#don’t expect every part to have drawings. or anything more detailed than this

[salty-an-disco]

“You OK in there? You sound a bit… off.”

“What did you expect me to sound like? It’s not like you heard me before to make this kind of comparison.”

Yes, it is rather assumptious of you to think she sounds off just because it isn’t what you expected to hear.

Voice of the Hero: You also said she could’ve ‘put more emotions’ in her line.

You walk down to the bottom of the stairs.

The room below is a cluttered mess. Cardboard boxes piled about, used print peeking out of them, or simply littering the floor and other surfaces. Large rolled up diagrams leaned against the worn walls. The smell of ink is almost suffocating.

At the center of the room, surrounded by this clutter, is the princess. There’s a heavy chain around her wrist.

Voice of the Hero: Woah. She’s so pretty. Even surrounded by all this mess. Are we sure she can end the world?

What, you think beauty is inherently opposite to evil doings? Have you never heard the phrase, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover,’ knightly figure?

“And… here you are. Are you here to free me? I’m not sure what else you’d come here for.”

Now this is momentous occasion. Your first face-to-face meeting with the Princess. She decided to go for the half-hearted, but still curious, and maybe even hopeful approach, but you don’t have to follow her lead. This is the time to establish your character.

Voice of the Hero: No need to feel pressured, just go with what feels right.

[cimmanonrowl]

Gods & Monsters

Part One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: aaron hotchner x criminal daughter!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, forbidden relationship, unprotected rough sex, creampie, begging, innocence kink, rutting, somnophilia, a little cnc and panicking, dirty talk, pure filth, sir & daddy (only used thrice) kink, dom/sub undertones, innocent!reader, vague to inaccurate crime and law enforcement details

You woke up in the middle of the night. As you always have in the past few weeks. The room was covered in darkness; with only the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. And in every gentle blow of the wind, the white fabric on the open veranda door sways in a mellow rhythm.

You pulled the covers up to your chest and rolled to your side, your heart hammering a little faster as you reached your phone on the bedside table and unlocked it. 

No reply.

Your last message to Aaron, sent hours ago, still marked as unread.

You stared quietly at the screen, your eyes tracing over the last words you sent. It was just something simple: a question about his day, followed by a smiley face, light and casual. You were bored earlier so you decided to reach out to him. You even sent him a picture of the chocolate cookies you baked... but to no avail.

He’s probably just busy, you caught yourself saying in your head. The thought was firm with no edge or flicker of doubt. Aaron has his own life, a tedious job, and his own things to deal with. You knew that. Maybe he got caught up with work again, or he’s out with his team, or maybe he’s just tired; too exhausted to do anything but fall into the comfort of his bed and sleep.

Or maybe he simply doesn’t feel the need to reply to your unimportant message.

Your mouth felt dry with that thought. And the silence of the night pressed stealthily against your ears.

Milk. That was enough to draw you out of bed, your feet touching the cool wooden floor with a soft thud. The mansion was still— the kind of quiet that would usually lull you back to sleep. Usually, this meant your father and his men were out for a business matter. Sometimes, Father dear was just too hung up on alcohol and drugs that he forgot to come home at a decent time.

Quietly, you pushed open your bedroom door, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The mansion in which you recently just moved into was heavily guarded just like the past ones.

You stepped into the hallway. Even though it’s only been a couple of months, every painting and corner of the dimly lit hallway was familiar to your senses. You expect to be the only one awake in your household, aside from the night guards. The kitchen would be empty as always.

But halfway there, a sound caught your ear— a murmur, low and indistinct, drifting from your father’s office.

You halted in your tracks, your ears perking at the noise. The door to your father’s office was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. The murmur becomes clearer as you inched closer— three, maybe four voices, deep and serious, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. 

“We fucking need it done by tomorrow,” one voice complained, rough around all the edges. “The delays are making them antsy.”

“Do you fucking think I don’t know that? Tell those motherfuckers to wait.”

You froze.

The other voices, they’re strangers to you. But you recognize that voice immediately. Your father’s unmistakable deep and commanding one. Yet you were used to this, used to crossing paths with different vile men your father worked with.

“What about the feds?” another voice asked. “They’ve been sniffing around more than usual.”

There was a low and dangerous chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let them. They won’t find anything.”

“The fuck you mean let them? Are you seriously still convinced that you don’t have a mole in this hellhole?”

Then there was a pause, the kind that felt like everyone was holding their breath. They know about the mole. Of course, they do. They’ve never had delays in their operations such as this before. Only an idiot would count it as a mere coincidence.

You leaned in, your ear almost touching the door, careful not to let it move even a fraction.

“All of your operations were interrupted by the feds.”

You heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, and then the clink of a glass being set down. “I don’t think it’s my men you should be poking your nose about. What about your men?”

“Are you fucking saying that my me–”

“What about the witness?” the first voice intercepted, quieter now, as if the words themselves are too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Taken care of,” your father replied with a sharp sigh, his tone so cold it chills your blood. “Permanently.”

There was a murmur of approval from the others, and you can vividly picture them nodding in agreement. Maybe even smiling. You pressed closer, trying to make sense of it all, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.

“How much are we expecting on this one again?” another man asked, his voice gruff and heavy with tobacco smoke.

“Enough to keep everyone happy,” your father replied. “This is our last big score for this month. After that, we lie low for the meantime.”

There was another pause, and you heard the rustle of papers, the sound of something being slid across the table. “It’s all here,” your father muttered. “Everything we need. We move three nights from now.”

“Three nights?” the second voice echoed, surprised. “Why not tomorrow?”

“Yes,” there was no mistaking the steel in your father’s voice. “Because I said so.”

Every muscle in your body tensed as the meeting continued. They speak in half sentences, in code words, as if they know someone might be listening.

And then, as suddenly as it began, there was a sudden scraping of chairs, a loud cough, followed by the sound of feet moving. They were wrapping up, and you realized with a jolt that you need to move.

The stairs were just a few steps away. You could bolt downstairs and go straight to the kitchen as you intended. But instead, you slipped back into your room, closing the door silently behind you, and wished that the silence of the night would lull you back to another restless sleep.

When morning finally came, warm light filtered through the thin curtains and into your room. Bones popped beneath the covers as you stretched, your mind foggy with sleep. Yet you forced yourself to sit up, the blankets sliding off your shoulders.

For a moment, you contemplated reaching your phone and sending a message to Aaron. You couldn’t wait to tell him about everything you heard last night. But with the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your room, you thought your information could wait until after breakfast.

You pad softly to your closet, slipping into a pair of fluffy pink slippers before making your way out of the room. You were still wearing your nightdress, a soft, pale blue cotton gown that fell just below your knees. It looked delicate, with a lace trim at the neckline, something you have had for ages. The fabric clung lightly to your skin with every move, the morning air cool against your bare arms.

When you passed by your father’s office, your thoughts immediately drifted back to the conversation you overheard last night. It felt distant now, almost like a dream, but there was this familiar tension in your chest that you knew all those things had happened.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your father greeted you, his voice deep and steady as you stepped into the dining area. “Come, have some breakfast.”

He gestured to the empty chair beside him. Father dear and Harwin were already seated at the table. The dining room was bright with morning light, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the scent of eggs and toast. Your father sat at the head of the table as always, while Harwin sat across from him, his posture straight, his eyes immediately flicking up to you as you entered.

“Good morning,” you replied softly, forcing a smile as you approached the table. 

You were aware of how you must look— the nightdress, the slightly tousled hair, the way the morning light catches on your skin. You seem almost ethereal, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the way Harwin’s eyes followed you as you move. It was not leering, no. Not inappropriate either, but it was there— an intense, piercing look that made you acutely aware of every step you take.

You slipped into the chair next to your father, feeling Harwin’s gaze settled on you. His expression was carefully neutral, but you could sense the way he was assessing you, as if he was trying to see right through you.

“Good morning, Miss,” he greeted, his voice polite and almost formal. He offered you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you slept well.”

You nodded, and your hand trembled lightly as you reached for the glass of orange juice in front of you. “I did. Thank you, Harwin,” your voice was quiet as you replied, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm of the morning. 

But even as you say it, you know it was not entirely true. The remnants of last night’s tension clung to you, making the hair at the back of your neck rise, your breathing almost heavy.

Your father cut into his toast in rough movements. “Harwin will be spending more time around the house,” he said casually, his tone leaving little room for you to react. “I have some business that’ll keep me away, and I want to make sure you’re looked after.”

Business.

Your stomach tightened at his words. You glanced at Harwin, who was still watching you with keen eyes. You know this wasn’t just about keeping an eye on the house— this is about you. 

And the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

Harwin nodded in agreement with your father’s words, his gaze still fixed on you. “Just a precaution,” his tone was even, as if this was all perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

Safe. The word echoed in your mind. You know what it really means— under surveillance, monitored, controlled. It’s not protection. This is not about your safety; your father wants to keep you on a leash, and you can already feel it tightening around you.

The corner of your lips twitched as you gave him a smile. “Thanks, Harwin. I appreciate it,” you said instead, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you.

Your father continued eating, his attention seemingly on his breakfast, but you knew better. He’s always watching, always aware, and now, with Harwin here, you know you are under a different kind of watch.

But, at least, Harwin was polite enough to keep his distance. Though you could always feel his gaze following you, measuring every step you take, every breath. For the entire day, your father’s orders became clear— Harwin was here more than to protect you. He was here to ensure you don’t stray, that someone will watch every move you make.

“Harwin,” you called out softly before glancing over your shoulder. “Do you think we can go to the mall later?”

He seemed unfazed by the request, silently watching you lay on a lounger by the poolside with an open book perched on your lap. “No, Miss. If you need anything, I can have some of your housemaids to shop for you.”

“But I want fresh air?”

“We’re outside at the moment, Miss.”

“Yes, in our garden.”

He frowned a little. “The air is fresh as far as I can tell, Miss.”

And with that, you heaved a deep sigh. 

As the sun began to set, you found yourself in your room, your phone clutched in your hand. The events of the past hours have left you feeling trapped and cornered like a mouse. The walls of the house seemed to crumble in on you– it was suffocating.

You opened your messaging app, your fingers hovering over Aaron’s name. It’s been a day since he last responded, the silence from his end gnawing at you, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You need to see him. Besides, you have the information he surely needs. He would have no choice but to respond to your text this time.

Can we meet? you typed slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. You add the details quickly— I have the information. The usual spot?

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. But then you pressed it, the message shooting off into the void, your hope clinging to it like a lifeline.

The minutes ticked by in silence. Then your phone buzzed in your hand, with Aaron’s name lighting up the screen.

On my way, was all he said. And for some reason, it was enough. It has always been. So you sighed in relief and smiled to yourself.

Right then and there, you knew what you had to do next. Escaping Harwin’s notice won’t be easy, not with him and the other guards roaming the mansion, but you were determined. You have done it before, though never with this much at stake. 

Taking a deep breath, you slipped on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something that will help you blend in. You grabbed a small bag, stuffed it with a few essentials, then waited for the right moment to finally move.

The silence of your house made every step and the creaking of hinges amplified. From the window, you see one of the guards patrolling the perimeter, his flashlight cutting through the growing dusk. You know there was another by the front gate, and probably more stationed at various points around the property. Getting past them will be tricky, but you have mapped out a plan in your mind.

Harwin was downstairs. The front gate was obviously not an option, not with him and the guards so close. Instead, you decide on your usual route— through the back, where the bushes and trees provide more cover and the lamp posts are seldomly lit.

You waited until a house helper passed by outside your room, her back turned. You moved quickly and quietly down the hallway as you slipped out, sticking close to the walls to avoid any creaking floorboards. The house, large as it is, felt stifling.

With quick strides, you reached the back staircase, your heart pounding in your ears as you descended. The kitchen was just down the hall, and beyond that, the back door that leads to the garden. But you were not alone.

From where you were standing, you heard footsteps— another house helper, moving through the kitchen. You held your breath, peering around the corner just enough to see her pass by, her attention focused on checking the locks. She didn’t see you, didn’t know you were there, but you almost choked on your saliva as you bit your tongue.

As quickly as she moved on, you seized your chance. You slipped into the kitchen, the cool tile under your feet grounding you as you cross to the back door. Your hands shook in fear and panic as you unlocked it, praying it didn’t make too much noise.

And it didn’t.

The garden is shrouded in twilight as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting your face. And for a moment, you felt a rush of freedom. You can’t remember how many times you’ve done this before. But it never, ever felt easy. You doubt it will ever be.

You slipped through the gate, closed it carefully behind you, and took off running down the back alley. You didn’t stop running until you were several blocks away; your lungs burning, your legs aching. Only then do you allow yourself to slow down, and breathe. 

It was almost a two-hour commute to the motel where you usually meet up with Aaron. The neon sign flickered in the dusk with a dull glow over the empty parking lot. You made your way to the room you know so well, pulling out the spare key Aaron gave you exactly a year ago.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn shut. It was a modest place; a little different from the lavishness of your spacious room but you’ve loved this as much. With a soft thud, you dropped your bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, your breath still coming in quick, shallow bursts. The silence here is different from the silence at home— this one feels familiar, and light.

You checked your phone quickly, hoping to see another message from Aaron, but there was nothing. A small pang of worry settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Aaron never broke his promise. He said he was coming, and you trust him. All you have to do is wait.

Your eyes started to droop as you lay down on the soft mattress, the adrenaline of your escape wearing off. You felt drained. Your legs aching. You curled up on your side, your phone clutched in your hand, waiting for the sound of his knock on the door.

But the minutes dragged by and your eyes fluttered shut, and before you knew it, after a long while, you fell into a deep slumber.

“Angel… fuck…” someone’s hot breath fanning over your ear roused you from the depth of your sleep. “You feel so good…”

You stirred and attempted to stretch your arms, even move your legs when all of a sudden, you felt it. The cold air licked the bare surface of your naked body. A low whine rumbled through your chest as you slowly, groggily so, blinked your eyes in confusion. Your vision was unfocused for a moment, sending you into a flight of panic as you grew aware of what was happening.

“Who-” the question was left hanging in the air as soon as Aaron’s thumb found your aching clit.

His hard cock was pressed against your desperate cunt, sliding through your wet folds at a rousing pace. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he continued rutting his girthy cock against your swollen clit. You have no idea how he managed to undress you without waking you up. Although it didn’t surprise you, you’re still curious– about how expert and knowledgeable Aaron was with every sexual act. And right now, a thin sheet of sweat was slowly covering your body.

“Aaron– sir–” you whimpered once more, unknowingly bucking your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. “What… what are you doing?”

He let out a deep groan. “You look so sweet sleeping, angel… couldn’t… help myself…”

“Feels so good…” you mewled in return, feeling your dripping cunt clenching in pure desperation for something to fill it up.

The sensation was new and overwhelming. One of Aaron’s big and calloused hands was kneading your breast, pinching your sensitive and taut nipple every now and then. While his mouth was just as busy— his tongue more so; sucking and nibbling, and biting your nipple as his cock slid through the folds of your dripping pussy.

A growl rumbled through his chest.

“Can... can I slide in the tip…” he whispered in a gruff and breathy voice. It sounded vulnerable and demanding, and desperate at the same time. “Just the tip, angel. Hm? Just the tip, I promise...”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping both of his strong arms propped at either side of your smaller frame. “Just the tip…”

“Fucking hell…” you heard him murmur as he lined the head of his big cock against the entrance of your fluttering cunt. “This is so wrong, angel, but fuck… I never wanted to ruin anyone so badly until you.”

“S-sir…”

His teeth sank lightly at the curve of your collarbone. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, you hear me? I want my cum dripping out of your tight cunt.”

You shivered at the vulgarity of his words. Maybe it was forbidden. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe this will not end up well. But maybe this is the reason why you can’t seem to get enough of it, of his warmth, and his cock ramming in and out of you.

“Aa- Sir!” you screamed loudly, dragging your nails along his arms, your toes curling in pure, white-hot pleasure.

Aaron peppered your cheeks, your lips, and your forehead with light kisses, murmuring his quiet apologies as he forced his big cock inside of you. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, angel… I’m sorry…”

His promise now long forgotten as you felt the intoxicating burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt. You should’ve known better than to believe his promise. 

“You look so good like this, gorgeous…” he whispered in your ear, his big hands roaming your body as if memorizing every corner of it. “Is this what you wanted, huh? Is this why you kept texting me? Can’t get enough of my big cock, little girl?”

You nodded abstractedly. “M-missed you… I missed this…”

Aaron’s lips tugged to a menacing smirk.

“Is my innocent angel turning into a dirty whore?” he taunted, halting his movement. You could feel his hard cock throbbing inside you, rubbing your walls just right. And when you didn’t answer his question, you felt a sharp slap at the side of your thigh. “Answer me, baby. Are you my whore now?”

“Yes, sir… yes… only for you…” unshed tears stung the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me how bad you want it, angel...” he sounded mocking, his voice light with arousal. “Beg for my cock— no, no, no. Don’t you fucking dare look away.”

You shook your head weakly. “D-daddy…”

A high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt him slowly dragging his cock out of you. Tears rolled down your cheeks in humiliation. Your legs clung to the back of his thighs in a desperate attempt, locking him in place. Aaron even had the nerve to chuckle as he saw your tears streaming down your pretty face.

“P-please… please… sir…” you said breathlessly. “I want your big cock, sir. Please… please fill me up with your cum…”

Aaron’s cock pulsated against your walls as he heard your words, your voice as sweet and gentle as he first heard it. He clenched his jaw and whispered tauntingly. “Yeah? Is that all you can say, angel?”

“I need it, please… Aaron… Sir… please… I’m a good girl…”

“Are you?” he perked one of his thick eyebrows before ramming his cock inside you once again, hitting a spot so deep you rolled your eyes.

“I- I am…” you nodded frantically, taking a fistful of the sheet in your hands. “I waited for you, sir. Only you. Your big cock… only you, Aaron…”

“Did you touch yourself while I’m away?”

You tried closing your thighs a little as you felt his thumb pressing light circles on your swollen clit. “I- I did, sir. Yes- I thought about your cock… I want your cock so bad…”

“And what did you think about, little girl?” he grunted, pounding his cock slowly and shallowly, his thumb still rubbing your sensitive nub.

Your legs shook as you felt your incoming orgasm. “How good you fuck me. Your cum inside m-me… I always dream of it, sir… before I go to bed… I always want to hear your voice.”

Aaron’s thick eyebrows tugged together as his focus narrowed down on giving you pleasure. His cock continued assaulting your warm cunt, hissing and grunting every time you clench deliciously around his cock. The sound of your loud moan and his heavy breaths intertwined together, your eyes rolling back with the intense pleasure of your upcoming orgasm.

“Please, please… sir, please… make me cum…” you whispered hoarsely, your voice full of desperation. “So close. ‘M so close.”

“Yeah, little girl? Cum for me, then…” his thrust became even more vigorous, firmer. “Show me how good girl you are, baby. Go on, angel.”

“Aaron!” his name came out a scream. “I’m coming! I’m com–”

Your vision blurred out as intensely your orgasm ripped through every fiber of your being. Your legs trembled and clamped shut, making Aaron growl in the tightness of your cunt. It took him all the self-control not to cum then and there; seeing the pleasure on your face, the tears on your cheeks, your beautiful lips hanging in a silent scream.

Fuck. 

He’d go to hell for corrupting the innocent girl you once were.

“Sir…” you whispered weakly, your voice spent and quiet.

But Aaron paid you no mind. He hasn’t come yet. And he had no plan on letting you go after just one orgasm.  He wants to ruin you. To take over your being. He wants you to realize that he has all the control. He owns you, from the very first day he laid eyes on you, to the very first night you spent together. When you desperately opened your legs for him, you were his. He owned you since then and he can do everything he pleases.

Effortlessly, he pulled you up and switched your positions. He was now lying on his back, his piercing eyes focused on you as you scrambled to find your position on his lap, your legs still shaking from the remnants of your orgasm.

“I haven’t cum yet, little girl.”

You nodded quickly, understanding just well what he meant by that, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “Yes, sir…”

“Make me proud, angel. Show me how good of a whore you are.”

Aaron let out a loud hiss as you lined the head of his leaking cock on your wet entrance, fluttering in anticipation as it welcome the familiar stretch. You let out a satisfied sigh, feeling your inner thigh wet with arousal and your release, and all Aaron could do was shiver as he felt the wetness the moment you fully sank down his cock.

With your palms resting on the soft surface of his stomach, you forced your legs to bounce up and down his hairy cock. Every once and a while, you’d clench around his girth unconsciously, which only made Aaron shut his eyes and pound into you harshly.

You moaned loudly, meeting the way his hips desperately chases yours. “Ah! Ah, s-sir!”

“You feel so good… so w-warm..” he mumbled dazedly, wetting his lips with his eyes closed. “This cunt’s heaven, baby. Fuck. You’ll send me to hell— fucking hell! Yes, clench that pussy tighter, angel! Fuck, I’m coming!”

You bounced even more desperately, fueled by his moaning, and his heavy breathing. The hoarness of his voice, the way the veins in his strong arms popped out, and how his big hands gripped your hips so tightly it left red, angry marks.

He fucked into you like you’re nothing but a fucktoy. Like you’re something he can discard— like you’re something he will discard the moment he reaches his high. And you’d be lying to say you don’t find that idea hot.

You clenched your cunt tighter, holding his hands that were wrapped around your hips.

“A-Aaron! S-sir! Ah!” his cock found the spot only he can reach. “I’m coming again, sir! D-daddy! Ah! Aaron, please, more! Fuck me harder, daddy!”

Aaron didn’t say anything but a loud growl rumbled through his chest. His chest heaving in sharp, restrained breaths.

“God, angel…” he rasped quietly.

A strangled sound of what seemed like your name escaped his lips. You let him take over, let him ruin you the way he wanted, his hand firm on your hips as he fucked into you. And the moment you felt his hips stutter, warm ropes finally spilled inside you; his big cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep into your willing cunt.

You heaved a sigh of satisfaction, tossing your head back with your eyes closed, feeling perfectly sated and elated at the moment.

If this is heaven, you will never, ever come down.

Even if it means you would beg God to forgive you.

As always, replies, likes, reblogs- everything is highly appreciated! I'm only planning on writing 5 chapters for this series. And please be aware that I'm not promising any happy ending. This will end up in angst unless something changes my mind. Also, listen to Lana's Gods & Monsters and feel the vibe of this series! Have a good day and drink your water! <3

Tag list: @downbad4reid, @readergf, @urbrazysimp, @roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @yiiiikesmish, @luv-unknwn, @thatonepersononline, @ilikwgirls, @ssamorganhotchner, @antonia29, @fandomtookoverlife, @hotchnerwife, @wandererseye, @marisamarisa @l0kilaufeys0n7, @promptly-mercy

[alwaysmicado]

The Bunny

7.1k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Nathan Bateman Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, soft(ish) Nathan, mild smut, alcohol, drunk Nathan being horny, emotionally repressed idiots in love Summary: When you’re distressed over something very personal, Nathan shows you a side of himself that you haven’t seen before. A/N: This story can be read alone or together with my other Nathan fics. In my mind, this is the same reader as in predator & prey, in control, Fleshlight and smile, baby—but it doesn't have to be. Happy reading & let me know what you think! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @/cafekitsune.

Your life with Nathan is an exercise in contradiction. 

It’s like orbiting a distant star—searing heat one moment, icy indifference the next. 

You hate that you find him attractive, hate that his arrogance somehow draws you in, but you can’t help it. He has an irresistible pull on you. You don’t understand him, and that’s part of the problem.

One minute, he’s a brilliant visionary; the next, a drunken, whiny mess. And somehow, amidst the confusion, you’ve found yourself craving his touch more than anything else in the world.

You’re not dating, not in any traditional sense. The boundaries of your relationship blur after dark, but you’ve seemingly found a rhythm that works for both of you. And that rhythm entails staying out of each other’s personal business. 

What you have is casual. At least, you’ve convinced yourself it is.

Sometimes, when he’s being particularly infuriating, you wonder if it’s just stress relief for both of you; fucking your frustrations into each other simply because you’re both there. Other times, you catch yourself overthinking every little detail, wondering if you’re falling for him, and if so, whether it’s the man or the enigma you’re falling for.

You try not to think about it too much.

He has this way of getting under your skin though. It could be the way he lazily sprawls across a couch, his eyes half-lidded but alert, or how he dismisses your concerns with a casual wave of his hand, expecting you to move on as if nothing he says or does affects you. But you do care. It does affect you.

And it annoys you how much.

Tonight, after a long day of work, you retreat to your room, needing space for yourself. Nathan’s house is a labyrinth of technology and luxury you’ve come to really love and appreciate for its unique design and remoteness, but there’s a particular, strange comfort in the sterile, minimalistic walls leading to your bedroom. They don’t judge, don’t ask questions. They don’t look at you with the unsettling intensity that Nathan sometimes does.

You close your door, leaning against it as you exhale. Your room is your sanctuary, cluttered with things that feel out of place in Nathan’s stark, clinical world. Books, trinkets, and your beloved bunny plushie resting against your pillow, a remnant of simpler times. A remnant of that wide-eyed girl with ambitions and a thirst for adventure who vowed to get the hell out of that miserable town.

Well, that girl is grown up now. And she’s exhausted, more mentally than physically.

You’re struggling to keep up with your deadlines, rationalizing your work, and the overwhelming feeling that you don’t deserve to be here, that Nathan made a mistake when he selected you, that you’re simply not cut out for this life. 

You take a deep breath and decide to put on your comfiest pants and a soft shirt, get into bed and read a bit while sipping on a warm cup of tea. Yeah. That’s what your soul needs right now. No Nathan, no androids, no computers, no nothing. Just you and your favorite Kazuo Ishiguro book.

But then, as you reach for the mug on your nightstand to empty the leftover coffee from this morning, your hand slips. The coffee spills, soaking the sheets, and worst of all, your bunny. The dark liquid seeps into his white fur, staining the once soft, clean fabric.

You freeze and a moment of pure, unfiltered horror grips you. You don’t hear the mug shattering on the floor over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. The sight of the plushie, now a soggy mess, tugs at something deep inside you as you stare at it through watery eyes. It’s not rational, you know that, but emotions seldom are. It feels as though a part of your childhood has just been desecrated.

You’re devastated. 

The kind of devastation that tightens your chest, that makes everything inside you twist until you’re sure you’re going to break. You try to swallow it down, to contain the storm brewing inside, but it spills over before you can stop it.

And before you know it, you’re screaming. 

It’s a scream born of frustration, from the sudden surge of emotion that you can’t quite name, let alone control. It’s raw, primal, echoing off the cold, sterile walls outside and traveling through every inch of the house. The kind of scream that demands attention, that insists the world recognize your pain, even if you don’t fully understand it yourself.

You barely register the thudding of footsteps—heavy, quick, purposeful. Nathan. Of course it’s him. He’s always watching, always listening, probably heard you through one of his countless surveillance cameras. In a place like this, your privacy is an illusion, your every move monitored, recorded, dissected.

And now, your pain has become just another blip on his radar.

He’s probably annoyed, you think bitterly. Annoyed that he had to stop whatever important work he was doing in his lab because he can’t have you screaming and crying and possibly bleeding out in his house.

Nathan doesn’t tolerate messes, especially not emotional ones. And with the hangover he’s likely nursing, his patience is probably thinner than usual. You imagine him wincing at the sound, the way it cuts through the quiet, sharp and unrelenting, aggravating his already pounding head.

The door rattles as he reaches it, and you can almost picture the irritated expression on his face, the way his brow furrows, his jaw tightening. In that moment, you hate him for it, hate him for the way he can reduce you to a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be managed.

But there’s a part of you, the part that’s still trembling from the force of your own scream, that’s also desperate for him to come in, to see you, to make it better, even though you know he won’t.

Because Nathan Bateman doesn’t do comfort. He does control. And in this moment, you’re the one thing in his world that’s slipping out of it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice is a mixture of concern and impatience.

You don’t answer, your heart still pounding, your hands shaking as you hold your bunny close, trying to assess the damage. It feels ridiculous, absurd even, but the sight of your beloved plushie, soaked and stained, has shattered something fragile inside you. You can’t explain it, don’t want to explain it, especially not to him.

Nathan knocks again, harder this time, more insistent. “Open up. Now.”

“I’m fine!” you shout back, but the words catch in your throat, betraying you with their shaky delivery. You try to sound convincing, but you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“Sure doesn’t sound like it,” he retorts. “Let me in.”

You glance at the door, knowing that if he wanted to, he could override the lock. But you also know he won’t—at least not yet. He respects boundaries, in his own twisted way.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, and there’s a softer edge to his voice now, an undercurrent of genuine worry that catches you off guard. The knot in your chest tightens.

“What? No, I’m– I said I’m fine, Nathan. Just...leave me alone.” The plea slips out, your voice trembling, betraying how much you just want to be left in peace, to sort yourself out without being interrogated.

“I’m not doing that until you tell me what’s wrong. You can’t scream bloody murder and expect me not to–”

“I’m sorry.”

Nathan pauses for a moment, stumped. This isn’t good. This isn’t like you. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says, his tone calmer now, almost coaxing. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry.” The words come out rushed, panicked, like you’re trying to escape from the truth that’s threatening to spill over. But you know you’re not convincing him; you’re not even convincing yourself.

There’s a heavy silence on the other side of the door, and you can almost feel Nathan grappling with how to handle this. Then, he says your name—softly, but with a depth that pierces right through your defenses. It’s a tone of voice you’ve only ever heard a couple of times after some particularly demanding play sessions.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You close your eyes and take a shaky breath before responding. “I’m okay, Nathan. Just please…leave.”

You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable, but you’re too overwhelmed to care anymore. You just need him to go, to give you space to fall apart in peace.

There’s a pause, a silence so thick you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind. You almost think he’s left, but then you hear the sound of him leaning against the door, the quiet sigh that follows.

“Fine,” he says finally, his voice lower now. “I’m, uh, in the lab if you...I’m working on Lana’s muscle tissue if you wanna help.”

His words hang in the air, an unexpected offer, awkwardly delivered. You can picture him on the other side, running a hand through his beard, trying to figure out how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

Nathan Bateman, the genius, the mastermind, suddenly uncertain.

After a moment of continued silence, he steps back, respecting your wish. The concern, however, doesn’t leave his mind. His footsteps fade, leaving you alone with the mess you’ve made. The room feels colder, emptier, as if the walls themselves have drawn back in silent judgment. You slump down onto the bed, staring at your poor bunny, your fingers tracing the wet patches on his fur. 

For a second, you could swear you see disappointment in his glassy, button eyes.

The digital alarm clock on your nightstand blinks back at you as you wake up from your nap, showing that it’s well into the evening, the sky outside already swallowed by darkness.

The adrenaline that had surged through you earlier has long since dissipated, leaving behind a hollow, drained feeling in its wake. It’s as if the very act of screaming, of letting that raw emotion pour out of you, has stripped you of energy, leaving you brittle, fragile.

You know you should take a shower and change the sheets, but the thought of moving feels overwhelming. So you sit there, numb, your mind replaying the events of the past few days on a loop.

Eventually, it’s not resolve or determination that drives you to get up, but hunger. A dull, persistent gnawing that you can’t ignore. You drag yourself out of bed, each step feeling heavier than the last as you make your way to the bathroom to clean up at least a little bit.

The house is quiet as you make your way to the kitchen, the usual hum of activity subdued, as if it too is holding its breath.

When you enter the living room, Nathan is already there, seated at the table, a glass of red wine in hand. The rich burgundy liquid swirls lazily in the glass as he tilts it, the glow of the ceiling lamps casting a soft, golden light that highlights the curve of his nose.

His expression is unreadable at first, his usual mask of casual detachment firmly in place. But as his eyes land on you, taking in your disheveled appearance—your eyes red-rimmed and swollen, your gaze fixed on anything but him—something in his demeanor shifts. He’s never seen you cry outside of sex, and the sight unsettles him more than he’s willing to admit.

Nathan isn’t a man who deals well with vulnerability, especially not when it comes from someone like you, someone he’s come to rely on for your sharp mind and quick wit. But now, seeing you like this, raw and exposed, something inside him stirs—a protective instinct he didn’t know he had, and isn’t sure he wants.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he remarks, his tone light, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—concern, maybe? It’s hard to tell with him.

You shrug, avoiding his gaze as you grab a plate from the counter and start dishing up whatever’s left from dinner. You’re not really hungry, but the act of eating feels like something normal, something grounding.

Nathan watches you in silence, his gaze heavy. You can feel it, like a weight on your shoulders. You sit down at the table, focusing intently on your food, though it might as well be cardboard for all the flavor it has. You avoid eye contact, keeping your gaze fixed on your plate or the glass in front of you, anything to avoid meeting those piercing eyes that seem to see too much. The fork in your hand feels foreign, and every bite is a chore. You down three glasses of red wine in quick succession, the warmth spreading through you in an attempt to numb the edge of your anxiety.

But even the wine can’t drown out the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Nathan starts talking, his voice filling the space between you. He launches into a detailed explanation of the progress he’s made with his newest creation, his words laced with the usual excitement he reserves for his work.

Normally, you’d be right there with him, diving into the technicalities, challenging his ideas, offering your own insights. It’s what you do—it’s what makes you a great team. But tonight, it’s different. Occasionally, you nod or murmur a soft “hmm,” but it’s clear that your heart isn’t in it.

You’re not there with him—not really—and it’s obvious.

“...so close to healing itself, I’m telling you. The polymers have shown to be extremely resilient–” he hesitates mid-sentence, as if waiting for you to jump in, to offer the insight that usually comes so naturally to you. But when you don’t, when the silence stretches on longer than it should, he falters.

He looks at you, then at Kyoko standing obediently in the background, then back at you.

“Kyoko, leave us alone,” he instructs the mute android, his eyes tracking her as she leaves the room. Once the door clicks shut behind her, he doesn’t waste a second. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t look at him, poking at your food with a deliberate slowness, hoping he’ll drop it. “No–”

“Don’t say nothing, this isn’t nothing,” he interrupts, his voice firm, leaving no room for evasion.

You stiffen, your fork clattering against your plate as you glare at him. “Why do you care?”

He raises an eyebrow, unfazed by your sharp tone. “Because you screamed like someone was murdering you. And now you’re sitting here looking like a kicked puppy. So yeah, I care.”

“I don’t wanna tell you. How about that?” You lift your head, forcing a condescending smile that feels like a shield, one you hope will keep him at bay.

Nathan’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t back down. “And I can’t have you crying and moping around. It’s…distracting.”

“Well, I’m sorry for distracting you, Nathan,” you bite back, the sarcasm dripping from your words. “It won’t happen again.”

A beat passes, and in that moment, you can see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to piece together what he could have done to upset you this time. His thoughts race, quickly scanning through recent interactions, searching for any sign, any clue that might explain why you’re so distant, so...off.

Nothing stands out. You’ve always been able to hold your own, not easily shaken by his brusque nature or single-minded dedication to his projects. But then, his mind lands on a familiar concern—something that’s come up before. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“You’re not jealous ‘cause of Lana, are you?”

You snort, the sound more bitter than amused. The idea is so absurd that it doesn’t even warrant a full laugh.

But Nathan isn’t laughing. His eyes narrow slightly, his usual sharp gaze honing in on you with unsettling precision. He studies you carefully, analyzing every microexpression, every subtle twitch of muscle that might give away what you’re really feeling.

His gaze travels slowly, deliberately, from your face down to your neck, lingering there for a moment before moving to your arms. You have a couple of visible bruises from last night, but that’s to be expected given the way you and Nathan play. 

But now…now he’s wondering if he might have crossed a line without realizing it, if he pushed too far and you’re too proud to speak up.

“Was I too rough yesterday?” he asks suddenly, his voice low.

“Huh?” The question throws you off, the abrupt shift in his tone catching you by surprise.

“Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?” There’s a faint line of guilt etched across his brow, a rare sight.

You stare at him, your eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and weariness. Shaking your head, you let out a sigh, the exasperation clear in your voice.

“I know this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but the universe actually doesn’t revolve around you,” you say, your tone resigned, almost tired. “There’s more to life than androids, having sex with androids, having sex with me, or even you and me as people. It’s all meaningless bullshit, Nathan.”

Nathan blinks, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of your words. He tilts his head slightly, studying you as if trying to decipher whether you’re serious or if this is just another one of your biting remarks. “Are you okay?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The irony of your own dramatic outburst isn’t lost on you, and you can’t help but shake your head at the absurdity of it all. As you down the rest of your wine in one quick gulp, the warmth of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of your emotions.

“No. No, I’m not.”

Nathan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then tell me what happened. Might help.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up again. “I can’t. It’s dumb.”

You brace yourself for the inevitable snide remark, for Nathan to dismiss your feelings with some cynical observation about the meaningless nature of the universe, to reduce your pain to just another inconsequential blip in the grand scheme of things.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he surprises you.

He leans back further, his posture more relaxed, his gaze steady as it locks onto yours. “Not if it makes you this sad. Come on, talk to me.”

There’s no condescension, no sarcasm, just an unexpected patience that catches you off guard. For a moment, you just stare at him, searching his face for the usual smugness, the mask of indifference he wears so well. But it’s not there. Instead, there’s something else, something gentler, and it stirs something inside you that you’ve been trying to suppress for some time now.

You sigh, feeling the fight drain out of you as the weight of the day catches up. “It’s stupid, Nathan. You’ll think it’s stupid.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rush you. “Try me.”

You absentmindedly play with your napkin as you decide to rip the bandaid off. “I spilled coffee on my bunny.”

“You spilled coffee on your bunny,” he repeats slowly, as if trying to understand.

“Yeah.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like you don’t have other vibr–”

You roll your eyes, secretly amused by his thought process. “It’s not a fucking vibrator.”

“Okay, but unless you’ve been secretly building an AI rabbit, I don’t–”

“It’s a plushie.”

“A plushie.”

“Yeah, my bunny Cinnamon. I’ve had him since I was fourteen and he’s been with me through school and my whole adult life and through everything. I’ve always taken care of him, making sure he doesn’t get dirty, and today I spilled my stupid fucking coffee that I don’t even like ‘cause you buy these stupid beans no normal human would ever like, and I spilled it on him and it soaked into his fur, and now he’s ruined ‘cause I’m a clumsy fucking loser who can’t even take care of an inanimate object.”

You finish your rant, raising an eyebrow. “Happy?”

Nathan looks at you with a furrowed brow, clearly taken aback. For a moment, you think he’s going to laugh, and you hold his gaze, ready for the ridicule you’re sure is coming.

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stares at you, a mixture of confusion and...something else in his eyes. “Why don’t you just clean it?”

You push your chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor, and stand up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Forget it. This was stupid. I’m going to bed.”

You turn to leave, but before you can take a step, Nathan’s hand is on your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Wait.”

You stop, not turning around, not trusting yourself to face him.

“Hey,” he says, softer this time. “I’m not...I’m not making fun of you, okay? I just...didn’t expect that.”

You glance back at him, and the look on his face is so uncharacteristically sincere that you actually believe him. He looks almost...concerned. Genuinely concerned.

“It’s just a plushie,” you mutter, feeling foolish for letting him see you like this. But Nathan doesn’t let go of your arm.

“Maybe. But it obviously means something to you.” He hesitates, then adds, “Let me help.”

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. This is new territory—Nathan offering to help with something so personal, something so seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t part of your job description, nor is it part of your usual dynamic. You’re not sure how to feel. 

“What do you mean ‘help’?”

Nathan smirks, that familiar cocky edge returning. “I could make Cardamom or whatever his name is–”

“It’s Cinnamon,” you interject, your tone flat but with a trace of amusement that you can’t quite suppress.

“–play the piano or explain particle physics to you if I wanted to,” he continues without missing a beat. “You think I can’t clean him up?”

You sigh. Can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “But you can’t be too rough with him. His fur is very delicate.” The words come out more vulnerable than you intended, and you can feel the weight of what you’re entrusting him with.

“That’s why I’ve avoided washing him—I’m scared he’ll get damaged in the process. And be extra careful with his right ear. My grandma had to sew it back on a couple of times, and it’s barely hanging on.”

You pause, looking deeply into his eyes before you add, “And I know you probably think there’s no way I’d ever figure out you replaced him, but I swear I will. And I swear I’ll smother you with a pillow in your sleep if you do.”

Nathan’s smirk fades slowly, replaced by an expression that’s surprisingly serious. He nods, meeting your gaze with a sincerity that’s rare for him. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Then, you pull your arm from his grip, feeling the warmth of his touch linger even after you’ve stepped away. You nod towards the hallway. “I’ll go get him.”

Nathan nods, his eyes following you as you leave the kitchen. Once you’re out of sight, he exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders releasing slightly. He pours himself another glass of wine, the liquid sloshing into the glass, and without hesitation, he chugs it down in one go.

The quiet of the night wraps around you, a stark contrast to the tension that has filled the kitchen just moments ago. The sound of your footsteps crunching on the gravel path is the only thing that breaks the silence as you start walking, letting the night sky and the crisp air clear your mind.

The stars above are faint, blurred by the ambient light of the house, but their presence is calming. You shove your hands into your pockets, trying to steady your breathing, to let the chaos in your head dissipate with each step you take.

The trees rustle softly in the wind, their branches swaying gently, and you find a rhythm in their movement, letting it guide you further away from the house, from Nathan, from everything.

As you walk, the tension in your chest begins to ease. The cool air feels like a balm on your frayed nerves, each breath you take helping to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside you. The doubts, the worries, the unexpected tenderness of Nathan’s promise—all of it seems to drift away, carried off by the breeze.

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky. The vastness of it makes your concerns feel small, insignificant, like a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. And yet, your feelings of inadequacy still weigh on you, lingering in the back of your mind.

The walk brings a sense of clarity, a chance to distance yourself from the intensity of your worries, your stress, your fears. You needed this—to step away, to breathe, to remind yourself of who you are outside of everything that’s been happening. The steady rhythm of your footsteps, the coolness of the air, and the quiet solitude of the night slowly bring you back to yourself.

As you step inside, the house is cloaked in a quiet stillness, the dimmed lights casting soft shadows across the sleek decor. There’s a warmth to it that you hadn’t noticed before, a subtle comfort in the way everything is arranged, each detail meticulously chosen. It feels like home. It sounds strange, even to yourself, but it does.

This is your home.

You find Nathan lounging on the couch in his sweatpants, a beer in hand, the television on but muted, the flickering images washing his features in soft, rhythmic light. There’s a stillness to him, a calm that contrasts sharply with the man you’re used to—a man of constant motion, always thinking, always creating.

The scene is oddly serene, almost peaceful, and you take a moment to just look at him, to take in the man who has become such a pivotal part of your world.

It’s strange to think about how much has changed in the past year. How this man, with all his brilliance and flaws, has shown you a life you couldn’t have dreamed of before.

Empty bottles litter the table, evidence that he’s been going at it since you left an hour ago, either lost in his thoughts or deliberately trying to drown them. It’s hard to tell with Nathan.

You sit down beside him, feeling the tension in your body ease further as you settle into the familiar proximity.

Nathan glances at you, his eyes briefly scanning your face before he wordlessly offers you the bottle. You take it, the cold glass a comforting weight in your palm, and bring it to your lips. The cool liquid slides down your throat, its familiar taste bringing a sense of comfort.

“Feeling better?” Nathan asks, his voice rough around the edges.

“Yeah,” you nod, handing him the bottle. 

You shrug off your jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch, and you catch the way Nathan’s eyes immediately track the movement. His gaze lingers on the way your tight shirt clings to your curves, the fabric accentuating every line, every contour of your body.

It’s a work of art, and Nathan knows a thing or two about art—about bodies, creating bodies, perfecting them in ways that only a mind like his can. But as he looks at you, he’s aware that no creation of his, no flawless android, could ever compare to the real thing. To you.

There’s something different in his gaze tonight, a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch. He shifts beside you, setting the bottle aside as he turns to face you more fully. “Come here,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you hesitate. But the pull between you is irresistible, a magnetic force that’s seemingly always been there, drawing you together. You move over, straddling his lap as his hands find their way to your back, sliding down to your ass, pulling you in until every inch of you is pressed against him.

His touch is familiar, but tonight it feels different—deliberate, meaningful, loaded with intent.

He inhales deeply, his nose tracing the delicate line of your neck, his beard tickling you, his breath warm against your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but sigh softly, your hips moving instinctively against him, seeking relief from the growing heat pooling low in your belly. The hardness of his erection pressing against you only intensifies the need building inside you, the ache that demands to be satisfied.

Nathan’s hands roam your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine with a touch that’s both soothing and electrifying. When his lips find yours, the kiss is soft at first, tentative, but the hesitation doesn’t last long. The kiss deepens quickly, becoming more insistent, more demanding, making your head spin.

You’re both growing impatient quickly, the need for each other driving you to the brink. Hips bucking, teeth biting, lips sucking—you’re lost in the all-consuming sensation that is Nathan, in the desperate hunger that consumes you both. 

He grips the fabric of your shirt and pushes it up over your breasts, leaning in immediately to suck on your nipples, teasing, flicking, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, while his hands knead your flesh, pinching, groping, biting with a fervor that sends jolts of intense pleasure coursing through you. 

Unable to hold back any longer, he releases your breast with a wet pop, his breath ragged as he crashes his lips against yours again in a desperate, heated kiss. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you so close that there’s no space left between you, his need for you palpable. He holds you as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, as if letting go isn’t an option.

One hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin as he deepens the kiss, while the other hand is splayed across your back, pressing you tighter against him. Every moan that escapes your lips is met with a hungry response, as if your sounds are the only thing anchoring him in this moment, the only thing that matters.

You’re close, so close, but it’s not enough. Nathan wants more—needs more. He wants to have you, feel you, own you, swallow you whole. He wants to lose himself in you, to find solace in the way your bodies fit together, to forget everything else in the world except for the way you make him feel.

You feel the same, more than ready for him to fuck your brains out and make it all right. But as much as you want him, need him, you can’t ignore the way your lungs are burning for air. Unlike the perfect creations in his lab, you do need to breathe. 

You pull back slightly, your lips parting from his as you gasp for air. But when you look into Nathan’s eyes, you’re struck by what you see there—something you’ve never seen before, something that reaches out and wraps around your heart, squeezing it in a way that almost hurts.

Something you’re not sure either of you are ready to face.

“I’m, uh...I’m tired,” you mumble, breaking eye contact as you clumsily slide off his lap and tug your shirt down, the movement awkward and hurried. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, and your hands tremble slightly as you adjust your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I’m going to bed.”

Nathan lets out a deep sigh, his hands falling to his sides as he watches you retreat, the space between you growing with every step you take.

There’s a sense of resignation in his posture, a silent acknowledgment that the moment, whatever it was, is slipping away. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if trying to wipe away what just happened, as if trying to regain the control that he’s always prided himself on.

He reaches for his beer bottle on the table, lifting it to his lips and taking a long, slow swig. The familiar taste does little to ease the frustration gnawing at him, but it gives his hands something to do, a way to distract himself from the thoughts spinning in his mind and the persistent throb of his painfully hard cock twitching in his pants.

As he sets the bottle back down with a muted clink, movement catches the corner of his eye. Kyoko appears, her presence as silent and seamless as ever, slipping into the room like a shadow. She moves with that same fluid grace, her expression blank, her purpose clear. Nathan’s eyes flicker to her, and for a moment, his gaze lingers, examining the beautiful android.

Nathan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to.

As you fumble with your key card, hands trembling slightly, you manage to swipe it through the reader and push the door open to the hallway. But something tugs at you, a nagging curiosity or perhaps a sense of masochism that makes you pause. You glance back over your shoulder, hesitating just long enough to let that impulse take hold. Quietly, you turn and peer around the corner.

Kyoko kneels between Nathan’s spread legs, her movements fluid and precise. Her head dips lower, and Nathan’s hands tighten on the edge of the couch, his knuckles white. His head falls back against the cushion, his eyes closing as a groan slips from his lips—low, guttural, filled with a raw need that makes your stomach twist and your clit twitch.

The heavy door hisses shut behind you as you step into the hallway, but the noise doesn’t drown out the scene you’ve just witnessed. You walk, move away from the door, but halfway to your room, you hear it—his voice, needy and rough, reverberating through the corridor.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

The words are drawn out, dripping with a mix of pleasure and arrogance. You can almost see the smirk on his lips, feel the way his eyes might flicker with satisfaction, knowing full well you can hear him. He’s doing it on purpose, pushing your buttons with calculated precision, reveling in the power it gives him—the sense that he’s back in control.

It’s only when you’re finally under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in the stillness of your room, that you allow yourself to process what just happened. The events replay in your mind, sharp and vivid, but the more you think about it, the more surreal it seems. 

Maybe you were just imagining things. What you thought you saw in his eyes…it can’t have been real. It’s easier to dismiss it, to chalk it up to your own wishful thinking rather than confront the complexity of what it might mean.

You know Nathan too well. He gets needy when he’s loaded, it’s a pattern you’ve seen countless times before.

Sometimes that neediness manifests in long, rambling monologues about the futility of human existence and the inevitability of death, his voice heavy with cynicism and a touch of despair. Other times, it manifests in something more primal, a desperate hunger for a body to fuck, a way to drown out the noise in his head, and someone to make him feel like he’s still doing something right in a world he so often views as chaotic and meaningless.

Tonight was no different, was it? Just another of his drunken nights where he needs to either pour out his soul or lose himself in the physical, grasping at anything—or anyone—to stave off the emptiness that gnaws at him when he’s left alone with his thoughts.

The idea of it being anything more feels almost ridiculous.

You wake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee sitting on your nightstand and the sight of Cinnamon, clean and dry, resting beside you on the bed. You blink, still groggy, as you reach out to touch him, half expecting it to be a dream. But he’s real, his fur soft under your fingers, the stains gone as if they were never there.

You sit up and scan him carefully, trace the little scratches on his eyes, examine the stitches on his ear, and determine that this is in fact him. You smell him, but can’t detect any detergent or other substance that Nathan could have used to clean him. 

You decide no to ask him how he did it.

A smile tugs at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest as you hold the plushie close. Nathan actually did it. He took care of him, just like he promised. For you.

Sliding out of bed, you grab the coffee from the nightstand and head to the bathroom, savoring the warmth of the cup in your hands. As you take a sip, you’re surprised to find that it tastes better, smoother. You pause, raising an eyebrow. Did he really switch the beans? Must’ve hit a nerve when you complained about them last night. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror and sigh. The past few days have taken a toll, and it shows. Dark circles, dry skin—definitely time to stop moping and do something about it. You take another sip of the coffee, the rich, new flavor lingering pleasantly on your tongue, and as you lower the cup, something catches your eye.

Sticking to the bottom of the cup is a small, folded post-it note. You pluck it off, unfolding it with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

good as new, no need to murder me in my sleep

also, his name should be Cinnabun

he’s a bunny

You smile to yourself, carefully stick the note on the inside of your mirror cabinet, and take a moment to make yourself look halfway presentable before heading to the kitchen.

Nathan isn’t there, but the used blender and the bandages lying next to the punching bag on the deck tell you he’s already been up and about. You think of what you’re going to say to him on your way to the lab.

When you enter, you find him leaning against a glass table, a disgustingly healthy green smoothie in hand as he reads something on his tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but you know he’s aware of you.

“Morning,” you say, your voice soft, tentative.

“Morning,” he replies, not looking up from the screen.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, you settle on the simplest thing, the thing that’s been on your mind since you woke up.

“Thank you, Nathan. He looks great.”

Nathan finally looks up, his gaze meeting yours. He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, though you catch the slightest tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his tone casual, like it’s nothing at all.

But it is something. It’s everything, really, and you can’t hold back anymore. Before you can think better of it, you close the distance between you and wrap your arms around him in a tight, impulsive hug. It’s most definitely not what you planned on doing, not at all, but it feels right.

Nathan stiffens at first, clearly not expecting the gesture, but then he puts down the smoothie and tablet, and his arms come up to return the embrace, hesitantly at first, then more firmly. It’s strange, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat against you like this, but it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

You stay like that for a moment, neither of you saying anything, just holding onto each other. When you finally pull back, Nathan’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes your heart ache. You want to say something, but the words don’t come.

Instead, it’s Nathan who breaks the silence. “You wanna see something cool?”

You smile at him, nodding. “Sure.”

He leads you over to another table where he’s been working on Lana’s thigh muscles. The intricate work is laid out in front of you, a testament to the hours he’s poured into perfecting every detail. He points to a small, precise incision. “You see this cut? It was a centimeter deep. Now look at it.”

You lean in, examining the area closely. The wound is almost completely healed, the synthetic tissue knitting itself back together seamlessly. “It’s almost healed. Incredible,” you say, marveling at the rapid regeneration.

Nathan observes your reaction with satisfaction, but there’s a slight furrow in his brow, a sign that he’s not completely pleased with his work. “It is. But I feel like I’m hitting a wall with these new polymers I’ve been testing.”

“Yeah?” You glance up at him, curious.

“Yeah,” he continues, his gaze shifting to you. “I’ve been meaning to get your input. See if you can spot something I’ve missed.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re stunned. The acknowledgment, the unexpected validation, it takes a second to sink in. Despite your best efforts, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. It’s small, but the warmth it brings spreads through you, impossible to hide.

All you manage is a quick nod before turning swiftly toward the disinfectant dispenser next to the door.

As you methodically disinfect your hands, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the warmth blooming inside you, and then pull on the nitrile gloves, you’re too focused on controlling your own emotions to notice the way Nathan’s eyes are fixed on you. His gaze lingers, taking in every small movement, every detail of your response.

His thoughts are a tangled mess, caught between admiration for your skill and the quiet way you’ve earned his respect, confusion at the intensity of his own feelings, and something dangerously close to longing.

Thank you for reading! Nathan Bateman Masterlist

Tag List: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @pattwtf

[eternal-silvertongued-prince]

Celebrating your birthday with Severus

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Genre: Fluff with a hint of spice

Rating: Explicit under the banner

Warnings: None

Word Count: 832

A/N: I got a quick birthday request for some headcanons, and I couldn’t help but jot some ideas down. One day I’ll do a full reader’s birthday fic, so I did not go into a lot of detail, but until then, enjoy!

Masterlist

If there was one thing you could always count on, it was Severus.

General help, support, information, etc. You name it, and he’ll be there for you to the best of his ability.

So, it’s no surprise that not only does Severus remember your birthday, he’s been planning how to celebrate your day for the past month.

This, however, is contingent on if you guys are already dating. If you weren’t, then it’s a whole other story.

So, let me split this into two sections to make it easier for me LOL

If you were not dating:

If you weren’t dating, Severus would still 100% be consciously aware of the day once he finds it out.

Have you thinking “Is he suspiciously less snappy and nicer to you today?”

You have every right to be suspicious because, yes, he is totally trying to not subject you to his usual nastiness.

Unless you are friends, don’t expect a gift from him

But maybe Severus was making himself a cup of tea and decided he might as well pour you one since there’s enough water in the kettle for two

“Oh, thank you, Severus! That’s very kind of you.”

Dismisses you from saying anything more on the subject with a wave of his hand

If you were another professor, you might find that the stack of essays you had left to grade during your lunch hour was done and covered in red ink from a familiar scrawl

You receive a gift from the staff that Minerva says was from everyone, but you know that Severus had no part in it

But you don’t mind, because the small gestures that he refuses to acknowledge, were more than you could ever expect from the cold man

If you were dating:

GET READY FOR ALL THE BIRTHDAY LOVE

He hates surprises, so he would never subject you to a surprise party

But he would keep to himself what he has for you as a gift or how the two of you were celebrating. He would definitely tell you if you truly wanted to know though

To reiterate, absolutely NO surprise parties. Why would he want people shouting at you unexpectedly?

He would want to celebrate more intimately with you

“Today is your day, and thank you for letting me celebrate it with you.”

Everything he does has rhyme or reason, so you best believe he spent days, if not weeks, making sure every meticulous detail was perfect

You best believe it’s a whole-day celebration. If your birthday fell on a week/workday, he would clear a day on the weekend to ensure you get the amount of love you deserve

Puts just the same effort into your gift because he needs to ensure that his perfect person receives the perfect gift

You feel loved and cared for every day, but on this day, he has an excuse to shower you with the affection you deserve without excuse or reason other than he can because it’s your birthday.

He may be the one giving you gifts, but you’ve given him the greatest gift he could ever imagine (and that is the gift of you!)

If both of you are sexually active, get ready for it to be a very pleasurable night

The night is all about you. Whatever you want, it's yours

His tongue? “You taste sweeter than any fruit could ever”

His lips? “I want to make sure no part of you is unloved.”

His hands? “How can anything ever compare to the softness that is your skin?”

His cock? “Look at you, darling. Look at how good you look with my cock going in and out of you.”

His words? “You are absolutely breathtaking when you fall apart for me.”

His cum? “No one can give me as much pleasure as you can. Take all of me. Every inch, every drop, it’s all yours.”

He won’t stop until you are thoroughly satisfied

Really, it’s him worshipping you as he should

When it’s all done, and you’ve had your fill, he makes sure to draw a bath for you and makes sure the two of you are cleaned before bed

You’re not allowed to lift a finger, and he takes his time to clean your body, kissing it along the way to make sure he’s replacing all the kisses he’s washing away

Once the two of you are cleaned and dried, he brings you to bed and wraps his arms around you

Slip into a peaceful night’s sleep with you knowing you had such an incredible man in your life, and he knew he could love you with every fibre of his being and that love was returned.

I've been away so long, so idk if any usernames have changed or whatnot, but I tagged those I can still find. If you want to be tagged, let me know! Users in italics are the ones I can't find. Since this fic has some NSFW, I only tagged those who I know wanted to be tagged in those works. If you wish to be removed, please lmk!

All Fics Taglist:

@monster-energies @multifandomgeeks @a-queen-and-her-throne @darbylee-23

Severus Snape Taglist:

@deepperplexity @yyourlara @insomniacaesthetic @yan-senna @smilingformoney @diamondbitch116 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @loosenyourcorsetsweatheart @solacesolarium

Want to be added to my taglist?

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 18 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Masterlist of my other works.

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Marianne enters her room as the sun’s rays are just beginning to rise.

“Good morning, Rhaena,” she announces in a sing-song voice as she draws the curtains, “It is good to find you awake for a change.”

“Mmm,” she grumbles, still in the sheets, “Why are you in such a good mood? It is way too early!”

“It is a special day, don’t you think?” her lady walks to the edge of her bed, “It is not every day we get to witness a tournament. Besides…”

A lovely blush appears on her cheeks and Rhaena smiles from ear to ear, thinking she knows what it is all about.

“Daeron asked for your favor, didn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he did,” she confirms, blushing even more.

“I knew it!” Rhaena crawls through the sheets, excited, until she sits beside her friend, “Did you dance with him? What else did he say to you?”

“Not much, we just danced a couple songs because then he excused and went to speak with Prince Aemond. And then Prince Aemond abruptly left and you mysteriously disappeared from the banquet, anything you want to tell me?”

“I was feeling overwhelmed, to tell you the truth.”

“Overwhelmed,” her friend repeats, looking at her.

Rhaena sighs and tells Marianne about her conversation with Corwyn and Aemond’s threat from the night before, though she leaves out the detail of how close their bodies had been, of his fingers on her lips and… Rhaena shudders, pushing that memory aside.

“Clearly the prince is jealous,” Marianne comments, her voice more excited than was appropriate for the situation, “He forbade you from approaching ser Corwyn. That is…”

“An overreaction,” she replies, frowning, “He basically implied that I take my virtue lightly and that Corwyn and I are closer than we should be.”

“Well, yes, that was very out of line,” Marianne admits, “The prince should know that it is not your custom to act in such a manner. Ever since you arrived, and even before, you have always maintained an impeccable reputation. His concerns are unfounded.”

“They are,” she asserts vehemently.

“Still… it seems that Ser Corwyn has not understood that very well.”

Rhaena flops down on the bed, closing her eyes for a moment, “I did not expect him to throw all those things at me yesterday.”

“Did you enjoy hearing them?”

Her lady meets her gaze and it takes Rhaena a moment to respond, “I do not know,” she admits.

“That is a problem,” Marianne sighs.

There is a moment of silence between them, until her lady speaks again.

“I think… I think you should not jeopardize what you have built with the prince for… for whatever it is you feel about Ser Corwyn,” she dares to say, blushing as much as before, “After all, the wedding is in just a few days. Ser Corwyn will eventually return to the Vale and you will be Aemond Targaryen’s wife. Nurturing your old friend’s hopes will not change that fact”

“I am quite clear about that, Marianne, believe me,” she assures her.

Still, a lump form in her throat. She had spent a good part of the night thinking about Corwyn’s words. How much she would have given to hear them when she was still a free lady in the Vale! How much could have changed if the knight had confessed his feelings sooner. It is not like Rhaena hadn’t suspected it before. She herself, she thinks, had contributed to the affection between them growing over the years and transforming into something more.

But none of that matters now. Your friend is right.

“There is more,” she says, sitting back down, “Aemond said that Alyn requested permission to marry Baela.”

Marianne widens her eyes comically, but her response is interrupted by the maids bringing in trays of food and the dress from that morning.

“Leave everything here, I will personally attend Lady Rhaena.”

The maids leave the room and the young women sit down at the table. Marianne wastes no time in bringing up the subject again, “That news is unexpected. I thought your sister would keep her… options open.”

“I thought the same,” she admits, “Though I assume it makes sense. One way or another, she has as much or more right to that inheritance than Alyn.”

Marianne nods and says after nibbling on her dates, “I met Lord Alyn yesterday.”

“Oh. Was he at the banquet? I don’t remember seeing him.”

“Perhaps because you left before he could introduce himself.”

“And what impression did he make on you?”

“He seemed… solemn. Quiet, serious.”

“Mmm,” Rhaena sighs, “Baela said he was a good person.”

“And during the days you two spent together, your sister never hinted at her plans to marry him?”

“Not at all,” she frowns, “Though perhaps I should have guessed. From what she told me of her life on the island, they clearly have a good relationship. Or I hope so, I wouldn’t want her to be forced into a union she does not desire, or for her to have made the decision hastily.”

“And what does the prince think of such a marriage?”

“I don’t really know, we didn’t have much time to discuss it,” she shrugs, “But I doubt the crown would object, I mean, what reasons would they have to do so?”

“None. It is just another union between houses, and we are in times of peace, right? There would be no point in refusing.”

Rhaena nods, though her lady’s mention of times of peace brings to mind Baela’s words about waiting for her chance for revenge. The girl watches her friend’s clear eyes, her expression relaxed and innocent as she sips her juice. Part of her wants to confess what her sister implied, to unburden some of her worries on a friendly shoulder, but she knows it’s better to keep quiet. And not because she doesn’t trust Marianne, but because it’s better not to involve her in whatever Baela’s plans are.

One more reason for you to have a serious conversation with Alyn Velaryon, she thinks.

“Rhaena? Are you listening to me?” The question snaps her out of her thoughts and she nods quickly, “We must hurry. We’ll have to take the carriage to the royal forest.”

Rhaena lets her friend take over, fixing her hair and selecting her jewelry, “I am sorry about the prince, but you won’t be wearing that butterfly necklace today,” she says as she puts a beautiful, albeit heavy, gold necklace with embedded rubies in her neck, “Yes, this is the one. It matches your dress.”

The chosen crimson and gold dress fit comfortably on her figure, leaving her shoulders bare.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” Rhaena comments.

“I hope Prince Daeron thinks so too,” Marianne ventures.

Rhaena links arms and they leave her room, “I am certain he will. Now, tell me, Daeron aside, who do you think will shine at the tournament?”

“Benjicot Blackwood is a strong contender.”

“Is Lord Benjicot here?”

“Lady Blackwood confirmed that to me yesterday,” Marianne nods. “Before I forget, we were invited to dine in her chambers today. Us, and Lady Redwyne, as well as my aunt, Lady Johanna.”

“I did not know your aunt was in the capital.”

“She decided to come and take the opportunity to find a husband for my cousin Tyshara. You will meet them tonight. My aunt is particularly interested in making your acquaintance.”

“No more than I am,” Rhaena assures, “Besides, I miss the conversations of the old ladies of the court,” she giggles

“You grow fond of them, don’t you?”

They both stop suddenly when a tall, burly man stops in front of them. It doesn’t take Rhaena long to guess who he is, and she doesn’t need to see the seahorse designs embroidered on the front of his doublet. The man is a younger version of her grandfather, Lord Corlys. The resemblance is so great that it astonishes her for a few seconds, leaving her speechless.

“Good morning, Lord Alyn,” Marianne greets with a kind smile

“Lady Westerling, Lady Rhaena,” he greets in a solemn tone

“Are you heading to the tournament, my lord?” once again it is her lady who speaks

“Indeed. And I was hoping to have my cousin’s company on the journey.”

His gaze falls on Rhaena, who had still been openly examining his appearance. Marianne strokes her arm and turns her gaze to her, who clearly wants to know if she will accept Alyn’s offer. Rhaena doesn’t particularly want to go with him, but she knows it would be rude to refuse, so she ends up nodding.

“Of course, my lord. If you both excuse me, I will find another carriage.”

Marianne leaves them alone and Alyn extends his arm to Rhaena.

“Thank you,” she says as they cross the courtyard of the Keep in silence and climb into one of the several carriages set to transport them to the tournament site.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, cousin,” Alyn says once they are comfortably seated.

“I say the same, Lord Alyn,” she nods, giving him a polite smile.

“I was hoping we could have a little chat alone,” he says as the carriage moves into motion.

“I hear you, my lord.”

“There is no need to be so formal,” he replies, frowning, “We are family after all.”

When Rhaena nods, there are a few minutes of awkward silence between them. She is aware that her cousin is watching her with apprehension, but she does not intend to say more. She does not know exactly why, and she does not like to think that she is being rude, but she prefers to let him make the effort to converse with her.

“I am sure you know that I will be the one to escort you to the sept on your wedding day.”

“I know that, and I appreciate your consideration.”

“Of course, it is my duty. Besides, it will be a pleasure to do so, of course,” he says quickly, frowning again, “I hope that these days can serve to get to know each other better, cousin. Surely your sister told you that you can count on me for whatever you need. Although you are a Targaryen, you are also part of the Velaryon family. And I want to make sure you are treated appropriately and befitting your position.”

Rhaena raises her eyebrows at him, fighting back the urge to ask where that sense of family was when he practically left her to fend for herself at the Eyrie even though, as lord of Driftmark, he could have welcomed her on the island as well.

Maybe Baela was enough for him, that pesky voice in her mind says.

“I appreciate your noble intentions,” she simply replies.

There is another moment of silence. Rhaena turns her face to look at the road and realizes that they have already left the city. The carriage sways as it makes its way through the rough stretches towards the royal forest.

“I would also like to take this opportunity to let you know that your sister and I…”

“Are you planning to get married?” she interrupts, turning to look at him, “I am aware.”

The shock is clearly reflected on his face, “Baela assured me that she had not told you about our plans.”

“Did you speak to her?” it is her turn to be surprised.

“We met during our journey on the Blackwater,” he replies, “She assured me that she had not been able to tell you about our coming wedding.”

“Was it really for a lack of opportunities or a lack of desire to convey the news?” she asks in a harsher voice than she intends.

“The circumstances of her visit were not appropriate. Your sister did not feel at ease in the Red Keep.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” she replies and then stares at him, “I want to believe that my sister is not being forced into such a union. I know that our situation is not ideal. We are nothing more than two young noble ladies with no parents and no other relatives, no lands or money. I hope you have not…”

“Taken advantage of the situation?” he finishes. To her surprise, a smile appears on his face, “I also know what it is like to be in a precarious situation. In a different way, of course, but I would not dare abuse my position to try to subdue your sister. I would not even try.”

Rhaena studies his expression for a moment, debating his honesty.

“I hope so,” she finishes by saying.

“We decided to marry because we feel a deep affection for each other,” Alyn says, “I assure you, cousin Rhaena, that I will make your sister happy, just as she makes me happy.”

His words ease her worries somewhat. She doesn't believe Alyn is lying to her, not when his voice sounds full of affection for her sister, but she intends to write to her anyway and ask for explanations.

“That is good to know,” she says simply, grateful that the carriage has stopped.

Alyn helps her down and Rhaena looks around at the numerous tents with squires, servants and grooms coming in and out to ready the horses. Everything is so colorful, everything seems so full of life and there is a clear excitement in the air that Rhaena can’t help but get excited. Maybe Marianne is right and the tournament will turn out to be more interesting than she imagines.

“Come, cousin, let me accompany you.”

Rhaena takes his arm and they walk over to where an oval stone structure, which she assumes is the arena for the jousts, stands imposingly. Several nobles are heading there as well, though Rhaena doesn’t stop to chat with any of them. And when her eyes meet Corwyn’s, she quickly looks away, remembering her conversation with her lady.

Rhaena bids Alyn farewell and walks up the stairs to the main platform. As she arrives, she notices that several members of the royal council, the high septon, and Queen Alicent are already seated. As is Aemond. Although his back is turned to her, nerves take over at the sight of him.

“Lady Rhaena, we were expecting you.”

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking up to the woman, “I am sorry I am late.”

The woman offers her a polite smile, “You are just in time, we have not even started yet.”

The Dowager Queen turns her gaze to the arena, where the banners of the contestant houses are already set up. Rhaena notices the slight tremor in the woman’s hands, who keeps fidgeting with her rings as she looks around apprehensively. The girl wonders if she is looking for Daeron.

“Surely Prince Daeron will show his talents this morning,” she is heard saying, “And the gods will watch over him at all times.”

Her words seem to surprise the Dowager Queen, who softens her expression and nods, “May the gods protect us all.”

Rhaena offers her one last smile before turning and finding her place. Though there are a couple of empty spots next to the council members, she knows she is expected to sit in the chair next to Aemond. So, ignoring the tingling in her stomach, she walks over to her cousin, sitting gracefully and smoothing out the folds of her dress.

“Good morning, cousin,” she greets politely, tilting her face toward him and offering a tentative smile.

“Rhaena,” he replies, looking back at her, “What caused you to be late?”

 “Lord Alyn Velaryon”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, clearly asking her to explain.

“My cousin wanted to introduce, and let me in on the news of his betrothal to my sister.”

“Did you question him about his motives?”

“I made my concerns known to him, yes,” she nods, “He assured me that they are unfounded. That he has under no circumstances pressured my sister into agreeing to marry him and what’s more… he told me that it is their affection for each other that motivates them to unite.”

“And you believed him?” he asks, curious, turning his body towards her.

“I found his words sincere, yes,” she admits with a sigh, “He takes it for granted that the wedding will take place, though I got the impression, from what you said yesterday, that the Crown does not seem to favor the union. You said that…”

“That it put more pressure on us,” he recalls, repeating his words from the banquet.

“How will…?”

Rhaena cuts off her question when a trumpet sounds, causing the arena to fall absolutely silent. Queen Alicent stands and walks to the edge of the platform, offering a smile to her subjects before speaking of the fortunate morning and the reason for the tournament. At the mention of their names, Rhaena and Aemond stand, taking a couple of steps to the edge.

“They are chanting our names,” she says with a smile, looking at Aemond.

He frowns, amazed to hear his name as the common people throw roses into the sand, smiling in his direction and shouting phrases that he can’t understand, but imagines are wishes for prosperity.

“Let us salute properly,” Rhaena whispers before clasping their hands and raising them, causing the people to cheer even more enthusiastically.

She waves with her free hand at each end of the arena, and although Aemond doesn’t imitate her, at least he doesn’t break contact abruptly, instead squeezing her hand gently, indicating that they should return to their seats.

Once seated, Rhaena tries to pull her hand away from the prince’s, but he doesn’t allow it. She looks up at him, amazed, but he ignores her, his gaze fixed on the sand and his fingers slowly caressing hers. The rough pads of his fingers forming patterns in the palm of her hand, sending a current of electricity to the rest of her body.

Rhaena swallows and tries to relax by looking at the tournament attendees. In the seats on the sides, the nobles are comfortably seated. She meets the gaze of Marianne, who is talking to a tall, attractive woman with dark hair whom she assumes is her aunt Johanna. Next to them, a young woman with blonde curls seems to observe everything around her with eyes full of wonder.

A little further on, Alyn Velaryon is talking to a man she doesn't know. A couple of steps down she finds Corwyn sitting next to Lord Tarly. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of them together and her suspicions increase when Lord Tarly appears to hand him a scroll which Corwyn quickly puts away in his doublet. Rhaena, who has not forgotten the insinuations the old man made while they were dancing, cannot help but wonder if they are partners in intrigue? Did they know each other? She does not have time to wonder more because she feels Aemond's penetrating gaze on her. “Who are you watching with such concern?”

“No one in particular,” she lies, turning to her cousin

“Mmm,” he narrows his good eye in her direction

“You didn’t answer yourself,” she says quickly, trying to divert his attention, “Why would Baela’s marriage mean more pressure on us?”

“Because if your sister has a son, a part of the kingdom would consider him the heir to the Iron Throne.”

His words take a few seconds to register in her mind. Finally, she makes a dismissive sound, “That is ridiculous. A son of Baela would have royal blood, sure, but he would be far below the line of succession.”

“Not to the noble houses who call my brother Usurper,” he replies harshly.

“Do you think they would rise up to place Baela’s son as king?” she asks in a small voice.

“It is a possibility,” he agrees, “At least the royal council thinks it is a risk we should not take.”

Aemond continues to speak, but she does not listen.

Was that what Baela intended? To marry Alyn Velaryon, a powerful and wealthy lord who would aid her cause in putting her son on the Iron Throne? Was that why she had insisted Rhaena to drink moon tea as often as necessary once Aemond started calling her to his chambers? Surely that was why she had arranged for a trusted servant to be placed in Rhaena's care. To ensure that she had no children. So that nothing would prevent her from placing her own on the throne.

The thought makes her sick. And, strangely, fills her with anger.

Why couldn’t Baela just accept her place? She was going to marry a noble and seemingly decent man. She could have a quiet, peaceful life, full of freedom and comfort. Why did she want to change it all? And especially, why did she want to take away her chance to have her son as the king?

You are being unfair, that little part of her mind says, but she ignores it. Her sister clearly believed her place was not in Driftmark, but in the capital, being the queen, as she had been urged to believe since her betrothal to Jace.

“Rhaena,” Aemond’s voice draws her from her thoughts, his long fingers squeezing her small hand and drawing her attention, “Do not be afraid.”

Their gazes meet for a moment, and unexpectedly, Aemond leans in. Rhaena’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to kiss her. For a moment, she wishes he would, even though she knows he wouldn’t dare. Not in public, not when… Her thoughts stop as she feels his lips settle near her ear, his warm breath brushing against her skin and causing it to tingle. Though it’s the words he whispers that truly make her heart pound with force, “It will be our children who inherit the throne.”

There is so much conviction in his voice that Rhaena closes her eyes. His lips brush her earlobe and a gasp leaves her lips, though thankfully there is so much noise in the arena that it goes unnoticed.

Aemond pulls away from her, and when he looks at her, there is fire in his gaze. And… desire. A desire that, she thinks, must be similar to what she is feeling. The one that makes her breath come fast and her lower belly seem flooded with a sensation she neither understands nor knows how to describe.

Rhaena looks away, embarrassed, though she notices Aemond’s smug smile. For once, she doesn’t care about his insolence. She chooses to take a deep breath and focus on the fight.

“It is Daeron,” she says suddenly, noticing the dragon-patterned armor of the knight advancing with his heavy lance to the platform.

“He will open the tournament,” Aemond replies with a frown, “Where is he going?”

“I think he is coming to ask a lady's favor,” she smiles

“Not yours, surely,” he mutters under his breath

Rhaena shakes her head and watches her cousin walk over to where Marianne sits. She can’t hear what he says, but she does not need to, because when he points his spear at his lady, she gives him a huge smile before taking the ornament she’s so painstakingly crafted and letting it fall to the base of the spear.

“That was lovely,” Rhaena sighs.

Clearly the people think the same, because they cheer with delight as the prince returns to his place, ready to face Lord Bar Emmon.

“I spoke to him about getting married,” Aemond surprises her.

“Did you?”

“I even mentioned your lady’s name,” he nods. “He seemed to favor the idea.”

“That is good news!”

The smile Rhaena gives him is so wide and sincere, the prince struggles not to return it.

“Do not get your expectations up yet just yet, I need to consult with…”

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, squeezing their clasped hands, “I appreciate the effort.”

The prince nods and watches his brother spur his horse to charge toward his opponent. There is a moment of tense suspense and he hears his mother’s gasp as lances ring out, a horse whinnies, and Lord Bar Emmon falls to the ground. Aemond turns to look at Alicent, who is pale and has raw fingers, but seems tremendously relieved. The people cheer as Prince Daeron emerges triumphant from the arena.

“That was intense,” Rhaena says from beside him

“He shouldn’t have participated,” Aemond grumbles

His betrothed watches him for a few seconds, “You are worried he might get hurt.”

He does not respond, but he does not need to, for Rhaena knows she is right.

The rest of the tournament passes between a succession of different knights, with Lord Blackwood and Lord Manderly standing out as favorites alongside Daeron.

When the last match is finally fought, Rhaena stands up, her legs feeling numb from sitting for so long. Aemond finally lets go of her hand, and follows her down from the platform.

After bidding farewell to the dowager queen, her cousin escorts her to the carriage where Marianne is already waiting.

“I did not expect the tournament to drag on so long,” she confesses as they walk, watching the sun already high in the sky.

“It gets tedious as the hours go by,” Aemond agrees.

“Well, we will just have to tolerate it for a couple more days,” she replies as she smiles at him, stopping near the carriage.

“Yes, just a couple more days,” he nods, looking at her and adds, “And then you will be my wife.”

***

Daeron is not looking for her.

At least not consciously.

Still, he is not surprised to find her in Maegor's Holdfast.

Hardly anyone visits the place anymore, not after what happened with Helaena, so it is the perfect spot to get away from everyone at Court for a while.

Ellyn Baratheon steps away from the windowsill and tilts her face toward him, her expression half annoyed and half relieved at the sight of the prince. Of all the members of the royal family, he was the only one she was glad to see. Though she knew better.

Daeron sits across from her, and the young queen chooses not to look at him, so she turns her gaze toward Blackwater Bay. For a long moment, a comfortable silence settles between them, until he breaks it.

“It is good to see you out of your chambers.”

Ellyn does not answer, she only nods and listens to him sigh before insisting.

“Are you hiding from the Court?”

The woman closes her eyes for a moment, “From my sisters, mainly. They are driving me crazy with their attentions.”

“I know well how it is,” Daeron smiles, “Your absence was felt at the tournament.”

“I doubt it,” she replies, shaking her head, “Lady Rhaena seems to monopolize the attention these days.”

The prince does not miss the bitterness in his sister-in-law’s voice, “You are the queen. We will always love…”

“No, please, Daeron, do not continue,” she cuts him off, finally looking at him. Her dark blue eyes two wells filled with impatience and pain, “You do not need to comfort me. I know well how things are.”

I know what a failure I am, she thinks, looking back at the river.

“I am so sorry about what happened, Ellyn,” the prince’s voice sounds genuinely sad, “I was hoping this time would be different.”

“You and the entire kingdom,” she replies once again, full of bitterness.

Ellyn closes her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek, but she wipes it away quickly.

She does not plan on crying in front of Daeron. Or in front of anyone else. She’s had enough of that.

When she opens her eyes again, she examines the prince more carefully. He is still wearing his armor, which shows a dent in his thigh.

“Did you have any luck in the tournament?” she asks.

“I did.”

Her eyes drift to the crown of blue flowers in his hands, “Who?”

“Lady Marianne Westerling”

“Good choice,” she replies, feeling a strange lump in her throat, “She is a good girl.”

“I know,” Daeron admits, his voice filled with sadness

Her brother-in-law’s hand finds hers. It is barely a touch, an innocent caress, but Ellyn can’t bear it.

“Daeron, no,” she replies, pulling her hand away

“Ellyn I…”

Against her better judgment, she looks at the prince. His violet eyes look pleading and also helpless.

“Go tend to that wound,” she replies, pointing to his side, where a spear has clearly pierced the flesh and drawn blood.

Her voice is quiet enough that Daeron doesn’t insist.

Ellyn looks back at the bay and feels the prince’s gaze on her for long seconds, until she hears his heavy feet start moving and leaves her alone again.

***

She immediately takes a liking to Lady Johanna Westerling.

Rhaena is enjoying her conversation with the lady of Casterly Rock, who entertains everyone at the table with her anecdotes.

“I can tell my aunt likes you too,” Marianne whispers at her side as they eat dessert.

Once Lady Redwyne’s guests have dispersed into the drawing room, the woman approaches Rhaena.

“I admit I am pleased with you, Lady Rhaena,” she says bluntly, “You are exactly what people comments of you”

“I am glad to hear that, Lady Johanna,” she admits with a smile.

“And I am glad my niece has a fine lady to serve,” she comments as they walk around the room, “I was hoping the same might be true of my daughter.”

“I would be honored to welcome her as one of my ladies.”

“I do not think it would be the best fit for Tyshara,” she replies with a sigh, “Court would provide too many distractions for her, and I am sorry to say that she is not as sensible as her sisters. She needs a husband with character.”

“That is what you came for, is it not?”

“As well,” Lady Johanna admits, “Any suggestions in the matter?”

“Oh no, my lady, I dare not name anyone.”

“Well, you should. Soon the noble ladies of the realm will seek your counsel in that regard.”

“It seems to me that that falls within the queen’s duties,” Rhaena denies.

“Ah, our queen!” Lady Johanna sighs, “Such a young woman, and so unfortunate. The gods can be cruel in their ways.”

Rhaena does not know what to say, so she only nods.

“I hear that Marianne hopes to marry Prince Daeron.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“It was not necessary,” the woman smiles, “I only had to see her at the tournament this morning to see her obvious longing.”

“It is a match I would be pleased with,” Rhaena comments.

“It would please me as welI,” Lady Johanna nods, “It is good to strengthen ties between allies. The crown needs it.”

“Perhaps you should look among one of your allies for Lady Tyshara’s future husband.”

“I had thought of Lord Velaryon, but it seems he is already betrothed.”

“Yes, I found out recently.”

Lady Johanna examines her curiously, “Young Lord Royce is a good candidate.”

“Oh yes, Lord Robb, I know him,” she says quickly, “His father is a good man, honorable and…”

Rhaena begins to tell her about her experiences with House Royce during her stay in the Vale.

“Do you think your aunt would really send your cousin so far away?” she asks Marianne as they walk to her chambers.

“If she thinks it necessary, yes,” her lady replies.

“But the Vale?” Rhaena frowns. “The Lannisters aren’t very well liked there.”

 It doesn’t make much sense, she thinks. Great lords usually preferred to marry their daughters to their closest vassals, thus reinforcing the loyalty of lesser houses to their own.

“Well, nothing is set in stone yet, maybe not… Hey!”

Marianne lets out a little cry of protest as a small boy, clearly a servant, runs through their midst.

“How rude,” she comments, watching the boy walk away quickly. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he wanted to give me this,” she whispers, showing her the parchment the boy had skillfully placed in her hand. “Who is it from? Prince Aemond?”

Rhaena places her fingers on Marianne’s lips and they almost run to her room. Once inside, the girl opens the seal and reads the letter. The message is short, and as soon as she reads it, he crumples the parchment in her hands and throws it into the fireplace.

“Why…?”

“It is from Corwyn,” she replies.

“Why is he writing to you?”

“He wants to see me,” she explains, her breathing labored and her body shaking. “He wants me to meet him in the godswood at the hour of the wolf.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm sorry it took me so long to update, this past weeks were rough. Hopefully you're still into this story, which I do not plan to abandon. Let me know what you think so far? thanks for reading!

@user05152535456 @pugetprincess @draftswriting @hopefulnovelwritingland @maymunahar @niocel @goldenjoyboyy @gracelessbeach @jenmakeusin10 @dagma18 @atargcvnt @iidontgiveafuckuniverse @ammo23 @qyburnsghost @ithoughtulikedme @avidreader73

Let me know if you want to be tagged

Thanks for reading :)

[cheeriecherrymain]

Your Room [Viktor x fem!Reader] [2/2]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: E (18+) Chapter Content: fingering | Viktor has a filthy mouth | dom Viktor | p in v | dirty talk (kind of) | oral (fem receiving) | crying in a good way but not in a kinky way Proofread: lol no

[Part 1]

---

---

The walk back to Viktor’s room seems longer than it actually is.

Punctuated only by the soft click of your shoes, the two of you meander forward, hand in hand. The pad of his thumb is soft, affectionately stroking over the curve of your knuckles. 

Neither of you say anything: there’s not much to be said, anyways. You both know what’s going to happen the moment you’re behind closed doors. You both know that your relationship is going to change forever.

The thought alone sends little thrills coursing through your veins - not only the fact that you’re probably about to have the best sex in your entire life, but also the fact that you’ll get to keep him afterwards. The fact that you’ll get to take him on dates, and learn new things about him, and have all kinds of experiences that you otherwise wouldn’t.

His steps falter then, startling you out of your thoughts as the two of you come to a stop, smack in the middle of a wide, empty hallway.

“You okay?” you ask, concerned.

Strangely enough, though, he only tightens his hand around yours, giving you a gentle smile. “I was going to ask the same of you,” he admits. “You stopped breathing for a moment - I wanted to make sure you were…you know. Okay.”

You bite back a grin, and nudge him a little to make him walk again.

“I was just thinking,” you explain quietly, once you find your pace together. “I’m excited for tonight.”

You don’t miss the way the corner of his mouth quirks.

“But I’m also excited for tomorrow night. And the night after that. After the night after that. I’m looking forward to making a future with you - I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m glad you’ll be a part of it.”

The air hangs heavy between the two of you, so thick that you can almost feel it every time you draw a breath. Viktor has, much to your amusement, quickened his steps. He tugs you down the hall, possibly faster than you’ve ever seen him amble, and you’re unable to resist the delighted little giggle that bubbles past your lips.

—

His room is thankfully not too far.

It still takes forever for him to dig out his keys and fumble around with them, though. You almost expect him to drop them, with the way he haphazardly leafs around the ring, but he doesn’t. He all but shoves the door open once it’s unlocked, stepping aside to let you in.

The front hallway is remarkably narrow, but he appears to have thought ahead and left a light on that morning. You’re grateful, really - with the amount of clutter he’s got piled up along one wall, you’re certain that you would have tripped or broken something.

Either way, you don’t get much time to look around.

The door clicks shut behind you, and in an instant, Viktor’s hands are on your waist. Spinning you around so he can oh so sweetly press you against the open wall, bringing your lips together in a searing kiss.

He wastes no time reaching around to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your skirt, shoving the offending material away from your body. You briefly wonder how he even knows where all your buttons and clasps are located, but the more you think about it, the less surprised you are.

He’s always been detail-oriented. Why would this be any different?

You, on the other hand, have a more difficult time divesting him of his clothing. Not for the complicated design, or a ridiculous amount of ties and folds - rather, every time you try to remove something, he squirms around and drags you closer to his bedroom.

“Viktor…” you whine, when you finally arrive at your destination.

Your clothes have been discarded and dropped along your pathway, leaving you mostly bare to the slightly chilled air of his apartment. He, on the other hand, is still entirely dressed, much to your dismay.

You recline comfortably across his bed, shyly peeking up at him where he stands at the end, shamelessly leering at you. Worry wiggles in the back of your mind for a moment, wondering briefly if you looked alright, if he was pleased with what he saw.

Until he starts pulling at his own garments in earnest.

Gaze never leaving your body, he loosens his tie and tosses it aside. Pops the buttons of his vest apart, letting it fall off his shoulders. Unclips the cuffs of his shirt, and pulls it over his head.

You can see the way his face darkens as each article plops to the floor. Flushed the most delectable shade of pink, from the tops of his cheekbones out to the tips of his ears. Most notably, you can see the way he avoids meeting your eyes, despite the fact that he’s still looking at you.

You push yourself up, rising to your knees.

“C’mere,” you murmur, eagerly reaching towards him. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the usual bone-deep chill of his hands - dotted with little freckles and moles, speckled across the expanse of his pale flesh.

“You’re perfect,” you tell him honestly, before pulling him down into a kiss. Slower than your previous one, deeper and more insistent. His lips easily part when you nip at them, allowing you to slide your tongue hot against his - a soft groan tumbling out.

This time, when you move to the waist of his trousers, he doesn’t try to redirect or deter you. You can feel him tense slightly, but he ultimately allows you to remove the last of his clothes. You, of course, have always been efficient: you shove his slacks down alongside his underwear, keeping your grip on him steady while he kicks the pile aside.

And then you pull him forwards.

Entirely ungraceful, he tumbles onto the bed with you, allowing you to take advantage of his momentary loss of balance to flip him over onto his back. He fights you a little bit, snorts and giggles rising up between the two of you while you squirm around and bat at each other.

A squeal, erupting from you when he pinches the soft fat of your ass.

A debauched gasp, when you dig your nails into his hips.

Until you’re able to settle finally, dispelling some of the nervous tension that had accumulated on the walk over. Smiling warmly at each other, hopeful for the future you’ll be making together, excited about what adventures you might go on.

Excited for the rest of the evening.

You lean towards him and draw him into another kiss, slow and intimate. Your breath mingling together as you bring your bodies impossibly closer. You can feel where he presses against your tummy, his cock already hard and leaking with desire.

Never parting from him, you bring your hand down to wrap around him, reveling in the way his breath catches in his throat when you squeeze your fingers around velvety flesh. He’s thick, you think, your mind trailing back to earlier, when he’d been four fingers deep in your desperate cunt.

He’d told you that it would still be a tight squeeze, and god, you’re more than thrilled that he’d been telling the truth. 

“Fuck, you’re going to fill me up so good,” you sigh dreamily, parting your lips for the briefest moment. “If I didn’t want to tease you so much, I’d be begging you to fuck me right now.”

Since leaving the lab, he’d been calm. Easygoing and pliant, reciprocating your touches with his own tentative ones: a contradiction to how he’d treated you when he’d had half his hand inside you, whispering filth in your ear, promising you the most delicious things.

But now, as you murmur those same dirty little things to him?

It’s like a switch flips inside him.

He swiftly bullies you onto your back, all but ripping your panties down your legs, tossing them carelessly aside. Your bra follows suit, and then his mouth is on you - sucking little bruises into your skin, leaving behind the tender imprints of his teeth. You’re going to be feeling him for hours.

“I should fuck you,” he growls, rolling one of your nipples around before pinching hard. “You were so desperate earlier - I bet your sweet little cunt is still loose and wet from my fingers. I could just slide right in.”

As if to emphasize his point, he slides the blunt head of his cock through your folds, applying the barest hint of pressure when he catches on your hole. Teasing you, taunting you, not quite pushing hard enough as to sink in and give you what you want.

You whine impatiently, trying in vain to roll your hips, hoping that he might have mercy and fill you.

“I’m not going to,” he tells you, plainly. You open your mouth to protest, but he’s quick to shush you with an open-mouthed kiss, mostly tongue.

“I want to taste you first,” he hums, kissing a path down the column of your throat. “I want to fuck you with my tongue, and make sure you’re nice and open for me.”

From your neck, to your collarbone, to the center of your chest, he leaves a scalding wet trail. Pausing briefly to find his entertainment with your breasts, laving his tongue over one nipple before closing his lips around it to deliver a harsh suck. Giving attention to both of them, until they’re sore and puffy and drawn into stiff peaks.

Only once he’s satisfied does he continue his journey down your body, leaving more bites in his wake.

Even once he’s inches from your weeping pussy, he still teases you. Nipping and sucking at the insides of your thighs, your legs held open by his dextrous hands. His breath tickles the soft hairs littering your skin, making you squirm beneath his ministrations.

“Viktor, please,” you whimper, trailing your own hand down towards your drenched cunt, desperately searching for any kind of pleasure, even just to take the edge off.

As expected, he bats you away.

“Keep your hands by your head,” he orders lowly, glaring up at you with beautiful honeyed eyes. The familiar amber now almost totally eclipsed by the black of his pupils. “You’ll have your pleasure from me, or you’ll not have it at all - understood?”

You whine.

He smacks the inside of your thigh, not an inch from your dripping core.

“Understood?” he repeats, and this time, you nod.

After that, he gives you what you would truly describe as the most blissful kind of torture you’ve ever experience. Keeping you waiting, wanting, thirsting for move of him.

His tongue plunged deep into your hole, while he flicks his thumb over your puffy clit. Working fast designs onto your slick bud, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Only to change his tactics on a whim, removing his mouth from you entirely so he can fuck three fingers into you without so much as a warning.

Crooking them perfectly within you to find that delicious little spot, sending a dull ache of pleasure through every nerve in your body. Relentless in his movements, he keeps his eyes on your face so he can watch you writhe and cry.

“Look at you,” he coos, pulling his fingers out right as you’re about to come. You whine in frustration at the loss of sensation, tightening your grip on the headboard, but he only grins up at your mercilessly.

“Pretty thing, getting all worked up like that,” slowly, almost tenderly, he spreads your pussy open, watching enthralled as you tremble and clench around nothing, so close to your orgasm and yet so painfully far. “As if I would let you come so soon. You can sob and beg and cry as much as you want to, you can make a mess: it doesn’t matter. You’ll come when I allow it.”

He flicks his tongue over your clit again, bemusement sparkling in his eyes when the smallest spatter of fluid squirts out of your cunt, dribbling down his chin. “Though,” he hums, “I might have to make you do that again.”

And just like that, he continues his beautiful torment.

Bringing you to the edge again and again, almost gleeful when you whine like he’d predicted, sobbing, begging, crying.

Until you’re unable to do much more than quiver at his touch, your voice hoarse and broken, throat dry. You don’t understand how he’s able to reduce you to such a state, tears tracked down your cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, eyes lidded and glazed over with desire.

You’re so dazed and out of it, you barely even notice the press if his lips on your tummy. Slowly, gently, kissing his way back up your body, leaving a pathway of warmth as he goes.

“Oh, milý,” he whispers, when he finally reaches your face. Littlering your cheeks with little smooches, his previously joyous expression falters slightly.

“I didn’t break you, did I?” he asks, the genuine concern obvious in his tone. “If it’s too much for you, we can stop for tonight - no questions asked. We can-”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, and immediately you begin squirming. A flurry of movement, gripping weakly at whatever parts of his body you can reach, all in an attempt to dissuade him from the idea.

“No, no no no,” you beg, your eyes welling up with fresh tears. “Please- please- I want to come- Viktor I’ve been good, I’ve been good for you-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hand finding your jaw so he can guide you into a sweet kiss. “You’ve been so good for me, letting me have my fun with your perfect cunt, giving me whatever I so desire. You didn’t even come, just as I told you to.”

He grips your hip and rolls you onto your side, where you both lay facing each other. His expression infinitely softer than it had been, all the warmth and affection he feels for you seeping forth from him, comforting you with each delicate press of his fingers.

“Would you take me now, milý?” he asks quietly, hooking a hand behind your knee so he can hike your leg up over his hip. “Would you let me fill you up? With my cock, with my come?”

You sniffle wetly, overwhelmed from the sudden onslaught of emotion. But still, you muster a nod. 

“Please,” you whimper.

Your lips meet again, slow and unhurried as you mesh together, parting and gasping and crying out, tongues sliding against each other.

The dull pressure of his cock nudging your entrance, already slick with your wetness.

And then, slowly.

Slowly,

Slowly,

He spreads you open. His blunt head sliding into you, inch by inch, deeper and deeper, impossibly deep, you’ve never felt so full in your entire life. The stretch burns so perfectly, despite the way he’d fucked you with his fingers, nothing could have truly prepared you for the all-encompassing feeling of him finally sheathing himself within you.

The two of you stay like that for several moments, wrapped up tightly in one another, your breaths catching in your throats and mingling. His voice, as cracked and debauched as yours is, rumbling forth from his throat.

“You’re incredible,” he groans, his brows pulling together as he fights to not lose himself in the sensations. “Perfect- můj krásný miláčku.”

Once he starts fucking you, his pace is relentless. 

His thrusts are short and quick, just barely pulling out of your ruined cunt before fucking hard back in, finding a rhythm in mere moments, holding you close while he uses your drenched hole.

You can tell he’s lost to the pleasure, his movements sloppy and bordering on unhinged, though no less delectable - and after everything he’s put you through, it doesn’t take much for your orgasm to approach once again. Every muscle in his body is strung taut, holding you so close, keeping your sweat-slicked foreheads pressed together.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he huffs, his pace never faltering. “You squeeze around me so good - I never imagined you’d feel like this. All my nights alone in the lab couldn’t compare to how you feel- fuck!”

In his desperation to see you come, he manages to slip a hand between your bodies, to rub fast little shapes against your oversensitive and swollen clit. You practically wail the moment he makes contact, digging your nails into his skin.

“Come for me,” he demands, begs. “Come for me, and I’ll fill you up-”

Your breath catches in your throat.

And your orgasm crests over you. White-hot and violent, sending tremors down each of your limbs as the world around you is drowned out and all you can feel is Viktor. 

Inside you.

His breath, tickling your face.

His hips, stilling against you.

Filling you, hot.

Impossibly full, dripping out of you.

Time is lost to you, with nothing but the flutter of your heart to alert you to the passing minutes. You’re boneless, untethered, floating aimlessly in an unknown place of unimaginable bliss.

Until slowly, tenderly, lovingly, you’re brought back to yourself.

The warmth of a damp cloth, cleaning you up, followed by another to softly pat you dry. The feeling of lips, gentle against your skin, and the pads of fingers, drawing patterns over your sides. Leaving goosebumps behind.

You take a deep breath.

Sigh in contentment.

Open your eyes.

And there is Viktor, staring at you with the utmost affection, and dare you say, love. His cheek smushed into a pillow, he watches you as he touches you, innocently, waiting patiently while you gather your wits and come back to him.

“Are you well?” he wonders, bringing a hand up to your face, stroking his thumb over the curve of your cheek.

You huff a quiet laugh.

“I think I love you, Viktor.”

[maggiedelusional]

Been Here Along (Preview)

Summary: Why are you so good at helping your best friend with his relationship problems? Probably because you've been doing it your entire life. Unrequited love is a bitch, especially if it has spanned several decades. Maybe he'll come to his senses, or maybe its time to give someone else a chance.

Warnings: Angst (but do you really expect anything else from me?), cursing

Length: 1.4k

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader, Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!reader

A/N: The summer is here and for the first time in 4 years I am not studying or working so you better bet my days will be empty and just for writing. This is one of two things I currently have in the works. This one specifically is looking like a one-shot (or two-three shot). The other one is looking like a series, and hopefully I can post the first part in the near future. But here is the preview of been here all along, let me know if you're intrigued and want more <3

“I don’t understand women.” Rooster says with a sigh, plopping himself down on the bar stool next to you. 

You and Phoenix, who was sitting on the stool to the other side of you share a look of light amusement before turning back to the mustached aviator. 

“It’s like they say one thing, and then mean another? Why can’t women be normal?” He groaned into the counter. 

“What do you mean by that Bradshaw?” Phoenix narrowed her eyes at her friend.

You inwardly chuckled before joining Nat in her joking disapproval. 

“Yeah, are you saying women aren’t normal? In our day in age of 2023,you, Bradley Bradshaw have the audacity to say something so misogynistic in the presence of women!”

“You know I always saw you as a friend, but this interaction has me questioning the entire foundation of our friendship.” 

You and Nat were struggling to keep your laughter down as Rooster continued to groan into the counter. 

“Introducing you two to one another has been one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.” Rooster grumbled as he finally picked his head up from the bar counter. 

“Phoenix is my fucking soulmate, we would’ve been best friends with or without you.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I thought I was your best friend.” He pouted. 

“You’re my oldest friend, there's a difference.” You told him teasingly. 

“Sucks to suck Bradshaw, I’m just way cooler than you.” Phoenix poked fun at her fellow pilot. 

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at my misery, you used to love to fix my problems.” He muttered. 

“Okay okay, I’m done. What’s up Roost?” You chuckled, flashing him a concerned smile. 

“It's Abi.” 

“And that's my cue.” Phoenix hopped off her bar stool. 

“It’s time for me to kick Hangman’s ass at pool again.” She announced as she walked towards the other pilots.

“Why does she do that?” Rooster asked as she walked off.

You shrugged in response.

This was a common occurrence, Phoenix often leaves whenever Rooster starts talking about his girlfriend. She seems to do this whenever any of the guys talk about their relationships. Phoenix was very much a free bird and had no interest in the little details of people’s love lives. Even though everyone can definitely see the little flirtation she has going on with Coyote. 

“So what's wrong with Abi?” You asked, turning your body to face Rooster. 

“She’s pissed at me.”

“Again?”

Abigail was a bartender that Rooster met at a bar in the city on a night that the group decided to venture away from the Hard Deck for a change. She was on the younger side, well younger compared to the dagger squad and of course Rooster.

But she was sweet and kind and beautiful and caught Rooster’s eye that fateful night. From there they had a bit of whirlwind romance. They were together every single night and there was a good stretch of time where your group of pilots didn’t see Rooster outside of work.

Can you really blame him though? Abi was the ghost of Grace Kelly, all delicate features with light green eyes that draw you in. 

She had the sweetest voice and the personality to match. You’ve never met anyone who is as beautiful on the inside as they were on the outside. 

Her and Rooster seemed perfect…if you were an outsider.

“What did you do?” 

“I have no clue! She knows that tomorrow is my only day off for a while and I needed to blow off some steam and get a drink tonight.” 

“Okay..?”

“Then a few minutes ago, she called me asking where I was and I told her that I’m here doing exactly what I told her I was gonna do.”

“she asked why not grab a drink at her bar. And I told her that it’s too far and the guys hate it there.”

“Then she got pissed.”

It made sense now, Abi and Rooster hadn’t been together for a long time and their issues only really started as little tiffs, a few arguments here and there, but the past few weeks have been pretty rough, especially for a newer relationship. 

You suppose it has something to do with the longer hours at work. This new TOPGUN class was definitely harrowing to the crew and there was also having to be prepped for any incoming mission. 

“Brad, you’re an idiot.” 

“Hey! I thought you were gonna help me!”

“I am!”

“think about it…. what was the last thing she got mad about?”

“When I slept through our planned date because of the long hours….oh”

Realization finally replaced the confused look on his face. 

“She thought because I have a day off..”

“Keep going Roost, you’re almost there.”

“That I would spend the night with her.” He finished.

“Ding, ding, Ding! We have a winner folks!” You stood up dramatically announcing with a game show host voice. 

You held an invisible microphone up to your lips. 

“Attention folks! It was a toss-up there for a second. But I am proud to announce the winner of “Why is your girlfriend mad?”... BRADLEY “ROOSTER” BRADSHAW!!”

Your gaggle of pilots cheered from the other side of the bar, whooping and hollering at your bit, receiving raised eyebrows from the other patrons but mostly indifference as they have grown accustomed to your regular hijinks. 

“Congratulations sir, any words from the winner?”

You held an invisible mic to to his face, Rooster leaning into the imaginary mic. 

“Hello yes I would like to thank my parents, my uncle, the bartenders, my fellow pilots, and this beer from the tap, all of which have contributed to my cluelessness towards women. WIthout you all I would not be here.” 

“No thank you for me?” You raised an eyebrow. 

Rooster chuckled at your antics as you sat back down on your bar stool. 

“So what am I supposed to do?” 

“Bradley please don’t make me spell it out for you. Its right there.” 

You pointed your eyes at the phone sitting in his pocket. 

“Oh, okay. I should call!”

“Yesssss and do what???.” 

“Apologize?” 

“You got it! Finally I was getting tired over here. Hosting this game show is hard work.” You whistled wiping a fake sweat off your forehead. 

“Thanks, woods!” He exclaimed as he quickly stood up and made his way out to the back deck to call Abi. 

You watched his retreating figure enter the darkness of the night as you sighed into the back of your hand propped up by your elbow on the bar. 

“So are you some kind of masochist?” 

You quickly jumped, surprised at the sudden presence coming from the bar stool that was occupied by Phoenix several minutes ago. 

“God Bagman, please refrain from giving the host a heart attack.” 

He chuckled at your reaction. 

“Game show host huh? Bit of the week?”

“More like the night, I’m gonna workshop a few things before I make my final decision.”

“Is that so?”

“Gotta keep y’all dorks entertained somehow.” You shrugged. 

“That you do Woods.” 

“So what do you mean about me being a masochist?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“That” He pointed at Bradley on the back porch passionately talking into the phone, you couldn’t tell if it was a negative or positive emotion but it looked intense. 

But despite that he looked radiant against the light that emanated from the full moon tonight. He never failed to take your breath away. 

“What about Rooster?” You turned back to Hangman. 

“Come on dollface, I’m not blind.”

“You know Bagman, I’m surprised you’re capable of seeing things outside of your personal radius.” 

“See? If even I can see it then that tells you how obvious this little crush is.” 

His statement left your mouth hanging open. 

“I.. I can’t believe you-- how dare.” 

He kept an amused smirk as you stumble over your words. 

“You know you only make it harder on yourself when you fix his relationship problems for him.”

“I don’t-” 

He cut you off with a chuckle as he turned away back to the direction of the pool tables.

“Its okay Woods, i get it, just make sure you know what you’re doing.” 

He left with you that last piece of advice as he walked away. 

As much as you denied it. Hangman was right. You probably have loved Bradley your whole life.

Will be creating a new taglist for this work :)

[linderosse]

✨Wielders of Wisdom: Info✨

This AU began when I asked myself these two questions:

What are the Zeldas up to when their games are over and their Links are away?

Who can a Zelda call for help when Link isn’t an option?

And then I answered them as such:

Shenanigans

Other Zeldas!

In short, this is a Zeldas-meet AU with a different structure than you might expect.

Each of the nine Zeldas has their own challenges to face and mysteries to solve in their home eras. When they need to, however, they can call on some or all of the others for help. There are rules, of course. And this ability is more limited than one would think. But this gives me the power to play with Zelda combinations at will, and I have some fun ideas :).

I’m also kinda slow at drawing, and I don’t have much free time, so I’ll be continuing this through both drawing and writing. This is why the next or previous link from a comic will sometimes point to a fic, and vice versa. Check the masterpost for all links.

For the most part, this follows the Linked Universe timeline. The nicknames (like Sun, Dot, Flora, etc) aren’t technically LU canon, but they’re pretty much universally accepted by the LU fanbase. The profession nicknames (like founder, sage, scientist, etc) are my own.

I’ve also changed/clarified a few things that I want to mention. I’ll add more here as I go. I think many of you will be familiar with these changes :).

Shadow and the FSA manga are canon

Legend and Fable are siblings|twins

FSA takes place right after Minish Cap and Four Swords

Spirit and Phantom are not Wind and Tetra

Echo is Aurora, not Fable. Cadence of Hyrule is now canon and is Echo’s second adventure.

All relevant characters remember Hyrule Warriors— so long as they’ve already fought in the war

If you’re interested in why I’m making these changes, check out my detailed response here!

Speaking of, I’ve played and at least 95%ed nearly every Zelda game, and I heckin’ love the Zelda series. I have my own thoughts on the series, and I’ll be twisting a few things for a better story (same as what LU does), but if I ever get anything egregiously wrong, feel free to let me know!

Heck, let me know any of your thoughts!

I love hearing ideas and answering questions. And though I’m sometimes too socially drained to respond to things, I still read every comment and tag. Thanks for all the support! Y’all are wonderful and motivate me to make more stuff.

You can find all my previous responses at the tag #lin responds!

Masterpost

[dissvicious]

Gonna put your characters in a modernish au because an Au where Groar is a bit apprehensive because they are supposed to open for the rather notorious rockstar Buggy the Clown, who’s been known to be… difficult to work with, but they actually see their chance at getting somewhere trying to do this band thing more professionally, so they take the opportunity and… turns out that Buggy has mellowed out in the past years after his marriage to his bassist Red and the birth of their three kids.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still an asshole, but him sitting them all down to tell them just EXACTLY what he expects from them and how he WILL not tolerate tardiness and how he WILL just get someone else to open for him is just a tad diminished by three toddlers being present and him very obviously just wanting to cut to the chase so he can get back to spending the Sunday with his wife.

Law watches him down an, non alcoholic, beer and set it down on the table, while one of his kids is drawing and the other is just bouncing around the couch next to him. „If you fuckers break ANY of my equipment you can haul your asses back home.“ he states, glaring as intimidating at them as a man who’s just opened a new box of crayons for his son can glare at someone. „I don’t care how punk you think you’ll look smashing guitars or dropping mics, every single floorboard on this stage is worth more money than all of your instruments combined and I - Blaze be careful.“ He sends a chopped hand after his son who was just about to tumble off the couch, catching him by the ankle and dragging him back to safety. The kid giggles and squeals in delight and the clowns lips quirk upwards for a second. „… Well?“ „huh?“ „DID I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? GOD DID YOU SHIDIOTS NOT LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAID?“ „We’re clear!“ Osha interjects hastily. „Of course!“ Killer turns his head over his shoulder to Bepo, who they planned to bring along as a sort of buffer / intimidation tactic. Just tell the Mink to stand behind them with his arms crossed and he doesn’t even have to say anything. Should have been an easy job. To bad Bepo had immediately been confiscated by the daughter of the triplets and is now too busy cooing over her and flipping trough various kids picture books detailing the sea creatures of the grandline while she babbles happily.

They are saved from this mildly uncomfortable and confusing situation when Red herself finally comes in and Buggy shoos them out, rattling the rest of his rules (Don’t out flashy him, don’t touch his instruments, no rotisserie chicken parties, don’t look at his wife, don’t smile at her, don’t even breathe in her general direction etc.) before slamming the door behind them.

All in all this could have gone much worse.

OK SO.

First of all : THANK YOU SO MUCH. I LOVE THIS. OMG. I love every single part of it. Even if I had to google what a rotisserie chicken partie and everything I found was kinda sexual

But ALSO hold my beer because I actually had something like this (crossing Redbomb & G.R.O.A.R in a kindof modern punk AU) in mind for a while and your message was the kick in the ass I needed to work on it.

SO

In this AU Buggy is a former rockstar and a producer (fit wells with the "I'm lazy but I go and look for treasure"), he met Red as she was singing in a bar and begged her to join his label. Also in this AU life isn't a bitch and parents don't die (well, except Law biological parents) so Corazon is still alive an he comes to. every. single. G.R.O.A.R concert. and has their merch.

[koizumiyuu]

Social Outcasts

Part 12

warnings: none.

The next few days pass in a similar fashion then. (name) avoids Niragi and the rest of the more easily aggravated people, instead hanging out with Kuina and sometimes Chishiya. Her arm heals enough to no longer throb with every move she makes, and Kuina even convinces her to go swim in the pool together, when it’s earlier in the day and most of the Beach members are still asleep or recovering from the previous night of never-ending party or attending games.

When Chishiya explained the plan a few days earlier, (name) was under the impression that he has every detail worked out already. Apparently, that was not the case, and as he further explained, he still needs to scout out a person who will be completing the riskiest part of the plan. Though she has a feeling he’s leaving out some details.

This morning the Beach buzzes with a new rumor. Apparently, last night the militants recruited two new players. Everyone knows it likely wasn’t by their volition, but nobody says anything, of course. That’s just how things are here. They’ll have no choice but to adapt to the life and rules at the Beach. And if they don’t, then maybe they’re not fit to survive in this world.

The new faces show up down at the pool around midday, both already forced into swimwear and looking as out of place as ever. (name) is hanging back by herself this time, lounging in one of the chairs further back in the shade as she half-heartedly sips some cocktail of juice the clearly overly-friendly bartender mixed up for her. It’s hard to not notice the newcomers, as they automatically gravitate to awkwardly stand next to each other among the chaos of people dancing and having a good time. The stiffness is not what draws (name)’s attention though. It’s the somewhat familiar sky-blue shirt. These two were the ones who completed the Tag game she and Chishiya were in. The boy with the shaggy haircut and the athletic girl. ‘So they got roped into this too, huh? Shame, the guy looked pretty smart too… just maybe a little soft.’

Evening rolls around and the party only intensifies, before eventually, the fun part begins like every night. With fanfares and loud bass thumping, most of the drunk, half-naked, and laughing Beach members make their way to the main hall in preparation for the games where Hatter soon appears in his balcony to deliver the expected motivational spiel. (name) still has days on her visa, and her unbothered attitude has somehow made it fairly easy to slide under the militants’ radar, so she’s not attending any games herself. But she still moves with the crowd, not wanting to stand out.

Her eyes find the two newcomers in the crowd fairly easily, sticking out like sore thumbs with obviously less enthusiasm and more anxiety than the rest. Then she scans the room some more, and sees who she was looking for hanging back further away with an unbothered expression like always.

She makes her way over to him just as Kuina walks up from somewhere behind too. She smiles at (name) before following Chishiya’s gaze focusing somewhere into the crowd, giving him a questioning look.

Chishiya doesn’t avert his gaze from the two as he answers her, “We were in the same game as them.”

Kuina then looks to (name) for clarification and she just nods, equally tracking them with her gaze just like Chishiya is, “Mhm. Seemed smart enough.”

Chishiya nods slowly to her statement, adding, “They might be useful. To our plan, that is.”

Kuina just raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t comment further before walking off to find her group for joining a game. (name) silently wishes her good luck before she can catch up to that stray thought.

When the crowd starts dispersing to their respective cars, or returning to the party, (name) and Chishiya both make their way out of the main hall. Over the past week or so, (name) has gotten secretly more used to handling interactions with him, so now they even hang out by themselves sometimes. Even when Kuina isn’t around.

He’s intriguing, she thinks. For most of her life, (name) has tried time and again to limit her interactions with people. She found most of them repulsive. Selfish and careless, hiding behind a false façade of politeness and respectful words, drilled into their culture from the day they’re born. And yet they can never fully hide it, the selfishness or perverseness rearing its ugly head sooner or later anyway.

But despite (name)’s original opinion of Chishiya, he isn’t like that. He has shitty humanly flaws like all of them, but he doesn’t try pretending to be perfect, hiding behind the fake politeness. He’s selfish, and manipulative, and emotionally distant, and sure, he uses deception to make people believe otherwise when it suits him for survival. But he puts little effort into trying to appear what he’s not for most of the time. Their alliance is transactional, and both of them understand it. There’s no blown-out expectations, knowing that the other party is cooperating purely out of own self-interest.

At the start, (name) compared him to a psychopath, but after interacting with him further, she’s starting to get a feeling he’s just as done with life as she is, making him like that. It’s been a long time since she’s last been intrigued by a breathing human being, usually more fascinated by a computer screen and lines of code displayed in it. Much like many things concerning Chishiya, it’s unsettling. Though understandable, in a way.

They climb the stairs slowly, and (name) pauses at her own floor. Glancing back at Chishiya, she catches his gaze looking back in a silent conversation to follow him instead. She doesn’t question it too much, sparing one glance down the hallway before catching up to him.

He doesn’t stop at his own floor either though, instead continuing on to the very top floor and starting down the hall. Realization hits that there’s only one place they could be headed from here, and she briefly wonders how she didn’t think of coming here herself.

Chishiya pushes the roof access door open, walking through first, then holding it for her before he speaks up, “It’s less irritating to watch things from up here.”

Makes sense, she thinks. He’s one for always observing what people are doing, but staying down by the pool for long enough certainly gets overwhelming. With crowds of drunk people tripping over themselves and stumbling about.

He walks to the edge of the roof, sitting down cross-legged, and (name) follows his lead, taking a seat next to him. Sure enough, the whole pool area is clearly visible from up here, and if you lean a little, the gates to the parking lot are partially visible as well.

They sit in quiet observation for a moment, the music still clear up here but not as loud, before (name) breaks the silence, “So he’s the last part? For the plan.”

Chishiya hums in thought as if he expected her to bring it up, “I think he’d do well. Kuina’s in the same game as him right now, so we’ll see what she observes, but he seems like just the right person, you saw.”

‘Just the right person…’ (name) has some idea of what in Chishiya’s eyes is ‘just right’. The boy is fairly intelligent, but he’s soft-hearted and trusting. She briefly wonders how he even made it out alive so far. (name) nods slowly, eyes absentmindedly tracking the people dancing below, “You’ll use him and then drop him, won’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one corner of Chishiya’s lips tilt up, “Observant.”

(name) hums in response, unruffled, “Yeah, I had a feeling there was more to it.”

He doesn’t offer up anything else for now, so she speaks up again, “So why him? Why not use me or Kuina?” the answer to that is fairly obvious, but she wants to hear it from him anyway.

Chishiya doesn’t miss a beat in his answer, “Because Kuina is more useful as an ally, and you would have figured me out.”

Expected answer, yet again, and she just nods in response, not really concerned even now that she knows the full details.

A couple of hours later, Kuina is back from her game, and (name) and Chishiya meet her down by the pool again, briefly discussing what happened in the game and whether or not it was difficult. Then Chishiya encourages her to go talk to the newcomers some more, smirking in his usual way as he reasons with her to ‘make friends with them, it won’t be hard for you.’ Kuina rolls her eyes, but complies, making her way over to where the two now sit on the lounge chairs by the pool.

Their interaction doesn’t last long as soon Aguni comes strolling in, followed by his gaggle of goons and Niragi loudly ordering to cut the shitty music. At least that’s one thing out of that scumbag’s mouth (name) can agree with.

She feels Chishiya tugging on her sleeve and glances back to see him shuffling further away to not be in the spotlight. Sound idea, she thinks, following.

Aguni engages the newcomer boy, prompting him about his blond friend who seemingly hasn’t been around since the Tag game, and a brief conversation follows before he orders Niragi to bring the girl over. Niragi of course complies, always eager to act on any perverse fantasy he gets a whiff of, but to everyone’s surprise, the boy stands up in her defense, despite Kuina’s loud warning to stay out of it. (name) hears Chishiya hum in interest next to her, and her thought process is about the same. ‘Ballsy…’

Thankfully, the bullying doesn’t have a chance to escalate, as drawn by the sudden lack of music, Hatter comes to the scene, breaking up the fight, sending the militants off, and calling an executive meeting. But not before inviting the new boy along as well, whose name she now learns is Arisu. Chishiya clicks his tongue in what could be taken as displeasure at being interrupted and (name) gives him a glance.

He just shakes his head faintly, “I’ll find you later.” Before walking off after the Hatter.

Next.

[captain-mj]

Angels Of Digitalism

Part 1 Part 2

Soap sat on the couch for a bit, continuing to draw. Simon looked over his shoulder as he worked. 

He watched Johnny continue to draw. The little lines and different shades of grey. It didn’t really make sense to him until Johnny zoomed out to show everything. Simon followed each intricate detail, finding it all hypnotizing. 

Johnny was so focused, he had his tongue between his teeth as he worked. It was cute. Simon glanced at Alejandro who was still deep in his phone.

Ghost decided to ask a question. “Have you ever heard of Sacred Geometry? Your work reminds me of it.”                                    

“No.” Johnny answered as he continued to draw.

There was a moment of silence. Ghost was more than content to just let it be. 

Johnny stopped what he was doing to look up, all of his attention suddenly on Ghost. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

Ghost paused, not expecting the artist they were paying to care about that. “Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. Sounds cool.” Johnny smiled at him and clearly waited for him to go on. 

Simon nodded. “Sacred geometry is the study of the spiritual meaning in shapes. You know the fibonacci sequence right?”

“Yeah, in one of my art classes, we talked about it. If you use it while making trees and spirals, it makes them look more natural. One of the golden rations I believe.”

Simon grinned and Johnny smiled back. For a moment, Ghost wondered if he forgot to put his mask on, before realizing Johnny was just looking at his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Most of the time it’s just dozens of interlocking circles and spheres to make patterns but the other shapes are included sometimes. Cells make those patterns, atoms make those patterns, the solar system, the galaxy potentially our universe. All just boiling down into patterns that we can decipher and find the meaning of it all somehow. Circles mean the never ending loop, I believe something to do with reincarnation. The numbers that go into making them.”

“You think we can find the meaning?” Johnny asked him, looking at him with a strange amount of surety. Like Simon might actually know something. 

Simon laughed a little and immediately wanted to take it back when Johnny looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. Don’t think there is much of a meaning to anything. I think we’re just here and then we’ll die.”

“How nihilistic.” Alejandro gave him a glare over Johnny’s head. A very clear ‘we’ve talked about this and have you talked to your therapist recently and are you taking your happy meds’ glare that made Simon roll his eyes at him. 

“But if you find meaning in it, that’s up to you. Your work just reminds me of it.”

Johnny thought about it before laughing. “I think I know why! I used religious art as a reference fur some things. Especially angels, ye ken, cause o` yer name.” 

Alejandro and Ghost made eye contact over his name again. Yeah, Soap was not subtle about being scottish, but his accent thickened so suddenly Ghost couldn’t really understand it. He did find he kinda liked it though. 

“English, Soap.” Ghost decided to try. 

Johnny slowly looked at him before hissing. “Awa' 'n' bile yer heid, ye british bas.” 

Ghost blinked. “Yeah, that didn’t help. I understood that even less somehow.” 

Johnny grumbled and went back to drawing. Ghost sipped his drink and decided maybe it was time to bow out. The harnesses were done. The rigging all done. Roach would hopefully be finishing up soon. 

Johnny leaned into him, just a little. It was so he could get a better angle with what he was working on, but they were pressed close together.

Simon swallowed and waited for the usual panic that came from being unexpectedly touched so much, but nothing came. 

Maybe therapy was working. 

Alex and Roach stepped out of the room, both looking tired. “Alejandro, thank you so much for coming and helping.”

Soap glanced at Alejandro, really confused as all he saw him do was sit on the couch and type, but alright. 

“No problem guys. I’ll come every day this week.” Alejandro stood up and he and Alex fistbumped and Alejandro squeezed Roach’s shoulder as he passed. “Oh, Simon?”

Ghost looked up.

“Continue being cute for me yeah?” He winked and Ghost blew him a kiss. 

“Disgusting.” Rodolfo deadpanned. “Get a room.”

Alejandro spoke in Spanish to him and Rodolfo just shook his head. 

“I forgot to get you yesterday Soap so I thought I should make sure you come with us this time.”

The lights went out through out the building.

“Why did they put them on timers? Doesn’t even make fucking sense.” Alex turned his phone on as he spoke, illuminating them all. Slowly, everyone else got their phones out and turned them on. “Didn’t realize how late it got.” 

Soap hummed. “I thought you guys just turned them off yesterday…”

“We wouldn’t leave you in here. On purpose.” Rodolfo promised. “It’s why we sent Roach in.”

“Wait, where did Roach go?” Ghost stood up and looked around. He didn’t have his light on, but it wasn’t really necessary with so many lights already. 

Roach gently brushed his hand and Ghost tensed for a moment, before calming when he saw it was just Roach. “There you are. Don’t wander off in the dark.” He grabbed his hand. 

Rodolfo rubbed his temples. “Alright, let’s try to find the exit.” 

They all fumbled around in the dark for a while. Soap awkwardly bumped into more people than he ever wanted to. He found the door though and everyone escaped the dark venue. 

Ghost put on his helmet but perched on his motorcycle for a few minutes. Soap didn’t know why, but he waited with him.

Rodolfo did a quick head count of everyone before nodding. “Alright, everyone’s good to go home. Alex, remember, thirty minutes between edibles.”

“No.”

“Kill yourself then. Roach, please be careful in that car. It looks evil.”

Roach saluted him. 

“Ghost, remember to take your meds.” 

Ghost visibly shrank and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I fucking will.”

“Soap. Keep up the good work.”

“Wait, does Alejandro not get berated for something?? And why does Soap just get a keep up the good work?” Alex immediately complained. 

Rodolfo shrugged. “Soap is my favorite coworker and Alejandro is a guest.”

Alejandro gasped. “Mi sol, a guest?? I am a guest??”

“Yes. You’re a guest star. But still a guest. You’re not on a contract right now.”

“Wow, are we not friends?” Ghost scoffed.

“We are friends. It’s how I knew you weren’t going to take your meds, Roach was going to speed, and Alex was going to get high. I don’t know what Soap does when he’s not here!”

Soap hummed. “Mostly just take online college classes and commissions.”

“Boring. I can’t say anything about that. Oh, make sure you get grades??” Rodolfo scoffed and motioned towards Soap. “Get a better haircut??”

“I like his mohawk.” Roach used an app on his phone so it sounded like the vocaloid he used. Soap thought that was pretty neat. “Plus, more importantly, I was not going to speed.”

“We have the Life360 app. Your top speed coming in was 95 miles. Ghost is a safer driver than you. And he doesn’t even have a license.”

“You don’t have a license?” Soap turned to him. 

Ghost threw his leg over his motorcycle so he could get on properly. “Goodnight. I totally have a license.”

“Let’s see it then.”

“It has my face.”

“You can cover it up!” 

Ghost revved his engine. “No.” He two finger saluted everyone and left quickly. 

Roach watched him go with this… almost soft look in his eyes. He looked at Soap and held out a piece of gum. 

Soap took it and popped it in his mouth, making Roach grin. “So, have any plans tonight?”

Roach texted him instead of using the voice app. “Not really. You?”

“Go home and relax I suppose.”

“Want to come back to my place?”

[joshriku]

Fic promt:

Cherik art museum encounter. Can be a clandestine 'meeting' (i.e. date) or a tense X-Men/Brotherhood encounter. I want tension and drama and art discussions. 🎨👀

i don't actually know anything about art! but thank you for the prompt! i didn't figure out which verse of cherik this is, so have fun! feel free to send prompts here and i may just fulfill it before sleep lol

-------

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Charles asks. Erik’s eyes have been fixed on every painting they’ve passed, moving at a snail pace. “I had a feeling you’d enjoy it.”

Truth be told, Charles hasn’t paid attention to the paintings so much as he had paid attention to Erik. He’s wheeling next to him, enjoying that his hand holds Charles’ easily, and it’s in the little things, really: the way his fingers twitch every so often, as if he’s trying so hard to not reach out and trace every painting with his fingertips.

“Breathtaking,” Erik replies easily. He turns to Charles with an oddly serene expression. “I am itching to grab a pen and paper. Humble tools, yes, but ah—the urge is there.”

“That inspired, hm?” he smiles at him. Small, a bit sad—Erik’s not going to give in to that urge to draw again. Back then, before everything changed, there used to be sketches that Charles would see. A landscape, a cup, a face of a patient they must have seen one time—what always stuck out the most was seeing Erik draw it. The furrowed brow, the strokes, the patience. He used to be so at ease. “Perhaps one day you could be submitting one of your works here, my friend.”

Ah. Must have been the wrong thing to say. Erik drops his hand, turning to stare at The Floor Scrapers once more. He doesn’t leave like Charles expects him to; simply fixes his eyes on it again.

“I’m afraid the reality I’d paint would not be accepted by this museum,” he smiles, humorlessly. “Even if I were to be inspired, the truth would be rejected by them.”

Charles tries for a smile back. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come, now. There’s a place for all stories to be told in a museum.”

“Not even you believe that.”

“Perhaps so,” he says. “I suppose I just wish you still had that time to do some art, time to just…” 

“Not engage in violent acts?” Erik chuckles, with the humor still taken off. “You can be so transparent sometimes, Charles.”

“It’s—it’s not—” Charles sighs deeply. “I don’t think I want to go down this topic, Erik. I had only wanted to show you around the museum. You used to like art.”

“And I still do,” he answers. “I appreciate the invite. I appreciate being with you, Charles. But look around you—you’ve frozen everyone in place, just for us to be here. Just for us to indulge. Do you truly think this topic can be ignored?”

And yes, perhaps Charles had been a fool for thinking he could pretend nothing was going on for at least forty minutes. Perhaps he had been a fool for pretending he could simply not see the cape, the helmet on his other hand. It’s not naivete, it’s desperation.

“Forgive me for missing you, then,” Charles huffs. “I’m trying to not do that.”

“Not working very well, is it?”

“Neither is it working for you, since you accepted to come here.”

“I never said I wasn’t missing you, Charles,” Erik replies. “I do. Every day. I like to believe that maybe—maybe—one day it’ll be over. And we’d get to do this for longer than forty minutes in a place where everyone is frozen in place.”

“It could be over,” Charles says. “Come with me.”

Erik smiles at him. “May I offer you the same back?”

It always reaches the same point. The one point where they just can’t concede, can’t agree, can’t come to the same conclusion. It shouldn’t break his heart anymore.

Shouldn’t.

Charles grabs his hand again, nonetheless. “Come on, then. We have got around, say, twenty minutes. I would like to see The Narrows at Lake George and have you explain each brush technique in detail, until we have to part.”

“It’s not going to be enough, one day,” Erik replies, but obligingly walking to the painting in question. “You know that. There’s going to be one day where forty minutes every now and then is not going to satisfy either of us.”

“Yes, yes,” he hurries, because he knows. He’s not naive. He’s just starved for him. There’s a difference. “You are wasting precious minutes, Erik.”

And there it is—that one smile that means he is winning this argument, this one time.

[fancy-allude]

Sleep Deprived

Akaashi Keiji x Reader

-------------------------

Staying awake for 17 hours straight or more is equivalent to being drunk, and right now your boyfriend is very much drunk. Running on caffeine and snacks every now and then he is trying his best to stay awake in class. Eyes so red and bags so deep, he does his best to stay alert and it was partially your fault.

-------------------------------

Every now and then you’d notice Keiji looking at his phone whenever you passed by a bookstore and when curiosity finally won you over. You just decided to ask him straight on what was going on to which he showed you the list of books he was planning to collect whenever possible. You weren’t quite familiar with books but you were able to take a mental note of a few.

The following day while hanging out with a friend, they managed to take you to a bookstore which was well hidden in between some buildings which your friend has declared a ‘treasure island.’ You parted ways as they searched for their books while you scanned through the different sections, admiring the hardbound covers as well the intricate designs embedded in them. Suddenly you were caught yourself staring at a book with familiar words. You reached for the book and turned a few pages, the images displayed in between showed great attention to detail and words seem to be drawing you deeper in the book. You could see why Keiji has it on his list, and it made you ecstatic knowing you could help him complete his collection.

Your friend was just around the corner looking for you after having purchased what they were looking for.

“Ohhh, that’s a good one.” They coo staring at the book you have in hand.

“Do you know anything about this?” You ask hoping to ensure that you didn’t get the wrong one.

“Yup, one of my favorites and a classic. Though I never knew you were into books seeing as to how you picked an incredible one.”

“It’s not for me silly.” You retort while chuckling.

“Aha, should have known.” They tease as you make your way to the counter.

Exiting the shop and realizing it has gotten late, you said your goodbyes and parted ways. Book in hand you couldn’t hold back your and went straight to his place. Overwhelmed with excitement you were frantically knocking on his doors. He was quite confused when he opened the door but before he could say anything you held the book in face.

“Keiji, Keiji I got you something. I just couldn’t wait another day to hand it to you.” You say with an adorable smile. Just as you expected, he held the book with the goofiest smile on his face.

“Thank you for the gift and or remembering.” Setting the book aside he cups your face and kisses your forehead.

"No problem, just saw something that reminded me of you." You reply. Noticing how dark it was outside, your boyfriend put on a jacket and took a shawl placing it on your neck.

“Now, let’s get you home before I start worrying about you.” Taking your things on one hand and holding your hand with the other, he walked you home while you rambled on about your day.

It was just a sweet and innocent gift, a token of appreciation per say but at that moment you weren't aware today that your boyfriend isn’t an ordinary bookworm but an addict.

He arrived late to school and was obviously tired, he kept on stumbling on his steps and bumping everywhere. Worried about his well being you approached him during break time.

“Keiji is everything all right? You’re usual on time and you look more tired than ever.” You ask worriedly holding a hand to his forhead.

“You don’t seem to be sick and we didn’t have any school work, so what happened to you?”

Instead of answering he just snuggled into your presence, not being one for PDA you tried to pry him off fully flustered at the situation.

“Uhm Keiji, we’re at school so you might want to have to wait until we’re somewhere private.” You say in a hurry still trying to get him off you.

“Book.” Is the only answer you get.

“Please elaborate, I can’t read minds you know.” Trying to coo him out of your waist to which you succeeded. Yet you were once more taken aback when he openly pouts at you.

“You don’t love me anymore.” Which had you stumped with a hand on your mouth stopping yourself from laughing out loud.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Can you tell me what happened that got you in this situation? Please?” Still no answer from him.

“I’ll give you a hug if you answer me.” You try to bribe him into talking to you as he is acting very much like a child.

“I read the book you gave me last night. It was too nice to stop and when I finished it was already morning.” He answers quickly with his arms wide open waiting for his hug.

"Did you finish it in one sitting?" You doubfoundedly ask as you were frozen in place.

"Yes." He answers hastily while waiting for your hug.

Facepalming at the situation you couldn't help but think about how dangerous it is to hand him a book.

[kiisaes]

Hey! So I read your post about my hero academia, the one where you talked about having a weird fatherly connections towards it and I wanted to ask you about what aspects you don’t like about the series? I share a lot of your sentiments but I do think it’s probably more than mid series? A lot of the details and writing I like and I think is considerable better than other shounen mangas. Anyways sorry for rambling. I just wanted to know what aspects you liked on the series and the ones you didn’t like.

Also complete side note: I absolutely love you’re art it’s so beautiful you’re and really skilled drawer!

sure! and thank u anon!

i want to preface this by saying that everything here is my opinion. media analysis is inherently subjective and something i think is bad might be something you think is good. considering how mha is not a shounen that's universally applauded for any or all of its writing choices, it's expected that you and i may perceive this content differently. doesn't mean i'm right and you're wrong and vice versa, it's just a different individual take on the source content.

also, even though i think mha is "mid to mid-good" (as quoted from my textpost) i don't use "mid" as either an insult or in a "it's so average it's bad" way. i know that word has been fucked over bc ppl automatically assume that something being mid means something is bad or bland or boring. it's a middle of the road series with a good share of flaws and strengths, and it doesn't particularly stand out as anything incredibly amazing or awful. just an average to decently good story, and its level of quality fluctuates throughout its run.

at the end of the day, i do like mha. despite what i think of it, it's a series i hold close to my heart and one i can enjoy even without a critical eye. if i didn't, i wouldn't have been making content for it for 2, almost 3 consistent years.

anyway, stuff i like + stuff i don't like under the cut: (warning: VERY LONG)

mha stuff i do like:

deku. he is my little boy

for the most part, horikoshi's character writing is one of his strongest abilities. characters like bakugou, shigaraki, and dabi (and honestly the todoroki family as a unit) are some of the most compelling characters in a story like this. they're allowed to be complex, dynamic and a blend of virtuous and damning traits. they match the overall themes of mha, which is that the sheer concept of "good vs evil" is surface level at best, and that placing people into strict boxes blocks them from everything else that they are. basically a complete "fuck you" to viewers who must condemn a morally grey hero/villain, for example. even less morally grey characters like ochako (imo) are still fun twists and explorations on their given character stereotypes. however i'm obligated to say "for the most part" because hori's superb character writing only matters when he gives those characters time to breathe and actually exist. i'll get into this more later

horikoshi's art is fantastic and undoubtedly his greatest attribute as a mangaka. i firmly believe that, as far as shounen art goes, there aren't any that can rival mha that are also at its global reach. there's never a single moment where i read a chapter and go "wow that art wasn't incredible" because that's not possible. he utilizes his art knowledge so effortlessly and brings out so much in every panel he makes. the manga art never feels dull. i'm so insanely jealous and in awe of him. i guess i could be biased when making this point but i find it hard to genuinely hate his art. it's so polished every time

this is a smaller point that adds to the last one but i do appreciate how he draws women. not when he's using them for uncomfortable gags, but just in general. there's like, actual meat on their bones. they have realistic body proportions (for his style). many of the women are "chubbier" than other shounen women, and a good amount of them are buff as FUCK. it feels like hori puts the same amount of effort into drawing his female characters as he does his male characters, even if he might not dignify that writing-wise

as a fellow comic artist, i absolutely love his understanding of comic language. it's small details like his onomatopoeia reminiscent of western superhero comics that really tie the presentation together. each panel is full of life, with characters and backgrounds working together in the most effective ways. i can't remember what tumblr textpost brought this up, but he also loves playing around with panel borders. he spices them up by using different subjects or objects to split up panels. and this was more of a strength earlier in the series imo, but his pacing was also pretty quick and resourceful. it shows to me that he truly loves creating manga and knows when it's the right time to visually deviate from the norm. again, i'm truly envious of how he can do this. i only hope to reach his level someday ...

this is definitely a biased point, but some of the series' arcs/storylines are some of my favorite ones in fiction. these include the tournament arc, the kamino rescue arc, the overhaul arc, twice's death, and anything relating to the todoroki family. obviously i'm only listing a handful of examples here because i think nearly every arc has its good moments that i can comment on. but when i think of good mha storylines, i think of these first

i also think that mha as a whole is a fun series that knows how to laugh at itself. there's nothing more awkward than a story that takes itself way too seriously, but the content itself is poorly written or not interesting. thankfully, horikoshi doesn't really fall into this issue

there are canon lgbt characters in this series. even if that's kind of a low bar atp (considering how only 1 out of the 3 play a consistently important role), a win is a win is a win. especially in mainstream shounen, beggars can't exactly be choosers.

mha is a story about systemic societal injustice, which is a lofty concept to tackle. thankfully the story is about powers being the norm so the whole "i'm born better than you because i have abilities" is less of a status quo rejection and more of a status quo enabler. as a story concept, it's a good basis, doesn't seem too hard to comprehend, and opens the door for nuanced storytelling and discussion. i think hori does this well at the start of the series. but as the story goes on... uhhh. i'll talk about it.

mha stuff i don't like:

man do these women have basically nothing interesting to do. i complimented how they're drawn earlier, but with the exception of a few notable ones, a lot of their characters pale in comparison to the men. it's even sadder considering that the amount of women in mha is significantly lesser than, so 5 important female characters is like, 1/4 of the female cast. 5 important male characters is like, 1/12 of the male cast. idk i didn't count the amount of characters in this series but it sincerely feels this way, especially if you remember that there are definitely more than 5 important male characters at any moment throughout this series. and when female characters do have their time to shine, there's a 50/50 chance that they die, get gravely injured, or lose limbs. which normally isn't an issue in a battle shounen like mha, but out of the important character deaths in this series, a fair amount of them are women. midnight, magne, and star and stripe have pretty anticlimactic deaths too, to add insult to injury. lady nagant talked her shit then exploded. she's still alive but like ... what? did these characters have to be treated this way? i can't really think of any important male characters who get introduced then axed from the story like this, except for maybe stain (though he's a far more important character narratively). the reason why i bring up this really lengthy point is not because i think horikoshi is actively misogynistic. i just think he falls into the trap that many shounen mangakas face, which is that male characters are more interesting to a male dominated audience. hence, female characters usually get thrown to the side. there are some important women in mha that stand toe to toe with male characters, like toga and ochako, and there are definitely certified girlbosses like mirko and yaoyorozu. but god do i wish i could add more women to this list without having to think really really hard.

and to add onto the previous, shallow, unimportant characters only gain backstories when the narrative demands for it. horikoshi used to write characters revealing their intentions and history in relatively natural ways, like with ochako and her goal to become a hero for money. it kind of came out of nowhere, but it's a valid conversation a teenager would have with other teenagers. in context, it was revealed normally. i'm not sure when these reveals turned forced, but i remember seeing kirishima's backstory and being like "well .. would this have ever been told to us if kirishima wasn't a main character in this arc?" this isn't against kirishima's character; i love the guy and i think his history was short but contextualized his personality really well. but with the recent shoji backstory reveal i could only think, "wow. horikoshi must be really glad he made a mutant character to project this theme onto, huh." it didn't feel like shoji was ever meant to have a backstory — not to mention a very depressing one — but he got one this late in the series run because it was convenient for the plot. perhaps i'm a cynic and this isn't an issue for others, idk. that being said, i think characters like shoji and even star and stripe and lady nagant could have benefited from more natural character developments, maybe with more time given so it doesn't feel like a weirdly convenient reveal.

i just really fucking wish mineta would die already. like get kicked into the sun or blown up with TNT or run over by a car or something. he's less of an openly creepy loser than he was in the beginning of the series, but i'm sure that's because he literally doesn't have the luxury to be creepy at the moment. he's one of the least appealing gag characters that never grows and changes as a person. and he got a backstory before kaminari. can you fucking believe this shit? why does horikoshi keep entertaining this bullshittery— oh yeah. i just remembered that the girls were perved on quite a bit in this series, which wasn't funny and moreso uncomfortable for a lot of readers. like, i know it's shounen, it's animanga, fanservice is kind of the unfortunate norm. but by god, do we need a series poster child for pervy, male-gaze behavior?

i commented earlier about mha's themes and that i think, at least at the start, hori had a good grasp of what he was writing. framing society's systemic flaws and failures in a wacky superheroes vs villains story is not only clever, but makes this actually serious topic accessible to those who might think social-cultural politics are too intimidating. he sets this up starting from deku and bakugou (oppressed and privileged), then adds onto it with stain (heroes who retain the status quo by seeking money and status are not true heroes, because they don't help those in need). shigaraki is thrown into the mix along the way (society fucks over the underprivileged, even those who want to do good, which breeds more villains and in the real world, more criminals) and his little league of villains all have their own stories (spinner: those who don't look like the masses are cast aside, harassed and villainized; dabi: if you don't live up to cruel expectations established by society and parroted by those in your life, you might as well be worthless; toga: any unconventional worldviews and actions are deemed scary and evil; magne: trying to conform to a rigid society as a queer person is fucking hard, man). there's also endeavor (even though you're in a position of power and respect, it doesn't automatically make you a good person). these are all GREAT, and are super compelling set-ups for mha's overall themes: that society should change somewhat, villains are a product of this flawed system, there aren't fully good people nor fully bad people, rehabilitation/growth is good, and true heroes aren't identified by title, but by actions.

these themes are quite apparent throughout mha's entire run. but i feel like the further it goes, the less horikoshi knows how to verbalize them. the latest mini arc dealt with spinner vs shoji in a strangely awkward clash of ideals. spinner is seen as a martyr who really just wants mutants to be accepted into society, and his status rallies up those who have also been hurt. shoji retaliates by... telling them to stop? by saying this isn't the right way? because he was fortunate enough to be in this position, he suddenly has the authority to tell those like him to find a better way to get their voices heard? what, should they all just become heroes? haven't we established that the society they all belong in is fucked up, and that drastic change must be made? i understand what horikoshi is trying to say but it's... off. like the point is there, but the execution is clumsy. shoji even says something like spinner's revolution setting them back 30 years, which is so fucking bizarre to say, and would certainly raise eyebrows in the real world. it sounds like villains can express their grievances with society but they can't dare revolutionize. otherwise, they'll be silenced/ignored again. it's the whole "violence breeds more violence" belief, but there's more to that that should be explored. man, i dunno.

i'm harping on this one story instance but recent mha is riddled with well-meaning but clumsy storytelling like this. and since the narrative relies on these complex, nuanced themes, it's jarring when the nuance falls through. if mha is about breaking harmful norms, why do they still dictate the execution? hori did it so right with deku and bakugou, their relationship being a definite high in the series. but i truly don't how he'll treat the villains at the end of this arc

ok tumblr's telling me to shut up anyway these are my thoughts. again, even though i've rambled so much about my dislikes, i think mha is still a fun and enjoyable series. it misses the point sometimes, but it doesn't detract from its successes. either way my opinions should not rule over how you consume the series. it's always important to form your own opinions!!!

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

eMERgency (Garashir - DS9) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Garashir - Elim Garak/Doctor Julian Bashir (ST: Deep Space Nine) // Tags: ftm Julian Bashir, trans character, trans Julian Bashir, mer anatomy, mermay, merman costume, established relationship, false emergency, costume fitting, semi-public sex, fingering, front hole penetration, squirting. Prompt fill. This might be crack?

MerMay prompt fill for Kira-Bird (though they didn't make it to the holosuite, sorry!)

Garak makes Julian a merman costume, with a surprising addition.

eMERgency (2.2k words):

“I’m here!” Julian panted, medical bag in hand, “What’s the emergency?” He looked around the tailor shop expecting to find some sort of scene rather than a completely empty shop. 

“Oh, there you are,” Garak spoke pleasantly as he came out from behind a shelf of material bolts. With his usual casual demeanour, he strolled towards Julian, “I had been waiting for some fantastic material to come in. I wasn’t sure it would work out. Wait here.”

Garak walked past Julian to the storage area whilst Julian frowned after him. 

“Garak, I was given to believe there was some sort of emergency,” He kept his tone flat, though he wasn’t really angry. He never could quite get himself mad at Garak. 

“Well, it is.” Garak insisted as he returned from storage with a garment bag. He placed it upon the workstation and looked over at Julian expectantly. At which Julian sighed and walked over to give this emergency his full attention. 

Garak unzipped the bag and began to gently extract a fabric that seemed almost like liquid in the way it moved and glistened. “I need you to try this on before I make the final alterations. I’ve done it all so far by the measurements I have on your file,” Garak eyed him up and down with a somewhat salacious grin that let Julian know he had detailed measurements of every part of his body. “But this is a difficult fabric to work with, it moulds to the body once put on, so I need to ensure that it sits correctly around your waist, knees and feet. We don’t want unsightly lumps and bumps.”

“Can’t have that,” Julian agreed, his tone cool and cynical. 

Garak continued to draw out the fabric which Julian had, bizarrely, thought might be some sort of evening gown. But now, from the bag, came what appeared to be a fishtail. Julian blinked and his cheeks heated.

“Oh,” he said, breathless. “It’s a… fishtail.”

“Well, more accurately, a merman’s tail.” Garak corrected as he pulled it over the workstation so that it flared out entirely. The tail fin was huge, but the tail itself, Julian could see, was the length of his own abdomen to feet. 

It had been months since the conversation they’d had about this. One of those pillowtalk moments where they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

Julian had mentioned that as a child, before he took up tennis, before he had been altered by his parents, he had enjoyed swimming. Weak and uncoordinated on land, in the water he felt stronger and more in control. He was sure to any onlookers he seemed no more than a floundering child barely able to keep from drowning, but in his mind he was a merman.  He hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. Just sharing part of himself with the man he loved. But this appeared to be very true to who Garak was and how he showed Julian love, that he had now made him a merman costume. 

Continue on AO3!

[marshmallowprotection]

PICNIC ANALYSIS

It’s been a while since I've done a breakdown of one of these. But, it wouldn't be me if I wasn't sitting here telling you my speculations of what this picture is going to be. They've already given away what the picture is focused on, but we don't know all of the little details that bring it together. It's a picnic, we know for sure, but as for what's going on in that picnic, we don't know in the slightest. It could have any kind of picnic treats! They could have their phones out! Any items you might expect to be there aside from food!

It might seem like it should be obvious, but we should never go for the obvious when it comes to these situations. They've been throwing us for a loop lately so I'm not going to go with the tried and true method. If they’re willing to give us a Vanderwood and Suit Saeran, never doubt what could come next, that’s all I’m saying, guys.

So, the best I can do in this situation is offer you guys my breakdown of what I think is going on. So, for starters, Saeyoung has his back to the viewer. The juxtaposition of his body is positioned in such a way that I can't see it in any other way. He is leaning back with his arms behind his body to prop himself up, and his head is tilted so he can see you.

His outfit might be a dark shirt and jeans, but the smallest pop of a blurry flesh tone is all I need to know how he's sitting. He's criss-crossed, as well. That’s the picnic sitting position if I’ve ever seen one! Personally, I genuinely hope that he is making a cheesy smile at the viewer. I like seeing him happy and we hardly get to see him doing that in a genuine way. Take off the mask, sir.

I can't tell if he's wearing his glasses or not, as well. They have the tendency to avoid drawing him wearing his glasses most of the time, which is a shame, please draw him with his glasses more. His red hair kind of distorts every other detail around his face so I couldn't tell you for sure what I think he's doing! Give him back his vision! He’s beautiful when he can see! He never mentions needing contacts or using them and since those are more expensive and harder to keep a decent supply of, I doubt he enjoys wearing them.

As for the picnic basket, I can't tell what's in there at all. They gave us one hinge and that is just the comfort food of our favorite red-headed hacker. There have to be other snacks in there as well, but the picture is too blurry for me to make out anything other than the chips. There's too much bright detail in that area of the photo to figure out what's going on no matter how I turn my head to look at it, so I don't know what they're snacking on but it has to be a few different thing! Give them sandwiches and sweets! Where is the ice cream?

Saeran is reaching out for a snack. Or, he is looking over the smorgasbord of snacks they have at this picnic. Even when I color-sampled the shirt, it went into the gray category, but I don't know for sure if it's blue or white. It's more likely white than it is compared to any other color, but he looks great in blue, too. They have the tendency to draw him in the same white shirt over and over again, which isn't a bad thing, but I was hoping to see his grandpa sweater or his blue shirt from the passport package.

I really think the grandpa sweater is cute, shoot me on that one, but it's adorable to me. The way he dresses is reflective of his emotional state, so if you see him wearing colors that are much brighter and warmer to the eye, it means that he feels good. The texture is also very important to him so it doesn't strike me as odd to see him pick something that would feel good underneath his fingertips if he had to adjust it.

The tricky part is trying to figure out who the hell is in the corner of the picture. The obvious answer should be MC. But, we can’t always guess that that is the answer. I thought the same thing on their birthday last year and they gave us VANDERWOOD. Not that I wasn't happy to see him, because I am always happy to see Vanderwood. I just like seeing MC in the pictures with everybody since it makes me feel more involved as the player. Unless the picture is set up in such a way that you know the MC is taking the picture.

We can't even be sure that the person in the corner of the picture is a person. It's always possible that the corner of the photo is just different things that were added for the picnic. It just looks too humanoid for me to think otherwise, but it is a good thing to point out just in case people don't want to get their hopes up. If there is a person in this picture, it looks like they are leaning over on their arm to prop themselves up sideways.

They might be cradling a snack or something to their body as they eat it, because I can't tell what that white blob is just above Saeyoung’s head. My first thought was that it could be a stuffed animal or maybe cotton candy. I'm not sure the longer I stare at it. If only because it's such a weird shape and the light color throws me off. I don't know! What are you guys think?

But if it is the MC, the head is lined up in such a way that they are clearly looking at GE Saeran. That might just be me projecting but I really really hope that they are gawking at that man because he's gorgeous and breathtaking. Don't look at me, that's why I had to draw hearts around his face.

Now, my last thing is trying to figure out where they are located. They only gave us a small corner of the picture to look at and figure out where this might be taking place. My guess in this situation is that they are reusing the landscape from the after-ending photo. It could be a field of flowers or maybe a grassy area, but if this is set with GE Saeran in mind, it would make sense to use that again to make us all cry.

Regardless, if you have been following me for a long time, you know damn well that the only thing I have been on my hands and knees for is this specific content.

The one thing I've always wanted that we've never received in the game proper is the picnic that Ray really wanted to take you on. Right after you kiss him, he gets the bright idea that the best way you could spend time together would be a day in the sun where he could treat you the way you deserve to be treated. He wants to see your face among the flowers he cultivated, and he wants to be able to experience a moment where he feels nothing but unadulterated bliss.

It was the first time he expressed something selfish towards you but in such a way that had nothing to do with anything that would only give him a reward. This desire to share a moment with you wasn't built out of a daydream or fantasy, no, it was cultivated around the idea that he could experience something with you where not only could he make himself happy, he could make you happy, in return.

Because this thought occurs to him after he finally realizes that you might just love him as much as he loves you.

After all, it's your compassion and love for him that almost manages to pull him out of the cult brainwashing. If you would have had more time to work with him, it would have only been a matter of time before he would have abandoned that place to protect you. His devotion to you was already growing much stronger than the devotion he had for his savior. That's why he was tortured in the first place. Rika knew his loyalties were shifting.

So, by god, I am the happiest person alive knowing that my boy is finally getting to have a picnic in some capacity. It might not be Ray getting to experience it for himself alone, but a part of him gets to experience it because he is a part of GE Saeran… He and Suit Saeran both became GE Saeran, and they both get to be able to have that dream Ray once held... and now I'm going to cry.

This would be a great time to look away from me because this is the only thing I'm going to talk about once it comes out. I am so sorry for how insufferable I'm about to become.