#doing shit to change people's preferences | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago

Text

5500 Follower Celebration: Tears of Pearl - Eliot Spencer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @madisonbroxson1 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @readings-to-share @sameenbyhat

Companion piece to:

Star - Eliot realises he's made a terrible mistake.

The Worst Thing - There's only two people that know the worst thing Eliot has ever done.

You’re wearing pearls, Tahitian black pearls to be exact.

It’s the first thing Eliot notices because it’s an unusual choice for a woman of your calibre. You society girls usually prefer diamonds, the bigger the better. That’s the first indication you’re not like the others, it’s not the last.

He spends a year getting to know you as your personal protection specialist. You hate the fact you have a bodyguard but he was hired by your fiancé Moreau after threats have been made by some of the people he’s pissed off.

“I can’t have anything happening to my investment.” He tells Eliot as he sits across from him at a desk that costs more than most homes these days. “This marriage opens up a lot of doors for me, gives me connections I wouldn’t have access to.”

“What does her father get out of it?” He’d asked as he flicked through your dossier.

“A cash injection into some of his more problematic businesses.” He’d said as he lounged back in his chair. “He can’t stand the shame of failing.”

You are everything that Eliot does not expect from someone whose a daughter in one of the founding families. He sees the work you do with those charities, the way you immerse yourself in it as if you’re trying to make up for the sins of those that came before you. You’re not content with cutting a cheque, you need to be involved and not in the public shit either, the stuff that would get you recognition, but the grassroots stuff. Teaching kids to read, sitting with the elderly who have no families and then there’s the homeless, the people who don’t have a voice.

The first time you sit down next to a veteran in the street Eliot almost hurls you right back up because you, you don’t seem to understand the risk that comes with being with Moreau. The fact the people who are trying to hurt him will use you to do it.

“Let me take five minutes to share a coffee and a sandwich with my new friend Joe.” You negotiate and he reluctantly agrees.

It’s not five minutes, it’s thirty because Joe, he’s non-threatening and watching you interact with him it’s fascinating. You don’t act like other people, you don’t talk over him, try to give him advice, you just listen and to a guy like Joe whose spent years being in the background, ignored, it’s overwhelming, which is why you take his hand when he gets a little upset, clasping it tightly in your own. He understands in that moment that you’re lonely, that you probably have been for a long time.

When you do come away Eliot’s silent because he isn’t sure how to articulate this new knowledge. It’s only when you get to the car that he notices your pearl necklace is gone, that you must have placed it into Joe’s cup.

“You gonna keep giving away all your jewellery like that?” He asks you, his gaze flickering up to meet yours as he watches you in the rearview mirror.

“They’re just things.” You say distractedly, looking out of the window. “Things that could help other people who actually need it.”

That’s when Eliot realises how trapped you are in this world, it’s a gilded cage you were born into, not one that you want. When he looks back he knows that that’s the moment that things changed between the two of you, he saw you for you, not the role that Moreau had crafted for you.

Six months down the line, you’re wearing a different set of pearls, a more expensive set and Eliot’s tearing them from your throat, breaking the strands because you’re in the midst of a panic attack and the damn things are practically padlocked around your neck with a gold clasp that can only be undone with a key. The pearls scatter across the floor, rolling in all directions and that lock, he throws it out the window in disgust.

It’s another Moreau special. A collar to remind you who you belong to because he saw you talking to another man at a charity event, one that had paid you a little too much attention. He doesn’t know that Eliot spends most nights in your bed, that he makes love to you in the shower before he puts on his suit and pretends he’s been in his own room all along.

“I don’t want to marry him.” You sob as Eliot uses his thumb to chase away the tears that leak down your cheeks. He despises the kind of man that can do this to you, that steals away your autonomy, that tries to stamp out all the goodness in your soul.

“You don’t have to.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he looks into your eyes. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this. I promise you I will.”

Love Eliot? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#eliot spencer #eliot spencer x reader #leverage

42 notes · View notes

silkenwinger · 2 days ago

Text

cherry

mdni. part 2 to this; one sided enemies to lovers (?) konig x reader.

You aren't sure this job is good for you, but you would be miserable doing anything else.

That is the unquestionable truth of the matter. Normal society rejects you, then chews on you and spits you out; and you may have taken a bite as well, bitter as it was. There was an attempt, fresh of finishing high school: it was so corroding to you your only other option was joining the army. When that grew unsustainable, too, KorTac. And you are determined to make it work: the unstable people that work with you mostly irritate you, besides some precious exceptions, but you know how they operate. You know how to cope with them.

But God if they don't make it hard!

“As I said before,” you seethe between your teeth, “Novik was spotted by our squad last week in Pashyk. We have reason to believe he might still be there.”

The lieutenant you’re speaking to just listens with dead eyes. He then blinks, and turns to speak to his squad member again.

“We will go ahead as planned…”

Fuck this shit! Not only you’re forced to work alongside another squad, full of people you don’t know, but you’re also going totally unheard. What even is the point of going after an arms dealer if you’re just going to miss him every time because you’re going to the wrong places?

In the ample debrief space, you turn to protest with your side of the room. Roze doesn’t look thrilled either, having her own recon being dismissed so blatantly. It’s harder to tell what the guys are thinking, with that whole mask business, but Horangi has that battle tension in his shoulder, a sign of unreleased disapproval and anger. König… doesn’t look very different. His posture is straight, he’s not hunching to hear the others better. He could be approving the other plan, for all you know. At the end though, you can’t have too much internal conflict, especially when you know the lieutenant knows the commanding general a good deal. Personal preferences and friendships are even more relevant in a PMC than in the normal army, which is saying something.

“It’s like they thrive on doing the wrong thing,” you vent to them later as you make for the mess, fists closed. The other squad had won the battle of deciding your next step, favoured by the higher ups.

“You tell me,” replies Roze, taking her gloves off as she moves to the food stand. “A full night of work dismissed because of their old info.”

“I say we let them do as they please and just sit on the side. We are still getting paid,” says Horangi as he sheds his mask away. Oh, potato salad…

“I would rather not catch a stray bullet from them, you know how some of their aims are,” you snicker, looking around to make sure none of them are in hearing range. You grab the cutleries.

“It won’t happen,” states a voice you haven’t heard for some minutes now. König’s. He’s standing next to you, as he does often nowadays.

It’s been some weeks since you’ve slept together. You don’t know exactly how your relationship has changed. All you know is that you’ve found it increasingly hard to insult him often and he clings to you like he’s made of velcro (and you are too). And he stuck to you already before. Despite being tempted, so far you’ve managed to not fall into the trap of giving in to your impulses again– both due to your work demands, but also because you have exerted self restraint. Since you know that König has feelings for you, the poor fool, it’s good that you aren’t leading him on. It’s the kindest thing you’ve ever done for him.

Sitting down to eat, you look at König in front of you as he raises his hood to eat. A scowl tugs at your lips, but you distract yourself with food to not think about him. Great, the potato salad is fridge cold as well. And salt less. Could this day even get worse?

“You look stupid,” you say before you can reign it in, pointing at König and his mask. He gulps audibly. Horangi and Roze don’t even mind your insult, as used as they are to them, and keep having their own conversation.

“There’s no way you aren’t getting it dirty, putting it back on every time you take a bite,” you continue, frustrated. There you are again, taking it on König. He should win an award, or fire you.

“You’re right,” he says, tone cheery, “I used to eat in my room so it was cleaner.” The unspoken is so obvious it hits you in the belly, like a well placed punch that takes your breath away. You’re so uncomfortable with the eye contact he’s holding that you look away first.

Why did this have to happen to you. When taken rationally, and without the fumes of lust, what you and König have going on is neither normal nor healthy. He should have a normal companion that elevates and cherishes him, and you should go to something that starts with t and ends with herapy. But no, you’re not going: you went while you were still in the army and it was completely useless and annoying. Plus it’s not even free in KorTac like it was back then.

There’s no other way than to sit down and hope it passes. There’s many women in KorTac; König is a tall and powerful man with a particular kind of charm. Soon hormones will do their part and lead him to other, more well adjusted shores. Far away from you and your unstable moods.

The rest of the afternoon you mope around trying to do something, anything to distract you from your impending mission. You go to the gym and do more series than usual, until your arms burn; you shoot at the range; you beat some poor recruits in hand to hand training; but still it haunts you. It’s both worrying about what you will encounter and anger at being dismissed, unheard. Exacerbating your anxiety is the feeling someone is watching as you walk about the base. You feel eyes on you as you walk through corridors and as you enter rooms.

The flesh tires before the mind, and so you retreat to your room hoping to sleep at least some hours. Like the internet recommended, you pick up a book to facilitate sleep. See? You can do mental work on your own, no shrink needed. You’re trying to read the same sentence for a minute when someone knocks at your door. You raise your voice as you ask who’s there.

Dogs come back to the place where they’re fed, and much to your chagrin, some men are all dog. And they will scratch at doors.

“It’s me…” a soft voice speaks from the other side. You recognize it immediately and don’t particularly enjoy it being there, but you’ve been trying to get better. So you tell it to enter.

König enters your room like he’s making his way through a mined zone. Not very dissimilar for him when you’re concerned. Still, he lowers his head as he passes through the door and takes some tentative steps. The sound of his boots walking on your carpet is clunky and uncertain. You slide the covers off and sit straight on your bed.

“Is there a problem?” You ask him, neither cold nor warm. You have a hunch he’s not here for any official reason, but you want to hear it from his mouth.

“No, there is no problem,” he rushes to say. You give him no reaction because you already knew that.

Looking at him, so tall and awkward, standing in your room with his hands in front of himself, moves in you something that would have been disgust a month ago. Now it’s something more akin to pity and wanting to strangle him for his way of being. You sigh, already done with his bumbling ways.

“Sit down, will you?” You tell him, and he immediately sits down at the desk chair. It takes a remarkable amount of control to not tell him good boy at that.

“Was it you creeping on me all day?” You ask him directly, like a band aid taken off by surprise. You know the answer to this already as well.

He fiddles a bit with his fingers and then nods, adding a spoken yes on his own. Your eyebrows lower in anger.

“What makes you think that’s a normal thing to do? Seriously, you disgust me at times.” He jiggles his feet, making the chair creak in strain

“I saw you were upset. But I would be making you even more upset, so I thought I would look at you from afar.” His words tumble out of him like the water of a river in flood, like he cannot control his thoughts transforming into spoken phrases.

“I’m not something for you to gawk at.” His attraction to you confuses and upsets you: you cannot understand what you did for him to like you, and maybe that’s what unsettles you. That there’s a whole world out there that sees you and chooses to perceive you in a way you cannot control. Dislike, scorn, indifference: these are reactions you can understand applied to your person, but that König would instead choose to pick like is unbearable.

“I just wanted to see you were well,” he confesses, his voice soft. For some reason, he keeps digging his grave even deeper. You feel blood rush to your face.

“You’re unbelievable. You hide yourself all the time and I have to be seen and controlled? You’re the most hypocritical person I know.” His head snaps lower now, and you think to yourself this is it. This is the time you get to break his heart completely, that you make yourself unredeemable in his eyes. No longer a fussy creature he can please by doing what she says, but a fully blooded woman that doesn’t deserve his care. Leave her to her devices, his brain should be telling him. This woman is worthless and a constant headache.

Your blood chills in your veins when his hands raise to go to his nape. The fabric of his hood falls in front, a waterfall that stops to reveal the unknown. You find König’s eyes living on a man’s face.

He’s scarred, that much is true. His nose might have been broken as well. You’re speechless to the fact that he chose to take off his mask, and instead of saying anything dumb, you decide it’s your turn to gawk. His hair is longer than normal in the military, this much you guessed right, and a pleasing auburn that matches his body hair, for as little as you saw them that other time. He looks nervous, and younger than you know he is. Overall, you like his face. It matches his personality: rough in exterior facade, showing that he’s been through a lot, but soft in behavior and gestures.

“This way,” he manages to let out, “you see me as well.”

This idiot. He’s making you do it again. You’ve really tried, but it’s like he bewitches you.

You jump out of the bed and cross the room in three wide steps. König doesn’t even know what hits him when you’re already sitting on his lap. It’s quite spacious.

“This doesn’t count as an apology for stalking me,” you tell him, inflexible, your legs straddling his. But then you start holding his face in your hands. He looks like you’ve hung the moon for him, and while the sensation is heady, it’s also uncomfortable. You distract yourself from it by kissing him. You start slow, more like nibbling at his lips, uncharted territory. He tries reciprocating, thankfully not using his tongue yet, just pushing his lips against yours, chaste and innocent. You laugh against his mouth and he starts giggling too, a weirdly intimate touch that you weren’t expecting. You’re no longer laughing at him so much as you’re laughing together.

“Follow my lead,” you tell him simply, and he nods, nose brushing against yours. You begin kissing him again, this time for real, your tongue tracing first his lips and then the inside of his mouth. When it slides against his own, you urge him to reciprocate. He does, albeit shyly, but when you start really going at it he gets the hang of it. Truly, an adapting genius. You run your hands in his hair, soft and smooth, while he keeps his hand diligently on your hips, straying neither up nor down. You guess, for his patience again shown when you mistreat him in public, that he deserves a reward of sorts. When your hands move away he makes a strangled sound, but shuts up real quickly when he sees them grab the hem of your t-shirt to take it off. Already braless for bed, your tits go from being completely unknown to him to being in front of his eyes. The expression on his face, unguarded and unrestrained, is almost laughable again, but you’re feeling neglected and you don’t want to turn this into a full bullying session.

“Touch me. Don’t be shy,” you tell him, index finger in front of his lips, and again he nods, resolute. He cups your breast like it’s the holy grail, and that’s exactly what you were afraid of. That you’re an idol instead of a human being to him. Even if it’s a flattering idea.

“I won’t break, you goof,” you berate him but guide him as well, putting your hand over his, showing him how you like to be touched. The other you grab to put on your lower back. Instructed by you, his touches become more real, more vivid; he runs his hand against your side, your hip, then goes back to grope your chest. The sensation makes you move forward, grinding your body against his, and your wet pussy sends a sting of pleasure up your body from the contact against his crotch. König moves to suck your nipple then, now dedicated to covering your chest with care. His suckles are gentle but intense, a motion that is never too rough nor mild; when he is done with one breast he switches to the other without any input, and you smile, ruffling his hair a bit. He looks up at you then, face adorably red and flushed, and moves back to kiss you on the mouth again. Taken by surprise, you emit an embarrassing sound that wakes you up. You break off the kiss, drizzle of spit briefly linking you two, and rush to get off him.

His expressions are so clear now that he’s masked. And right now he’s looking at you like you just burned his house to the ground, sweaty, flushed and miserable. Unable to stand that look on his face, you clear your throat.

“Get on the bed,” you only say, and cringe a bit at the high pitched tone of your voice. König lights up again at your words, like you’ve built his house again and it’s even bigger and more splendid than it was before. He walks with his legs wide, visibly working around his erection, and the sight almost makes you facepalm. Thankfully, you can busy yourself by taking off your pants, doing it so rushedly your thumb’s nail makes a red scratch on your thigh. Watching you from the bed, König starts taking off his clothes. You didn’t tell him to do that but you will grant him this much after turning away from his kiss. He awaits, loyally, sitting on the opposite edge.

“Well? Lay down,” you tell him from the edge of the bed, bracing yourself for the next act. It’s something that you’ve thought about these past days, but to think it will happen now that he’s maskless prickles on your spine. Once you’re done, you turn to see his feet are right next to you, and he’s not quite laying down but more like sitting up with his legs stretched out. These military beds weren’t built for men like König.

You crawl over to him; you’re not trying to be particularly seductive, but maybe you’re doing it anyway, because his mouth is slightly open, oafish look on his face and all. So irritating– you can’t wait to make it go away. You reach his midsection on all fours, and your hand locks around his cock like you’ve done it a hundred times. He’s leaking all over, the poor thing. His leg twitches: you observe his expression as you pump him a couple of times and, satisfied by it changing to something less stupid, you straddle him again. You’re unsure you can take him without any preparation, but being on top allows you to change your mind quickly. Guiding his cock inside you, you flinch a little at the start and stop midway through, taking a few breaths. You’re plenty wet, and you’ve taken it before, but it’s still a challenge. Thankfully you’re made of stern stuff.

“I’m sorry…” says König, and you could really slap him for saying something this stupid while you’re trying to put his dick in you.

“Don’t be,” you reassure him anyway, huffing. That’s on you for being greedy. Finally, after a while of praying and relaxing and moving a bit after bit, you can take him to base. You sigh as he fills you whole and more, and he moans a contented noise. One of his hands comes to hold your hips, gently, gallantly, as if to say Do what you must and I’ll be there. Readjusting your legs, you start riding him. This has been your plan all along, but the feel of his long, hard cock inside you is more overwhelming than expected, and maybe you’ve missed him just a touch. Moaning, you grasp at his chest, until one of your hands grabs his neck and you dig your nails into the pale strong meat of it. König shouts, a sudden and sharp noise– you grind against his body to give something to your neglected clit.

“You– you can, hngh, move too you know…” you tell him, out of breath and aching sweetly as you bounce on his cock. You want him to feel involved as well… not like he’s a toy you use to get off.

“Alright,” he says, smiling at you like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, and you feel an undercurrent of shame again. His heels point on the mattress then, and he starts matching your thrusts from the bottom, the head of his cock reaching a point so far inside you you’re almost certain has never been reached before. Your moans have become needy cries as you match König’s movements, his grunting almost quiet, concentrated on fucking the way you want. Before you know it, two strong arms have bound you by your torso, and your chest makes contact with König’s. He’s holding you, like you’re making love and not taking out frustrations on each other… You could scream, but the change in position and angle has you curling your toes even more, pleasure mounting inside of you. König is panting in your neck, a desperate noise, and you join your arms to hold him, too, his breath hot against your body. Soon enough of his touch, of this spiked beast being tamed by his kindness, you come, letting out a disjointed mewl. Feeling your pussy constrict him even more, König hurries his last strokes, coming inside you with his head in your chest. His rumbling drawl sends rippling tingles all over your body.

You lay there on top of him for a while. Maybe you’re also a bit scared to look him in the eye after kissing and holding him. You reason this is what he’s wanted all along, and maybe you’ve been wanting something along these lines too. Finally, your knees done for, you slide out of him, leaving a mess on your thighs and his, and try to stand but miserably fail, knees buckling. Humiliated, you angrily jump over to lay down next to him. Only you could ruin your post orgasm bliss… all by yourself. Unexpectedly, König speaks.

“Can I hold you?” He asks, tone dangerously sleepy. Your bed is not equipped for two grown adults of your size sleeping on it; and your odds are not good against König in your sleep. The chances of you falling off are very high. But since you can’t go anywhere for a while, you might as well oblige him.

“Yes,” you tell him, but snuggle to him before he can do it to you. His hands are greedy now, too: he brushes your hair and your neck and your ass, reverent, back to his worshipping mood. He takes his time exploring your body, blue eyes dragging over the details, your scars, your birthmarks. Embarrassed by his lavish exploration, you hide your head in his neck. You want him to lay down more comfortably, but maybe he prefers this to having his feet hang off.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, but I’m on birth control,” you mutter against his muscles. It’s very stupid to tell him this after he already came in you twice, but considering you’ve sprung it on him very suddenly both times, you cannot blame a guy for not asking.

“I know!” He exclaims instead, joyful. “I heard you saying so to Roze three months and five days ago, in the helicopter!” He taps his long fingers against your back, maybe to the beat of a song or a lullaby, and you shudder. Again, his obsession for you is simply inexplicable. The mean streak returns as your lungs fill, like a cat ready to scratch.

“You’re freaking me out,” you grimace and take your face off from his neck, trying to lay down on your back as much as you can in the limited space, back arched. His laugh is light and airy, reverberating through your simple room. It tugs a smile off you too and it makes you feel like everything will be alright, at work… and maybe with König, too.

#anyone else avoidant. lol #call of duty #cod #cod x reader #konig x reader #konig #yours truly

51 notes · View notes

fearoftheminotaur · 2 days ago

Text

lol no, genital preference is a specific messy discourse that basically adds up to "date whoever you want, but maybe some preferences can be criticized without needing to change your behavior" TMA/TME discourse is largely about systemic issues, ways that even ostensibly pro-trans spaces and people can have biases against trans women, ways transfems are depicted in media, etc. What you're criticizing seems closer to, like, the concept of transmisogyny. Like "if x is transmisogynistic, what about transfems who x or doesn't have x apply to them?" Which is a big, ol' "it depends". In the case of transfems who aren't into no-op gals, it's totally their right to have their preference, and if they acted about it the way some cis people do, talking about specific people's junk and making assumptions about what they'd do with them, yeah that can be creepy and transmisogynistic. And they definitely wouldn't be exempt from transmisogyny, from transphobes denying that their bottom surgery is valid to outright insisting they still have a dick, to just not giving a shit whether a woman has bottom surgery while harassing them.

TME/TMA discourse leaves no room for trans women who dislike penises and want bottom surgery

139 notes · View notes

vroombeams · 1 day ago

Note

Hey ho! Challenge time 😉 open your Spotify Daylist, find the 6th song on the list and write a quick drabble based on the 9th line of lyrics 🎵

Send this to 5 friends and feel free to change the song or lyric number. Have fun! 🖋️

love you in a panic because i prefer to sit on fences

Across the club, Lando's talking to a girl.

Talking is a generous way of putting it—they're pulled together so close that they might as well be making out already, Lando's crooked, drunken grin pressed up against the girl's flushed cheek. He's pretending to listen. Max knows how he is, the kind of mind he's got, and he knows that exact expression. The smile-and-nod minus the nod.

Max isn't disgusted but he's distinctly annoyed, because Lando does this every time. Invites Max out to Monaco, invites Max out to the club, ditches Max in the VIP booth like free liquor and people Max barely knows could be a replacement for Lando himself.

It's just irritating, is all. Why bother? Why is he even here? He could be home. He could be out somewhere else, with P or with friends who aren't going to swerve him to get laid. P's been texting him, too. Don't do anything I wouldn't do type shit, complete with suggestive emojis and followed up by a fresh lingerie pic. She's been shopping, clearly. That'll be nice to come home to at the very least.

He sends 😍😍😍, and then taps into his texts with Lando. The girl is leaning over the bar when Max glances over, and Lando's got an unsubtle hand around her thigh, thumb tucked under the bottom of her minidress.

dipping, Max types and sends. He's got a key to Lando's flat, all the security codes memorized by now. He should've gotten a hotel. A peaceful night's sleep is almost certainly not in the cards at this point.

He's honestly not expecting Lando to check his phone, not until later. But as Max is standing up and saying his goodbyes—he literally doesn't know anyone at this table, he's realizing, and he's pretty sure none of them know Lando either—he catches Lando slipping his phone out of his pocket and then squinting down at it. Blinking, tapping, squinting some more before he lifts his head and whips it around comically. Like Max is going to be anywhere other than the booth. Dickhead.

Max gives him a little wave that he turns into a middle finger as he scoots his way out of the booth. Doesn't need to be more than that, does it? Lando would've Irish goodbyed anyway, slipped out the door with his girl to grab a car without saying a word to Max or anyone at all. Probably Max wouldn't even have gotten a courtesy text about it.

He's not expecting a hand around his wrist as he's headed for the door. He knows it's Lando before he turns—he knows exactly how his he fits into Lando's hand, how the circle of his thumb and index make a perfect shackle around his wrist.

"Where are you going?" Lando shouts. It's too loud, even over the music. Loud enough that a few people actually turn to look. Max lost count of how many shots Lando's been slamming hours ago.

"Home," Max says, at a much more reasonable volume. "Like I said."

Lando frowns, so distraught and pouty that Max almost wants to laugh. Almost.

"But it's early," Lando says, like he's legitimately confused as to why Max could possibly want to dip. It's really not all that early. Gone two in the morning at least, and they've been here since midnight.

"Just not feeling it," Max says. It's not a lie. "Sorry, Bob, I'll catch you later."

He moves to leave, but Lando's not letting go of him. His grip around Max's wrist goes tighter. His eyes go wider, wilder. Lando's not unlike a dog with separation anxiety a lot of the time. Liable to wail about it if he's left alone, even in a room full of people.

"You can't go," Lando says. He sounds a bit panicked, unsteady on his feet, swaying around in place. "You—you're supposed to stay. With me."

He's too drunk to be anything but honest, but his brain is obviously not connecting properly to his mouth. Max has known him long enough that it's not hard to fill in the blanks. Max has known him long enough to also know that sometimes—not always, but sometimes—Lando really does look at him like a piece of property. Like Max belongs to him.

Maybe he does. Sometimes.

"You can come home with me," Max offers, because he's too exhausted to pick the fight he wants to pick right now. Sometimes he'll lean into it. Sometimes he'll tell Lando off for his shit behaviour, tell him exactly what he thinks, which is—well. You don't own me. You're fine on your own. You don't get to keep me like a Pomeranian in a fucking handbag.

Lando makes a noise so close to desperation that Max actually feels his ears go red. He doesn't have it in him to push away the connections. The way Lando sounds when he drags Max to bed. The way Lando sounds when he's getting what he wants, or close to it.

"But—" Lando hesitates. His palm is slick-sweaty against Max's wrist and this time when he sways he comes so close to Max that it's going to go extremely badly for them both if there are any paps around.

"Won't be mad if you stay," Max says. Which isn't fully true, but it's not fully untrue. He's used to this by now.

Lando gives him the full puppy eyes. "You promise," he says, leaning in even fucking closer, enough that Max goes a bit cross-eyed for a second trying to keep up.

He knows how this is going to go. Lando will go back inside, and he'll get his girl if she's still there, or a different one if she's not. Max will wake up at half-four to Lando slamming through the front door of the flat, giggling his way down the hall, unselfconsciously loud like he's forgotten Max is there at all.

And then in the morning, once the girl's been safely removed, Lando will crawl into bed with Max, and he'll give him those exact eyes again. Big and wide and pathetic, whining at Max not to be mad, wriggling a hand into Max's boxers to 'make it up to him'.

That's how it'll go. That's how it always goes.

"Promise," Max says.

Lando grins, and he lets go of Max's wrist.

#kee.fic #kee.fic.mfln #nortrell #prompt fill #asks #this is such a cute prompt game even if my ass struggled real hard with it #i don't know what this is don't look too closely at it lol

29 notes · View notes

rook-laidir · 1 day ago

Text

Random Rook Banter 2: Electric Boogaloo

These are all made up by me!

Part 1

Harding: You seriously expect me to believe that you just so happened to have the exact cards you needed for every hand?

Rook: You’re really not letting this go, huh?

Harding: If I can prove you cheated, you have to give me my gold back.

Rook: How do you plan on doing that?

Harding: Neve’s on it.

Rook: …Shit.

~~~

Rook: Ok, let’s say I did cheat. How much would I owe you?

Harding: Forty gold.

Rook: Forty gold?!

Harding: I talked to some of Neve’s friends. They said to add a fee for the inconvenience of getting cheated.

Rook: You went to the *Threads* about this?

Harding: Neve said if I want to get back at a scammer, I need to go to the experts.

Rook: I’m not a scammer!

~~~

Rook: Ok, Harding, here you go. 40 gold, fair and square.

Harding: My fee’s gone up.

Rook: Seriously?

Harding: Lucanis’s contract negotiator is really good.

~~~

Rook: So the Dalish, are other elves allowed to just join?

Davrin: Don’t tell me you’re thinking about spending your days living in the woods and herding halla.

Rook: Gods, no. I just knew someone who would’ve liked it a lot, I think.

Davrin: Most clans are pretty accepting of city elves who wanted to go back to the old ways. Not sure what the stance is now that our gods are trying to kill everything in sight.

Rook: Right, almost forgot about that.

~~~

Davrin: So why didn’t your friend go to any nearby clans? There are clans in Rivain, right?

Rook: Only a handful. And nowhere near where I grew up. My mother and I were along the coast, so there wasn’t really a forest to wander around in. She always wanted to visit one, though. Learn more about our heritage and all that.

Davrin: Not much of a heritage left nowadays.

Rook: Before or after our gods turned out to be the worst?

Davrin: I’ll let you know when I decide.

~~~

Rook: You know, just once I’d like to come to Dock Town without there being a corpse involved. Or at least a limit. Can we limit it to three corpses maximum next time?

Neve: You said you wanted the full tour.

Rook: I meant more along the lines of fried fish and stray cats and less blood magic and ritual sacrifice.

Neve: (laughs) Next time, I’ll make sure there are as few demons and blood magic as possible. Maybe we could actually enjoy The Cobbled Swan for a change.

Rook: It’s a date, Neve Gallus.

~~~

Neve: Rook, Dock Town’s my problem. You don’t have to keep coming here.

Rook: You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gallus.

Neve: I meant with the slavery. The odds of you getting recognized are low, but…It can’t be easy coming back here after everything. I can keep you updated if you prefer.

Rook: There are people here exactly like me who are in chains because of their ears or their status or because they can’t use magic. I got out because I got lucky. I can’t leave them behind.

Neve: If we survive this, I’ll have a talk with Ashur. The Shadow Dragons could really use someone like you.

~~~

Emmrich: Rook, I had no idea you were so interested in ancient Nevarran burial rites!

Rook: Beg pardon?

Emmrich: Back at Blackthorne Manor, I noticed you slipping a first edition copy of Nevarran Burials and Customs into your pack. Had I known you had an interest, I would’ve gladly lent you my copy.

Rook: Oh, right, yeah, real interesting read.

Emmrich: In the future, I would recommend against touching any tomes without proper preparation. Most Nevarran books that ancient have various anti-thieving wards.

Rook: Wait, really?

Emmrich: Certainly. Books on burial rites can often make the owner see horrific visions, should the book be acquired by less than legal means.

Rook: Good to know. Hey, not related, but there’s a merchant in the Hall who might have some questions about that.

Emmrich: Oh dear…

#dragon age #datv #da4 #rook #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #da veilguard #dragon age rook #lace harding #neve gallus #dav #davrin #emmrich volkarin #datv banter #rook banter #neve x rook #y’all liked the last one so here ya go

34 notes · View notes