surely everyone thinks “Why are these people hurting each other like this?” “What the hell am I looking at?”

This is the world of the man known as “Charisma,” professional Wrestler Kasai Jun of the independent promotion Pro Wrestling Freedoms.

In November of 2009, he had a “razorblade board plus alpha deathmatch” against Ito Ryuji in Tokyo’s Korakuen Hall. Kasai, 35 years old at the time, dove from the second floor balcony, a fall of 6 meters, onto a table, aiming for his opponent Ito.

Afterwards they continued to fight with various weapons, in a match that concluded 15 seconds before the 30 minute time limit. That year, this match was awarded the Best Bout award. And Kasai, the winner of that match, became a living legend overnight.

12 years have passed since then. Kasai is now 47 years old, and he continues to rule over the world of deathmatch wrestling. Under the weight of many literal life-or-death battles, Kasai’s body no longer moves the way it did when he was young. Even so, why does he continue to set foot in such a dangerous place?

We asked “Charisma of Deathmatch” - a man who makes the crowd go mad in the space between life and death - about his views on death and on life.

Desiring to truly feel alive

- Normally, people try to avoid pain and suffering. Kasai, why do you continue to shed blood in the ring?

Hahaha. From an outside perspective, you must really wonder “Why do you keep doing something so painful” huh? That’s a normal way to feel. But from the wrestler’s perspective, it’s completely different.

In your normal daily life, do you ever feel like “Ahh, it’s so glorious to be alive”? You’d almost never unconsciously blurt out something like that.

But in a life or death battle in a deathmatch ring, after you step down from that ring, that’s exactly what you feel. “Ahh, I’m alive. I’m so grateful to be alive.” Because of that, I can’t quit.

Mountain climbers and stuntmen probably feel like this too, don’t they. Stepping into a situation where their life could end, and returning home safely. I wonder if they’re searching for that feeling of being “truly alive.”

This feeling is passed on to the audience too. Fans often tell me “Watching Kasai Jun’s deathmatch gives me the strength to continue forward.”

They say things like, “I’m being bullied at school so I wasn’t going to go any more, but now I feel like I can keep going.” Or, “It’s exhausting to keep going to work, but after seeing Kasai persevere while shedding blood in the ring, I can persevere and keep going to work.”

Recently I can’t do this much because of covid, but in the past when I’d sell merch, fans would often say things like this to me.

Because of this, it seems to me that deathmatch wrestling is simultaneously a way for wrestlers to feel truly alive, and a way for those who watch it to feel more positively about living.

- Because of the sensational way “death” is shown in the ring?

Probably, yeah. Because it looks like we’re doing something really painful.

But don’t get me wrong. We aren’t in a particular hurry to die. And we aren’t wasting our lives either. What I always say is, “It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.”

[Note from me - this phrase (生きて帰るまでがデスマッチ) is a play on a well-known Japanese phrase 家に帰るまでが遠足 “The field trip isn’t over until we return home.” This started as something a teacher would say to students in their care, and Kasai has altered it into his motto towards both himself and other deathmatch wrestlers.]

- It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.

If you get in a ring where you might die or get seriously injured, and you do die, or you do get seriously injured, you’re no different than a rank amateur, right? But a guy who dives into a deadly dangerous situation and returns from that ring unharmed, he’s the absolute greatest and the absolute coolest.

Like a stuntman, right? If he returns home alive, people say “amazing,” but if he dies, he’s no longer a pro.

At 35 years old, his view on life did a complete 180 during a match

But, when I was young, I thought about it completely differently. I never thought “I’m grateful to be alive.” In the ring, I did dangerous stuff and defeated my opponents. I just thought of it as my job.

The more dangerous stuff I did, the more people said “Kasai is amazing!” That felt really great. Every time I stepped into the right I thought, if something goes wrong and I die I guess that’s how it goes. I thought “Deathmatches should be a memento mori.”

- What caused such a big change in your values?

That match against Ito Ryuji in Korakuen, in 2009. It changed my mental state by 180 degrees.

The truth is, I went into that match thinking “This is my last match before I retire.” Because it was my last match, I would do everything I wanted to do. Win or lose, I went into the ring thinking “I’ll retire.”

But during the match, my feelings completely changed. I thought “If I quit like this, I’ll be half-dead.” There’s nothing else I want to do, and I’ve never felt joy like this anywhere else. It was just too much fun.

So, after the match ended with 15 seconds remaining, I announced my decision to continue wrestling. “I was thinking of retiring but, I’m gonna keep going.” That’s what changed.

- Since your values have changed so significantly from when you thought it’d be good to die in the ring, what’s your “ideal death” now?

Spending the day with my family as I always do, watching tv with an after-dinner drink as I always do, getting comfy in my futon as I always do, and passing away. That’s the best death, isn’t it.

I’ve said it before but, people who say “It’s my ambition to die in the ring” are just trying to look cool. For a pro, it all comes down to returning home alive. And so, I believe that when the life of Kasai Jun the human being comes to an end, Kasai Jun the wrestler will die as well. I want to be a pro wrestler until I die. That’s how I feel now.

When I was young, I thought the best time for a wrestler to retire was when he could still move, when people would say “It’s a shame, because there’s still more he can do.” But if that’s true, I’ve already missed my best time to retire.

Since I’ve come this far, maybe it’s better to keep doing this until my death. Since around the time I turned 40, I started thinking this way.

Gaining years = leveling up. I’ll reach my peak just before death.

- Since you’ve been doing this for so long, it’s inevitable that your body has become weaker. Kasai, how have you dealt with aging?

The word “elderly” is a concept created by human beings, isn’t it? Since that’s the case, I believe it’s something we can absolutely overcome. I don’t think increasing in age is the same as becoming elderly.

Look, it’s true that my physical stamina has decreased and my muscles have gotten weaker than they were when I was younger. But my will and my spirit have continued to grow. Instead of just breaking even, I think I’ve leveled up. 47 years old is level 47. I now see growing older as a positive, like leveling up every year.

Because of that, my peak has yet to come. I’ll reach my peak just before I die. I’ll be at my strongest just before my death. That’s the ideal I envision for myself.

There was a time when I felt insecure about my age. When I hit my mid 30s, I hated that my body was becoming weaker.

But then, while drinking at home and watching a documentary on TV about (rock musician) Yazawa Eikichi, I realized something. “If you think about it, uncool young people are uncool, and cool guys are cool even if they’re old.” Since then, my way of thinking changed. I started calling getting older “leveling up” at around that time.

[Note from me: Suzuki Minoru also refers to getting one year older as “leveling up” in the exact same way. They are friends, so I assume Suzuki got it from Kasai.]

- I'm surprised that a pro athlete who uses his body as a weapon would think of aging in that way.

Pro wrestling and deathmatch are unique among sports. Unlike say, track and field, or swimming, it isn’t a competition where every second counts. I can’t move the way I could when I was young any more, but through my facial expressions, pauses during matches, and so on, I have many ways to express myself.

A guy can be handsome, macho, with great muscles, and completely suck as a wrestler. In contrast, a guy like me who’s ugly, short, and middle-aged, can get support from the fans. It’s a completely different genre, and that’s what makes pro wrestling so interesting.

- What about your emotional struggles? In your documentary film you said you were having some difficulty maintaining your motivation, which you described as “Deathmatch Erectile Dysfunction”

Yeah, well, that can definitely be a problem. When you’re young, you’ve just got piles of hopes and dreams and things you want to do. But as the years go on, and as you accomplish those things, you can kind of get lost.

What’s helped me increase my motivation has been the existence of people who make me think “I absolutely don’t wanna lose to this guy” or “I don’t want this guy to take all the best stuff for himself” In my case, for example, that’s been (fellow PW Freedoms deathmatch wrestler) Takeda Masashi. Or, although he’s from another organization, New Japan Pro Wrestling’s El Desperado.

That’s why for the past 3 or 4 years, I’ve been asking people to “stimulate me.” I want intimidating people to keep approaching me. Well, on the other hand, if they take the most delicious part for themselves, that’s a problem.

A fear of death led to a “selfish life”

- Incidentally, perhaps it’s too late at this point, but do you worry about being injured or dying?

I said it already but, “It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.” Since I’m a pro, I have the skills required to do this without death or injury. 

But, it’d be a lie to say “I’m not afraid.” Even now, for several days before a match I get so stressed that I can’t sleep. Despite how I look, I get plenty scared. Much of my life has been driven by a strong fear of death.

- How do you mean?

It sounds silly, but when I was in grade school I believed in “The Prophecies of Nostradamus.” Have you ever heard of it? “In the year 1999, all of humanity will be destroyed.” Every night I shook with fear in my futon, thinking that my life would end at the age of 24.

Propelled by that fear, I concluded, “If the earth is gonna get destroyed anyway, I should quit studying. Instead I should use the rest of my remaining lifetime to do stuff that I like.” I completely quit studying, and instead spent all my time watching pro wrestling, which I loved.

Conversely, my fear of death also led me to become a pro wrestler. After graduating high school, I got a job in Tokyo as a security guard, but I gave into temptation and visited brothels daily. One day I happened to be reading a magazine with an HIV checklist inside, and almost every item applied to me.

At that time, I still thought “AIDS = death” so I thought “Oh, this is AIDS.” “Oh, this is how I’ll die.”

Luckily, when I got tested the result was negative, but after preparing myself for death, I thought “I really should do what I want” and knocked on the door of Big Japan Pro Wrestling. My life has always been influenced in this way.

- I get the impression that many wrestlers die at an early age. Since then, your fear must have increased.

Nah, that’s not really true. I’m surprisingly practical about the deaths of others. I just accept it, like “That’s the kind of life you lived.” I suspect my fear of death isn’t a fear of death itself, but a fear of becoming nothing.

- A fear of becoming nothing.

I’m no (actor and spiritualist) Tanba Tetsuro, but if after you die, you go to the spirit world, and cross the Sanzu river, that’s not all that scary is it? I wouldn’t go so far as to say “it’s fine if I die” but there’s some kind of hope or meaning. But if “After death, you become complete nothingness” “After death you feel no joy or sadness” I think that’s really scary.

But these days, I don’t experience that fear of death as much as I used to. If after this interview a dump truck hits me and I die, I wouldn’t have any regrets. I could say I did what I wanted to do.

Pro wrestling is a business where you depend on your popularity with an audience, but I’ve never tried to flatter the audience to get sales or support, or thought about how to increase my popularity. Ultimately, Kasai Jun puts himself first. I’m my own number one.

To die without regrets is to win at life

- But, if someone wanted to imitate your way of life, I think most people would be profoundly afraid of not getting by financially, or of being rejected by society. Why do you think you remain stoic in the face of such fears?

What’s there worth imitating about me? If you’re selfish like me and you can change it, you should want to!

But, this is probably related to that “fear of becoming nothing” I mentioned earlier. Ever since I was little, I’ve thought stuff like “This whole world isn’t real” and “Maybe all of this is just a dream.”

Nothing in this world is certain. Since that’s the case, all you have are your own body and your own feelings. In short, I don’t believe in anything but myself, so I put myself first.

- So in order to “feel truly alive” you throw yourself into the painful world of deathmatch wrestling, which leads us back to where we started.

That’s right. I guess you could say that pain is the only thing I believe.

But when I was young, I did understand the fear of not making enough money to survive. When I was around 30 and my son had just been born, I was seized by that fear.

Really, I was broke, and I couldn’t even pay into the National Pension Fund like I was supposed to, so I went to the ward office and said “I do intend to pay, so please wait a little.” I thought to myself, “Living is so expensive and so difficult.”

- A deathmatch fighter scary enough to quiet a crying child, with such an everyday problem.

Three years after my debut, when I was around 27, I was badly injured. I quit Big Japan, and after a year’s absence, I transferred to a different group called Zero-One.

Zero-One was founded by ex-New Japan Pro Wrestler Hashimoto Shinya, and the pay was good compared to Big Japan, and they held a lot of shows, so I could wrestle frequently. The environment there was very pleasant.

But, due to the policy of the organization, I couldn’t do the deathmatches that I love. During that time as a “salaryman wrestler,” I survived, but I think deathmatch fighter Kasai Jun, pro wrestler Kasai Jun, was completely dead.

“I really should do the pro wrestling I want to do,” I thought, and I quit Zero-One, and persisted with the pro wrestling that I love. Maybe that’s why I feel like I can now “die without regrets.”

Ultimately, if you live your own life as you wish, and think “I have no regrets” when you die, you win. Maybe people today have lost sight of the essence of what it means to live. It’s fine to work hard at your job, but if you’re spending every day miserably, is that kind of life really okay with you?

I’d rather live for 20 years and laugh every day than live for 100 years and never smile. If you’ve lived for 100 years and never laughed, that’s the same as being dead, isn’t it?

~

写真：本永創太 ~ Photographer: Motonaga Souta

執筆：鈴木陸夫 ~ Author: Suzuki Atsuo

編集：日向コイケ（Huuuu）~ Editor: Hinata Koike (Huuuu)

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Intro to Romantic Literature: Prologue

Professor!Terzo x TA!Reader (pretty gen for this part, but the main fic describes fem parts)

CW: implied smut, MDNI, 18+ only please, romantic tension, professor Terzo is a tease ✨

Word Count: 1.2k

I have been working on a Professor Terzo fic for MONTHS now, literally months. I'm getting close to the end, and this prologue popped in my head at 5 o'clock this morning, so I had to scribble it down. Plus, I think it'll make a cute little teaser 🥰 enjoy!

Intro to Romantic Literature: here!

Every day feels like a big day as you barrel towards the end of your degree. The pressure of arranging your final portfolio of works, defending final arguments, typing papers... it's all really starting to get to you.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, the bittersweet thought crosses your mind. You'd finally be done with all this stress and move onto the ease of a consistent career, but you'd also be leaving behind the best job you've ever known. Leaving 𝘩𝘪𝘮 behind.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts, collecting and organizing papers and files so efficiently--you could do it in your sleep at this point--that you don't notice him staring at you, the pained expression on your professor's face that would tell you it eats him up to see you like this: so stressed you're ready to snap.

He reads you like the many leaves and pages studied in his romantic literature class, like a poem written just for him. You recite your feelings to him daily without knowing it; it's in the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head when you rest the tip of your pen on your bottom lip, lost in thought on the class discussion at hand.

Sauntering into his office, you drop your shoulders as you flop into his soft leather chair, taking a deep breath before sorting papers accordingly: lesson plans in the bottom right desk drawer, books on the bookshelf, papers to be graded in the third slot of the black wire rack, anything needing immediate attention left squarely on his desk in plain sight.

"Grazie, stellina," his voice snaps you back to reality, immediately causing your cheeks to flush at the nickname. 'Little star' is what it means. It makes you feel like a teacher's pet, which would've bothered you if it had been anyone else; however, it makes you feel special to earn attention from him. "La mia brava ragazza, you always do such a good job for me." He leans in the doorway, running a hand through his graying locks.

"Thank you, Professor Emeritus," it comes just above a whisper, and you look down at the desk briefly before standing to make your exit.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," he murmurs, catching your waist as you try to pass him in the little room. Spinning you around, he pins the back of your thighs to the desk before leaving some space between you... Just enough space to be respectful, but a clear indication that you're not getting out of this so easily.

You're so caught up in the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne that you hardly hear him when he asks how you've been. "Hm?" you reply, playing naïve.

"Tesoro, please, I can't have my favorite student looking as distracted as you've been lately," he starts, but you interrupt him.

"I'm not your student, I'm your teaching assistant," you remind him with a light hearted smile.

"You are still learning things, no?" he cocks one thick black eyebrow in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, his intense white eye putting you in checkmate.

"I suppose so," you whisper, looking down at his ridiculously shiny loafers.

His fingers under your chin direct your stare back up, "What has you so distant, eh? Would you like to talk about it, cara? Confess your sins... So to speak." He winks at you, earning a small huff of a laugh from you.

"What are you, the Pope?" you joke.

His eyebrows quirk in an unreadable way, but he stays silent, urging an answer from you.

"I've just been really stressed with school," you finally concede, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

"Have I put too much on you?" he worries about the workload he's given you cutting into your schedule.

"No!" you look up at him almost desperately, "No, I enjoy this position so much. It's everything else. The final papers, getting good grades, trying to graduate." You choke on the last few words; it was something you'd been emotional about the last few weeks, plus your professor had your guard down.

"Don't cry, tesoro," he commands softly, but it's already too late as tears flood your waterline. Without a second thought, he cups your face in his hands, wiping away anything that threatens to spill across your cheeks. Wrapping a protective arm around your waist, he pulls you flush to his chest before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course he has one, and dabbing softly under your eyes before offering the piece of silk to you.

"Thank you," you stutter, clutching the cloth in your hand. Hesitantly, you glance up at him before laying your head on his chest, folding your arms under his in a hug.

His hand on your waist falls to caress the small of your back while the other cradles your head, while you regulate your breathing. You can't say for certain, but you think you feel a whisper of a kiss placed on the crown of your head. Holding each other like that for however long, you don't know, but when his fingertips gently start to massage your scalp, you let out an involuntary moan.

Your cheeks blush pink again, meeting a much more heated look in his mismatched eyes. As his warm hands move to grasp at your hips and waist, suddenly all of your worries melt away, as the only thing you can think about is him hoisting you up on the perfectly organized little desk and having his way with you, your panties tossed aside in his office chair, and you laid back and arched up into him while he works every tension from your needy body.

Your fantasy fades away when Professor Emeritus's hand cups your chin again, fingers pressing into your jawbone in a dominant way to lift your face to his. Your gaze wanders to his plump lips... how many times you've thought of having them on you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he leans impossibly closer, and one of your hands smoothes over his firm chest.

But before he makes a move that he can't come back from, he presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your supple lips, stopping himself from crossing the line, even though he so badly wants to... wants you.

He gives you a solemn nod before putting some distance between your bodies, "I hope you're feeling a little better, after our, uh... chat, stellina."

"Uh huh..." is all you manage to breathe out before straightening up. "Yes, sir."

Offering a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he carefully presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you on your way.

Tonight, you'll tell yourself that you misread the situation, that he was only trying to be a kind and caring professor, but somewhere deep down inside you, under lock and key, you know that isn't true. Especially because you felt something hard graze against your hip as you squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but you put that thought far behind you as you head back to your dorm.

[slylock-syl]

Hey Syllll! Long time, no chat! I just wanted to get this off my chest before i go ham trying to figure out what i wanna commission from you soon.

I have been reading Undersource for years now, and i think we've both come a long way since then! God, that feels weird to say, i'm not even old enough to drink yet lmao. But! I am old enough to spend my money responsibly now, which is nuts given that my responsible spending is now aimed at getting art of my blorbos LOL.

You've grown as an artist so much since i first started reading- i think that was around... the pirate arc? Not sure! But i do remember the early days of me having discord, during the EKD server category era. But anyways, i know the way you drew our favorite skeletons was different back then, and it's all gotten so much smoother in that time. You're also (at least seemingly) taking way better care of yourself! You've set boundaries, you've set more time for yourself and not the blog, and you're still happily chugging along, after all these years. Not to mention you're working on this side story now, which i'm fairly certain you've been looking forward to for a while.

How's that sleeping though? Do you still have the sleep cycle of an austalian? Can't say i'm any better, im slowly becoming nocturnal again lol. Some things NEVER change.

Anyways. All this to say: im really proud to have been part of this little community for so long. To see the comic and its artist come so far. Even if im not a diehard fan anymore, im glad i can still take a little time every weekend to realize "OH, U/S shoulda updated!" and run over here. Thanks for giving me a good starting point of community on this god damned hellsite.

(Here's to sleepy 5 am "you're great" asks LMAO)

sjksdhLKSDJFHG THIS IS SUCH A SWEET MESSAGE OMG-

Hi Azzy! :D I'm glad you still like my work even after all this time! Thank you for sticking around! :D

I have been taking better care of myself these days! I'm (only sometimes begrudgingly XD) going on daily walks (Pikmin Bloom is really helping with that, I love Pikmin they're so cute), and made some new friends! When I first started this blog I was convinced I had to constantly/frequently produce content, and I time went on I slowly realized that wasn't really viable, so I slowly trimmed down the workloads for better manageability, I'd say it's helped a lot! Even if it may not look like it sometimes XD

There was a point before I adjusted my work schedule where I figured out that I may have been riding a creative burnout for a long while, as when I looked back it felt like my work had begun to visually stagnate. I think at the time I was cramming working on the comic update across only 3 or 4 days (Wednesday/Thursday to Saturday mornings, sometimes down to the wire), with several hours of just constant work (plus any distractions and 3 daily asks) because I was procrastinating so badly X'D I'm still recovering from the visual stagnation, but I'm definitely trying to experiment where I can! I may not be the best at it but I hope I'm improving at least ksjdghLSDGH My current schedule is MUCH more spaced out and much more manageable, spanning Sunday to Friday and broken down into stages for each day, and Saturdays are my designated day off~

As for the side story, it's one I've had around for quite a while and have been excited to finally show off! There were a few people who were interested in it when it was first teased, though I've no idea if they're still around, if they are I hope they're enjoying the story so far as well! 💜

Oddly enough my sleep schedule is no longer on Cthulhu Standard Time SKSDJGHDLG We had a TON of construction going on in the house the past few months and it was way too awkward to sleep with a bunch of strangers either being in or near my room, as well as making a LOT of noise sjkdhgLKSDJG There was a brief section of time where I'd actually go to bed at a "normal" time and get up at like, 9 or 10 am X'D Though it's slowly sneaking it's way into afternoons to 3 or 4 AM after I feed the kitties, kinda like my old college schedule XD

Thank you again for liking my work and sticking around! I really appreciate it!! :D

I may not be anywhere near whatever my "peak" was a few years ago, but I'm still happy to keep going for those who still come around! 💜

[lemontines-writing-corner]

[DISCONTINUED] yandere! wally darling x detective! reader au (Omniscient Series)

PROLOGUE

NEXT

authors note: please keep in mind some parts aren’t going to be canon to the Welcome Home plot. I am fully aware Wally Darling is NOT yandere canonically this is just an au/head-canon. Also! To keep in mind this is all fictional and yandere media is not something to be taken seriously romantically in reality. If you do please seek help. With that I hope you enjoy the prologue of this story !

wally darling belongs to @/partycoffin please be sure to support his works!

TW: PILLS MENTION/SCOPOPHOBIA/DESCRIPTIVE GORE MENTION/HORROR THEME MENTION/RELIGION/CULT(?) MENTION!!!/SLIGHT MENTION OF DEPRESSION

I woke up to a pitch black place. My vision is covered in darkness but my feet told me otherwise, stepped onto a puddle of black ooze. Panicking I tried to escape and call out for help, the black sticky ooze smelled of old books and wires, I blinked looking down and suddenly seeing written scripts, but they were all drawn with eyes. The red plastered all over them, I couldn’t move I was stuck to one place as I heard the telephone ring.

I was unable to see where the telephone is. I only hear the ringing getting louder and louder, my ears starting to get engulfed by the sound of the telephone ringing as I heard whispers all around me. I can’t hear what they say as I begin to sweat and tried to get out of the black puddle that has glued me in one place.

My vision blurred taking my eyes off the ground, looking up to see an unknown figure. Almost getting close to me…

The sound of my alarm woke me up as I sat up in cold sweat, taking a few breathers as I rubbed my face against my hands. Sighing in relief and exhaustion, I then got up and turned off my alarm getting ready for the day at work. Skipping breakfast was a usual thing for me because I didn’t have any appetite or the energy to make one. Instead I just drink coffee to make me awake and alerted through the whole morning at least.

Stopping at my destination which was the police department. I looked for a car garage and parked there, being in a busy city can be draining and exhausting. The smog in the air, constant cars running and stopping from each traffic light, people interacting, usual same routine almost everyday 24/7 plus overtime.

Ever since I’ve gotten this job, it’s been restless. To add the cherry on top I still have to pay my college expenses from the classes I took and supplies I borrowed in order to pass my classes to get a damn bachelors degree. Being a kid you dreamed big and now once you’ve reached that dream it suddenly doesn’t feel all bright and colorful. It might be me who is just grown up and still unsatisfied of my own life, feeling stuck in one place.

As I reached to the police department, entering in and greeted a few people who were in the office. Trainees, private investigators, police officers, you can name it all in this office, they’re all under the branch of law enforcement.

I looked at my dark green door as I twisted the knob of my own office, sat down and turned on my computer as I decided to cut on the tv that was hung up on the far right corner of my door, listening the news to see what was happening today locally.

“Breaking News, crime rate has suddenly gone up more than the past month. Crime investigators have been trying to keep track of homicide rates, although the traces have lead to the unknown, most of them died in there homes and child abduction cases has risen up. Police has warn everyone in the city to lock up your doors and be alert of your surroundings, if you see anything suspicious please call ***-***-**** to report anonymously.”

The news station then shifted back to the daily weather and updates around town. Starting up my computer to scroll through the files of missing persons, recent ones were children. When children comes up to the topic it becomes morbid, usually very heartbreaking to lose your child. Dead or alive.

A knock on my door made me pull away from the computer screen. I looked up to see my partner, who is a police officer holding a file labeled as evidence. “Another one Ruby?”, I responded as she took a seat and looking across from me.

“You know how it goes around this job”, Ruby opened the manila folder, showing two dead parents that have their eyes taken out, a mother laying dead in the bathtub, drowned and in a paralyzed limped state. The father who was put in a closet and tied in an intricate way that you need a pair of garden scissors to open through that loop. Supposedly died of blood loss as I saw his side stabbed deep into his lower abdomen. I looked over a family photo, two kids. One boy and one girl.

“Any information about them?” I took the paper of their information. “Family of four, both parents work and kids go to school, the oldest is about 10 and the youngest is 5. Mr. and Mrs. Caddel, children’s names are Brian and Catherine”, I closed the manila folder and nodded. “I was wondering if you’re up to take this murder case. This has been reoccurring around the city and people need answers”, I looked up at Ruby, “I’ll take it.”, Ruby smiled at me and got up closed the door, “Don’t fail me now kid!”. I rolled my eyes, although she makes a point because she’s much older than me.

I sighed and felt a headache shot up in me, I grabbed my painkillers under my desk cabinet and took one and drinked my bottled water that was already sitting on my desk. “This is going to be a long tiring week for this case huh?” I said to myself…

footnote: you have reached the end of the prologue! Critic is allowed as I appreciate the feedback^^

I’m sorry if you didn’t like the 1st person point of view. But I wanted you guys or y/n to get the feel of what’s going on, information about yourself, the settings in a descriptive way as possible.

this won’t be a romantic story as it will go darker. With that thank you so much for reading the prologue!

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Nellie Bowles

→ Hard right goes White Genocide: The right-wing brand of antisemitism is people saying something to the effect of: Jews hate white people. And we’re seeing that a lot right now, all of a sudden, in very mainstream places. 

Let’s start with The Daily Wire: Candace Owens, a charismatic black conservative, has been harshly critical of Israel. Daily Wire co-founder Ben Shapiro, an observant Jew, was recorded at a private event saying her rhetoric was “absolutely disgraceful.” Candace Owens then posted: “You cannot serve both God and money. Christ is King.” Okay. Random time to bring that up, but okay? 

Then Candace went on former Fox News anchor Tucker Carlson’s new online show. And there, things got weirder. Here’s Tucker Carlson admonishing the Jewish philanthropists who are now refusing to donate to Ivy League schools. Those donors are put off by the woke antisemitism, but Carlson is mad they supported the modern Ivy League to begin with.

“I get why donors are mad. I have no problem with that at all. However, then I thought, well, wait a second, if the biggest donors at, say, Harvard, have decided well, we’re gonna shut it down now, where were you the last ten years when they were calling for white genocide? You were allowing this. And then I found myself really hating those people, actually. You’re okay with that? On what grounds were you okay with that? You were paying for it, actually. As you were calling my children immoral for their skin color. You paid for that. So why shouldn’t I be mad at you? I don’t understand.”

Candace Owens replies: “And obviously, you have a ton of white people that are asking that question, and they’re being called antisemitic, and I think that’s wrong. I think these are meaningful questions that deserve to be answered.” 

Adding to the chorus now is Elon Musk, the owner of Twitter/X. First, a random Twitter user responded to a prompt about what Hitler got right (I wish I was kidding) and wrote the following: “Jewish communities have been pushing the exact kind of dialectical hatred against whites that they claim to want people to stop using against them. I’m deeply disinterested in giving the tiniest shit now about western Jewish populations coming to the disturbing realization that those hordes of minorities that support flooding their country don’t exactly like them too much.” Then Elon Musk himself responded to that random user, writing simply: “You have said the actual truth.” 

And then here’s Charlie Kirk, founder of conservative youth group Turning Point USA, defending Musk: “It is true that some of the largest financiers of left-wing antiwhite causes have been Jewish Americans.” It’s not news that American Jews tend to be liberal. What’s being implied now (and in some cases said quite out loud) is something different, a deep and old conspiracy. And everyone toying with it knows that.

America: we’ve got it all. We’ve got Soviet antisemitism against Israel and Jewish particularity; we’ve got right-wing antisemitism around the question of do Jews want to kill white people and also are they white or what? The gang’s back together. And Jews are screwed.

→ Recess jihad: A Brooklyn parent group has been organizing students to protest the war. The teachers are on board. And so we have scenes out of Brooklyn this week of 700 students from some 100 schools marching, yelling pro-peace slogans like “Fuck the Jews.” Or there’s this great call and response the kids were doing as they marched. Call: Takbir! Response: Allahu Akbar! The kids stopped by some Jewish-owned businesses and did their chants. It was organized by the official parent advisory board, which is funded by taxpayers. I used to think “children are the future” was a hopeful phrase. . . anyway. Takbir! 

→ This man was almost the UK’s prime minister: This week, longtime Labor Party star Jeremy Corbyn refused to call Hamas a terror group, even as a very assertive Piers Morgan pushed him. It’s fun TV to watch because Morgan asked and asked (14 times!) and Corbyn refused, got mad, and eventually just crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. 

But we already know the answer. Here’s Jeremy Corbyn in 2009: “Tomorrow evening it will be my pleasure and my honor to host an event in Parliament where our friends from Hezbollah will be speaking. I’ve also invited friends from Hamas to come and speak as well. . . . the idea that an organization that is dedicated towards the good of the Palestinian people and bringing about long-term peace and social justice and political justice in the whole region should be labeled as a terrorist organization by the British government is really a big, big historical mistake.” 

Kumbahezbollah. 

And this week Corbyn’s brother, former politician Piers Corbyn, called October 7 a “false flag” operation. “The whole thing, whatever happened, was done with the connivance of the government of Israel or they used what happened as a pretext, it was a prepared thing. . . . It was a false flag operation. . . . A bit like Pearl Harbor.” Just like Pearl Harbor. Looks like brother Corbyn has been watching a little too much TikTok. 

In America, presidential candidate and professor Cornel West said this week that the Hamas terrorists were love warriors: “We dish out love warriors and freedom fighters every generation, which means that we stand in solidarity with anybody who’s occupied.” 

[gurugirl]

So I'm conflicted. I messaged you a while ago that I was talking with a guy 25 years older than me. We exchanged pictures and I wasn't attracted to him. I broke things off with him but didn't tell him why. I used an excuse that, while true, wasn't the reason I didn't want to talk anymore. I missed talking to him, so after about a month I started messaging him again. I've never had anyone talk to me the way he does. We text all day, even when we are both at work. We text about everything. Like our lives, daily stuff, childhoods, and sex stuff. I don't think we have disagreed on anything yet. I don't know if I like him or just that he is the only person to be nice and seem to care about me in the not just friends sense. There are so many things to think about with him. He has two kids. I am only 7 years older than his son. I wouldn't want to start out as anything serious with him but I've never even been on a date before and he has been married and had children. Plus there is the whole could I become attracted to him. When I first saw his picture it was an instant no from me but after looking at them over and over again I can see maybe some attachment growing. I'm just looking for any sort of advice. I don't want to hurt him just because I can't figure my shit out. Any idea of how to figure this out? What do I do or ask him or myself? I've never done this with someone my age so it feels even more confusing with someone older. He always says he likes talking with me and is thinking about me. I get a thoughtful message that is different every morning. First thing at around 7am even though he knows I won't respond until hours later. How can I tell if I like this because its from him and not just because it is happening at all? Sorry for the long-winded ask. I'm just very confused and no one in my real life even knows he exists. It isn't something I want to bring up if it isn't ever going to turn into a real thing. What would you do and how would you go about figuring it out? Also I can't remember if I mentioned it in the past but for reference I'm 30 and he's 55.

Hi hon! I think I remember you telling me your age and his.

It sounds like you genuinely enjoy his "company" or like how he treats you and you two get along really well so to me it makes sense you'd want to keep talking because you formed a bond of some sort. But when it comes to matters of the heart that's where stuff really gets confusing. You have established you like him as a companion or friend but you're not attracted to him.

I've had friends in the past that I liked so much that I was confused by what my feelings were for them (I couldn't tell if it was romantic or just like close friends) and in the end it wound up boiling down to me just really really liking them as a friend but it was mistaken for more because it was kind of intense. I'm not sure if that's kind of how you're feeling for this man or not but I can see it happening and I empathise with you bc that's super confusing. The guy that I was very close friends with wound up liking me as more than a friend and I sort of forced myself to want to be with him romantically bc I wanted to keep his friendship and not lose him, and also thought surely I'd eventually find him attractive bc I liked him so much but that never happened and I couldn't get past not having that physical attraction.

While I don't feel like looks are everything, for me personally, if I were to be considering seeing someone romantically I'd need to find that physical attraction after my experience. I don't think you can force something like that or that one day you'll wake up and find him handsome. But who knows? Maybe that wouldn't be the case for you. We are all wired differently. I met a couple a few years ago where the woman told me that she never found her husband to be "good-looking" but that she adored him and everything else about him made him attractive to her (he was also much older than she was).

I fear this is one of those things that you'll just need to try and be honest with yourself about (which is so hard when you're confused about it) and maybe even him as well. Being that he's 55, I'd hope he's not expecting a 30 year old to find him terribly attractive. I bet he's aware that you'd have that hurdle to figure out.

I don't know how you should go about it in your situation. I just know for me I would want to be at least somewhat physically attracted and I don't think it's something I can force. But since you're so conflicted about this and no one else knows about him, would it be the worst thing to talk it out with him? You trust him (it sounds like) and you two know a lot about one another so maybe just tell him how you're feeling. It'll give him perspective maybe and if he's a truly stand-up guy he won't try and persuade or pressure you or anything like that. It'll be more like a frame for him to view the relationship so you two are on the same page, or at least he can understand your view of things. Maybe you'll find clarity that way, by talking it out with him.

Thank you for the update! I hope my rambling made sense and that you can find some clarity in your situation somehow 💕

xoxo

[hunterssm00n]

Open Season

He was a hunter; a good one. He would catch me either way - it was only a matter of time. I was his prey, and this was his favorite game. | Jason/OC |

part 1 of 2

also on ao3: here

*cw include consensual noncon, predator/prey, consensual primal play kink, size kink, strength kink, roleplay, and thigh riding* MDNI - 18+

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

/ / The Hunter & The Hunted / /

I ran as quickly as possible through the nighttime woods, my flashlight the only thing allowing me to see where I was going. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making me stay fast and aware of my surroundings. I tried to look for the trip wires, but my minimal lighting and the speed with which I was moving made it even more difficult to spot them. I knew where a lot of them were, from our daily walks around the campgrounds. However, I did not know where all of them were. But he did. 

At first I had debated whether or not to take the flashlight, but now I was glad to have it. At least I had some sort of advantage with it - if one could call being able to actually see where they were going an advantage. The reason I had thought about even leaving the flashlight back at the cabin was because he could also very clearly see the beam of light bouncing through the dark trees, therefore making it even easier for him to be able to pinpoint exactly where I was. Plus, he turned the power lights surrounding the campsite on to make it easier for me to see where I was going. Even still, those lights didn't quite reach everywhere, and they didn't run through the entire property. Ultimately, I'd decided to take my light; the small beam really did help, regardless of the risks. Plus, I had deduced that he would be able to find me, pinpoint my exact location, and catch me with or without being able to see the light from the flashlight. He was a hunter; a good one. He would catch me either way - it was only a matter of time. I was his prey, and this was his favorite game. 

I came up to a fork on the path, left or right. One would take me down to the lake, while the other would take me to the arcing entrance to the camp. Camp Crystal Lake. I knew I didn't have much time to decide, so I veered left towards the lake. I had gone towards the entryway last time and hadn't made it very far. Now a plan was forming in my head, much like the cramp that was forming in my side. I jumped over the first trip wire, easily spotting it with my light. I ran to the second one about thirty meters away, this one closer to the forest floor, and deceptively hidden. I barely slowed as I came up to it, grabbing onto the thin rope material and yanking on it, hard. Then I turned right to cut through the dense woods where there was no path, intending to loop back around to get to the main path towards the camp entrance. It wouldn't take him long to figure out what I'd done, but at least it would give me some extra time... maybe. No matter what I did, it wouldn't take him long to find me. He had tunnels that led everywhere throughout the property, and he knew this area like the back of his hand. 

Suddenly, I felt my foot catch on something and I nearly went down. Stumbling, I grabbed onto some nearby thin branches for support, and once I regained my footing I looked down and pointed my flashlight at the ground just behind me, already knowing what I would see. A small, thin piece of rope was tied between bases of two trees, spanning about six feet across the forest floor. "Fuck," I cursed. How had I missed it? I'd been so careful. Dammit, Paige, you're really fucked now.

No time to dwell, I knew I had to keep moving. I debated backtracking towards the lake path, but considered that he might be there already, since I had tripped the first wire purposefully, as though I had been going in that direction. I picked up my pace again and continued running towards the main path, careful to watch where I was going and leaping over anything that looked like it may have been covering a possible wire.

I was just coming up on the old bus that had been turned on its side, debating possibly hiding in there, when I saw him. The top half of his body rose out of the open bus doors that were facing the sky, and he was standing stock still. Watching, waiting... for me. He hadn't come out of the bus completely just in case I had ended up backtracking - he was exposed just enough so that he could watch and lie in wait, and if I went a different way he could slip back into the tunnels to listen for me from there. This man was the master of his land. He could do all of this with his one good eye closed. 

I was certain he had spotted me long before I'd even noticed him standing there, so still you could almost miss him - a predator lying in wait - but as soon as he saw me finally see him, he slammed both of his large hands down on the bus on either side of the opening, and heaved himself out in one swift movement. I skidded to a stop on the leaves and twigs beneath my sneakers, and immediately turned back to run the opposite way with a shriek. It was so over now; he'd already caught me. Over my breathing and pounding footsteps on the forest floor, I heard a heavy thud from somewhere behind me, knowing that meant that he had jumped down from the top of the bus and was giving chase. It's over, it's done, I'm done- About five whole seconds went by before the heavy footsteps behind me caught up to me. Closer, closer, right fucking behind me- And then it really was over. Impossibly strong arms, thick with muscle and sinew, wrapped around my waist and my shoulders and pulled me back against his equally hard, sinewy body that was much larger and taller than mine, and that was it. He'd won, again. 

Continuing the game, I fought and screamed in his grip, struggling against his vice-like hold on me. He held onto me tightly, but not tight enough to hurt me; definitely not squeezing the life out of me like he could have. He always held me tightly, like he was scared that if he didn't then I would run from him like everyone else did. But I wouldn't.

He hoisted me up easily in his muscular arms and began carrying me back towards the bus, like my flailing in his arms wasn't bothering him in the least. He was so damn strong - and god, it was hot. I'd never known someone so strong, in every way. It was such a turn on for me. 

When we made it back to the bus he slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and when I let out a squeak of surprise I heard him huff in laughter from underneath his mask. I never quite got used to his view of things from up here - six feet and five inches of lean, sinewy muscle - it was like being in a tree that could overlook everything. It was even better, if I could even call it that, when he started climbing the side of the bus, using one hand to anchor me to his shoulder - a heavy palm flat on my ass, naturally. While I continued to struggle on top of his body, I was a little more wary now, just because of our rapidly ascending climb - because he wasn't going slow. This game was made to simulate him hunting down someone; an actual trespasser on his land - so I had to actually run away from him (or try to, at least), and if (when) he caught me, I had to struggle and fight like I was fighting for my life. And this also meant that he actually had to do everything he would normally do: track me, listen for me in the tunnels, hunt me down, and eventually attack. Everything he would normally do, that is, except he would never hurt me. Ever. So while he did all of this, he was very careful not to hurt me in any way. It amazed me sometimes how someone so strong and big could be so gentle.

Once we reached the top of the bus, Jason flipped me down from my perch on his shoulder to hold me in his arms, clutching me to his wide chest. His hard muscles bulged against me from the very little effort he was using to carry my squirming form with him; thick, strong arms enveloped me completely and held me against him. It felt so comforting, so good, being held like this - and not only for myself. He had been touch-starved from his younger years, so he would use any excuse he could to touch me; to be close to me. And now that a different kind of touch had been introduced into our relationship, he would use any excuse to have that, too. And any excuse to play his favorite game. 

 Glass from the long since shattered windows crunched under his boots as he carried me down the dark tunnel, and that was the only sound aside from both of our heavy breathing and my heart absolutely pounding in my ears. I reached out and grabbed onto the bus seats as he carried me down the walkway, trying to hang onto them to slow us down - to slow him down. His arousal was hard and hot against my hip, and very large. I knew he was going to split me in half when he finally got me back to our cabin, and there was nothing I could do about it. And I loved it. I loved this game just as much as he did. 

Somehow I managed to wedge both of my legs and arms on either side of the narrow bus walkway, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Had I been a normal victim of his, he would have plowed right through me without any hesitation, and in the process he'd have made it well known that any offending limbs were sure to either be broken or completely ripped off. However, since it was me, he had to find a different way to get me to let go. He stopped in his tracks, his heavy boots on the old glass and metal interior causing the whole bus to shake. He was naturally big and heavy, but he could be nimble and light as a cat if he needed to be. Yet another attribute that made him dangerous. Now, he didn't need to, and I could hear his harsh breaths rasping through the mask, and I knew it wasn't from the exertion of chasing me and carrying me, if the size and heat of his hard on was anything to go by. He let go of one hand from around me and tried to gently but firmly pry my wrists away from where I was gripping onto one of the padded seats to our left. I took this opportunity to push off of the other wall (which actually would have been the ceiling had the bus been upright) with my legs, trying to knock us off kilter and maybe escape out of his other arm while he was off balance. No such luck, as that other arm held me even tighter to his broad chest while his left side was pushed into the bus seats lining the wall. He grunted at the impact, and shifted to use both hands to hold onto my squirming body to ensure that I couldn't break free. I couldn't escape him; there was no escape from him. I reached out to whatever I could grab onto, my fingers scrabbling off of multiple surfaces in any attempt to find purchase-

Then without warning, he lunged to his right and pushed me back against the opposite wall that my feet had been touching, faster than it should have been possible for someone his size to be capable of moving. Back up against the cool, sloping metal, my feet not touching the ground at all, the top of my head still barely reached the chin of his hockey mask, and my eyes were level with his collarbone. His chest was heaving before my eyes, his hands gripping my waist to keep me pinned, and I almost forgot to be fighting him for a moment, because I was so aroused by him; by his sheer size and strength. By the time I remembered what game we were playing, I was nearly jolted out of my skin when he slid one of his thighs between my legs. Immediately, the contact of his hard, muscled tree trunk leg touching the sweet spot at the crux of my thighs had me tensing, my muscles locking up with the feeling of pleasurable pressure on my wet, sensitive area. My panties were going to be soaked through to my jean shorts I was wearing, and maybe even through both of those to the material of his pant leg. The thought made me shiver.

I couldn't help arching my back into his touch, and by doing so forcing my hips to angle down and my clit to press against the hard muscle of his thigh. I nearly squealed when he shifted his leg, brushing it in a back and forth movement to further stimulate me. Pushing my hands against his chest, I tried to get him to let up; he knew how sensitive I was, and he loved to use this knowledge to his advantage. More than anything, his goal was to please me; to make me feel good, and he always did just that. As was my goal with him, because I wanted to show this big boy just how good touching could be, to make up for all of those years he'd been alone. He liked to tease me a little, but usually gave up on the act pretty quick, unable to not give in to my begging and pleading. Ultimately he wanted to give me pleasure rather than deny it. When he did tease, he found my super sweet bits and just played and played and played me like an instrument until I was singing, screaming- And then he would do it again, and again. This man was big, fast, and a quick learner; the deadliest hunter, and me, the luckiest prey. His goal was to make me cum as many times as possible until I was crying and practically begging for him to stop. He was just too good to me, quick to learn and eager to please. He treated me like a goddamn princess, and when he sat me on his throne... ohh boy.

"Jason," I whimpered, clutching his broad shoulders tightly at the feeling of his hard thigh working against my nub. He shuddered at hearing me saying his name, muscles ripping against me and underneath my palms. He knew that was a good sound. It had taken a little bit for him to understand the difference between noises of pain and noises of pleasure. In the end, the easiest thing to do had been for me to come up with a safe word, "banana bread", and he knew as long as I didn't say that, then it meant he was hearing good noises. I was not known for being very noisy in bed, so he tried to pull as many noises from me as possible. He wanted to hear it all: the moans, the cries, the screams, because those were all indications that he was doing a good job - that he was succeeding in making me feel good. Such was his goal, to make sure I felt as good as possible. And if that meant drilling his fingers into me and rubbing my clit till I was crying, or fucking me to within an inch of my life on the forest floor, he was down. Because getting me off got him off. He was the kindest, sweetest, most generous person I had ever known - and all of those things applied both in and out of the bedroom. 

He growled, actually growled, and his grip on my waist grew tighter. I knew I was going to have bruises there tomorrow in the shapes of his fingers, yet another way he would leave his mark on me. I could practically hear his inner thoughts: Control yourself, CONTROL YOURSELF- so that he didn't just rip all my clothes off and take me right here. I couldn't help myself - I gripped his shoulders and started grinding myself against his thigh, the pleasure between my legs so sweet. "Jason, please, I'm- It feels so good-" I knew I was pushing him, taunting him, which was exactly the point. I knew it wouldn't take much for him to tear my clothes off and fuck me right here, in this cramped, dirty, flipped over bus, no matter how tight a squeeze it would be for him to do so. But I also knew he wanted to get me back to our cabin, back to our bed, because he loved the sight of me laying underneath him while he absolutely railed into me. 

I thought this would make him just flat out give up and grab me bridal style and run me down through the tunnels to our cabin, and I had no doubt that it would eventually happen. For the time being, though, I was surprised at his restraint, and what he actually did instead. His big hands slid down my waist to my hips to cup my rear, and he took over, pulling and pushing my body back and forth to help grind me down onto his leg. The sensation was making me near delirious, the back and forth rhythm he was creating so good, too good. I realized then what his goal was for the moment: to make me cum so that I would then be more pliable in his arms, so he could get me down into the tunnels and back to the cabin without issue. Most times he enjoyed the struggle and the fight, but tonight it seemed he just wanted to get me back home. The sooner I was beneath him in our bed, the better. 

I held fast to those broad shoulders as he worked me back and forth, trying to make me cum, succeeding in bringing me immense pleasure, bursting forth from my most sensitive areas. The seam of my jean shorts pressed against my clit every time he dragged me up and down his thigh, and it only added to the delirium. He smelled like the woods, and man, all man, his natural masculine musk making me high. I was so turned on, it wasn't even funny. There was nothing I could do to stop this; to stop him. I was pinned against the wall, unable to even stand on my own two feet on the ground from the way he was holding me. Pinned between his body and the wall, two immovable objects. And honestly, the wall would be the first one to break, because this man did not go anywhere he didn't want to go; didn't do anything he didn't want to do. He was unstoppable, immovable, and mine. 

I wasn't long for holding out; soon my pussy tightened and clenched around nothing, and pleasure exploded across my clit, my body bowing forward as I squealed into his hard chest. My fingers gripped his heavy shoulders, and his pace of dragging me back and forth across his leg did not relent, even though he knew I was cumming - even when my muscles eventually relaxed and my hands loosened their grasp on him. That was something we were still working on: when to stop, and when too much was too much. I didn't want to upset him because I knew he only wanted me to feel good, so I had been continually trying to think of ways to broach the subject without upsetting him. For now, though, I just pleaded his name. "J-Jason, it's too, it's too much," I gasped out, trying to pull my over sensitive lower half away from his hard, muscular thigh. Thankfully he relented, ceasing moving me back and forth across his leg, but still holding his hands on my hips to keep me steady between him and the wall. He held me while all of my muscles turned to liquid, and I was still sagged forward onto him, my cheek against his chest as I struggled to regain my breathing, my heart rate steadily slowing the longer I sat there. Jason's hard on was absolutely burning against my other leg, but yet he was still waiting patiently for me to recover.

Looking up at him in my orgasm-induced stupor, I noticed him also looking down at me, his gaze fixed like a predator watching prey. He was still breathing hard, and harsh puffs of fog sifted through the holes of his mask, from the dropped temperatures of the woods at night, and also presumably from the fact that he'd been tending to the fire pit outside of our home before we'd started our game. The effect made him look even more menacing, like some monster man of the woods who had come to claim his sacrifice. And I was helplessly willing.

And when our eyes met, chests heaving, breath mingling from our closeness, I knew that he wasn't even close to being done with me, and that tonight was far, far from over. 

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

part 2 coming soon

[mariacallous]

For almost a decade, Nick Roy has been scanning North Korea’s tiny internet presence, spotting new websites coming online and providing a glimpse of the Hermit Kingdoms’ digital life. However, at the end of last year, the cybersecurity researcher and DPRK blogger stumbled across something new: signs North Koreans are working on major international TV shows.

In December, Roy discovered a misconfigured cloud server on a North Korean IP address containing thousands of animation files. Included in the cache were animation cells, videos, and notes discussing the work, plus changes that needed to be made to ongoing projects. Some images appeared to be from an Amazon Prime Video superhero show and an upcoming Max (aka HBO Max) children’s anime.

The findings and security lapse—detailed in a report by the Stimson Center think tank's North Korea–focused 38 North Project, which helped analyze the findings along with Google-owned security firm Mandiant—provide a glimpse at how North Korea can use skilled IT and tech workers to raise funds for its heavily sanctioned regime. It also comes as US officials increasingly warn about North Korean IT workers infiltrating companies and their outsourcing.

North Korea’s internet is a small—and fragile—space. The repressive nation only has 1,024 IP addresses and around 30 websites that connect to the global internet. While there is a limited internal intranet, only a few thousand of the country’s 26 million people can get on the internet. When they do, it’s highly controlled: These select few North Koreans can use the internet for an hour at a time and have a person sitting next to them approving their use every five minutes.

When Roy discovered the exposed cloud server, it was being updated on a daily basis. Martyn Williams, a senior fellow on the 38 North Project who helped analyze the contents of the server, says the server likely allowed work to be sent to and from North Korean animators. The server itself is still live, but it mysteriously stopped being used at the end of February. While there is a login page, its contents can be accessed without a username and password. “I found the login page after I found all the exposed files,” Roy says.

Inside, the files contained editing comments and instructions in Chinese which were translated to Korean, the researchers write in their report. “For a lot of the animation files, we would find things like spreadsheets with details of the workflow,” Williams says. A sample of the files shared with WIRED show detailed anime images and video clips, with notes for the authors and date stamps on various files. In one instance, the report says, an animator was “asked to improve the shape of the character’s head.”

Based on the documents and drawings, the researchers were able to identify some of the shows and projects the North Koreans were working on. Some of the projects included work from season 3 of the Amazon show Invincible, which is produced by California-based Skybound Entertainment. There were also documents linked to Max and Cartoon Network show Iyanu: Child of Wonder, produced by YouNeek Studios, as well as files from a Japanese anime series and an animation studio in Japan.

Some file names gave away clues about the series and episode numbers. There were also files and projects the researchers could not identify—including a “bunch of files” with videos of horses and a Russian book on horses, Williams says.

Sanctions placed upon the North Korean regime, for its ongoing human rights abuses and nuclear warfare programs, prohibit US companies from working with DPRK companies or individuals. However, the researchers say it is highly unlikely that any companies involved would have a clue about North Korean animators working on the shows, and there is nothing suggesting the companies violated any sanctions or other laws. “It is likely that the contracting arrangement was several steps downstream from the major producers,” the report says.

Spokespeople for Amazon and Max spokesperson declined to comment for this story. YouNeek Studios did not respond to a request for comment.

“We do not work with North Korean companies, or Chinese companies on Invincible, or any affiliated entities, and have no knowledge of any North Korean or Chinese companies working on Invincible,” a spokesperson for Skybound Entertainment says. “We take any claims very seriously and have commenced an investigation into this.” In a post on X, the company characterized the findings as “unconfirmed” and said it is working with authorities to investigate.

Williams says it is possible that a front company in China is used to help disguise the activity and involvement of North Koreans. The researchers were able to analyze connections to the exposed server and, despite most having their location masked by a VPN, spotted access from Spain and three Chinese cities. “All three cities are known to have many North Korean–operated businesses and are main centers for North Korea’s IT workers who live overseas,” the report says.

While Williams says the researchers did not find any identifiable names of North Korean organizations buried in the files, the country has a well-established animation company called April 26 Animation Studio, which is also known as SEK Studio. Originally set up in the 1950s, the studio has worked on hundreds of international TV shows and movies.

However, in recent years, the US Treasury Department has sanctioned SEK Studios, individuals linked to it, and various “front companies” that it says are used to “work for foreign customers.” Many of these have links to China, according to the sanctions. “SEK Studio has utilized an assortment of front companies to evade sanctions targeting the government of the DPRK and to deceive international financial institutions,” a statement issued as part of the sanctions in 2021 says.

The main aim of these efforts, says Michael Barnhart, a North Korea researcher at Mandiant, is to raise money for the North Korean regime. The country’s hackers and scammers have stolen and extorted billions of dollars to help fund its military ambitions in recent years, including from huge cryptocurrency heists. In early 2022, the FBI issued a 16-page alert warning companies that remote North Korean freelance IT workers were infiltrating businesses to earn money they could funnel back home.

“The volume is much higher than we were expecting,” Barnhart says of North Korea’s IT workers. They are constantly changing their tactics to avoid being caught, he says. “We had one not too long ago, where during the interview, the person’s mouth was just off-frame. You could tell that someone in the background was speaking on their behalf.” Technically, Barnhart says, companies should verify their remote workers’ devices and make sure that there is no remote software connecting to a company laptop or network. Businesses should also put extra efforts at the hiring stage by training HR staff to detect possible IT workers.

However, he says, increasingly there is a greater crossover between North Korean IT workers and individuals who are members of known hacking groups or classified as advanced persistent threats (APTs). “The more we focus on IT workers, the more we’re starting to see APT operators and efforts blending in with those,” he says. “This might be the most quick learning-on-your-feet, nimble nation-state that I've ever seen.”

[punks-never-die205]

How do their dicks smell like? 👃🏻👃🏻👃🏻

I might not be the best to ask. Work ruined my sense of smell like... 14 years ago, so I'm not exactly a connoisseur of scents.

That said, I think there's always a undertone of soap, because I see the Kid Pirate crew as the cleanest (or second cleanest to the heart pirates maybe) crew on the seas. They don't have a stick up and renowned doctor so the one they do have is FORCEFULLY about prevention.

Prevention means cleanliness.

Daily, or every other day showers/baths are pretty standard, especially with the hard work and sweat of sailing and fighting - plus all the minor/major injuries.

So - dick smells all have a lil' bit of a soap vibe going on.

Past that Kid probably has some workshop scents to him. Warm wood, metal and oil are the prevalent scents, and a little salt and the musky scent of precum cause you know he's horny more than not.

Killer smells so much like spices, and the acrid vibes of sea air that that's pretty much all you smell when you get down there. The warmer he gets though, the more he smells like herbs.

Heat smells like wood oil and coconuts I think. There's something else there, like sweat or grit, it's hard to place, but it keeps him from smelling too sweet.

Wire smells like metal and salt, the same kind of musky/husky scent as Kid along with it because I think he's just as horny more than not XD

[justtosealmyfate1]

HP, the press and what is means to be a celebrity: meta

One of my favorite topics is the media and how that would play out in the Potters’ lives post-war. I touch upon this in the reaction to Albus and Scorpius getting together. There’s a media whirlwind after the photos of the two of them kissing are released. 

(this is about my fic, the fates, which is about when Albus and Scorpius’ relationship is found out.)

A lot of HP fics take the tone of “the media is so intrusive and ruining everyone’s life” which is fair to an extent, and also the precedent JKR set with Rita Skeeter’s character in the original books. She’s clearly a parody of British tabloid writers. Celebrity is also explored differently across fics. In the books, Harry is very famous, and a politically important figure. He’s always in the newspaper! The Minister of Magic is coming to his Christmas dinner to court him! This notoriety would only grow after he defeats Voldemort. I see Harry as (this sounds so dramatic for talking about a fictional character) an Obama, Nelson Mandela, Malala type of celebrity. A political figure, a hero, a survivor but also a mainstay in popular culture. Plus, he’s married to an attractive Quidditch player, and I’m sure they captivate the world with their Posh and Becks, Taylor and Travis type love. This is all to say that I think the Potters are megacelebrities, and Albus is a celebrity child who would reap the rewards and face the consequences of that. 

The American media landscape (while of course not without its flaws) is very different from the British media landscape, particularly the tabloids. British tabloids are crazy. It’s brutal. The Daily Mail is a disgrace to journalism. I think this culture would also bleed into Wizarding media. 

However!!...the relationship between celebrities and celebrity media is symbiotic. The “royal reporters” at the Daily Mail aren’t actually doing any journalistic work (even though they should be… like tell me what the fuck is going on with Kate Middleton), they’re being fed stories by the palace. This absolutely happens in the US too. Publicists will feed stories to friendlier publications, like People. When “a source close to Taylor Swift” is telling Entertainment Tonight exclusively that Taylor and Joe Alwyn broke up, it’s her publicist. 

What does this mean for the Potters? Well, they absolutely need a publicist, they need to be working with a PR team and they need a media strategy. It’s funny to think about that in the context of the books, but that dynamic was seen in the Order of the Phoenix. Harry’s “PR team” of Hermione and Luna got Rita Skeeter to write a story about Voldemort’s return. That’s political news, not celebrity gossip, but it shows that Harry knows how to use the media to get what he wants. While I don’t think as an adult he’d be doing the Wired Autocomplete interviews, he’d know how to navigate the press to further his agenda and protect his family’s image. 

I think the Potter children would be pretty protected from the press. Rita Skeeter wrote in her 2014 Quidditch World Cup article that the Potters are wizarding royalty, which informs my opinion of how the mechanisms of their celebrity would play out. I wrote in the fates that Harry and Ginny release curated photos of their children in exchange for not taking paparazzi photos of them, a la the royal family. While Harry is more of a statesman-like celebrity, who has a carefully crafted image and is more likely to be seen at charity events, diplomatic summits and ceremonies, Ginny is different. As a Quidditch player she’s more of a traditional celebrity. She’s canonically popular but a guarded person. She strikes me as the type of celebrity who masterfully makes you think you know her, but you actually know nothing at all. 

As for the kids, I think there would be a lot of media attention and interest in them. Would they lean into that, like North West, or shy away from it? I think they’d shy away from it, especially Albus. I think James would be more open to press attention. 

The three press stories I wrote for the fates all reflect different types of celebrity news. There’s the traditional, factual Daily Prophet article, the Daily Prophet opinion piece, and the Simmering Cauldron radio show. The Simmering Cauldron is entirely based on Wendy Williams. Don’t tell me she wouldn’t do something exactly like that! The DP article is expository, and then the opinion piece is meant to showcase the discourse surrounding their relationship. 

There’s a whole debate to be had about how celebrity children should be treated and the role of celebrities in our culture in general, and Albus and Scorpius are great vehicles to explore this.