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cardinalcanis · 3 months ago

Text

Compliance

*Comes out of a dark alley* "Hey kid, want some Titus smut to scramble that brain chemistry real good? I got your fix."

This is @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond 's fault.

Summary: Titus was struggling with some unexpected side effects from the Rubicon Surgery, luckily he finds relief in unexpected hands.

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x NB!OC

Tw: smut, Adeptus Mechanicus, prostate massage, edging, genitals are a social construct, technically tentacles, Astartes have more holes than you think (trust me), MATH.

Word count: 7316

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

Mechanicus speech cheat sheet:

When the hyperfocus gets in my mind goes so hard into ideas it gets them pregnant. So as this has a lot of Math Symbols as I went hamm on writing the Tech Priest’s way of speaking. I’m not a mathematician, I played loosely with stuff and their meanings, do not scream at me. Here is a quick list:

> -> More than.

= -> equals.

! -> negation of, no

+++ -> increase.

<= -> less or equal to

& -> and

- - - -> decrease

T(statement) -> that statement or thing is always true.

=>�� -> therefore, implies, if… then

!= -> not equals to

∈ -> belongs to

⇔ -> if and only if, only.

\/ -> or

P(statement) -> probability of statement

Statement1 | statement2 -> statement1 happened because statement2 happened.

E(statement) -> the statement is an expected result.

∅ -> null

F(statement) -> that statement or thing is always false.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines, Liberator of Graia, slayer of Grimskull, veteran of the Deathwatch, bane of xenos, executioner of Thousand Sons… reduced to this pathetic drooling mess.

It had started around a month ago, the last bloody bug had been ripped to shreds but still he felt this hunger to keep going. He checked the state of his armor’s system, to his surprise the reserves of adrenaline shots hadn’t been used during the battle. Why did he still feel so restless? When did his bodyglove become so overstimulating? Had the material always been that noticeable on the skin when it was supposed to be seamless? Every single one of his nerve endings was screaming for touch, begging to be rubbed against something, ANYTHING. The worst was his aching groin, he had been close to believing that his codpiece was about to slingshot off him and get someone killed any second now.

“Testosterone > expected Astartes levels. Positive note. Risk factor = low. !(Possibility) of death.” had stated Magos Biologis Mu-Oragon, brown eyes scanning the dataslate.

“Low risk factor? I can’t barely focus on anything else Magos. What’s causing this?”

The mechanicus lifted their gaze from the datapad, pale skin bathed in its faint greenish glow. Titus couldn’t decipher if the person had been male or female before embracing the Omnissiah, but there was a graceful beauty on the mech priest that had been lacking on others of their kind… shit this is bad he’s now sexualizing one of those tin cans.

“This unit understands, patient’s +++frustration = expected. Rubicon <= a year.”

“Yes.” He had started to rock slightly on his seat, trying to focus on anything else rather than the heat coming from his core. At least his armor helped with masking the worst parts of his current condition, unlike the joke that tried to call itself a robe which he had to wear for examination.

“[(Rubicon <= a year)&(Testosterone > expected Astartes level)] = normal occurrence.” One of Mu’s mechadendrites reached for the shelf, pulling a heavy binder. They then held it open with the help of their four mechanical arms. “---Symptoms expected. T(Normal progression).”

“And what do you want me to do in the meantime! I thought the apothecary had referred me here for a solution.” he exclaimed out of frustration standing off the examination table. “Don’t you have any meds you can give me?”

His whole body shivered at the unexpected cold grasp from three mechadendrites pinning him back into a seating position. Blood flowed to his cheeks due to the surprising arousal that came from being manhandled by the seemingly meek Mu.

“Hormonal cycle must !(be) disturbed => not compliance. Compliance => possible late implant rejection. I !(compromise) unit Titus’ safety.” Mu-Oragon said in what was a wholeheartedly caring tone, even through the respirator’s distortion.

Titus had been told they had been the one in charge of his rubicon surgery, the one who saved his life. An incredibly dangerous procedure in normal conditions, but with the scale of his wounds it almost meant impossible success. Even with all that he didn’t imagine the Magos would feel protective of him, he was just another number in his surgery record anyways.

“Mu I can’t fight like this…” The same shiver again but now caused by the Magos’ grasp leaving him. Only the phantom feeling of the touch floating over his skin, another painful release he couldn’t attain, adding to the breaking down of his sanity.

“That statement is true. Hopeful contrast. !(medication) != !(relief).”

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the meaning of Mu’s words. He had become better at understanding the Magos after the repeated checkups on his condition following the rubicon surgery, yet there wasn’t a chance he could call himself fluent in mechanicus speech, less with someone’s accent as strong as the one in front of him.

“You can help then, is that what you mean?”

“Titus attempted stimulation for release = True?” they asked, pulling what seemed to be an informative pamphlet from the binder.

“You mean if I had tried jacking off?”

“That statement is true.”

A soft flush washed over Titus’ cheeks, glad the Magos’ examination room was empty today, Emperor only knows how hard this conversation would be in front of others. How could a room feel both so hot and cold at the same time? One of Mu’s mechadendrites tilted his head to drive his attention back towards the mechanicus, the touch has such softness uncharacteristic of what a machine would have. Yet the exception existed on Mu-Oragon, every single one of their four arms and many mechadendrites was designed for careful surgery where an eighth of a millimeter could prove life or death. He couldn’t recall all the instances during previous examinations when he had been touched by them and only noticed it once the contact became absent.

“Yes I have.” He answered, unfamiliar with the open disclosure of his intimate activities. “It hasn’t been working.”

“Elaboration on process required. Accurate solution given ⇔ accurate description of event.”

Mu-Oragon seemed to be deciding between a collection of pamphlets and booklets, skimming through them with the many prosthetic ocular lenses around his forehead while keeping their human eyes on Titus, which added to the multiple limbs, gave them quite an arachnid appearance.

“What do you want me to say? There is not much science to it…” Even though the theoretical was quite clear, for the first time since his neophyte years his mind found itself struggling to find a proper practical for it

Titus held Mu’s gaze, curiously the Magos Biologis had retained both of his human eyes, only attaching more ocular addons around. A thing the astartes found quite curious if compared to others of his kind, who preferred replacing the lesser biological counterparts first. Theoretical: Mu-Oragon retained their human eyes, practical: it was a conscious decision due to the more patient oriented side of their occupation, it helped to establish trust.

He found the practical fitting. Wide almond shaped eyes with a reassuring stare, a window to the candid individual living inside machine parts and shrouded in logic based statements.

Mu-Oragon’s mechadendrite surprised him again by resting part of its weight on Titus’ shoulder, comprehending the man’s struggle for words. He pondered on how much was Mu’s intent and how much was the limb’s machine spirit acting, he would have been lying if admitting that the relationship between mechadendrites and users wasn’t something he found interesting. One of his brothers, a tech-marine, had explained how they were beings of their own possessing an individual machine spirit; yet perfectly synchronized with his mind. Many times acting upon his thoughts without realizing.

“Following procedure occurs on common stimulation practice. True \/ false?” asked the Magos, extending a thin booklet towards him that read ‘Comprehensive guide to prostatic stimulation’.

“No” he answered as stoically as he could, looking at the object being handed to him.

“Inference: this unit’s previous statement = false.” chirped Mu, computer-like clicks emitted as they spoke, possibly running calculations. “Response to Titus’ current statement: compiled. Deeper stimulation > external. [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | deep stimulation)] > [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | external stimulation)]. E[(---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)]”

“You mean I can fix this by showing things up my ass?”

“Statement’s truthfulness cannot be validated. P[ ((---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)) | (Simple anal insertion) ] = not conclusive. Remark: Relief of ailment ⇔ proper technique = true.”

Titus swallowed a knot in this throat, followed by a long sigh. He didn’t expect the prescription for his ailment to be a masturbation technique.

“Doubts prostatic stimulation = E(relief)?” Asked Mu tilting their head to the side. “Inexperienced = true?”

Titus nodded, noticing how he had been holding Oragon’s gaze the whole time.

“I can provide asistance ⇔ (consent = True). (Perform on Titus & explain) ⇔ (consent = True)”

The booklet crunched a bit as he held it tighter, Mu had pulled him apart and back together before, likely there is no piece of him they haven’t touched… in the medical sense. Throne that simple though made him almost produce a low gasp. A different occurrence may have ended up in the rejection of such a proposal, but his situation was all but common. He could barely stay still without rubbing his aching crotch against something. Theoretical: this is just a medical procedure; practical: nothing else will come out of it.

“Alright Mu-Oragon.” He agreed in almost a whisper. “Just… please be careful.”

“T(Titus’ wellbeing is my priority.)” Even through the respirator their tone came out gleeful and reassuring.

A couple days after, back at his chambers, Titus gasped and struggled to achieve the previous results he had experienced with the Magos. He was following the same movements and booklet’s instructions to the letter, his fingers were bigger and thicker than Mu’s; still the efforts left him wanting. He had made himself cum, and it had felt good, yes. But his relief was a cup with a hole at the bottom, never filling.

Titus pressed his face against the drool covered pillow, recalling the memory from the examination room. Every time Mu had pressed their fingers inside him an asphyxiating wave of pleasure had drowned him over and over, his hairs stood with the remembrance of the Magos’ muffled exhalations due to the effort of manhandling such a heavier man. Another finger, he went deeper, a reminiscent thought of firm steel hands that had held his legs still; spread.

Mu had played him like the director of an astropathic choir does his organ. Has Titus been the only astartes with a similar issue they’ve had to help? He bit the pillow hard enough to cause a rip, there was anger. The thought of Mu-Oragon giving similar care to someone else brewed an overflowing pot of jealousy and rage in him. But why? It was the Magos Biologis’ job to aid the Astartes, it was obvious there was no emotional attachment to the action. Despite the evidence he couldn’t stop the reassuring and borderline loving statements they had directed at him during the procedure to eat at his mind. How comfortable they had made him feel in his vulnerability, how in the time of their exchange he had silently craved for Mu to touch more of his body, to touch theirs.

Titus sat in silence, frustrated tears sliding off his cheeks, a lone company in the otherwise relatively bare room. It was quite late at what the battle barge’s internal schedule had designated as ‘night time’, how much of a ‘night owl’ was the mechanicus? Was it proper to visit them? Were they busy? Were they saving another Astartes’ life? Were they soothing other Astartes’ post rubicon testosterone spike? Next thing Titus knew he was already dressed, one thought in mind. He should go to see them, by the primarch’s honor he had to see Mu.

He moved with haste, weaving through the crowd of servitors engrossed in periodic station maintenance under the watchful vigilance of Mu’s brethren. No, they couldn’t compare to the Magos, none of them. Shit, why did he cram the stupid booklet and lube he was provided into his pocket? It was too late to return, his body would have not allowed him.

Throne, those clothes were clean out of the dryer though they encountered themselves drenched with sweat. Titus’ walk to the desired wing was a blur, the fight between will and arousal occupied his focus in its entirety. Demetrian’s awareness returned to the front stage with his arrival at Mu’s laboratory, empty except for servitors. He pressed on past examination tables and towering shelves full of implements Titus had no idea of purpose, he didn’t need to anyways, he already had one.

“Mu…” he mouthed at a sound belonging to what could be Mu’s binharic speech.

The series of rhythmic computation sounds came out of a nearby room, the door almost fully closed. From the narrow opening left, aside from the overpowering smell proper of incense and machine oil, he could make sense that it was a private chamber.

There they were, sitting crosslegged on the floor, bathed in candle glow making their augments look like consecrated gold. Mu was perpendicular from the door, immersed in sacred meditation. In front of them a towering representation of the machine god crowned the extensive cogitator it was embedded on. The Magos’ hood was down, exposing their side shaved head, what was left of their brown hair in the middle presented tightly tied in a low ponytail. Cables came out of ports and cogitators on the sides of their head, neck and under their robes, connecting them to the one they were praying to. Two of their hands were in a prayer position, the other two resting on their knees. The many mechadendrites seemed deactivated, filling a circle around Mu as they laid over the carpet, like the resting wings of an angel.

He had opened the door a bit more, taking one step inside yet regretting it instantly. It felt wrong, he was a trespasser, disturbing a sacred intimate rite he didn’t belong at. Titus tried to turn back but a mechadendrite stood to life, clasping hand pointed at the marine as if it could see him. Mu’s eyes opened accompanied by a quick inhalation, reminding him of someone waking up from deep sleep.

“Unit Demetrian Titus…” surprise took over the Magos whose mechadendrites waved around them covering them until they could pull their hood back up. “Urgent assistance = true?”

The door rattled slightly as Titus’ hand trembled. Was he feeling fear? The feeling he was made immune of? Mu tilted their head, emitting a series of concerned clicks. They patted a space on the rug beside them, limbs pulling aside to make space for Titus.

“Permissions granted; accompany this unit. ⇔ desired so.”

He entered further, making sure that the door was closed behind him. The intensity of the incense only increased with his approach. Titus gave the machine god’s image a look, its aura swallowed him, he was allowed into the room but that didn’t mean he was welcomed, that it welcomed him.

“Detecting elevated blood pressure, presence of hyperhidrosis. Inference: condition disturbed.” They pointed out when he sat, the rest of their limbs focused on respectfully disconnecting the cables that joined Mu to the room’s cogitator. “Request: details needed.”

“Magos I… I have been doing everything as told.” The words were hard to come up with, this was a bad idea, he wanted to run. “Please, believe me.”

“Complicance.” they said in what could have been a sigh. “Hormoral reading required. !(time) for a blood scan, +++urgency.” With their words they took the disconnected end of one of the cables still attached to them. “Expedited read | (direct connection = true)”

A mechanendrite exposed the port at his nape. Even taking into account that the Magos’ intentions were clear and the connection into the ports around his body was a day to day affair; he couldn’t but instinctively want to lean away from the attempt. At least while conscious he had only been connected to external machines and his armor, making Titus and it become one. He was unsure of what linking to another conscious creature would be like.

“Mu wait… ah…”

He gasped at the connector’s insertion, a cold wave washed over him. Then, pressure. An extra force needed to be applied for the linkage’s proper attachment. Titus flinched when the plug was inserted to full length and secured. It has never felt this way, the imperceptive clicking shouldn’t be that all consuming, the effortless pressure shouldn’t send a shivering echo across his whole nervous system. The next breath came from lungs outside of his chest cavity. Parallel thoughts stood by his own. Connection state: stable. +++(blood oxygenation). Execute t01101000… wait what?

“Requests: stand still for reading.” Mu pleaded, their voice sounding closer than the separation between them suggested. “Current testosterone levels = previous reading. Insulin levels within Astartes range = true. Leptin levels within Astartes range = true. HGH levels within Astartes range = true…” they paused, Titus couldn’t see Mu’s throat but felt it on his own as it moved in a swallow. “+++(Oxytoxin levels)”

A mechadendrite slid its rigged tentacle down his back coming into a wrap around the waist. The Magos glared at it with burning disapproval hasting the limb to release him. Unbecoming = true.

“What is that? Is it wrong?” Titus asked, a pressing heat that wasn’t the one already overwhelming him joined the room.

“Oxytoxin = {social bonding hormone, love hormone, reproduction…}”

The command for Mu’s arm to disconnect from him was clear, Titus’ enhanced reflexes were faster, applying pressure on the Magos’ hand before it could pull the connector out. A heart that wasn’t his drummed frantically. P(mutual) = 80%. Could it be that they have also been feeling something similar? P(mutual) = 88%. For how long? P(mutual) = 90%...

Titus leaned forwards pressing his lips on Mu’s cheek right when it met with the respirator, the skin was so soft, their smell like the rest of the room = {iron, candle wax, incense, sweat}. Mu’s arms resisted the approach but the many mechadendrites welcomed him, they acted upon their master’s subconscious wishes.

“+++(levels) = {oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, vasopressin}.” They reported faintly. “Warning: Unit Titus breaching patient-magos protocol.”

“Are those hormonal readings yours or mine?” He asked with a tinge of humor, yet letting the wanting show.

“Irrelevant.” The Magos chirped with higher pitch than normal before more mechadendrites started rubbing themselves around Titus like purring cats, then stopping when Mu directed a stern echoing mental order.

“How long?” he asked, pressing his body against those appendages, begging for their touch.

“Comprehension | (Unit Titus’ attention = true)” Oragon’s voice barely rose over the rushed clicking of their cogitators. “P(rubicon primaris success | healthy Astartes) = 61.6%. E(rubicon primaris success | medically dead Astartes) = ∅.” Was it a memory that flashed before him? Anger, defiance, approval, tension, relief. “Demetrian Titus: Omnissiah’s miracle. T(Demetrian Titus is my biggest pride).” Mu pressed their forehead against his. “T(Demetrian Titus is this unit’s most beautiful creation). Possessive desire = true.”

He tried to get even closer, mind screaming to the magos’ to take him theirs as their right was. A slight passing migraine struck him, pushback.

“I want ∈ Titus. I want Titus ∈ me.”

They paused, a constant stream of data rushed from them to Titus. Failure = true. Unfaithful = true. Weak = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101.

“I’m here Mu, make me yours.” Titus purred, pressing his face on the Magos’ neck, their scent ordering his body into a surrender. +++(serotonin levels).

“I want to execute statement compliance. Intervention. This unit !(execute) statement compliance. Mu !∈ Titus. Titus !∈ Mu. Mu ∈ The Omnissiah. Titus ∈ The Emperor.” With the great effort of several limbs they were capable of pushing Titus away, his whimper had a twin companion. “ F[P(I ∈ (Omnissiah & Titus) & Titus ∈ (Me & Emperor)) > 0]. Titus’ understanding = true?”

“Mu, being with you will not make me stop fighting for the Emperor nor will distance you from the Machine God.” Unit Titus’ statement = True. “It will only make me fight harder, to fight for the Emperor is to fight for humanity, you are part of humanity, you are part of what I fight for; what I will die for.”

Two of the Magos’ hands cradled his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks, their eyes gifted him a loving painting colored in sorrow ahead of closing them tightly. Mu’s bodily cogitators’ clicking became louder, similar to a tired engine pushing itself up a difficult hill. Every single one of the mechanicus’ limbs trembled and rattled. Titus felt a piercing pain forming behind a skull that wasn’t his own.

“Magos stop that! You are hurting yourse…”

“I would hurt myself everyday if it means I do not hurt you Titus.” The lack of machine logic in Mu-Oragon’s statement caught him by surprise, that’s what they were doing, they were ending any process that would distort the message. To the extent of their modification, it hurt. “Attention =... Listen to me closely please. What’s in your mind, what’s in my mind; it is a chimera Titus. Fantasy. !(logical).” continued as their registry jumped between two conflicting voice modulations. “I will never be able to fulfill your requirements for intimacy. Demand: compliance with silence = true… I am inside your head right now. You have expectations and desires that I cannot match.” Mu opened their eyes, they looked watery and puffy. The clicking sound became more urgent, the cogitators were screaming for it to end. “Body parts you crave that Mu… I… do not possess. Blessed Cogitators Titus, look how hard it is for me to express myself in your language, do you think a relationship will work? T(I have no place in your world).”

The hastened clicking relaxed, lungs that weren’t his struggled for air. Mu gave in and placed their forehead on Titus’ chest. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They purred in the comfort they shouldn’t allow themselves to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They were surrounded by strong arms whose warmth they had no business craving. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Their face, implants included, being covered in kisses that had a better use on someone else. Yet they didn’t want someone else to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.

“You are no heretek” Titus spoke clearly, his voice making a body that wasn’t his own yet felt like it; to tremble. “I never asked you to change for me. I will not allow you to change for me. Whatever you bring to me will make me happy, because it’s yours.”

“Counterargument. Titus feeling this way | (+++testosterone & +++oxytocin). (Hormonal stabilization = true) => Titus !(love) Mu. E(Desire = {∅}).”

“Theorerical: the result of your reasoning is false. Practical: you are in my head, you must only look.”

“Compliance.”

There was an invasive tingle poking at his brain, searching, inquiring. They shared a long moment of silence, lullabied by cogitators and Mu’s binharic musings. It felt strangely intimate, not the idea he had in mind when he came out of his room desperate to have the Priest inside him. Yet he still ached for it.

Mu looked up to him. Pulling their hood down then guiding Titus hands on how to properly hold their face without disturbing the cablework. Throne, they were so strangely beautiful.

“This unit’s compliance: approval pending.” They said, “This unit’s compliance ⇔ (Titus’ trust = true & Titus’ consent = true).”

“You pulled my body apart and back Magos, do you really need more trust?”

“Mu-Oragon !(had) Titus’ consent for rubicon. Patient previous state = unconscious. Unconsciousness !(match) consent protocol. Repeating inquiry: Titus’ Trust = True?”

“Yes Mu I trust you.”

“Titus’ statement = true?” The Magos pressed.

“With my life, Mu please just… ah…”

Another cable made its insertion into Titus, now at a port on his lower back. His vision blurred for a second after the push that made the connection click, he felt himself holding Mu’s face and Mu’s face being held by his hands. A series of satisfied binharic purrs came out of him… the Magos. A touch, a gentle hand caressing behind his earlobe and going down the jawline made him moan quite loud. Titus tightened his lips afterwards full of confusion and shame. Mu chuckled behind the respirator.

“Proud remark: Any mortal knowledge of Titus’ body < this unit’s knowledge of Titus’ body.” Both him and them gasped in unison with the many limbs holding him in place. “Proceeding with statement validation.”

Fingers brushed his hair back in a soothing motion, just like they did that day at the examination room to calm his nerves.

“Retrieving previously used data; Titus = {good, strong, capable, beautiful}.”

With every word a new limb joined the embrace. Hands, ribbed tentacles, mechadendrite claspers; they all rubbed and massaged Titus’ body over his clothes. Pleasurable yet with the Magos’ teasing, no contact was made with any greater erogenous zone. The Marine played against the scheme, moving himself in a way Mu would at least grace the most vocal centers about their hunger, the mechanicus fought back trying to anticipate Titus’ moves and not let him have a win. They both were absorbed by childish chuckle and sporadic gasps. Mu’s binharic clicks were cheerful, jovial notes, light and dark compared with the ones from earlier.

He placed his lips on Mu’s neck, also feeling them on his. And ran kisses over both flesh and blessed metal parts. They tensed a bit when he attempted to touch their chest, Titus sensed a third heart rate increasing followed by a mental note reassuring him it was fine. Without leaving carefulness behind he went down the Magos’ neck, wrapping, what the jealous tentacle allowed, of an arm behind Mu’s thighs lifting their body enough for him not bend on a weird angle to keep kissing down, his lips making out of fleshy and non biological parts under the robe.

That was when the mechadendrites started to infiltrate the openings on his clothes and slide under. The metal was no longer cold as it had been warmed up by Titus’ own body heat. Had that been the Magos’ plan?

They both moaned at the sensation of ribbed well oiled tentacles rubbing themselves against Titus’ nipples, lower abdomen and inner thighs. The Marine was sitting on his knees, holding Mu with one arm and kissing their upper robed body, the other hand kept making sense of the shapes hidden by red cloth.

Anchoring themselves firmly on Titus’ shoulders with two of their arms, Mu used the leftover free hands to undo the ribbons, clasps and buttons keeping the robe on. They stopped, only them letting go would uncover their body. He eyed them expectantly, noticing how shades of pink bloomed on what could be seen on their cheeks.

“Witness the miracle of machine and flesh ⇔ (Units > initiates). Exception logged: Demetrian Titus.” Their voice sounded even more distorted than usual, nervous binharic chirps made interference with their words.

“You don’t need to undress more if you are not comfortable, Mu.” Titus indicated lovingly as he massaged one of their shoulders.

The grill covering Mu’s mouth didn't impede him from noticing they were smiling, the expression brightening their whole face. Adoring notes in binharic were said yet nothing in a manner Titus could understand, but he thought how it reminded him about how their prayers sounded like. With ritual reverence they let the cloth go, causing the scarlet to part and barely hang off their shoulders. He felt Mu shiver as that skin didn’t seem used to being uncovered, it was paler than their face and very thin, so much he felt afraid of his calloused palms breaking it open. Said skin was bitten into by metal, flexible pipes and transparent wiring transporting blood. Just as they did with their head Mu guided Titus’ hands across their upper body, reaching the pant's edge, a scar continuing down into the pubis was seducing him to follow it underneath. He would have if he hadn’t noticed how in certain places clusters of purple broke paleness’ ruling, matching where he may have innocently grabbed or kissed too excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were that sensible.”

Titus got his mouth close enough to a bruise yet stopped leaving the lips hovering over it, only his breath making contact. He looked up to meet Mu’s gaze, a request for permission written on his. They tightened any grip on Titus leading to a shift of their weight forwards, pressing themselves against his lips. This time he could appreciate how the binharic purrs and notes actually started somewhere between their ribs and echoed towards the grilled respirator in their face to finish being properly enunciated. The pale layer vibrated and contracted with every joint moan, gasp, huff.

Mu took hold of another cable connected to them that had an orphan end with no port to call home. Instead of going for it right away they let the cord slide over Titus’ chest, going behind him by the left side of his neck and coming out from the right. The cables had a different texture from the appendages holding the mechadendrites, he enjoyed the contrast between stiff ribbedness and flexible softness. The port on the right side of his neck, by the joining with the shoulder, seemed to be the desired spot. The very moment the plug’s tip was to get inserted into it; Titus moved minimally away with a mischievous grin. Playfulness was older than machines, Mu wasn’t the only one with teasing rights.

Both continued the jolly game for a couple minutes; shifting, giggling. By the end, it seemed Titus would finally accept the insertion only for the marine to get Mu’s hand holding the cable with a light-hearted bite, not exerting a tinge of actual pressure. The Magos hummed then all together, their mechadendrites compressed his body right over spots he would feel their sting the most, the appendages close to his thighs pulled them firmly; forcing him to a more open and exposed sitting position. At the same time, Mu’s free hand seized as much as Titus’ hair it could and yanked his head back with surprising command; displaying the working area. All of it teared out a pained moan out his core.

“Delivering request for stillness.” They said, the teasing switched its tone from light-hearted into a lascivious one. “Patient Demetrian Titus !(compliance) => Execute: unit’s protocol for unruly patient subjugation. Titus != {bad patient}. (Titus = {Good patient}) = True?”

“Apologies Magos, I do want to be a good patient, please show me how.”

“Compliance.”

His heightened sensitivity perceived the contact between port and connector in ways words could barely describe. When the tip of the connector touched the outer ring, for half a second he could swear that the candles and lumens seemed to brighten then dull back to their normal luminosity. The friction of smooth metal against smooth metal from the middle of the insertion sparked ripples in his brain that reminded Titus just like a vox signal trying to connect. A final push brought the connection to properly click inside, if before it rippled across the nervous system; now there was no system left unassaulted by a powerful spasm.

Demetrian Titus went blank, only remembering short snippets drunk in this unadulterated euphoria, perception shifting quickly between bodies. Once his faculties adapted to the input stream he discovered himself in the same position but things had changed a little. Titus’ top was gone and his pants were down to the knees. Coagulated crimson lines decorated him all over, evidence from scratches his healing factor closed immediately. The marine was rocking his hips at the rhythm of one of the mechadendrites crossing between his legs, rubbing its oiled shaft over the crotch and between the buttocks. He was still holding onto Mu, quite closely. The Magos’ thighs were at both sides of his neck, Demetrian finding his teeth pulling at their pants’ waist band. Two of their hands were finding support from Titus' biceps, the other two grasping at the marine’s hair for dear life; robe barely hanging by their elbows. He saw no reason to stop it there.

Firmly holding Mu’s waist with one hand he lifted them up a bit, then using the other to grip the waistband at the back Titus slid their pants down, pulling them fully away. His lips' curiosity could finally scout the track indicated by that scar on their lower stomach. His kisses, the wetness of his tongue, the texture of his shaved cheeks; all sensations were mirrored back onto his skin. Then he made an interesting discovery, when he began charting what was left or lacked on Mu’s crotch it also reflected on his cock with curious representations. A lick on the front was actually felt at the base of his shaft, yet going and kissing a bit to the right from there was experience at the top of his glans. Mu’s moans were his moans, deep, hungry. Their connection was a cyclical loop of pleasure, what was felt on them echoed onto Titus then back into them. He wondered if the mechanicus was capable of feeling arousal from stimulation on that area without a two way connection. Maybe he could try to investigate in the future, as the now had Titus quite busy.

Mu moved the anchor points from Titus’ biceps to his hands, a metallic finger pried his mouth wide open making sure the tongue was fully out, then lifting themselves up they started to fully ride the Astartes’ mouth at the same rhythm the mechadendrite grinded its length between Titus’ legs. Their speech reduced to huffs and frantic binharic notes weaving the tunes of their shared pleasure. Titus almost dropped Mu when both of them were run over on climax’s path. Trembling prosthetic legs’ embrace became stronger, pressing him firmly on his face, a mortal with not as good breathing capacity would have likely perished out of air.

They shifted their weight around Titus to climb off his shoulders, sitting on one arm holding them, they pressed their face onto Titus’. That was when he perceived the respirator being slid down, thin soft lips and skin like the one on their other covered areas nuzzled him. Lungs that weren’t his momentarily ached as they readapted to unfiltered air. Mu’s kiss was shy, sloppy, and inexperienced. Their knowledge of other people’s bodies didn’t transfer well to the skill of kissing, it was fine, not like Titus had much either. They could learn together.

He pulled back from the kiss, not for lack of wanting but the realization he could finally admire Mu’s full face. It was round with big cheeks that were artificially parted with a depression between the cheekbone and cheek caused by the long respirator use.

“Isn’t it dangerous to take it off?” He asked quite concerned.

“!(Every unit).” their unaltered voice was more melodious than when muffled behind the respirator. “Mu-Oragon = {sacred binharic, chemical filtration}. Lung condition: stable. !(Risk)” They kissed him again then moved down his neck, he had forgotten, now they were connected Titus’ unquenching lust was also theirs. “Request: taste Titus.”

“You know the answer.” he smiled back.

Hums kept emanating from the respirator but without Mu’s mouth to guide them there was no binharic aria, just airy vibrations. He was fine without the tunes, that mouth looked beautiful with their fleshy lips crowning his nipple, disappearing into the bountiful hairy mass of his chest. Cold, a hand stroked up and down his shaft being unable to fully wrap its fingers around it. And Mu’s mouth, it was already small, yet his cock made it look even smaller by comparison, it made the whole Magos smaller by comparison.

They licked the leftover cum around the tip and down the shaft, maybe now discovering the taste he’ll have an enlightening comeback when Chairon jokingly tells him to go eat his own dick again.

Titus buckled and moaned not by stimulation itself but a memory, one of Mu’s hands was running its fingers in circles around the entrance to Titus’ backside. They were slippery, quite well lubricated in fact.

“Titus = {so good patient, follows prescription well}.” Mu teased him.

A grasping mechadendrite lifted up, holding the opened lube bottle he had stuffed inside his pocket before. Mu’s fingers barely peeked at the entrance, stretching the aroused fleshy ring.

“Titus’ memories: seen. This Unit's touch: requested. Compliance.”

They slipped inside with the same effortless precision as before, the joy of getting filled as he had been craving was unmeasurable. Titus grabbed Mu’s head and trusted his cock inside the Magos’ mouth, barely getting a third in. In vengeance they got another finger into him, he wailed at the stretch and pressure curling inside him. If before Mu played him like an instrument, the current Titus was the whole orchestra, from groans to wines they composed a melody out of the Astartes’ desire.

The rhythm became even faster, building a time bomb of pleasure inside his crotch. Drool and precum dripped down Mu’s chin, Emperor, Omnissiah, whoever was responsible: what a beautiful creature they were. Lustful indulgence was ramping up into a crescendo, Titus was getting close to relief he wanted to cry; and he did once Oragon stopped right at the plunge’s edge, denying him.

Titus was about to ask why when they held his buttcheeks open for the lubed thin rounded head of a grasping mechadendrite pressed into him.

“Wait!” He howled.

“Titus trust = true.” They whispered hugging the Astartes between their arms, and his cock between their thighs.

Bastard, they had made it so aiding his throwing member would mean thrusting back and sodomizing himself into them. He had no choice and soon realized how Mu didn’t oversell themselves when they said they knew Titus’ body best, his hole was so well prepared it took the claw and following tentacle quite well. The stretch was so much yet it didn’t feel painful, Golden Throne, it felt like something he didn’t know he wanted but now will never be able to live without.

Now the mouths of both of them were free he could appreciate how much of a mirror they had become, Titus was the baritone to Mu’s tenor-soprano, singing the same song in parallel harmonies. It was so much, he began bending over until he had the Magos pinned on the floor under him as he thrusted between their thighs, and the Magos had him entangled in many arms and cables as they stretched his insides.

Titus had been shivering when he approached the same edge of the cliff as before, it being at a higher distance from the ground compared to the last. The Astartes felt as if the fall was going to make him blackout again, Mu had given him so many gifts, brought back to life and now another way to perceive life through the skin of the one he cherished, their skin.

The timer on the time bomb in his crotch reached zero, a wave of pleasure after the other washed over him, he suddenly became aware of every pore in their skins, every hair on their heads. But it kept on, every single one of Mu’s appendages grabbed onto Titus as if letting go would cost them their life. He squirmed as his asshole didn’t see mercy nor rest, words were not able to be had with a throat so busy on pained moans.

Wait, did he have so many cables inserted? Titus finally became aware that more than three ports on his body were in use, when did it happen? When he went blank? Realization dawned on him: he was trapped. All this time he had been a careless fly dancing around the spider’s net, every step entangling him more and more until he was fully helpless, ready to be consumed. The moans transformed into howls, those became wails, wails into whimpers, whimpering devolved into sobbing, culminating in the drained gasps of a fuck hole that knows its place. His mind gave up to the pleasure finally breaking and going blank.

He woke to the smell of incense and the realization of being so literally empty, laying on his side with Mu facing him. Mechadendrites and cables were still holding him, not with hunger but care.

“I guess I ruined your rug.” He joked.

“!(underestimate) martian chemical cleaner.” The Magos smiled sleepily at him, they hadn’t put the respirator back on yet, purplish red bite marks and bruising dressed their lips and lower jaw, Titus rubbed a finger over those.

“My doing again I suppose, guess even my bare minimum of gentleness is still too rough. I’m sorry Mu, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Reasurance. Preemptive awareness = True. Exchange | risk assessed. Titus design = {Strong, powerful, deadly}. (System’s status: fully operational) => no need to disable recurrence of interactions.” they said, soothing his worries.

Mu’s voice returned to the metallic distortion as they put the respirator back on, gentle binharic hum seemed to communicate the Magos’ bliss on that moment more than any words they nor Titus could spare.

Then the song changed to a familiar prayer, Mu started to go over the cables connecting them to Titus in reverse, from the last to be connected to the first. Before each of the disconnections the prayers sang a layered stanza Titus attributed meaning due to the tune; gratitude, mourning, hope. One by one he saw himself dividing from Mu’s senses, his mind grasping at any pieces left of that consciousness which melted into his, a cry of loneliness as what as one was became two separate beings again. He didn’t feel gloom though, as the prayer implied, separation only meant a new opportunity to meet again.

“Wait a moment.” Titus interrupted when Mu-Oragon got to the final plug that was the first, the one at his nape.

“Attention = True. Unit Titus wellbeing: stable?” They asked with the leftover sleepiness of someone coming out of a deep trance.

“Titus ∈ to Mu, and = true - and that will always be true.” He spoke slowly, doing his best to speak on their lingo, knowing they may be doing a horrible job with laughable pronunciation. “Do Mu ∈ to Titus - this is a question.”

At least his hope of not saying anything offensive by accident was reassured. The mechanicus’ face became as red as the clean parts of the rug they were laying over, nervous binharic notes escaped them like an open faucet.

“Theoretical” they started, earning an instant chuckle from Titus. “Mu ∈ Titus. Practical: T(Mu ∈ Titus).”

Just as it all started Titus kissed them on the cheek, right over where the skin met the respirator. Weird, Mu was rubbing the back of his neck, plug gone yet he didn’t feel a disconnection. Maybe the Omnissiah had finally made up their mind about him.

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poppitron360 · 16 days ago

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Okay so I might’ve mentioned that I’m writing a fic where the children of Percabeth, Solangelo, and Valgrace go on an epic quest to rescue their parents and the rest of the Seven from the clutches of evil and I’ve kinda been Hyperfixating on it for a while so here is the first character I would like to info-dump about.

Meet Finley Di Angelo-Solace!!!

He’s currently my favourite out of the Next-gen trio and definitely the one I have the most fun writing for. I genuinely love him sm.

Rant under the cut-

Fin is the son of Nico and Will, and was created using divine godly magic so is biologically both theirs (hey if Zeus can have a baby from his thigh this can happen)

His powers are a complex amalgamation of both of his parents: he can shadow-travel in sunlight, he can heal and talk to the dead and his main weapon is archery

He’s autistic

He has hypersensitive hearing (it could be an Apollo thing, it could be an Autism thing we don’t know. It’s probably both)

He prefers ranged combat partially because he is touch-averse and likes to keep his distance (also bc the other two characters both use melee weapons so I needed some variety)

I see your “Trans Will Solace” hc and I raise you- “Transmasc son of Solangelo who they love and support so so much”

He will INSIST on wearing a binder throughout the entire quest, rib cage be damned! (This will become a problem bc apparently you’re supposed to take breaks and you’re not supposed to do any physical exercise in them so running around chasing monsters is not gonna go well)

A big theme in the fic is gonna be “names have power- but the name you choose is so much more important than the name you were given”, a continuation of the theme from my Married Valgrace AU (which this is canon to) where Jason chooses to take Leo’s name instead of keeping the name of the mom that abandoned him. I feel like Finley would be a great character to symbolise this- someone who chose his own name.

His favourite colour is green/turquoise

Think of Nico’s scariest moment that you’ve read in canon or in a fic- where he is just a force of complete and utter darkness and death. Are you picturing it? Good. Now multiply that by ten. Now imagine someone tried to misgender his child.

The same can be applied to Will. No transphobe would dare mess with Solangelo’s boy.

He is childhood best friends with the two other main characters, Isabella and Olympia, and talks to them a lot but is kinda shy around everyone else.

He also has a major crush on Isabella- the daughter of Valgrace. I have so many cute hcs about those two y’all have no idea.

He is good with medicine and has a magic first-aid kit that acts a lot like Leo’s tool belt with replenishing supplies.

He loves Star Wars

While all the other characters’ POV chapters have regular PJO-style funny titles, all his chapter titles are TOA-esque haikus.

@demigod-shenanigans @twomanyfandomshelp @puzzled-pegasus @m-for-now @lavenderfairiez @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @123letsgobestie @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @hadeslegacyhephgirl @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @inky-void @deciduowl @day-draws

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pukefactory · 11 days ago

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GLISTEN X TRANS BOY READER PLS 🙏🙏

I RLLY LIKE UR WRITINGBGBFBNFNF

Haha, thank you, Anon! This is my first time writing for Glisten, and I tried to keep him as true to character as possible. Hopefully, I did a good job. This was such a lovely request, and I’m glad I could write it for you. Enjoy reading!

*.｡✱ STANDBY DUTY ✱*.｡

♡ Summary: Glisten helps trans male reader after top surgery

♡ Character(s): Glisten (Dandy’s World)

♡ Reader pronouns: He/Him

♡ Genre: Short Story, SFW, Fluff

♡ Word Count: 413

♡ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

Glisten fusses over you a lot—that much is obvious to both you and everyone around you. But after your successful top surgery, which went smoothly, he became even more overprotective. He insists on doing everything for you, even when you don’t ask, and he’s especially particular about you lifting your arms or changing clothes. If you so much as raise your arms without warning him first, he panics and immediately insists on doing it for you or at least assisting.

This is one of those times.

You sit up in bed after a long rest, the tightness and ache in your chest immediately noticeable. You know the pain will worsen as the day goes on—it always does—but that’s just part of the healing process. It’s all worth it, though. Hell, it even feels worth it right now. You glance down at the snug binder around your chest and smile, relieved that you no longer have to see a part of your body that once made you uncomfortable.

As expected, Glisten isn’t beside you. He’s probably in the kitchen preparing breakfast, like he has been for the past few days.

‘I should go see him’ you think, stretching your legs and back carefully as you rise. Your muscles feel stiff, and a good stretch helps ease some of the tension.

‘Can’t go out without a shirt’ you remind yourself, scanning the room until you spot a loose one peeking out from under your pillow. That’ll do. You pull it out and slowly start raising your arms to put it on—

“Excuse me! Arms down right now!”

Glisten’s voice startles you as he marches into the room, pouting as he heads straight for you.

“It’s fine, Glisten, I got—”

“No, no! I don’t want to hear another word!” He swiftly pulls the shirt from your hands. “Goodness, you know you’re not supposed to wear shirts yet!”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Ah, ah!” He slips his soft pink gown off his shoulders and stands behind you. “You’re wearing this, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“Yes, sir…” you mumble, slipping your arms into the oversized sleeves as he holds the gown open for you.

“Good! Now, come on—I got Sprout to cook breakfast for you, and it’s already on the table.” Glisten gently takes your hand and guides you toward the kitchen.

You smile to yourself. He may be a bit demanding, but it’s only because he cares. And for that, you’re incredibly grateful.

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yaymiyas · 1 year ago

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Yandere!Jock Introduction

warning: yandere content, manipulation, foul language, boys being…boys!, gn reader

YANDERE!JOCK, whose very name gives you the ick. noah. ew. to his medium length golden hair that frames his face ever so tightly, to his tall frame that makes it almost impossible to miss him, and to especially his a million dollar smile that he wears like the latest fashion trend…why do you hate him again?

why do you avoid him like the spanish flu? not even you knew fully. you contemplate about this very topic for weeks, never really getting a straight answer from yourself. from every instants that you two have crossed paths, he has been nothing but forthcoming with you. nothing but sunshines and rainbows. nothing but absolutely perfect.

Yuck.

you never even wanted to actually know who he was. you and your friends may have joked about him and his friend group a few times, but having noah around you 24/7 was never really on your bucket list. he kind of made it his own mission to make his existence your business.

it all started last semester, when you were walking down the hall. chem and statistic books in one arm, and the other quietly struggling to keep your book bag up. with the current cards not being 1000% in your favor, you didn’t really have time to look up at where exactly you were going. but noah did. trying to maneuver through the busy halls isn’t the easiest task with two shoulders filled and a 6’2, linebacker breaking down your neck. you didnt even see him walking beside you for the last two door frames you seemingly passed. all that was on your mind was to successfully get to the exit quick enough so you can get to your car, but satan had other plans.

“i can help you if you dont mind”

not paying the voice any real attention, you flash a struggling smile trying to use that as a quiet sign to leave you alone. one thing you didn’t bank on, was for noah to not really take no as a real answer. or in this case, an annoyed smile. testing his luck, the taller male fixed your book bag strap releasing a whole 2 pounds of weight off of your shoulder. with this new found feeling, you hesitantly stopped in your tracks and paid the stranger a small glance. looking back was noah, smiling widely like he just won the latto.

YANDERE!JOCK who finds a way to comfort you at all the right times. a random rumor about you started to spread at the speed of light. nobody would tell you where it started, or why they believe it but all you know is that it is messing up your senior year. you wanted to end your high school career better than when you came in, because lets face it, your freshman and sophomore years were ass. not being of bullying or teasing, you just weren’t ready or willing to see that you were in a different environment. things are different from two years ago, well they were supposed to be.

you don’t know how you started crying or when, but you were outside of your ecom class tears soaking your binders. you never allowed the words of others to get to you, always brushed them off. this time around it was different. you were more affected than you thought you would be at things like this. sleeping with a teacher? the same ecom teacher who you deducted points for not citing correctly? the same one who didn’t learn your name until two weeks ago? such a baseless and so easy to be unproven, so why do so many people believe it?

the only reason you were crying outside of your class is because two girls called you a slut to your face. out loud. with grins on their face, like your misery was something that warmed their skin. it was all so disgusting but you couldn’t do anything was cry. why now? why you? why the very last semester of high school? why?

“i heard about what’s going on,”

noah slightly nudges your leg with his foot, forcing your attention solely on him. you didn’t want to look up.

no, you actually wanted to tell him to go away. why was the most annoying, condescending, passive aggressive person in front of you for. the universe and gods must hate you.

“you know,”

he started with a hint of glee in his voice. was this all a joke to him? was he enjoying your tears? was your agony entertainment for him? this sick bastard. if you could, you would pull him by his hair and yank him to the floor. a knee to the stomach wouldn’t do anything to a linebacker right?

“its okay if you slept with him…we all have our low points.”

wow.

oh.

you are a joke to him. his smile never wavered, no it actually got bigger. you turned your head a bit so both of you were staring into the others. his ocean blue eyes seemed to turn into a black hole, sucking you into it with no avail. this is sick. he is sick. was he the one to fucking tell everybody that? how did he even know about the rumor? why was he here? what does he want from you, and how far will he go to get it.

#yay ocs #yandere oc #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere #yandere jock #yandere jock x reader #gn reader #female reader #male reader

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oksurethisismyname · 7 months ago

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Trans!masc Sanji who spent years dreaming about having a baby, despite the body dysmorphia he knew he would risk.

Sanji who spent his whole life dreaming of starting a family, planning to be a better father than his shitty sperm donor and to also be a bit more gentle than Zeff. Sanji who knows his calling (after being a chef and finding the all blue) is to give love unconditionally. He gives love to so many, people constantly say he’s going to make a great father and he believes it.

Sanji who has the most difficult pregnancy. Everything hurts, standing for so long in the kitchen sucks, his ankles are sore, he’s not allowed to spar anymore, he’s not able to wear a binder anymore, but he knows, he just knows that he was born to be a parent, that one of the best things he could do in his life is to raise a child with his marimo (IM A ZOSAN FAN I CANT HELP IT)

Sanji who finally FINALLY goes into labor and has the baby, everything goes as smooth as it can… so why doesn’t this baby feel like HIS baby? Why does it feel like he’s babysitting someone else’s kid? Wasn’t he supposed to feel some instant bond, some overwhelming love? He can’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time without waking up in a cold sweat and rushing to check the baby is alive, only to desperately wish he could just go back in time and not have to do this anymore.

Nami and Robin who get together and make padcicles for Sanji post partum and hold the baby so he can just make himself a cup of tea and breath.

Brooke who plays soothing lullabies for the baby and does his best to drown out the cries so Sanji doesn’t wake up from a nap.

Franky and Usopp who create a bassinet that gently rocks the baby to sleep if it detects motion or crying

Jimbei who is so big and squishy and does contact naps with the baby so Zoro and Sanji can have a nap just the two of them

Luffy who is a human weighted blanket, grabbing Sanji and forcing him to listen to affirmations of how he IS a good dad, he loves his baby even if his brain is being dumb, no baby is as lucky as his baby is and no baby has a better set of dads

Zoro who holds his partner while he cries, reassuring him that it’s ok to feel this way, that this isn’t some Vinsmoke thing, it’s a “you just had a baby and your body and brain are totally different now”

Sanji who suffers from severe post partum depression and anxiety but has an entire crew to uplift and support him as he heals

Sanji who wakes up one morning, turning to Zoro and says “I think I finally feel like myself again”

#one piece #I can’t stop projecting onto sanji #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #sanji #zoro #post partum sanji #mentally ill sanji #transmasc sanji #I love sanji

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tsaomengde · 27 days ago

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The Interview

Content warning for explicit descriptions and discussions of sexual assault. I am not fucking around. Do not read this if you're not in a place to handle that.

Unsurprisingly, my boss, Harold, does not know who Richard Colby is. He summarizes the situation in his typical brusque fashion. “Some genre writer’s getting me-tooed and his PR team wants a puff piece to remind everyone what a funny, awkward, approachable guy he actually is. Do you want it?”

I shrug, knowing that if I come across as too eager he might give it to someone else. Harold doesn’t like go-getters. He likes solid, reliable people who show up on time, write the things they’re told to, and don’t bother him with too many ideas of their own.

“Sure.”

“You’ll take an Uber to his house. It’s in upstate New York. He wants to do the interview there. Says it’ll make him feel more comfortable.”

“Got it.”

The day of, I go full femme mode. Shave my legs for the first time in years, makeup, product in my hair, a bra instead of a binder, a suit with a pencil skirt, pumps, and stockings. Looking at myself in the mirror makes me feel dysphoric, but I shove it off. Bigger fish.

It’s an hour’s ride in the Uber to Colby’s house. I know the magazine will cover it, so I decide fuck it and take an Uber Black. Pulling up to a mansion in a luxury car while dressed for the world’s sluttiest business meeting certainly is something else.

There’s no help, no hovering PR people or gofers. Colby answers the door himself. He looks rumpled, a small older man wearing an oversized Aran knit sweater and greying curly hair. “You must be Chris,” he says. His voice is mellow.

“You must be correct,” I tell him. “May I come in?”

He ushers me into a positively cavernous room that’s all white carpet, white leather couches, and giant windows looking out onto his landscaped garden. “Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Cup of tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I tell him. I pull out my phone, set it on the table, pull up my voice recording app, and make a show of pressing the red button. I also pull out my notepad and pen, sitting down on one of the couches and crossing my legs, barely remembering to hook one knee over the other instead of my usual ankle situation. I don’t wear skirts basically ever. “Ready to start?”

He hems and haws a little but eventually settles on the couch, a respectful enough distance away. There is a whole other couch on the other side of a big coffee table, though, so it was definitely a choice to plant himself on the same one as me. “So,” he says. “I suppose you’d like to discuss the current palaver in my personal life.”

I frown. “Palaver?”

He smiles thinly. “A whole lot of fuss over nothing, more or less.”

“Ah. So you’re denying the allegations brought against you?”

“Categorically. Are you certain you don’t need anything to drink?”

“Why, so you can drug it?”

Now he blinks, looking shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Right,” I tell him. “Sorry. That’s not your style. You prefer to take advantage of emotionally vulnerable and financially insecure people. Less money spent on drugs that way.”

His face clouds. “Miss –”

“No,” I tell him. “Not a woman.”

That definitely throws him. “I – but –”

“Oh, I know I look like one right now. But femininity is just a performance, after all. I can pick it up and put it down whenever I want.” I pitch my voice high and bubbly. “All it takes is a little practice.”

Now he’s beginning to look angry. “I think you ought to be going, now.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” I pull the last of my interview tools out of my suit jacket. He stops looking angry very abruptly and begins looking scared. This is a natural reaction to being confronted with a Walther PPK.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” I continue. “If you get up from this couch, or try to move toward me in any way, I’m going to shoot you. Naturally police will get called, there’ll be a huge – what was that wonderful word you used – ah, yes, palaver. There’ll be a huge palaver and it’ll ultimately be your word against mine. After all, there are no witnesses. You let all of your staff go when things first started going sideways and it looked like money might start to actually get tight.” I gesture minutely with the gun. “Didn’t you, Richard?”

He doesn’t say or do anything.

“Not that it really matters if there were people around. Everyone you ever employed had to sign an NDA as part of their job. An NDA that threatened them with some frankly draconian consequences both legal and financial if they ever talked about you or your activities to the press.”

Silence.

“I expect you looked me up when you heard I was going to be your interviewer,” I say. “Here’s what I think happened. You started thinking about this interview, about having this little femme-ish person in your home – I mean, nonbinary people are just ‘women lite,’ right? – and filling my head with nice-sounding bullshit. Maybe you thought about how you would get a little closer to me as we talked, bit by bit, until you were able to touch me. Maybe a hand on my shoulder, or knee, or thigh? Just a little touch at first, but then you’d get more insistent.”

His face contorts in a rictus expression, but he still says nothing.

“Where did it go next?” I ask. “This fantasy version of me. Was I down? Or did I resist? Is it hotter when they say no, Richard?”

I see his Adam’s apple bob a little as he swallows. He still doesn’t say anything.

“Answer the question like a good boy,” I tell him. “Or I’ll shoot you anyway and things will go like I said.”

His eyes flick toward the phone.

“Oh, yes, it is recording,” I tell him. “But you know how it is, Richard. Things get deleted by mistake, or lost. Or, oops, silly little me, I forgot to press the button! This is why we kept women out of journalism for so long.”

“I don’t know how to answer your question,” he finally says.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t do anything you just suggested. If my employees signed NDAs, it was my lawyers who made them do it. I certainly didn’t engage in lurid fantasizing about you before you arrived. And I let my staff go when this whole thing first started because I didn’t want them getting swept up in it, not because of financial concerns.”

“You didn’t want them talking to the press, you mean,” I tell him. “NDAs or no, you were paranoid about that. But I was able to interview one of them.”

He blinks. “Who?”

“Now now, Richard, they spoke to me under guarantee of anonymity. I’m an ethical journalist. I don’t reveal my sources.”

“The gun you’re using to threaten me would cast doubt on the credibility of your ethics, I must say.”

I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. “A little bit of sass from the serial rapist. You love to see it.”

“I am not –”

“What is it about anal rape specifically that you like, Richard? The fact that it’s easier to make someone bleed from their ass, or the fact that the angle’s better when you’ve got them pinned on their stomach so you don’t have to see their face?” When he just sits there gaping at me, I continue, “Is it both? Neither? Oh, I forgot about the allegations that after you anally raped some of your victims you made them clean off your cock with their mouths. Do you just like making people eat their own shit, Richard? I’m sorry, I mean, ‘my Lord.’ That is what you insisted people call you, whether they wanted to or not.”

He still sits there and says nothing. He just stares at me. He doesn’t even look angry.

“The thing I keep seeing,” I tell him, “more than anything else, is the grief. Millions of people loved your work, Richard. We grew up with it. We drew comfort from it. We loved the way you insisted on depicting the stories of the marginalized. The unseen. People of color, women, queer folks, trans folks, immigrants, convicts. Victims of systemic discrimination, of assault. We saw ourselves in those stories, some of us for the first time. And you’re so outspoken, Richard. You’re so quick to call yourself a feminist. To tweet about hashtag believe women. To go to bat when famous dickheads go on a twitter rant about men wearing a dress so they can go into women’s restrooms and do vague sex crimes. You talked the talk so well, Richard, and for so long. It really was easy to believe that you were walking the walk.”

His mouth is pressed into a thin line. There are tears in his eyes.

“So, on the record, Richard. Are you sorry for what you’ve done?”

A tear runs down his cheek. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse.

“Do you regret it? If you could, would you go back and change it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good boy,” I tell him. “And listen, I believe you. I believe that right now, in this moment, you feel like an absolute piece of shit and wish you’d never been born. Humans are extremely reference-dependent, Richard. When we’re in a hot state, when we’re angry or horny or high or some combination of all of them, we have a very hard time thinking about anything more than what we want to do right there in that moment. Regret happens when you look back with clear eyes and really objectively evaluate what you did.”

He nods, still weeping silently.

“So,” I continue. “We’ve established that you regret it, Richard. You regret all the terrible shit you did. You are, in fact, capable of feeling regret, is my point.” I raise my free hand palm up, fingers curled, in an inquiring gesture. “So my next question would be, why’d you keep doing it?”

Back to silence. He has nothing to say.

“We have sworn testimony from five or six women now, Richard. Over a period of years. Decades, even. One or two data points could be coincidence, mistakes, misunderstanding. But there’s a pattern here. And more people are coming forward. My point is, only you – maybe not even you, it’s been so long – know how many people you’ve sexually assaulted. So why, at no point, did you just… stop doing it? Why didn’t you say, I regret this and would like to change it if I could, so I’m not going to do it any more?”

The quiet from him is deafening. The gun is heavy in my hand, but I don’t let my aim waver.

“I’ve read a lot of think pieces about this,” I say. “A lot of very educated people holding forth on generational cycles of abuse and trauma begetting more abuse and trauma. People are talking about how your parents were part of a very wealthy, very powerful cult. About some of the stuff you were obviously subjected to as a kid. That kind of stuff fucks you up, I agree. You don’t live through trauma like that without the brain doing weird things to try to cope.”

I lean forward toward him, lowering my voice a little. His eyes stay fixed on the gun.

“But between you and me, Richard? I don’t care. Your brain isn’t you. Your traumas and triggers aren’t you. You’re you. At the end of the day, you’re the one who controls your actions. You might be predisposed to them, you might even find it overwhelmingly hard not to do them, but the bottom line is that the buck stops with you and no power or force in the universe can change that. You took advantage of people. You violated and hurt people. And you just kept doing it! And the whole time you kept getting up on your little soapbox and telling everyone how good of an ally you were!” I can hear my voice rising and getting shrill and at this point I’m beyond caring. “Fuck, I’m surprised no one twigged to your bullshit much earlier! It’s so obvious in retrospect!"

It is at this point, of course, that he decides to go for the gun. It’s only natural, after all. I’m getting closer to him, I’m agitated, I’m caught up in the moment and ranting. There will never be a better time, and he knows it. One hand seizes my wrist and twists, the other comes around in a solid blow to my jaw. I see stars and feel the weapon fall from my fingers.

When I can see and think again, only a couple seconds later, he is standing, pointing the gun at me, screaming, calling me a crazy bitch, et cetera. I massage my jaw. “Richard, that wasn’t very nice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” he says. “That wasn’t very nice of me? To disarm the psychotic cunt that came into my house with a gun to threaten me? I am so very sorry I hurt you! Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’m sorry your little parasocial fantasy relationship with me had its bubble burst when it turned out I’m just another disappointing fuckup?”

“It doesn’t hurt to hear that, no,” I say. “But no, honestly, what I wanted was to make you feel the way some of your victims did. To be paralyzed with fear and impotent rage as someone made you feel like a worthless bag of shit. Didn’t enjoy it, huh?”

“I don’t know how many times I need to explain to people that I’m sorry things went the way they did!” he shouts. “I’m not a comic book villain, I don’t have some evil master plan that I already executed thirty minutes before you got here. I’m just a man who has made bad decisions and wants to put them behind him! I didn’t kill anyone, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s true,” I say. “You haven’t killed anyone. Yet.”

I make as though I’m going to spring at him. He screams and pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens, of course. There aren’t any bullets in the gun’s clip or chamber.

He stares at the weapon in shock for a long few seconds while I just sit there and go back to rubbing my aching jaw. That’s going to bruise for sure.

“No, it didn’t jam, it’s just not loaded,” I say, finally. “And look on the bright side, Richard. You only pulled the trigger once. You didn’t keep trying after the first time. That’s the difference between manslaughter and murder, right there.”

He drops the gun onto the floor. I lean over and pick it up, putting it back in my jacket. I also collect my phone, which is still recording. I press the red button again and turn that off.

“Naturally, none of this is going to be admissible in court,” I tell him, putting away my notepad and pen and starting to straighten out my outfit, which got rumpled in the tussle. “Confession under coercion, real or imagined, never is. But that was never the point, after all. I just came here to write a story.”

He stares at me with hollow eyes. “It sounded to me like you came here for more than that.”

“Catharsis is nice, sure, but it doesn’t pay the rent, Richard. But the waves this whole thing will make – the two weeks of discourse about whether what I did was okay, the yea-sayers and the nay-sayers fighting on twitter, the long screeds on Medium and WaPo about whether it’s morally justified to bully a bully, et cetera et cetera? It’s all going to add up, Richard. You can take some comfort in the idea that you really are being a good ally, finally, by helping get a queer writer’s career off the ground.”

His mouth quirks in a bitter smile. “So much for the moral high ground.”

“I never laid any claim to that, Richard.” I turn and head for the door.

But I can’t resist looking over my shoulder one more time. “Oh, but just to point out – if I had, I would still have it, because I haven’t raped a bunch of people and then made them sign NDAs to keep them from talking about it.”

He doesn’t say anything. I don’t look back at him again as I leave.

My Uber Black is still waiting for me in the driveway. The driver glances back at me in his rear-view mirror as I slide into the backseat. “That was fast,” he says. “I was expecting to be waiting out here for, like, at least an hour.”

I shrug. “We got to the heart of the matter pretty quickly.”

He nods, putting the car in drive and starting the trip back. “So,” he says. “Did he do all that stuff? Like, for real?”

“What do you think?” I ask him.

With a shrug, he replies, “Probably, yeah. But you know how this kind of thing goes. There’s a bunch of court stuff, a lot of people fighting on the Internet about it, and maybe he gets house arrest and a fine. Maybe. More likely they let him off. He’ll be back to writing stuff next year and talking about how he got unfairly canceled and now he’s trying to just come back and do his thing but the liberal media won’t let him.”

“Yeah, probably,” I say. I’m already drafting my statement for when my phone gets hacked and the recording gets leaked without my consent or knowledge. I also send my girlfriend a message confirming I’m still good to crash at her place for a while so I’m not home when the crazy people show up to threaten me in person after I get doxxed.

I know he’s right, though. Life isn’t story-shaped. There isn’t going to be a nice, fitting end for Richard Colby. He’s going to keep living a very comfortable life with his millions of dollars and he’ll die of old age in his sleep.

That’s what gets me, at the end of the day. That he’s the one who made me believe that life should be story-shaped. That, in the final account, the world should work the way it does in books and television. Bad guy gets caught, gets punished, happily ever after.

Fuck him for that. I’m so tired. I can’t even be angry.

I’m just disappointed.

#writing #my writing #neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations #i'm not blazing this because it would never get approved #so if you read it and it speaks to you please give it a reblog #i'm so tired

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trblsvt · 2 years ago

Text

the long way | yoon jeonghan

summary | it was just like any other shoot. go in, pose, drink water, don't get food on the clothes, and don't joke around with the staff. easy. except it wasn't that easy. genre | just fluff, model!jeonghan warnings | swearing (?), like one innuendo word count | 2.2k words pairing | yoon jeonghan x gn!reader min | lowercase intended @i-luvsang likes to torture me with this concept so here it is. you're welcome. i may have diverged a little from your original concept... i actually don't think there's any language in here. i tried to make this gender-neutral, but if anyone finds a fem!reader pronoun please let me know!

jeonghan liked his job. really, he did. what was there to complain about it? it was an easy, not to mention, fun life. he liked traveling. he liked the different foods he got to try. he liked the nice clothes he got to wear during photoshoots. he would be lying if he said he never stole some of the clothes that he got to wear. he especially enjoyed chatting with the staff.

they were usually amiable with him and entertained his antics. sometimes he even got a genuine laugh out of a few photographers too.

but sometimes, just chatting was boring. especially when the conversations were cut short by photographers calling him back to get a few more shots or make-up artists coming up to him to touch up his make-up. so jokes in between shots and lipstick touch-ups were a must.

today was no different. he had to advertise for the brand that he was an ambassador for, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. the clothes were comfortable, the air temperature was just right, and his audience was readily accepting of his jokes.

half of the time he couldn't remember the point of his jokes. he just said whatever came to mind. sometimes he was monologuing his thoughts and people would laugh. it did boost his ego, though. his inner voice was funny enough to garner laughs without even trying

as jeonghan was setting up for another shot, the photographer asked him to fix his stance. "i need you to spread your legs a bit more, jeonghan," the photographer asked. jeonghan had worked with him a few times, so he felt comfortable cracking a slightly inappropriate joke. "wow, mingyu, i thought you'd ask me out on a date first. already trying to get between my legs," jeonghan chuckled, fixing his stance. mingyu only rolled his eyes and went back to adjusting his camera settings.

that joke got a few laughs.

but it was jeonghan. he needed at least seventy-five percent of the staff to laugh at least one of his jokes. what else was he supposed to do when he was there? stand there and look good, yes, but no.

besides, he needed to test his standup on a live unsuspecting audience.

so that's how the rest of the shoot went. jeonghan finding ways to make puns here and throw a few sexual innuendos there. he appeared to be a hit, and that's all he wanted.

that is until he made some half-assed joke that he didn't even think about when he heard something. something so.... attractive. a laugh. from someone who had not laughed at his jokes until the lamest one he had cracked all day. he glanced over his shoulder in the direction that he heard it and his eyes landed on you. you were covering your face with a hand while the other clutched a tray of drinks and a binder tucked under your arm.

he made eye contact and quirked an eyebrow at you. you instantly averted your gaze to the ground and fumbled around for your phone.

cute, he thought.

he needed to hear it again.

for the remaining hour on set he tried and tried to get to you laugh again, but much to his dismay you were on the phone for most of the time.

soon enough he was out of the clothes and into his regular day clothes. the stylist quickly removed the extravagant make-up, and he swiftly grabbed his bag so he could find you.

as he ran out of the dressing room and onto the set. he scanned the room in search of you, and caught a glimpse of your silhouette walking out the door toward the city and not toward the back where the cars were. "jeonghan, are you coming?" his manager called to him. "the car is waiting." jeonghan shook his head and watched as the door closed behind you. "i'm actually going to walk home today. this was the last activity scheduled today, right?" jeonghan stated. even if it wasn't the last thing he had to do today, he had more important things in mind.

"uh, yes, that's all. but are sure you want to walk alone?" his manager questioned.

"i think bringing people with me garners more attention than me just walking by myself," he shrugged. so with that he swung his coat over his shoulders, hat on head, and left the same way you went.

he saw the back of your head make its way through the surprisingly empty street. he checked his watch and realized that it was right before rush hour. he jogged to catch up with you.

he was so close to you now. he could probably reach out and grab your hand if he wanted to, but that would be weird. he didn't even know your name.

how could he even approach you? "hi i'm jeonghan. i thought your laugh was pretty-" wait was that too personal? too forward?

he was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the way you tensed up when he got too close. suddenly you whipped around, "are you following me?"

he paused with a wide-eyed look plastered on his face. this was not the way it was supposed to go. "well, yes. but, not- not in the weird way," he tried to clarify. he looked slightly frantic, he looked worried. you examined his distinctive features. "oh, mr. yoon. i didn't recognize you with your hat on," you laughed.

there it was.

"please, just jeonghan is fine," he assured.

"okay, just jeonghan."

ha, you were pretty witty too. he held out his hand for you to shake. "___," you introduced yourself.

amazing.

"are you on your way to anything important?" he asked after looking at you for a bit longer. you glanced down at your phone and around the street. "i was actually going back to the office to drop this off," you said motioning to the large file bag you held.

"i can accompany you, if you want," jeonghan offered. "if you're not too weirded out by me at this point."

"oh, no. i'm not weirded out. i'm just surprised. i mean, you are a model. models i usually work with don't talk with staff much," you mentioned before starting off walking again. he followed quickly behind you. "so would you say i'm different from other models you've met," he asked playfully.

"yes i suppose. for one, models don't usually joke around on set as much as you do," you noted, glancing down at your phone hoping he wouldn't notice how he was making your heart speed up. "they're a bit too serious sometimes. you were nice though."

jeonghan felt a bit proud of that.

he filled the rest of the walk with pleasant conversation. lightly brushing against your arm. he got you to laugh about ten more times through the walk.

yes, he was counting.

you took him through the park and chatted

"well, this is me," you said standing in front of the large building. he looked up, and he instantly recognized the logo plastered on the door. "wait, you work for-" he started.

"yes, i work for the brand that you are an ambassador for," you giggled. "why else would i be at the shoot? did i not mention all the other models i've had to worked with?"

jeonghan was utterly baffled. "yes. i mean you did. i just, i don't know i wasn't really focused on that part. maybe you just wanted to see a handsome man like myself," he tried to recover.

"well, seeing handsome men like yourself is in my job description. i have to make sure our ambassadors are representing us well," you nudged his arm, and he felt like he could burst with joy.

"well i didn't expect someone as attractive as yourself would work for a place like corporate," he attempted at gaining his confidence back. it appeared to work.

you scoffed lightheartedly and looked away from him. "you flatter me too much, jeonghan," you laughed and looked back at him. suddenly you heard your name being called. "___! there you are, i've been looking for you for the past hour," your co-worker (well more like friend since you had known her since forever) called. you glanced between her and jeonghan. "hey, i'm sorry. i got a little - distracted," you explained apologetically to your obviously frazzled friend.

"really, its my fault. i must've made the walk a bit slower. the park was just so nice today," jeonghan commented, glancing at you hoping that you would look back at him again.

"the park? that's the long way around, you could've taken-" your friend started before you clasped your hands on her shoulders. "well, i seriously do have to bring this back to my manager. thank you for walking with me, it was very kind of you," you said smiling at him.

"of course," he smiled. he held your eyes for a moment before you chuckled quietly and turned away with your friend. "goodbye," he called after you.

"bye," you replied back, only turning your head slightly towards him. you exchanged hushed whispers as the two of you made your way up to the entrance. "isn't that yoon jeonghan?" your friend quizzed. "he's the one who was at the shoot you went to, right? why'd you take him through the park? you know that's the long way. it adds like fifteen minutes to your walk."

"yeah, yeah, i know, he was just so easy to talk to. i needed an excuse to talk to him longer. plus, his laugh was super cute," you remarked.

it had been maybe an hour or two since you had said your goodbye to jeonghan downstairs. you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. how sweet and kind he was. he wasn't too full of himself like some of the other models were, but confident enough to make your heart beat a bit faster than usual. to top it all off, he was genuinely funny too.

you weren't exactly sure how you were supposed to just - forget about him. you worked with many models for the past few years, and sure most of them were nice. just not as nice as jeonghan.

you checked the clock and realized that there were only about thirty minutes left until you could clock out. maybe if you showered when you got home you could get jeonghan's cologne out of your senses.

as you sent your last email of the day and logged out of your computer, you began to gather your things from your desk. unfortunately, you were a bit too preoccupied to notice how the room outside of your office stilled. you were grabbing a few things that fell onto the floor.

then you heard someone clear their throat from your door. "uh, ___, someone is here to see you," one of your other co-workers said.

"uh, i just clocked out, but i can definitely add them on my calendar first thing tomorr-" you trailed off as you lifted your head and saw jeonghan standing outside your office behind the very nervous-looking receptionist.

"i'm afraid that won't work for me," jeonghan sighed absentmindedly looking around your office, hands clasped behind his back.

"mina, you can go," you told the receptionist. mina nodded and ran off. jeonghan stepped into your office and gently closed the door. "this is a surprise, mr. yoon," you said standing up.

"hopefully a welcome one," he joked. "and please, i was gone for a couple hours and you forgot i'm just jeonghan?" you stifled a laugh. "please do not feel like you need to contain you laughter from me, ___," he assured. you nodded a silent, but happy, agreement. "well, jeonghan. what is the occasion for this visit? were you unhappy with something today during the shoot?" you asked, approaching him. "and if tomorrow morning does not work to discuss this matter, i can figure something else out or i-"

"no. it's actually the opposite. i had a great time today. i think my only complaint is that you have not been there for the past few times i've modeled for this brand," he said getting closer to you. you could smell his cologne again and you knew you were in for it. "also, tomorrow morning won't work because i wanted to see if you were free tonight to get dinner with me, that is, unless you prefer breakfast," he smiled.

you were dumbfounded.

jeonghan was here. after hours. asking you out on a date. he was funny, kind, and not to mention quite attractive. you had been thinking about him for the whole day daydreaming about him, and he was here looking very handsome and very sincere. and who were you to decline such a tempting offer?

"how would you know that i would say yes?" you asked as the two of you walked out of the building.

"well for one, you didn't take the subway like a normal person would. secondly, you added a whole extra fourteen minutes to your walk because you skipped the subway and went through the park," he shrugged.

"were you counting?" you giggled and nudged his shoulder playfully.

"and what if i was? and what if i was counting every time you laughed at something i said today? what if i said that was the fifteenth time i've made you laugh today?"

"i might have to kiss you then."

"please do."

min | wow. that was sort of disgustingly cute. am i good a fluff, maybe? im softening with age i think. leave feedback and reblog if you want! it's appreciated. not proofread

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cosmerelists · 3 months ago

Text

Cosmere Characters at Disneyland

As requested by @jellybeanzrock :)

Listen...I'm sure that SOMEONE on tumblr already did a post like this but I CANNOT find it. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, let me know so that I can link it! I think it was maybe about roller coasters...?

Anyway, here's my take!

1. Steris: Arrives with the perfect plan

Yes, it is in a binder.

Steris: Breakfast: acquired. Steris: We are all sunscreened, we have full water bottles, and we're already 8 minutes ahead of schedule. Steris: According to the plan, this is the optimal time to use our Fast Pass for Space Mountain. Wax: Space Mountain just closed for repairs! Steris: Tch. Turn to Plan C, everyone. I was ready for this.

2. Shallan: Mostly wants to sketch the wildlife

Shallan: Guys, stop! There's a new cat over there! Kaladin: Are you sure? It looks just like all the other cats. Adolin: Are you blind? That one's a tabby. The last one was gray, and the on before that was orange! Kaladin: ...Tabby and orange are different? Shallan: Both of you, hush! You're going to wake him!

3. Lightsong: Won't leave the Tiki Room

[Full disclosure: This is my wife's favorite "ride."]

Llarimar: Your Grace, are you sure you don't want to do...anything else today? Lightsong: This is the only part of the park that's empty and air-conditioned, Spook! Lightsong: Plus, I like the singing birds. Lightsong: They remind me of home.

4. Adolin: Gets too into the Mickey ears

He really should have brought an extra, empty suitcase.

Kaladin [eyes narrowed]: Those aren't the ears you were wearing yesterday. Adolin: Well, duh! These are my breakfast ears. The ears are sunnyside-up eggs! Shallan: He'll change into his midmorning ears after. Adolin: Plus, I have some fun ones for lunch! Not to mention my afternoon ears, my slightly fancy dinner ears... Kaladin: You have a problem. Adolin [waving a hand airily]: You just hate fun.

5. Kaladin: Just really likes the Soarin' Ride

[Full discloser: that is my favorite ride]

Syl: ...You know this is kinda an old man ride, right? Kaladin: I like it. It's peaceful. Syl: We're not even flying! We can fly for real! Kaladin: I like the part where they spray orange-blossom scent. Syl: I can't believe I bonded an 80-year-old man...

6. Syl: Really likes the characters

[Light spoilers for Wind and Truth -- just skip to #7 if you want to avoid!]

Syl: [full-size, now wearing a princess dress] Syl: Children keep asking for my photograph! Syl: I'm not sure who "Elsa" is, but I think I'm flattered!

7. Vin: Just really likes the Tower of Terror ride

It's the one that's just a huge vertical drop.

Vin: It's like jumping off a tall building, only there are more people around you, screaming. Elend: And nobody dies! Vin: And nobody dies.

8. Lift: Is mainly interested in eating every type of churro

She heard there were seven unique types, and she's determined to eat every one.

Wyndle: T-This is reminding me of you and the pancakes in Yeddaw. Wyndle: ...There isn't a dangerous Herald hunting us, is there? Lift: No, but I think that giant Mouse was lookin' at me funny.

9. Kelsier: Keeps ending up where he's not supposed to be

Kelsier: Why would they even HAVE a "forbidden" island clearly visible called Discovery Island if you're not supposed to sneak over to it? Kelsier: It's like they put up a big flashing sign that said "Secrets Here! Come and get 'em!" Dockson: I can't believe you got us kicked out of Disneyland. Kelsier: They started it.

10. Gavinor: Is the most serious child at Disneyland

Gavinor: [Gazing at the Haunted Mansion, unsmiling.] Dalinar: Do you want to go on that ride, Gavinor? Gavinor: Okay. Gavinor: Do you think one of the ghosts might be my dad? Dalinar: ... Dalinar: I don't think mouse ears can fix this.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Steris #Shallan #Lightsong #Adolin #Kaladin #Gavinor #Kelsier #Vin #Syl

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reveryfics · 1 month ago

Note

Hii again !

There is characters i knew for years that when i'll truly discover them (in movies or series) i'll be obsessed. Loki is part of this, but Bucky too ! And i recently watch the Captain America movies (I'm a Marvel fan since my childhood but i hate Steve, so i just watch for Bucky 🥸). And now, I'm wondering how Bucky would react to the first time seeing a ftm person. Right after he remembers a bit of his past life

Thanks for reading me ;) i hope you're feeling well 🎀

The Understanding

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x FtM reader

Summary: Bucky could never wrap his head around how different everything was especially when it came to you.

A/n: Ahh I love the idea of him getting used to everything after what happened with Hyrda, plus the opportunity to do something cute with this idea! Incredibly validating to only watch for Bucky. Also thank you for the concern, I am doing better <3

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors through the panoramic windows of Avengers Tower. Bucky, perched on a windowsill, ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the strands clinging to his damp forehead. The night sky, usually a source of solace, offered no comfort tonight. It was a mirror reflecting the turmoil within him. Months had passed since the incident, yet the weight of his past and the confusion of the present pressed down on him like an inescapable gravity.

Sleep had become a fleeting visitor, replaced by a relentless cycle of intrusive thoughts. Images from his past – the war, the HYDRA experiments, the agonizing memories of loss – would flicker through his mind, followed by the unsettling questions of the present. Who was he now? How was he supposed to navigate this complex world when his own understanding of himself felt so fragile?

Then there was him. The young man who worked alongside Bruce, a whirlwind of vibrant energy and quiet confidence. Bucky would catch glimpses of him in the lab, his movements fluid and graceful, a stark contrast to the stiff, almost robotic movements that had become ingrained in him during his time with HYDRA. He'd overheard a conversation between Bruce and the young man, a conversation laced with vulnerability and a quiet desperation. Bruce, his voice laced with concern, was urging him to be cautious, to prioritize his safety while wearing a binder. He mentioned "trans tape," a term that was completely foreign to Bucky.

Growing up in a world where conformity was enforced with an iron fist, where anything outside the rigid norms of masculinity was met with scorn and violence, Bucky had learned to suppress his curiosity. He had built walls around himself, walls reinforced by fear and a deeply ingrained sense of what was "right." His initial encounters with the young man had been marked by awkward silences and unintentional microaggressions, fueled by his own ignorance and the lingering shadows of his past.

The guilt gnawed at him now, a constant, aching reminder of his own shortcomings. He had hurt someone he barely knew, simply because he lacked the understanding, the empathy, to see beyond his own limited worldview. He imagined the young man, his spirit dimmed by the weight of prejudice, forced to navigate a world that constantly questioned his identity.

A faint glow from the living room pulled him from his reverie. Tony, no doubt, burning the midnight oil. But as Bucky approached, he saw not Tony, but the young man, curled up on the couch, a melancholic movie playing on the screen. He was staring intently at the screen, a desolate expression etched on his face.

"Hey," Bucky called out, his voice hesitant. "Seat taken?"

The young man looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, followed by a weary smile. "No, all yours, big guy."

An awkward silence followed, punctuated only by the sounds of the movie. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to bridge the chasm between them. Finally, the young man spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You could at least ask if you don't understand."

Bucky's breath hitched. "I-"

The young man turned to him, his cheeks flushed. "I understand that this..." he gestured vaguely around them, "isn't what you grew up with, Bucky. But you could at least try to understand, or... or ask if you don't." His voice cracked, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Bucky was paralyzed by indecision. Did he retreat, allow his fear and prejudice to dictate his actions? Or did he finally acknowledge the stirring within him, the burgeoning desire to understand, to connect?

"Explain it to me," he finally managed, his voice rough with emotion.

The young man seemed genuinely surprised. He had expected the usual dismissive comments, the same tired platitudes that had echoed through his life. "It's not like I chose to be this way," he began, his voice trembling. "I wouldn't choose to make my life a living hell, to be called slurs, to be abandoned by the people I love, just because I want to be happy." He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Everything has an explanation, but people don't want to listen when one is provided."

Bucky leaned forward, his eyes locked with the young man's. "I'm listening."

And so, the young man began to speak, his voice gaining strength with each passing word. He spoke of the agonizing dissonance between his internal identity and the expectations placed upon him by society. He spoke of the shame, the self-doubt, the constant battle to reconcile his true self with the world's narrow definition of what it meant to be a man. He spoke of the relief of finally finding acceptance, the joy of being seen and loved for who he truly was.

Bucky listened intently, the weight of the young man's words washing over him. He began to understand, not just intellectually, but on an emotional level. He understood the pain of being forced to conform, the suffocating weight of societal expectations, the profound loneliness of living a life that felt fundamentally inauthentic.

"I'm so sorry," Bucky whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know."

The young man looked at him, his eyes searching. "I didn't expect you to," he admitted, his voice softening. "It just... it hurt, hearing someone I... I thought I could trust say those things."

Bucky reached out, his hand hovering over the young man's shoulder. "I wish I knew sooner."

The young man turned to him, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. Bucky gently placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, offering a silent apology, a silent promise to do better. And as he sat there, enveloped in the quiet comfort of shared vulnerability, Bucky realized that this was just the beginning. The beginning of understanding, of healing, of a connection, maybe even something more that transcended the superficial and delved into the depths of their shared humanity.

#mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #queer fanfiction #third person #gay #gay fanfiction #marvel #bucky barns x reader #x male reader #xmalereader #bucky x male reader #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #x ftm reader #ftm reader #requested

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kortsitron · 2 months ago

Text

Coming Out

✮ PARING Bucky Barnes × Trans Male! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS 40's, catfa! bucky, supportive! bucky, bisexual! bucky, pre-transition reader, gender dysphoria, established relationship, misgendering, coming out(s), anxiety, fluff, unsafe binding, suggestive themes but no smut, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of transphobia, praises

✮ SUMMARY Bucky finds out you're trans amd decides to show his support for you

✮ A/N I haven't written much for my trans men lately, so I wanted to write something again. You can say it's kinda inspired by confessions (another fic of mine), but this goes a little differently. I also wanna add - do NOT use bandages to bind your chest, it is not safe. Please get a binder and if that is not impossible, buy breast tape and use it to flatten your chest down if possible. Please stay safe while binding!!

ao3 masterlist requests

Being Bucky's girlfriend wasn't exactly bad, it was quite the opposite actually. He loved taking you out on dates, he was respectful of your boundaries and he was a gentleman like no other. Not to mention, since he was a Sergeant you felt quite safe around him. No man dared to lay his hands on you.

You couldn't ask for a better boyfriend and you were happy with him.

But you were scared to tell him how you felt. How you couldn't bare pretending to be someone you were not. Wearing those dresses, not being able to cut your hair as short as you wanted, calling yourself the name that didn't feel like yours anymore.

You were dying to tell him, but at the same time you were scared he might break up with you or worse. You knew James was not a bad man, he was pretty accepting, but it didn't stop your worries.

After a long day at work, you saw him waiting outside the Cafe with the biggest grin on his face. “Hey, doll.” He greeted you as you exited through the door.

“Someone looks happy. Something happened?” You asked with a hint of teasing to your tone as you walked over to him.

“Can't a man just be happy to see his beautiful, amazing girlfriend?” He asked, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a soft, sweet kiss.

You had to stop yourself from grimacing at the word ‘girlfriend’, but you managed. Maybe because he was being so sweet towards you.

“Planning on taking me somewhere?” You asked, trying to change the subject in case you were going to hear more comments that, despite being made in good faith, were making you uncomfortable.

“I was thinking we could go to my place, maybe cuddle.” He shrugged before wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Just cuddle? Or are you going to make me get into Hobbit?” You asked with a small grin as you started walking towards Bucky's house.

“Oh come on.” He let out a playful whine. “It's a good book. Trust me, I'll get you into it eventually.”

“Keep on trying.”

Bucky’s place wasn’t far and almost as soon as the two of you got there, he got into the bed and pulled you on top of him. And there you were, on top of shirtless Bucky who couldn't get his hands off of you.

“I can't get enough of you.” Bucky murmured, his hands going up and down the soft flesh of your thighs. He bit down on his bottom lip, you were the most gorgeous thing in his eyes.

You let out a soft chuckle at his words, and he smiled at that. It was always so nice to be around him, he was able to make you smile and laugh like no other.

“Let’s get you out of that, hmm?” He hummed, while relaxed enough you forgot about one little, tiny but very important detail.

He started taking the dress off you, and then he saw it. His eyes widened as he saw your chest. Tightly bandaged around your chest, making it flatter than it was normally. His eyes held worry for you, did someone hurt? Did something happen to you?

“Are you hurt?” He sat up a little as he asked the question. He wanted to touch your chest, but he was worried he would hurt you.

You look down at your chest, before trying to cover yourself up. He wasn’t supposed to find out, at least not now. At the moment, under his gaze all you could feel was shame. All you could think about was that he was going to break up with you.

With your heart already pounding in your chest, you started getting off of him in a hurried way. Bucky immediately picked up your panic and he grabbed your wrist. Tightly enough to not let you slip out, but not enough to make it hurt.

“Hey, hey…” His voice was a little more gentle now, hushed. His thumb was gently caressing your wrist. “I am worried about you. Did something happen? You aren’t hurt, are you?” His eyes flickered down to the bandages, looking for any blood stains. But there was none, just the clean bandage, carefully wrapped around your chest.

“You… You promise you won’t throw me out…?”

His eyes widened once more. Throw you out? You?

"Darlin’, I could never. Why would I ever throw you out?” He couldn't understand why you would think like that.

With a shaky sigh and tears in your eyes, you laid down next to him. Bucky laid back on the back, staying quiet and letting you find the right words.

“I-I don’t feel… good about my body.” You mumbled out, your voice shaky. Bucky saw that you weren’t okay, but decided not to interrupt you. He gently grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze as if encouraging you to talk without saying so out loud.

“I d-don’t feel like a woman, alright?” Your voice was even more shaky. Before you knew it, you started sobbing quietly, overwhelmed by the confession you made. “I want to be a man like you. I want to be seen as a man, dress like a man, look like a man. I just want to be me.”

Without a second thought, Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pulling close against his chest. One of his hands caressed your back, hoping to comfort you.

He was quiet, lost in his thoughts before he finally spoke up. “I heard there’s a man… Well, a woman actually, who had the same problem as you. She was born as a man, but she didn’t feel like one, so she decided to stop pretending who she was and now she’s just… herself.”

“Really?”

Bucky hummed. “Yeah. I think we saw her last week, you said she had a nice dress. I think her name was Annie or something along those lines.”

You didn’t know there was another person like you out there. You felt so isolated in your own experience, you didn’t notice others who were able to understand you. Understand what you were going through.

“Are you… are you going to break up with me?” You asked as quietly as you could, you were terrified to hear a positive answer.

Bucky pulled back to look at your tear-stained face. He gently cupped it, making you look into his eyes as he smiled at you. “Never, love. I love you so much. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman. You’re my boyfriend, okay?” He kissed your forehead.

Boyfriend.

You were waiting so long to hear something like that and it felt so damn good to finally hear it.

Bucky let go of you and left the bed. “Where are you going?” You asked, not understanding what he wanted to do.

“I think I have something you might wanna wear instead of that dress. No matter how pretty it is.” He teased you a little, but his words held no malice. They were quite affectionate, actually.

He walked back to you with a simple shirt and a pair of pants. “What do you think, huh? Enough to your liking? Or would my baby like a suit more, hmm?” He had a smile on his face, almost as if excited about this whole thing.

You were so worried he might be disgusted with you and yet there he was, smiling at you after you told him.

“They'll be fine. Thank you, James.” Your soft answer made his heart skip a beat.

“No problem. What kind of partner would I be if I left all by yourself when you're struggling so hard?” He gave your forehead a small kiss. “You're stuck with me, doll.”

He put the clothes down on the bed, his eyes wandering to your chest once more. He let out a sigh, his expression more serious than before.

“As much as I want to support you, you can't be wearing those. It's definitely not safe.”

“I know, I just wanted my chest to be flatter.” You explained, with a small hint of desperation in your voice.

“I know, I know. Listen, we will find a way to help you, okay?” His voice was soft, almost as if he was worried he might not express his concern properly. He wanted to support you, but he was still worried about your safety.

“We will find a safer alternative. As much as I believe you meant no harm, I just can tell your ribs will not be happy if you keep bandaging yourself for longer than just a day.” He continued, his eyes not leaving yours.

His hand moved to your cheek and he smiled at you. “You're not alone and you won't be as long as I am here. With me, you can be yourself. I will do what I can to help you.”

You nodded before giving him a tight hug. “Thank you so much.” Bucky wrapped his arms tightly around you before letting go.

“Go on.” He encouraged as he gestured towards the clothes. “I know you're dying to try them on.”

You let out an excited giggle, taking the clothes into your hand and making your way to the bathroom, almost tripping over as you did.

“Careful. We don't need you all bruised, do we?” Bucky commented with a small smirk before letting out a small chuckle.

While you disappeared behind a bathroom door, Buck had a little moment to think about the whole situation.

Was he expecting that? No. Should he? Probably.

He wasn't going to break up with you, he was too in love with you to care about your gender. You were still the same person he fell in love with over a year ago.

If anything, he was much more concerned about your safety. He knew there were people who would not be as accepting as he was.

Heck, he still remembered how he was walking the poor Annie home after a few guys jumped her sometime ago. Bucky wasn't going to pretend the thought of something similar happening to you didn't make his stomach turn.

You were safe with him, but on your own? He was scared to find out.

The sound of the door opening took Bucky out of his thoughts. He looked towards it and saw you, dressed in what he gave you, along with your hair being tied in a way that made your hair appear shorter than it actually was.

Bucky let out a low whistle at the sight. “Now that's one hell of a man.” His eyes wandered over you, his smile returning. “Well, well, well. If someone really says my boyfriend isn't the most handsome, we will know they are lying.”

His smile widened when he saw how happy you were at the praises.

“C'mere, darling. Let me hold my pretty boy.” He patted his lap, inviting you to sit on it.

You eagerly sat down on his lap. “Look at you, so handsome.” His hand moved to gently grab your chin so he could look at your face.

“You think so?” You asked a little more shyly, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Absolutely. Now I wonder how you would look in a suit.” He bit his lip once more. “I bet you would look good. Like really, really good.” He moved to leave a few kisses down your neck.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Enough praises.” You giggled at the feeling of his soft lips against your neck.

“Enough? You don't like my praises? I am wounded.” He pulled back and mocked, pretending to be hurt by your words.

His eyes wandered over you once more. It was nice to see you like this, visibly happier and more confident than before.

“You know… handsome,” He murmured, his smile falling once more. At first he wanted to call you by the name he was used to calling you, but after what you told him, he thought against it. “As much as I want to support you, I need you to be careful, okay? I am not telling you to not start pressing yours in a more masculine way, of course, you do you. I worry someone might hurt you for trying to be yourself.”

You nodded quietly. World was not as pleasant of a place for those who were sticking out, purposely or not. “I know, Buck. But I don't wanna pretend to be someone I am not.”

Bucky let out a quiet sigh. He expected that kind of answer. “I know, doll. I know.” He moved closer to you, his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “I will do what I can to protect you from harm's way. We will find a way for you to be yourself safely, okay?”

You hummed with a soft nod. “Gonna find me a good hairstylist?” You asked with a small smile, hoping to lighten up the mood.

He let out a snort at your words. “Definitely. If I wasn't worried I might leave with an uneven haircut, I would do it myself.” He chuckled. “But I think I might know a safe place where you can get a haircut. I mean, I have a friend who owns a nice, small hairdressing salon. I heard from a friend that he doesn't mind people from the community unlike some.”

You let out a hum before you smirked a little. “You have contacts with the community? I don't know about something?” You teased him lightly.

“What can I say? Women are pretty, but some men are also eye-catchers.” He winked at you. “But seriously, I will talk to him if you want to.”

You nodded once more. “It means a lot, James. Thank you.”

“It's no problem, love.”

#marvel #marvel x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x trans reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x trans male reader #bucky barnes x ftm reader #ftm reader #trans male reader

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justanother-janedoe · 7 months ago

Text

Marry You

Summary: What does the person the lawyer who's known what she's wanted all her life decide to do for her wedding? Seriously, what does she do?

Word Count: 1.2k

Harvey Specter x Reader (she/her)

*This isn't really set in a specific time on Suits; just somewhat near the last few seasons. It's been a while since I've watched it but I really wanted to post this story idea so I hope you enjoy.

From a young age you always knew what you wanted. At 7 you realized you wanted to become a lawyer. At 16 you decided to attend Harvard. And when taking your first steps into Pearson Hardman, meeting the 'Harvey Specter', there you knew from his iconic smirk he'd be an important person in your life.

So when you couldn’t make a single decision for the wedding this made Donna, concerned to say the least.

At Donna's desk early in the morning

“Special order for one Donna Paulsen.'' Rachel said, placing the coffee cup in front of an exhausted Donna.

“You're an angel.” Donna says looking frustrated

"I got your SOS. What's wrong?" Rachel said, looking worried.

"Wedding plans."

“Is there too much to do? I told you if you need any help at all I’ll be there-”

“No, that’s the thing. We haven’t made a single decision yet.”

"I mean it does take time to plan a whole wedding."

"But it's been months; you would think by now we’d have an idea for a theme. All we’ve done is look at tons of cake flavors, venue options, themes; but nothing seems to resonate with her.” Donna said, pulling out binder after binder of wedding decisions.

It seemed that whenever they’d go over planning you would avoid it, trying to push finalizing for another time. (Not picking a wedding season, let alone date).

"Yeah, that's a bit weird..."

"I know."

"So why don't you talk to her about it?"

"It's just. Ever since she asked me to be her maid of honor I knew I'd do anything to give her the wedding of her dreams. But she's rather focus on her cases than sit down and make a decision. I'm just feeling so frustrated. I want to help her but I can't." Donna said, laying her head behind the stack of binders, eyes fluttering from tiredness.

"Look. Why don't we just put this aside and see how tomorrow goes.” Rachel said, pushing the binders away.

“We're all going wedding dress shopping, maybe once she tries on a couple of dresses she’ll get a clearer idea of what kind of wedding she wants."

"You're right."

"I always am."

"Hey, that's my line!" Donna exclaimed.

At a brand named wedding dress shop the next day

As the consultant described the dress you had on you couldn't help but feel odd. Not that the dress was bad. But with every gown you couldn't envision yourself walking down the aisle in any of them.

"So what do you think?" the consultant asked the room, waking you from your thoughts.

"It's beautiful."

"You look gorgeous."

"I'm bored."

"Louis!" Donna lightly scolded.

"Not of this but the dress. It just doesn't radiate how special she is. How is she supposed to take photos, smile happily, and look back fondly at this moment in her life when all she's wearing is this boring thing."

"Sir this is an Oscar De La Renta-" the consultant tried to pitch in.

"And this is about to be Miss Specter so I suggest we look at some other dresses to save us from wasting our time at this establishment." Louis said, turning away in frustration.

In the dressing room

"That Louis Specter sure sounds like a handful." the consultant said assisting you.

"Oh God if he heard you call him that. His ego is already inflated-" you said grinning at the consultant's assumptions about your relationship; probably more normal than the reality.

"I need to speak with you." Louis spoke after he knocked on the changing room door.

"Does it have to be right now?"

"Yes it's an emergency!"

"Could you please give us a moment?" you asked the consultant who promptly left.

"What's wrong?"

"This!" Louis said, pointing at you exasperated.

"You've lost me."

"What I mean is my two best friends are getting married to each other. You both aren’t treating this as passionately as you do in your cases. I’ve seen more fire in your eyes when defending clients than today. I mean I am truly concerned as Harvey's best man.-"

"Okay Louis. Calm down." you said, holding onto Louis' shoulders but clearly growing worried from his speech. While a part of her wanted to jest about Louis' borderline obsessive view on her, he was right.

“I appreciate your candor, truly. I’m just… feeling a bit lost at the moment.”

“Should I call Harvey then. I mean he’d probably ignore me but I could get Donna to-”

"No Louis. I do want to marry Harvey. I swear I do."

"That's exactly what I wanna hear, especially on that big day."

“Thanks Louis.”

“Of course. I mean we really need to get your mojo back if I’m buying your dress.”

“Buying my-Louis you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t even worry about the price. I offered to pay for Harvey too but he said he didn’t want me finding out about where he gets his suits…”

As Louis went on talking like he always did you felt appreciative of the deep caring nature he had; even if it was a bit eccentric.

Late night in you’s Office

"You know working such late hours like this isn’t beneficial to your health right?" Harvey said, leaning against you’s door frame to her office.

“We’ll then. I guess I’ll have to fight the case beyond the grave.” you said, getting up to properly greet Harvey. As you gives him a quick peck on the lips he holds onto you a bit longer.

“Hold on." Harvey said guiding you both to the couch in your office.

"So I might have overhead from a couple birds that you’ve been having a bit of trouble with the wedding planning. Now I know I’ve been gone for an unbelievable amount of time, but I just want you to know that you could tell me anything."

Harvey said looking at you tenderly.

"Seriously. Whether you wanted to elope or take 12 years until we have the perfect wedding; I'll support your choice no matter what." Harvey joked.

"We'll I don't think I'll take that long... I guess a part of me wants to blame it on you for leaving but deep down I know this life we chose isn’t exactly flexible.”

You started unraveling your nervous feeling on the wedding.

“ I’m just a bit overwhelmed by the fact that we’re officially together.”

“So these last few years we’re just a friendship?” Harvey jokes to lighten the mood.

“Yeah didn’t you get the memo. I guess it was misspelled. I meant best friend not boyfriend.” you joked along.

“What I mean is for most of my life I never had to think of others. God I sound so selfish for saying that; but it’s true. The choices I’ve made have been simple to make because I knew everything it'd entail. Any other option would be pointless... While marrying you, being together has been-"

"Amazing, spectacular, just grand..." Harvey interjected to brighten your mood like he always knew how to.

"Yes. Planning a wedding though; I have no idea what I want for us. I mean there are so many flavors of cake and decorations to consider-"

"That's probably on me actually." Harvey said, referring to his business trip

"You think." you said sarcastically.

"I know going with Mike to set up in Seattle before planning our wedding wasn't the brightest decision. But I'd like to make it up to you. Because I really do want to marry you. From now on I'll be right beside you."

"Thank you Harvey."

"I mean it. " Harvey said holding both your hands and looking at you intently.

"I know you've had to make decisions for yourself for the most part but I just want you to know... Your not alone anymore. For all the parts you feel unsure of in life, I'll be there to catch you and push you back up again."

"That was so beautiful. Did you plan that?"

"That may or may not be a couple lines from my vows. Just act surprised when you hear them on the day. Speaking of what do you think about November?"

"For the wedding?"

"Yeah it's right around the time we started to get to know eachother..."

"You're such a romantic Harvey Spector."

"We'll your about to marry me so what does that say about you."

"We're just a couple of romantics I guess." you say as Harvey kisses you deeply.

Breaking the kiss you exhaled a breath. “You're relentless.”

“Well I’m sure it's one of the things you find attractive about me.” he said walking to her office couch; looking romantically into her eyes.

“I could think of a couple more things.” she said walking in a way Harvey thought was iconic. Like a scene in a movie.

“PG-13?” he asked, stroking you’s arm as she sat on his lap.

“More like rated R.” she said, hands holding his face.

“Kinky.” he said, kissing her. If he were to tell others the way she made him feel, he’d be dubbed a romantic. But the truth was every time Harvey and you kissed it felt like the world faded like that scene in West Side Story.

“While being caught and embarrassed by the whole office sounds like an interesting night, why don’t we go home?” you said, getting up from their close position.

“As if this office hasn’t seen worse things.” Harvey said, smiling in that playful way that made you feel light. Grabbing you’s coat as you went to get your purse putting you’s coat on for you. Turning around and giving Harvey a peck as you walked together.

Feeling relaxed and lonely no more you we're now exited not only to plan the wedding with Harvey but spend your future together. Knowing that while the future may hold some unpredictable moments you can share them with Harvey by your side.

Author’s Notes

Hello, thank you so much for reading this. If your familiar with my work you may know that I’ve been absent for a long time. But I’m motivated again to write. This may not be my best work but I feel proud of this.

If your interested in a part 2 or more Harvey Specter stories let me know.

Anyways I hope you have a good day.

#harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x you #suits tv

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