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satorusugurugurl · 10 months ago

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JJK Men: Finding Your Toys

Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,952

Warnings: Sex toys! Dirty talk, squirting, smut, videotaping, degrading, holy heck, it’s spicy

A/N: This had me feeling things; I loved writing this. Each one of these hit differently, in the best ways. 😏

MDNI!!!

Geto Suguru:

“Suguru!” You called out from the kitchen, standing on a stepstool dusting the tops of your cabinets. “Can you do me a favor, please?”

Popping his head into the kitchen, Suguru stared at the curve of your ass peeking out from your shorts. “Anything for you.” He watched you stand higher, ass bouncing just a bit.

“Could you grab me the spring decorations? I put them on the bed.”

“On it.”

Ah, spring cleaning. A single day of the year, you deep cleaned your shared apartment. You were donating clothes and books, pretty much decluttering. Then you cleaned everything: floorboards, vents, every crevice. You always felt better after it was done. Plus, with Suguru helping you, you did it in half the time. All that was left was to put up the windchime and new throw pillows.

Then you both could relax.

Suguru was looking forward to a long shower and takeout food. Maybe if you weren’t too tired, he could have you for dessert. Before anything like that remotely happened, he needed to finish the task at hand. The bag was right where you told him it would be. Yanking it off, Suguru turned only to hear something hit the floor.

“Shit.” He cursed, watching your water bottle roll under the bed. Bending down, Suguru reached for the runaway water, only to feel the corner of an extended storage bin. With a tug, Suguru pulled the mysterious box out, his eyes widening as he stared at the transparent container.

Sex toys galore were inside. Glass dildos, clits suckers, vibrators, regular dildos. The sight nearly rocked Suguru's back as he opened the lid, glancing at the cleaned and organized toys. His cock throbbed painfully as he picked it up, putting it on the bed.

So this was what you got off with when he was on a mission. He hummed, picking up a vibrator and turning it over before grabbing a glass toy. It was long and had a large orb on the end. A g-spot toy. Did you use these to make yourself squirt? Have you squirted without him?

The first time Suguru made you squirt was when you both first started fooling around. His mouth was on your clit, fingers hammering against that spot until you screamed, soaking the sheets and his face. You freaked out at first, profusely apologizing. But your words were silent as Geto went feral, wanting to see you squirt again.

He didn't stop until you were nearly fucked out of your mind. All you could say was: “D-Didn't know I could squirt!”

“Suguru!” Your voice called out from the kitchen. “Did you find the bag?”

“Oooh, I found something alright.”

His tone had you turning your head towards his voice. “Oh? Was it the fairy lights? I thought I forgot to grab that bag at the store.” Your boyfriend hummed.

“I mean, a few of these light up.”

Okay, the man was definitely up to something. You finished up what you were doing before treading down the hall. As you turned the corner into the room, you froze like a deer in the headlights. Your toy bin was out, and Suguru was eagerly digging through it, a smug smile on his face.

“Ah!!” Bolting across the floor, you snatched the toys away, throwing them back inside before reaching for the lid.

Suguru chuckled, grabbing the lid from you and tossing it. “Oh no, you don't! We're not putting this away.” With your plan foiled, you held your arms out to block his view.

“No! It's embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Looking at your boyfriend, your cheeks flushed as he pulled his sweats down an inch. He's showing you the bulge in his boxers. “It's fucking hot.”

The humiliation slowly began to fade, a fire replacing it. “Really?”

Suguru nodded while digging in the bin. “Yeah, I like seeing the stuff you get off with.” He pulled out your g-spot dildos and vibrator. “Trying to make yourself squirt?” The knowing smirk on his face left you a blushing mess as you glanced away, nodding in response. “Did you do it?” This time, you shook your head.

“I don't think I'm doing it right.”

You felt Suguru behind you before you heard him. “Oh? Maybe you should show me~?”

One heavy make-out session later, you sighed softly as you slowly thrust the glass toy in and out of your dripping pussy. Suguru was on his stomach between your legs, watching you like a hawk. The glass toy rubbed against the sweet spot inside of you perfectly. The sensation was almost too overwhelming.

“C-Can’t.” Your legs clenched together in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

“Yes, you can.” Hands grabbed your thighs, forcing them open. “Stop closing your legs; I can't see.”

With an almost pained whine, you kept thrusting the toy in and out of your cunt. It was tight, so tight, your walls were hugging the toy, making it difficult for you to thrust it in and out. You were getting so fed up with this. Glaring down between your legs, you chewed on your bottom lip. Every time you tried to make yourself squirt, this happened. You'd get tired and annoyed before tossing the toy to the side with an irritated growl.

Suguru was focusing less on your dripping sex and more on your face. You were frustrated, focusing too much on the task at hand. You were never going to cum like that. So he gently wrapped his hand around yours, helping you with the pacing of the thrusts. The warmth of his hand and the subtle change of pace had you tilting your head back.

“You need to relax,” Suguru whispered, pressing hot kisses against your thigh. “You’re too tense. Stop focusing so much on the mechanics of it and more on the sensation.”

Letting out a trembling exhale, you relaxed, focusing more on how the toy slid in and out of you. Frustrated groans turned into low whimpering as Suguru sucked at your skin. Fuck, this felt so good, like when Suguru would finger you. The familiar coil tightened in your abdomen. The same tightening you usually felt when you would squirt.

“Ah, ah fuck.” You arched your back off the bed, pussy throbbing around the toy. “Fuuuuck, Suguru~!”

“Yeah, feel good?” He asked, still gripping the toy. “you’re getting the hang of it. It would help if you did a little of this—” he bit his lip in concentration, curving it up more. When he did that, you saw the entire universe. A scream escaped you as the toy rubbed perfectly over your g-spot. “there it is; you just gotta curve it a bit.”

“Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” Your legs began trembling as they began to shut.

Suguru sat up, growling as he shifted his body, preventing your legs from closing completely. “I thought I told you to fuckin’ stop doing that.” All you did was whine in response. “Ah~ too fucked out of your mind to even notice? God, you're so fuckin’ cute.” The hand he had on top of yours set a fast pace. “You're almost there, don't stop~ good girl~ good fuckin girl~!” the sweet praises had you speeding your hand up, making your boyfriend chuckle in surprise. “Oh, Y/N, you want me to praise you more~? You get off on that?” When you whimpered, he cooed. “My pretty princess is doing such a good job fucking her pussy. Are you going to cum? Gonna cum for me, princess?” Your boyfriend's freehand began rubbing your clit.

“Y-Yes! Fuck ohhh fuck!” Tears formed in your eyes as Suguru grinned, letting go of your hand. Watching as you sped up, not needing his direction anymore. “I-I’m gonna, gonna cum!”

“That's it, squirt for me. Make a mess, princess. Ooh!” Suguru scoffed, sitting back as you convulsed, squirting all over the bed and him. His hand rubbed your clit, extending your orgasm, making you squirt even more. “Fuck~! Look at you, making a mess, you nasty slut.”

Suguru made sure to watch you. The way your body slowly came down, hips against the mattress as your eyes fluttered shut. The subtle way your hips jerked, trying to evade his hand, which was now drawing gentle circles around your clit.

You were so damn beautiful.

Hungry, starved eyes bore into yours, his chest heaving as you pulled the toy out. ��S-Sugu?” Your timid voice didn't seem to break his trance. “Baby? You okay?” Instead of responding, Suguru answered by grabbing your hips and flipping you so your face was in your pillow. “Mmmph!”

“You did okay,” his voice was dark, gravely, “I'd give you a five out of ten.” All you could do was listen, tensing up when you felt the tip of the glass toy prodding your entrance. “But I think you need a demonstration.” You couldn't even respond as the toy was shoved back inside of you deeper than you could have managed on your own. “Maybe, just maybe, if you cum hard enough, I’ll fuck you.”

Gojo Satoru:

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the oven as you pulled the hot tray out. The viral cinnamon roll cookies smelt as good as they looked. While placing the cookies on the cooling rack, you heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. Seemed as though Satoru’s nose was as keen as ever.

“Am I the best girlfriend ever or what?” You tossed the oven mitts on the counter with a fist pump. “Not only do I bake, but I suck co—” Turning on your heel, you were about to wink at your boyfriend, only to find him towering over you.

His face was flushed, and his smile was as wide as could be as he smirked. “When the hell did you get this?” Gojo dangled your pink, blue-tooth bullet vibrator in front of your face.

“Satoru!!!” You reached for the toy, only to have him yank it out of reach. “Give it back!!” Satoru shook his head, holding the toy above his head, making it impossible for you to reach it now. “Toruuu!!!”

Satoru was as excited as a child at Christmas. He was practically vibrating (not from the toy) with horny energy. What a fucking find! All you asked was for him to grab the blanket from the closet! When he pulled it out, the box to his new friend fell.

“The box said I can control it with an app?! An app on my phone?! Oh my god, this is great!” He promptly held the box with his other hand, reading its functions. “Long distance play, waterproof, and it syncs to music and sound?!” His white brows furrowed in disbelief as his grin widened. “Y/N, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because it sucks.”

All of the excitement on Gojo’s face vanished. “Sucks? What do you mean it sucks?!” His cerulean eyes darted from the toy in his hand before focusing on you. The pout he was sporting was almost impressive.

“It sucks, Satoru.” Pushing past him, you headed for the couch. “I tried syncing it to my playlist. It didn’t get me all hot and bothered. I even tried using the sound function. The app syncs to the sounds of porn videos, or any sound in general, but they just.” You shrugged a shoulder, plopping down on the couch. “They were so phony that the vibrations were so weak. I hated it so much that I didn’t see the point in telling you about it.”

Something about what you had said had Gojo blinking in silence. “You synced it up to some random porn video online?”

“Yes, Toru, and like I just told you, it sucked.”

“Right, but you watched two rando’s do it?” Something in the tone of his voice triggered your sixth sense. The danger was approaching, and it was in the form of your very horny boyfriend.

“Y-Yeah?” What should have been a statement was more of a question as Satoru dangled the toy on his index finger with an almost sadistic smirk. “What are you getting at with this?”

”Ah, you see, dear Y/N, my sweet perverted girlfriend.”

”Hey!”

Gojo crouched, twirling the vibrator around his finger like his house keys. “The problem isn’t the toy.” His pink tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “It’s the content you’re viewing. You need something more—personal.”

”Ah! Ah! Fuuuck! Fuck!”

The toy deep inside of you buzzed at an intense speed. “Holy shit!” You cried out, your hand squeezed Satoru’s cock tight.

“Take my fucking cock.” Satoru’s voice from your television was sultry while the Satoru beside you wheezed out a laugh.

“Fuck, easy baby, you’ll break my dick.” Peeling your eyes away from the television screen, you tilted your head back against the couch, your Y/E/C eyes focusing on Satoru’s throbbing cock. “See, I told you it was the content and not the toy.”

He was right about that. When he suggested you put on the porno’s the two of you made together, you didn’t have high hopes. But holy fuck were you wrong. Your moans, Satoru’s dirty words, god it god it got you going, along the vibrator was buzzing like mad inside of you. Firmly pressing against your g-spot, teasing it as you watched Gojo fuck you into the mattress.

Satoru decided to join you for ‘research,’ wanting to see for himself that the toy sucked, as you said it did. Little did he know that you were going to start stroking him as you both watched yourselves on the screen. He rocked his head back as your thumb rubbed gently circled over his slit.

“Y/N fuck, playing with my pre like that.” his hand slid over, rubbing circles over your clit that had you jolting. “You're so pretty when you're feeling good. Such a good girl~”

His voice next to you was a sharp contrast to the Gojo on the television. He had the camera turned to his face. He was sweaty, biting his lip as he slapped your ass hard in the video. “You're such a nasty girl~! God fuck, grinding up against me on the dance floor, telling me you were soaking wet in the car.” Another sharp slap had both of you in the video and on the couch whining. “My dirty fucking slut, couldn't wait to get dicked down, could ya’?” The vibrator buzzed louder, your toes curling as you watched the screen. Slapping skin, whines, and guttural moans had your vibrator buzzing like a beehive.

“Hey, look at me~” Turning to look at Satoru was so hard from how hard you were jerking. “You're so beautiful~ do you like your toy now? You love it?” Please say you do, please, please, please. Satoru begged in his mind as you jerked his cock harder. If you liked it, it would make phone sex a million times better.

“Toru, Toru, yes, feels good~ love it~!” Fuck you were close. Your moans were beginning to meld in with your moans from the video. Louder, desperate, and ducking porn worthy. “Toru wanna cum, wanna cum with y-you!” Satoru gritted his teeth, eyes darting to his cock, that you were jerking off like a crazed woman.

“Yeah, ah, pretty girl, I’m close~ cum with me, okay? Be a good girl and cum~” The Satoru on the television snarled as he came, while your

Satoru whimpered, thrusting into your clenched hand until ropes of hot sticky cum painted your hard and his clenching ab’s. “Cumming, of fuck yes, I’m cummin’!” He cried out in time with his television persona.

It was the combination of the vibrations, Satoru’s fast circles over your clit, and watching yourselves cum that had you gushing around your new favorite toy. You screamed, eyes rolling back into your head. You came all over the couch. Fuck when was the last time you came that hard? It was probably when you and Satoru made the video you were viewing.

“So,” Satoru asked between pants, “does the t-toy still suck?”

You didn't answer his question. You instead grabbed your phone with shaking hands, typing on the screen. Satoru was about to ask what you were doing when a little chime went off. You tossed your phone to the side before gently pulling the toy out of you.

“Aw, done already?” Satoru’s cocky voice cut off as you straddled his hips. “Y-Y/N?” You cupped his face, turning it to the side, allowing you to kiss down his neck. “Fuuuck baby.”

“Mm,” Kiss after kiss trailed down his neck, “no, I love it~ I love it so much I just bought you the matching fleshlight.”

Satoru’s large hands gripped your hips, massaging them. “Oh really?” He gasped out as you sucked and bit the crook of his neck, marking his ivory skin. “A-Are you gonna make me watch the same video when it gets here?”

“Oooh, no.” Satoru watched as you grabbed his phone, propping it against the lamp beside him. “We're making a new video,” Satoru whines louder, wincing as you bite him harder. “Oooh, good boy~ Toru~ be extra loud for us~ that way, the vibrations are super strong.”

Nanami Kento:

The second the elevator door opened, Nanmi bolted out, running towards your shared apartment. He was nearly breathless from all of the running he had done in an attempt to get home as fast as he possibly could. Fuck, if only he could teleport like Gojo, maybe his heart wouldn’t be pounding inside of his ears in fear and panic.

He had been meeting with Yaga at the school when his phone went off, alerting him of your text. You were constantly sending messages throughout the day. Asking how he was doing, what he would like for dinner, or if he needed anything while you were out shopping. He did not feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his life.

His blood ran cold when he read the screen, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

Y/N: I need your help; please come home ASAP!

The second those words processed through his mind, he was moving. Telling Yaga there was an emergency and he needed to hurry home. Every single terrible thought rushed through his mind at once. Was there a cursed spirit chasing you? Did one of the students get hurt? Were you hurt? He needed answers to the questions that were on a constant loop in his mind.

“Y/N!?” Nanami yelled out as he entered the apartment, slamming the door behind him. “Y/N?!” No traces of cursed energy, a sign of intrusion, or blood was in sight.

”I-I’m in the bedroom, Kento.” Immediately, Nanami knew something was off with your voice. It was far too timid.

When he walked into the room, he expected to find something terrible awaiting him. Much to his relief, you were laying in bed, a blanket covering your lower body propped up against your pillows. That’s how he had left you this morning and countless other times. Either you received some bad news from your family, or there was something his observant eyes were missing.

”What happened? Are you okay? What’s the emergency?”

Your face twisted from unreadable to one to a pained one as you shifted slightly. Anyone else would have missed it, but Nanami knew everything about you. He moved so fast you gasped as he crawled on the bed, looking you over for injuries.

“What's going on?” the stern tone of his voice made this ten times more embarrassing.

You brought your hands to your face, rubbing them gently as you tried to find your words. “I-I uhm—” Peeking through your fingers, you found Nanami staring at you with that serious look. “It, uhm, it's stuck.” Could this day get any worse? God fuck, this was mortifying.

“Stuck? What's stuck, Y/N?”

“M-My toy.”

“Toy?”

Not wanting to get into the details of your activities, you sighed, slowly pulling the blanket off. Laying on the bed beside you was a bottle of lube, and as you spread your legs, Nanami hissed at the sight. A toy, one he had never seen before, was lodged inside of you. It was thick; it made your poor pussy throbbed and twitched around it. Your wet slick glistened around it.

Nanami sighed, looking away from you, trying to keep some composure. Fuck you looked so hot, but a twinge of insecurity hit him in the chest. Nanami loved using your toys on you. He didn’t see them as competition; they were more like allies. He’d do anything, use anything to make you feel good. You both were very good at communicating your needs and wants with each other. If you were horny, all you needed to do was ask him.

Even if you wanted to masturbate, he had no issue with that at all! He encouraged it. Nanami Kento was not one of those men who saw you pleasuring yourself as a hit to his ego. He bought you a lot of the toys you shared. Kento wanted you to be satisfied and happy. That’s all his heart desired.

But something about this stung. It wasn’t because he was hurt that you didn't ask for help. You were not required to tell him if you were horny or needed help. Nor was it the fact that you were getting off on your own. What it was was the fact you were in pain. You had hurt yourself. That’s what stung me the most.

“Kento?” The stoic look on his face said everything without the use of words. “Baby, look, I just, I—!”

Kento said nothing as he stood up, walking to the dresser. He shrugged out of his suit jacket; his suspenders stretched as he took his watch off before rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt up to his elbows. Nanami, not saying anything was more stressful than him yelling at you. The room was too tense; it was thick and suffocating as Nanami turned around, getting on the bed.

His hands slowly slid up your thighs, spreading them apart. “Let’s get this out of you.” He nearly whispered before glancing into your Y/E/C eyes. “Ready?” You nodded, giving him the approval to proceed. His hands gently grabbed the base of the toy, tugging it.

“O-Ow.” You winced, watching him closely.

Nanami clenched his jaw at your pained whine. “Did you not use enough lube?” Gently, he twisted the toy before pushing it back into you.

“Ah~!” A loud moan escaped you, hands covering your eyes. “N-No, I d-don’t fuck, ah fuck, c-could you maybe not push it back in?”

A blonde eyebrow cocked at your request. “Do you want this stuck inside forever?”

“No. I’m sorry; I’ll shut up. Fuck this is embarrassing.”

“Mm.” Nanami sat up on his knees, looking over you. “Keep your legs open.” You pouted, doing as he said, while he twisted the toy inside of you, watching your reactions closely. You withered under him, pleasure starting to replace the pain. “You should have known better, or you could have warmed yourself up a little more.” He chastised, twisting and pulling at the snug toy again.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fisting the fabric. “N-Nanami, please don’t scold me.” You whimpered, cheeks flushing under his gaze. “J-Just ah, fuck, take it out.” From the mixture of embarrassment and lust, your voice had a tone; one Nanami didn’t care for.

He clenched his jaw tight. “It’s not coming out because you pushed it too far in! So now I have to work it out!”

You whined louder; this was not the way you thought this would play out. You bought this toy for both of you. “Oh my god! Just fuckin yank it out! This is so fucking embarrassing! I wanna die right now.” You laid your elbow over your eye, hiding your teary gaze from him.

“I’m your boyfriend. Why is this embarrassing?!” It wasn’t often that Nanami snapped at you, but your attitude was getting under his skin.

“Because!! I ruined the surprise!!” You removed your arm, showing him your teary gaze. Nanami’s eyes went wide. “T-This is the custom toy we made. It was delivered this morning, and I freaked seeing how big it was. I wanted to see if it would fit because I didn’t want to ruin tonight. But I ended up ruining it anyway.”

Honey-brown eyes darted towards the toy. Kenton wasn’t able to tell from the base. But upon further inspection, he recognized the custom marble coloring of blue and yellow the two of you picked out when you designed it. The one that he had all added ridges and bumps, especially for your pleasure. You were doing a test drive for him. All for him.

“Y/N, love,” he smiled softly, “you didn’t need to do this. You wouldn’t have messed anything up. We could have taken it slow. Just because it got here didn’t mean I would want to use it. I would've helped ease you into it. Besides, you didn’t ruin anything.”

You were wiping at blubbering tears, only managing to smile and nod in agreement. It was so relieving to know you didn’t ruin the experience. Things would be perfect if this toy weren’t stuck inside of your pussy.

Nanami leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. “Mm Y/N~” Feeling his lips against you had you moaning as you kissed him back. Nanami pulled back, his cock throbbing in his pants. “Alright, let’s get this toy out of you. But I need you to put in some effort.” You hummed, nodding eagerly.

“Okay, how can I help?”

“Be good,” Nanami commanded before fucking the toy into you.

You threw your head back, turning it from side to side as the custom ridges and bumps hit your g-spot perfectly, just how Nanami had designed it. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as you gasped out cries of pleasure. Nanami smirked, listening to the squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Fuck, you like that? Your pretty cunt sounds like she loves it~.”

“Ah, fuck, yes!! Nnngh!” You gripped your pillow, staring at him through your lashes. “B-But I want you more~! Please, I want to feel you.”

“Yeah, you do?” His voice was full of faux curiosity. “But Y/N, you were bad.” His eyes were dark as he twisted the toy he fucked in in and out of you. “You got yourself into a situation, didn’t you? One that you had to call me to come fix.”

Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, fixed on him. Fucking hell, he looked so fucking hot. Eyes dark, eyes focused on the toy he customized for you. You needed him inside of you. You needed him to be the one rearranging your guts. Slowly, you slid your foot over, rubbing your foot over the hard bulge straining in his dress pants. The contact had him hunching over, jaw-dropping as he groaned.

“Please, Ken~ I need you. I need you so bad.”

He was breathing heavily, glaring down at you. “Fine.” He yanked the toy out, chuckling at the gasp you let out as the giant toy popped out of your cunt. “Do you need me?” His hands quickly moved, undoing his belt before tugging them down as he slotted between your thighs.

“Yes Kento, I need yo—oooh!!!” Nanami’s cock slammed into you before you finished your plea.

“You feel so fucking good.” Kento tilted his head back, hips slamming into you at a pace that had you seeing stars. The veins in his neck popped out as he gritted his teeth. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so wet! You were feeling it, weren't you?”

You weren’t going to last. You were already so close. Nanami wasn’t doing any better himself. His cock throbbed deep inside of you as he set a brutal pace. Slamming in and out, fucking you as deep as he could. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix. It was a painful pleasure that had your mouth dropping in an ‘O’ shape. God, you might die. This was too good.

Nanami grabbed your face, jerking your head to look at him. “You look at me when you cum, you fucking hear me?” His mouth was on yours, tongue sliding against yours, capturing every whine and moan you made as his cock slammed into every sweet spot.

As much as you wanted to close your eyes, you obeyed Nanami’s instructions. Y/E/C on his as you screamed into his mouth. You came, squirting, whining, and crying. Nanami pulled back, face flushed as he growled like a fucking incubus. Feeding off of you, your orgasm, every part of you. Feeling you cum, seeing that fucked out expression plastered across your flushed face. It had Nanami cumming so hard. His balls clenched as he emptied his seed inside of you, painting your walls.

“Fuuuck, Y/N, fuuuck.” His hips slowed, his hands gently massaging your hips as he laid down with you. His arms wrapped around you, spooning you close. “I love you, god, you’re perfect.”

Breathing heavily, you giggled, relaxing in his arms. “I-I love you too.” You lazily smiled as you ran your fingers over his forearms, tracing shapes. “Thanks for saving me, Kento.”

His chest vibrated with a rich chuckle, lips grazing your neck. “Anything for you my love.” His lips pressed against your cheek, and you knew he meant every word.

2K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

Text

Lift and learn.

Synopsis: You discover Ghost’s unique skill; estimating the weight of items just by lifting them. You decide to challenge his ability by giving him little tests and he (for once in his life) loves to show off.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,381 (approx. 5-6 minutes reading time.)

Notes:

Mindless, platonic fluff with minimal plot.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The storage room is vast and poorly lit, with rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance. The air conditioning blows cool air throughout the facility, with only the gentle hum of the units and refrigerators breaking the silence. You and Ghost stand at the entrance, surveying the endless supply of crates and boxes ahead of you.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” you remark, kicking a nearby stack of boxes.

Ghost nods. “Come on,” he says as he walks between the shelves, “the faster we start, the faster we’ll be done with it.”

You follow him, walking down the first row of shelves, scanning the labels on the boxes and crates to see what they contain.

He checks the list you made with the food you’ll need for the mission, and he points toward the direction of the canned goods.

“Go look for the soup,” he advises, “and don’t lift the crate yourself.”

You turn to face him. “Why not, sir?”

“That thing weighs about 20 kgs,” he says, “you won’t be able to lift it alone.”

“Is that so?” you raise your brows. Ghost lets out a long sigh.

“I don’t doubt your abilities, soldier—I just know the box is too heavy to be lifted from up high,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t want to clean tomato soup off the floors now, do you?”

You roll your eyes and walk over to the box in question. You turn to glance at Ghost out of the corner of your eye—he’s ticking things off the list. You decide to give it a shot. You take a deep breath and grasp the box by its handles, attempting to pull it off the shelf. Your arms strain as you put all your weight into it, but the crate doesn’t budge. You try again, but it’s in vain.

Just as you’re about to give up, Ghost appears at your side.

“Told ya; it’s a heavy box,” he says, amused.

You step back, allowing him to take your place. He grips the box and lifts it off the shelf.

“That’s over 20 kgs.” He comments as he curls the box. “Around 24 kgs, I’d say.”

You stare at the box as it moves up and down, then at him. He approaches the large food scale and places the box on it. As he predicted, the box weights precisely the amount he estimated.

“Do you do this a lot?” you ask.

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I normally curl barbells.”

“Estimating the weight of something just by lifting it?” you clarify, “I saw you do it before when we were packing stuff from the armoury.”

“Ah,” he says, flicking his wrist, “it’s nothing.”

He surely doesn’t act like “it’s nothing.” He’s trying to portray himself as humble. But he looks far too cocky about it. He puffs out his chest and places his hands on his waist. His head tilts a little higher, and he squints his eyes, resulting in narrow creases at their corners. There’s also a slight stiffness in his upper body muscles. Is he flexing? Yes. Yes, he’s desperate to show off his skill once more. And, of course, you don’t waste the opportunity.

You gesture to a massive stalk of bananas. “How much does that weigh?” You ask.

He walks towards the bananas, his hands still on his hips. “Ah,” he says as he lifts the stalk, “this should weigh around 1.3 kgs.” He states and places the bananas on the scale. He waits for the scale to flash and then turns to face you when it indicates just a little over the amount he predicted.

“Wow, Lieutenant!” You yell and clap your hands together. “Do it again!”

He takes a sharp breath from his nose and gestures with his hands. “Give me something more difficult this time.” he says with pride.

You look around the storage room and spot a pile of sandbags in the corner.

“Okay, how much does one of those weigh?” you ask.

He redirects his gaze to the sandbags. He shrugs. “30 kgs.” He says.

“That doesn’t count, Lt.,” you frown, “you didn’t even lift them.”

“I don’t have to lift them, Y/N; we fill sandbags to exactly 30 kgs each.” He explains and turns to look at you with a you-should-have-knew-that expression.

You decide to step up your game.

“Okay, Lt., what about me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

He raises his index finger at you. “I’m not lifting you.” He states.

“Why not?” You ask, and he goes on to explain how it put him in trouble on a deployment about a decade ago. “Bananas, don’t get offended when you estimate them to be a few grams heavier.” He explains. You promise him you won’t be insulted, and he brings his right hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks to stop you.

“O’ay,” you mutter through your pinched lips, and he lets you go. “See this cardboard box over there?” You ask, and he turns to look in the direction of a big, beige-coloured box on the ground. It’s taped shut and sealed with no hint or label of what it might contain.

“Can you estimate its weight without looking what’s inside the box?” you ask.

He gives a short chuckle and mutters something like “if I can, she asks” under his breath before walking to the box. He tilts his head, trying to estimate its weight by looking at it. He stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, readying himself for what he’s about to do. He gathers his cargo pants from his thighs, and lowers himself to the ground in a deadlift position, grabbing the box by the handles. He takes a deep breath and pulls the box up with all his might.

But the box turns out to be lighter than you both anticipated, making Ghost lose his balance. He stumbles backwards, his arms flapping as he tries to regain control of his body. In his panic, he forgets to let go of the box which seems to defy gravity, and it flies through the air, driven by the momentum of his fall.

“Lt.!” you yell as you hurry to him, kneeling on the floor, “are you okay, sir?”

He stares at the floor, then at you, then back at the ground. You grab his arm to pull him up, but his ego is too bruised to allow you to do that to him. He gets up on his own and dusts his trousers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologise, “I had no idea.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest—he looks defensive. “Neither of us knew, soldier,” he says, trying to reassure you, and walks towards the box.

“Huh,” he says as he lifts its flaps. “I fell backwards by a rocket explosion before,” he recalls, “but never by a cardboard box filled with sanitary pads.”

You giggle, and he shakes his head. He picks one of the packages and shows it to you. “Will you need a couple of these during our mission?” He asks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the ground.

He picks up two packs and puts one of them under his arm. “No shame in that, soldier,” he comforts you and shakes the other pack, “these babies almost broke my hip about a minute ago.”

You smile in response—at least he can make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You’re impressive, Lt.,” you comment, “a walking and breathing human scale.”

“Eh,” he shrugs as he crosses the final items off the list, “it helps with missions and loading up the trucks.”

“Now,” you continue, looking at the boxes you’ve collected for the mission, “how about we fill up the truck before one of us gets hurt in this warzone of a storage unit?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, let’s get outta here,” he agrees, “I don’t want to get jumped by a bunch of Kleenex.”

———————————————————————

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pinkiedevv · 9 months ago

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Borrowers Using Things as Other Things

So, I made that drawing where a borrower uses a leaf as an umbrella (here), and now here's a list of other items a borrower might 'misuse!'

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An acorn top = a hat

A hair elastic = a belt

A dish towel = an extra-large full-body towel XD

A handkerchief = a blanket

A sock = a sleeping bag

A beanie hat = a nest

A big ol' boot = another nest

A bunch of feathers = bedding for nest

A toothpick = a walking stick

A needle = a sword (fencing style??)

A thumbtack = a dagger

A fishing hook = a grapple

A piece of graphite = a pencil

A string = a rope (especially if twined into a thicker braid)

A string of floss = ... a waxy rope??

A toothbrush head = a brush (for pet mice?)

A nail file = a sanding board (for smoothing rough wood)

An old mouthwash lid = water storage container OR a laundry hamper

An empty lip balm tin = a (food) storage container

An ice cube tray = a multi-compartment storage bin

A bottlecap = a bowl/cup

A thimble = a flowerpot

A teacup = a bathtub

A shiny coin/button = a portrait/decoration

A watch = a wall clock

A ring = a crown

A bracelet = a decorative sash

A circlet earing = a necklace

A silver necklace = a long chain (for what?? idk?!? leash for mouse??)

A fork = a clothing hanger (on the prongs)

A match = a torch

A ruler = a height-measuring stick

A popsicle stick = a leg splint (kept tight with scotch tape)

An old Rubik's cube/children's block = a table

A pair of dice = a set of chairs

A paintbrush = a broom

Extra:

Whatever that little white plastic thing is called that comes on the center of a pizza sometimes and looks like a teeny table. Except now actually used as a table XD

(Also, I've got a Pt. 2 to this now)

#g/t #gt community #gt writing #borrower #giant tiny #giant/tiny #borrowers #story ideas #sfw g/t #g/t thoughts

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simdertalia · 7 months ago

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🌺🌴 ACNH Paradise Planning Set: Part 1 🌴🌺

All the items you'll need to recreate The upstairs of the Paradise Planning office in your TS4 game. Most items came with only 1 swatch each. There are lots of items that I added extra swatches for. *See bottom of item list for links to the handful of items that have already been made in other sets. Set 2 coming very soon!

Sims 4, Base game compatible | 67 items

💡As always, turning the brightness down on my functional lamps will make them look better (not overly bright) due to my vertex paint issue in Blender. I am trying to figure the issue out.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️ Download below, all in a zip file or pick & choose!

Build: -Floors Wood | 1 swatches | Wood -Walls Plaster | 2 swatches | Paint

Type “ACNH paradise planning 1” into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues!

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on August 3rd, 2024 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

*Veranka's Bakery Window: MediumDouble: This window is recommended if you are recreating this building in TS4.

*Maracas *Steam Diffuser *Wall Certificate *Aroma Diffuser *Soda Cans *Hammock

The rest of my CC

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i-am-aristiana · 4 months ago

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I wrote a glossary of TF terms.

PLEASE NOTE: These terms are a mix of canon and fanon. It changes from continuity to continuity, and from fanfic author to fanfic author. It’s only a guide, and I have no intention of saying I know more than anyone else. Please take it with a grain of salt.

A NSFW section exist, I will publish it in another post.

Miscellaneous terms

Berth: Bed

Bond: A permanent connection spark to spark from 2 or more Cybertronians. Can be between conjuxed couple, but also happens with twins/triplets/etc, or combiners.

CNA: DNA

Amica, Conjuxed Amica: Very dear friends, but not more than friends. Another James Roberts creation!

Conjux, Conjux Endura, Conjuxed: Married couple. Thanks James Roberts for that one! :)

Em field: Electronic field emitted by the Cybertronian that another can read / detect, no human equivalent

Energon: The blood of Cybertronian and what they drink as “food’.

Enforcer: Police officer

Kibble: All the parts that had to be removed for one reason or another. It grew to mean parts of alt mode visible in their other modes as well.

Pad: Tablet computer

Split-spark twins: Twins created from a single spark, and it “magically” turned into 2, similar to identical twins. Though they don’t necessarily have the same physical appearance.

Subspace: A storage area that doesn’t physically exist, yet they use it all the time. Thanks the 80’s for the art errors and pulling a weapon out of thin air for that term.

Body part, SFW

Aft: Butt

Armor: The outer part of the frame, what’s easy to see and colourful.

Audials: Ears

Chevron: Part of the helm, on the forehead, that looks like 2 colorful prongs. See Prowl for red chevron.

CPU: Brain

Dermas: Lips

Doorwings: Wings on the back of the Cybertronian made with his front vehicle doors. See Prowl.

Digit: Finger

Exvent: Exhale

Finials: Part of the helm that protrude from the helm. See Drift.

Frame: Body

Glitch: Either when a Cybertronian “crashes” or a very doratory term.

Glossa: Tongue

Helm: Head

Intake: Mouth, throat, lips. This one changes a lot depending on the author.

Nasal ridge: Nose

Optic: Eye

Oral lubricant: Spit

Ped: Foot

Plating: The outer part of the frame, what’s easy to see and colourful.

Processor: Brain

Protoform: Inner part of the “skin”, under the plating or armor.

Sensory horns: Part of the helm similar to ears in humans. See Jazz.

Servo: Hand

Spark: A ball of energy that contains the “soul” of the Cybertronian. Considered located in the chest

Strut: Bone

Type of Cybertronian:

Combiner: A team of Cybertronian that, when transforming, can combine into a giant being instead of individuals. See Devastator or Defensor.

Aerial: Type of frame for a flier that doesn’t look like a Seeker

Conehead: Frame type of fliers very similar to Starscream, except they have their nose cone on their helm, looking like they wear a giant cone

Femme: A Cybertronian having a “feminine” shape. Though some exceptions exist, see Strika

Grounder: Type of frame having wheels. Often derogatory.

Kaonite: Cybertronian from Kaon. Often associate with large, strong frame type, and mainly Decepticon

Mech: A Cybertronian, often “male” shaped but not always

Mechling: Teenager

Praxian: Cybertronians from Praxus. Often a frame type associated with the appearance of Prowl, Bluestreak, Smokescreen, Barricade

Seeker: Type of fliers associated with Starscream frame type

Sparkling, sparklet: baby, children

#transformers #maccadam #tf one #mtmte #tf fanfic #tf fanfiction #transformers fanfiction

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drefear · 8 months ago

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Major in English, Minor in Criminology

Murderer!Miguel x Journalist!Reader

TW: smut, cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick. Murder, violence, rough sex, light BDSM and squirting, manipulation, voyeurism, probably other shit, he's a fucking murderer.

This is where your English degree got you.

Tied up in someone’s… garage? Basement? Storage container? You didn’t really know, since you just woke up here. How long has it been since you’d seen sunlight? Your skin felt sticky and filthy from the sweat and grime on you.

This all started because you, a reporter, wanted to get into more serious reporting instead of stupid “Dairy Queen Price Changes,” or whatever you were supposed to be doing. You instead begged your boss to do something more dangerous and cutting edge, which would be the murder happening near the library in your town. You’d been going there to take notes about the crimes when someone grabbed you from behind and hit you with a heavy, lead pipe.

And you woke up here.

The door is metal and the walls are concrete, with a toilet and a sink, and a wrought iron bed bolted to the ground. There’s a slot in the metal door, and there’s blood stains all over. The sheets of the bed, the sink, the floor by the single window that’s been covered from the outside.

You’ve woken up a few times and can only assume it’s been four days. You’ve flipped your pants inside out and used your blazer as a blanket by now, trying to use your resources to at least be slightly less uncomfortable. Even your throat feels raw and gross, having not spoken since the day you got here.

Suddenly, the slot opens and food slides through before you sigh.

“Thank you…” you speak quietly and the slot opens again, sliding through a bottle of water… with tape on the top of the bottle instead of a cap.

“Did…” you begin to yell, “did you drug this?”

A laugh is all you hear through the cracks of the slot and you sigh again. If you were any less sane, you’d think the laugh was sexy and raspy, but at this point, you’re sure you’re just deprived from human contact.

Completely dehydrated and starved since you are basically getting nothing here, you gulp down the bottle of water in no time and begin to scarf down chicken nuggets like it’s no one’s business.

“Um… excuse me?” You call out, with no success. “Can- is there any way I can take a shower?” Another laugh roared through the door and echoed in the room as you bit your bottom lip.

‘Don’t cry, don’t cry.’ Your mind played that mantra over and over until you were strong enough to not cry.

The next day, or so you thought, you woke up stiff and dehydrated once more as you heard another meal slide through the door slot, but you ignored it. You were beginning to hope for death, maybe die of starvation or dehydration instead of giving him the satisfaction of killing you himself.

A grunt made you perk up and you turned towards the slot to see two eyes peering at you in the humid, uncomfortable darkness. A chill went down your spin as his eyes looked red in the dark lighting, like two lasers, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

‘You’re just hallucinating, it’s ok. It’s not real.’

A second water bottle sliding through the slot made you look back to see the eyes once more, just blankly staring.

You slowly moved to grab the two waters and back away, like a small animal trying to escape a large predator.

As you retreat and knock against the iron bed frame, you calm down and think to yourself, ‘I win this round… but what happens when I lose?’

Your conscious wrestles with itself while you nibble on the empanadas he gave you, and shiver on the cold floor. A second goes by before you lock eyes with the man on the other side of the door once more, feeling them first before you gazed back at him. A beat passes before something else slides through the slot. You pick it up and realize it's a thin sheet. Did he know you felt cold? Did he see you shivering?

You covered yourself with the paper-like blanket and sat in silence as he closed the slot, leaving you once again with your thoughts. Why was he being nice?

Hours later and you could hear him walking around, heavy footsteps across the door. Were you… In his house? You tried to map out a few rooms from where you could hear things echoing before you heard what sounded like a refrigerator opening.

“Hello?” You called out and all sounds of movement seized. “Can I have more water?”

A few footsteps came closer to the door, but nothing came. “Please?”

The sound of him walking away was all you could hear before you huffed and pouted. The hot and cold moods were annoying, and you were literally being held captive! You pushed the slot open a bit and saw a bottle of water, open, sitting a few inches from the slot. He was playing games with you.

A grumble pasted your lips as you wiggled your hand through the slot and tried to grab the water, despite it feeling like your hand may get stuck. As you made a swipe at the bottle, it toppled over and spilled away from you. Laughter filled the room as you realized he had been watching, and you tugged your hand through with rough pull, scraping the top and giving yourself a scratch. You slumped your shoulders as he was still chuckling and sat on the bed, no longer interested in his games.

The next day was the same, he shoved the food in with the water, but you again didn’t move. You have no energy or attraction to his schemes to play with you like a puppet. A grunt made you turn towards the slot and red eyes looked back at you, but you shoved the finger into the sliver of light and turned back to the wall.

A few hours later, you sat with your knees tucked to your chest when through the cracks, you heard the voice once more. The rumble of a groan and yawn is all you heard before the door swung open and a large silhouette stood before you, almost reaching the top of the door frame. His big arms held where his head almost hit and you realized that you were in bigger trouble than you previously thought. Most killers were scrawny or at least normal sized, using weapons to kill.

This man was a monster!

You were confident that he could use his bare hands to kill you.

His red eyes glared towards your cowering body as he began to close in towards you. Of course, with your luck, you were already sitting in the far corner of your “bed” as he latched a hand around your bicep and jerked you towards him. Tears pricked your eyes as he turned you around and forced you to bed over on the bed. You felt him begin to tie your hands together with a brittle rope, biting into your wrists with the roughness, and squeezed your eyes shut.

“You’ll take a shower and I’ll watch.” He said, with the same sexy rasp you thought you’d hallucinated. His words sunk in and your eyes popped open like a champagne cork. “Really?” You perked up and smiled a bit. A shower! It’s what you really wanted, but a second passed and another thought about what he just said made you look down. “You’re going to watch me?”

“Can’t let you escape because I was dumb enough to leave you alone in my bathroom.” He answered and pulled you up, practically carrying you out the metal door.

You looked around and saw the cozy insides of a house, pictures on the wall, a centerpiece sitting on the dining room table. He even had the tv on in the living room, a soccer game playing. He was keeping you in his home.

You looked back at him and saw something else now.

He was fucking gorgeous.

The fullness of his lips, the high cheekbones, his tousled and messy brown hair, and deep olive skin… He was basically perfect. You tried not to look so obvious, but you couldn’t help the blush creeping up your neck.

Of course you would be turned on by your kidnapper.

He readjusted you in his arms and basically tossed you over his shoulder, which made you let out a small, helpless squeak, to which he chuckled. You felt something hit you in the back of the head and realized it was the door frame.

That’s how large he is.

You sighed as he sat you on the counter and you looked around as he started the bathtub. The countertops were all bare, and he had no shower shelves or anything to put any bottles or soap bars on. There were three containers sitting next to you: shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Your brows furrowed as you looked back at him, now staring at you were vacant eyes. He was completely unreadable as he looked down at your clothing and then back up at you. Following his line of sight, you looked down and saw he was just looking at your shirt.

Then it made sense.

“You… you’re going to take my shirt off?”

“I have other clothing for you to wear, but I’m going to cut it off you.” He concluded and when you were about to protest when his eyes darkened while he held a knife. Suddenly seeing your kidnapper holding a knife so close to you made your jaw lock and your throat go bone dry. Your heart rate quickened as he tugged you closer to him and pushed the tip of the blade under the fabric, slicing towards himself. Your eyes focused on his face and you saw how concentrated he was on his knife on you. You stayed as still as possible to avoid him possibly nicking you, and soon the shirt was torn through and you were in your bra. He looked like he was thinking hard as he looked at your bra. The silence was heavy as he just watched you, your chest heaving up and down from the anxiety beginning to really take hold. His lips pursed before he spoke.

“Why were you at the library that night?” His voice almost surprised you from how quiet the room was, and you hesitated before you answered.

“I am- I was reporting the murders.” You corrected yourself as he moved the knife towards your cleavage before you leaned away. “Wait-! The straps are removable… so you don’t have to ruin it. You can just unhook it and then unclip the straps.” You pleaded and he just blew a stray strand of brown hair from his eyes. He relented without a word and started unclasping your straps, continuing to question you.

“So just to get this straight, you went alone and unarmed to the scene where a murderer was finding his victims knowingly?”

You looked at the ground, ashamed. “Well when you put it that way, I sound stupid.”

“You are stupid.” He announced and you bite your tongue, seeing as he was a knife-wielding murderer and you liked your blood inside your body. As he continued to unhook your bra, the cups fell off of your body and your breasts were free. He stared, briefly in awe, before he got back to cutting off the rest of your clothing.

Once you were naked, he just picked you up and placed you into the water before wetting your hair and starting to massage shampoo onto your head. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out a question you’d been thinking of all day.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked and he froze, then sighing and continuing to clean your hair.

“I don’t kill women. I kill men who like to assault or hurt women and children.” He grumbled and you stirred in your thoughts before asking more.

“…Oh.” Is all you could say. He frowned deeply as he began rinsing out your hair. “So… why murder them? Why not report them?”

“Tried that… cops don’t do shit.” He answered and you just nodded, noticing how he was getting more and more sour. “It… started with my mom. I just hate how these guys beat women and then get away with it.” He continued, and your heart strings were suddenly vibrating with empathy.

“So why are you still keeping me here?”

“There’s a few reasons. You know I’m a murderer, you’re being held in a small room in my house, and I hit you over the head with a fuckin’ pipe. I wasn’t expecting you to skip out of here, thanking me for the fun adventure, and promising not to call the fuckin police.” He retorted and you could understand that, which was alarming since you were agreeing with your captor and a murderer. “But the biggest reason is, you weren’t my original target.” Silence fell over you two once more, but this time, it was comfortable… not heavy, but comforting. There was understanding in the air as you thought for a second. You decided to ask the most logical question after being lost in your own head.

“Who was your target?”

His mouth closed to a scowl as he poured conditioner into his large palm and moved to rub it into your hair. When it was obvious he wasn’t answering, you sunk into the water a bit more and closed your eyes while you just enjoyed the way he massaged your scalp.

You knew this was wrong for a thousand, million reasons. Or maybe one reason, but a big ass reason.

He’s a fucking serial killer.

But you couldn’t help it, for a weird reason. The way his forearms looked as they massage your scalp in the bathroom mirror made you want to bite them, to drag your fingertips across the tense, veiny skin. This man was doing things for you that you couldn’t have predicted. And for some reason, the fact that he didn’t mean to hurt you was a huge turn on, that he was targeting men who had previously hurt others or done terrible things. You ignored the fact that you might have Stockholm syndrome and directed your thoughts back to the way his biceps flexed in the fogged reflection. Maybe it was how the hot water made your brain hazy with seductive images of you under him, but the droplets on your skin dripped in a way that had you getting wet beneath the water.

“Hello?” His voice made you jump a bit, the water sloshing up against the side of the tub and soaking his shirt. “Were you even listening?”

“Yes, absolutely!” You lied, but he didn’t look convinced. His eyes canned your face and you knew that you looked flushed, so you did what anyone embarrassed of their thoughts would do and turned your face so he couldn’t see you. His hand held your cheeks squished between his fingers and turned you back for him to assess, and he didn’t seem pleased.

“You’re overheating, let me add some cold water.” He announced and turned the faucet back on, letting you sink back into the depths of the tub and your own self-loathing for your lack of ability to conceal your mind. “Better?” He asked and you just nodded, not concerned with the water temperature. He watched you from the corner of his eyes and this made you nervous. You were being watched by a cold-blooded killer, and whether he killed the bad guys or not, it was still scary. He rinsed his hands and cleared his throat as you snapped out of your mental trance, looking up towards him as he stayed stone cold in his expression. “Since I don’t plan on untying you, I’m going to wash your body, but if you don’t want me to touch you, then I could use a loofah or something, like a towel- I didn’t really think this through.” He muttered and you just shook your head.

“You can touch me.” You spoke softly and he nodded without any emotion, giving you no idea what he was thinking. He began by washing your back and scrubbing a bit, before moving to your arms and feeling you roll your neck to let him get to the nape and around your throat. He was surprised by how trusting you were being, but the truth was he didn’t feel dangerous to you, which was absolutely insane since he had killed people 10 feet away from where you were currently sitting.

His hands began to wash your chest and before he moved any lower, he looked up at you. “This feels wrong, I’ll just-”

“It feels good, actually.” You interrupted him and his eyebrows shot up in shock. “I mean-” You began to blush as you realized what had happened, but he smirked a bit before you could say anything else.

“Would you like… if I made it feel even better?” He asked, his voice dropping a bit as he leaned closer to your burning face. You nodded slowly as his fingers brushed against the bottoms of your breasts, moving to graze your bare nipples and forcing a gasp from your lips. His thick digits twist the pert nubs and you let out a quiet sound like a small animal, giving into the predator in front of it. He keeps a cool demeanor as he teases your boobs and makes you squirm. “Still feel good?”

“Yes…” you whispered and closed your eyes as his hand slipped under the water to massage the rest of your body, pushing his fingers gently through your folds and pressing directly onto your clit. You yelped in pleasure and shivered as he bent his head to your throat and kissed your pulse point behind your ear. r ear. His lips were soft and full on your skin as he pushed and toyed with the bundle of nerves in between his fingertips. The water splashed as you jerked a bit at the sudden sensations and he chuckled, pulling your soaked body up and throwing you over his shoulder once more. “Hey-!” You protested, but a slap to your bare ass shut you up, followed by a dark laugh. Miguel carried you into the room near where you slept and you saw a single king size bed with tall posts on all corners, being thrown to the center before he reached behind him with one hand and pulled his shirt off over his head. He took your bound hands and placed them on the bulge forming in his pants. It was almost as thick as your forearm and long as well. You blushed red before then meeting his eyes and seeing the shining cockiness reflected. You gulped down the tension between your thighs and looked at him through thick lashes as he stared down at your naked body. It was like he was analyzing you with malintent, the look on his face creating a dark shadow clouding over your morals and conscience. His large hand flattened on your abdomen as he kneeled before you and inhaled between your legs, his exhale leaving goosebumps against your exposed mound of flesh. He was clearly entertained by the prickle of your skin and immediately dove into you like a child on Christmas morning, licking heavily into your lips and lifting your asscheek on his shoulder. Your back arched almost so much it pained you as you jumped from the abrupt amount of sucking on your clit, a strained sound falling out of your mouth. You’d never heard that before, but then again, no one had literally sucked and licked the life out of you like this.

He reached up a meaty hand and pinched at your nipple hard, twisting enough to make you scream and feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You felt his teeth graze against your sensitive peak and your eyes snapped onto where his mouth was currently on you, eliciting a chuckle from him as you shivered.

“Yeah? You want me to hurt you a little?” He asked in a raspy whisper before slapping your breast a bit. You gasped loud and he smiled, his sharp canines gleaming a bit.

Miguel moved to hover above you before rubbing his cock against your clit, the friction making you tense up a bit before he grabbed your throat. Your eyes found his, and he bent his head so his breath was warm against your ear.

“I’m not going to play nice just because you’re a pretty little thing.”

Without any other words, he shoved his dick in you and the burning stretch of his thickness made you let out a painful whine. The sound made his shiver as he jutted his hips into you even further, his cock nudging something so deep within you that tears pricked the corners of your eyes. He seemed to get even harder when he saw the small bits of pain he caused in you, and that made you hornier. The crazed look in his eyes made you flush and pant while he fucked you rough, practically making you dizzy from the jerky and harsh movements. He grunted as you felt the coil in your core begin to heat and tense, before it snapped and you instantly climaxed. It was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had as he smiled, like a predator enjoying the thrill of the hunt, and you gulped when he grabbed your waist before drilling back into you at a panickingly fast pace. Tears welled in your eyes from the pressure in your abdomen from his violent fucking, but the adrenaline made you begin to build towards another orgasm. This time was different, it was almost a burning feeling in your lower body and a surge as you swung your arms around his neck to help hold on.

“Fuck, just like that, so fucking tight.” He mumbled, and you questioned if he was even speaking to you or just vocalizing his thoughts to himself, but you were distracted by the crash of the second climax and the sudden, very wet feeling on your stomach. A loud, pregnant growl made you shiver as his hips spasmed and rutted into your in a painful way, so deep you thought you may have hurt something, but you were enjoying this all too much to care at all, and he hovered over you for a moment while he caught his breath.

“Holy shit, that was fucking great…” He whispered and leaned down before licking the wetness on your body to your breasts. “You are never leaving.” He smirked and you laid on your back, thinking about how you were completely fine with this.

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #angst #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #murderer!miguel #murderer fanfic #murder fic

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charminglygrouped · 2 months ago

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What's the deal with still-rooms?

Occasionally, in modern fiction set in the Regency era, you'll read of a female character making her own perfume, rose-water, or lavender-water by distilling flower petals (or something of that nature) in the still-room. In this context of course "still" is a shortening of "distill."

On doing some research, I think this is anachronistic. It's true that still-room offices such as making perfumes and medicines fell to the lady of the house and her daughters from at least the 17th century (1600s) and through the early 18th century (1700s)—but not much later.

Because of this shift, the figure of "the still-room" is used in writing of the 18th and 19th centuries to express anxieties about female behaviour and women's "place" inside and outside the home. But more on that later.

History

1600s - 1740s: perfumes, medicines, cordials, waters, spirits

In the 17th and early 18th centuries, many English manors contained still-rooms. Stephen Schmidt and Elaine Leong describe the contents of these rooms:

The stillroom was equipped with apparatus for distilling spirits, wines, syrups, and waters [...] and a waist-high charcoal brazier, or chafing dish, for procedures that required heating. The stillroom was attached to a stove room, a small chamber outfitted with slatted shelves and some sort of furnace, to which items were remanded that required drying or that needed to be kept dry during storage.

The 1696 book The accomplished ladies rich closet of rarities, or the ingenious gentlewoman & servant maid's delightfull companion, gives directions for "The Art of Diſtilling" (which includes recipes for perfumes and medicines); "Making Artificial Wines"; "Making Syrups"; and more.

Women would keep records of their recipes for various medicines (in the forms of cordials, pills, salves, poultices, &c.) in recipe books that were passed down for generations. Jayne Elisabeth Archer argues that "The stillroom (or 'distallorie') and the manuscript receipt book were two of the most important sites of female creativity in early modern England, and yet they have been largely forgotten to history" (p. 212).

The 1736 Dictionarium Domeſticum, Being a New and Compleat Houſehold Dictionary; For the Uſe both of City and Country provides instructions for distilling ale and creating medicinal decoctions, including some that claim to "provoke [...] womens Menſes" (i.e., potentially abortifacients!).

1750s - 1890s: pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, coffee

By the mid-18th century, however, still-rooms were no longer associated primarily with perfumes, spirits, and medicines. In Miss Sophia Lee's “The Chapter of Accidents” (1750), the days when culinary still-room tasks such as distilling spirits were considered as genteel accomplishments are described as belonging to the past. Governor Harcourt has kept his daughter uneducated and doing tasks which ought to be considered too low for her; when he says he means to let Lord Woodville marry her, Lord Glenmore replies:

Lord G. I thank your intention, brother; but am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments.

What, then, did people use still-rooms for at this time? In short, they were considered as a branch of the kitchen, used in large estates to preserve food (by pickling, canning, making jellies, &c.), make light articles for the table (such as confections), and prepare coffee and tea.

A fictional biography written in 1754 describes culinary tasks being carried out in the still-room:

As great Care was taken to preſerve his Complexion, he was ſeldom ſuffered to ſtir out of the Nurſery or Still-room, where he became ſo great a Proficient in Female Knowledge, that, before he was Fifteen, he was deeply ſkilled in the Doctrine and Uſes of Pickles, Conſerves, and Jellies; underſtood the Value of Cambrics, Muflins, &c. could knit a Pair of Garters [...].

The Dictionary of Daily Wants, published c. 1858, tells us:

With cooking, generally the housekeeper has little concern. Her care of the table is confined chiefly to pickling and preserving; and in preparing confectionery, making ice-creams, arranging the dessert, &c. These preparations are all performed in the still-room, and with the assistance of the still-room maid.

Beeton's Book of household management (1861) says that distilling in still-rooms is mostly a thing of the past, but claims that some households still do it:

The still-room was formerly much more in vogue than at present; for in days of "auld lang syne," the still was in constant requisition for the supply of sweet-flavoured waters for the purposes of cookery, scents and aromatic substances used in the preparation of the toilet, and cordials in cases of accidents and illness. There are some establishments, however, in which distillation is still carried on, and in these, the still-room maid has her old duties to perform.

And The Century Dictionary, published c. 1890, gives us two definitions:

still-room, n. 1. An apartment for distilling; a domestic laboratory. — 2. A room connected with the kitchen, where coffee, tea, and the like are made, and the finer articles supplied to the table are made, stored, and prepared for use.

These tasks were not considered appropriate work for genteel women, but were rather the province of poor relations and servants. A servant in "The Chapter of Accidents" shows this change in attitude, with a gentleman disdaining to enter the still-room:

Mrs. W. Why, methinks you are grown mighty grand, or you would have come to the still-room to ask.

So, in the late 18th and 19th centuries, still-rooms still exist, and they are still used; but they are usually used by the housekeeper (and, in larger establishments, the still-room maid) for the making of pickles, preserves, desserts, tea, and coffee. The head cook and kitchen-maids are then employed in the kitchen with the more regular work of cooking.

(At the turn of the 19th century, we also see indications of still-rooms in estates being used to distill spirits. An account of the estate of James Moore, Esq., which is presented as very large, well-managed, and prosperous, reads:

His yard contains besides the necessary stabling for his horses, waggon, and cart lodges, barns, &c. a counting house with a dry warehouse attached to it; near to these is a large still room, with five copper stills, and without this room is a large horse mill to throw up the liquor into the back. These stills will run off 20 tuns of spirit or oil in 24 hours.

Distillers might also have their own businesses. See this 1806 account of a "distiller" of "liquors" having a "distillery" or "still-room" adjoining his dwelling. I think this "still-room" is quite a different creature from the one which ladies used to distill perfumes in, though.)

Looking back

Throughout the late 18th century and 19th century, any references I can find to still-room tasks as involving distilling herbs or making medicines are used to indicate that action is taking place in the past.

References in fiction

For example: a novel published in 1799 (The witch, and the maid of honour) uses still-room medicines to show that we are reading about the time of Queen Elizabeth. When a young woman's ear is scratched by a cat, the advice is to "take her into the ftill-room, and tell Vincent [the housekeeper] to put fomething to it"; they go to the housekeeper's room, and Vincent "[takes] down a vial" of some medicine (from her room or from the still-room, it's not clear) to use.

In 1849, Anne Manning published a novel about John Milton's wife, which she set in 1643: it contained 17th-century spellings, an imitation of a 17th-century typeface, and several references to a young woman performing still-room tasks (a child "came in with her Lap full of Butter-burs, the which [Mary] was glad to ſee, as Mother eſteemes them a ſovereign Remedie 'gainſt the Plague"; Mary lays "them out on the Stille-room Floor"; later, she spends “a full Houre in the ftille Room, turning over ever foe manie Trays full of dried Herbs and Flower-leaves,” as a prospective suitor speaks to her father).

Again, in 1857, a novel with archaic spellings (The Noble Traytour: A Chronicle), set in the court of Queen Elizabeth and featuring knights, earl-marshalls and such, gives us an emotional sick-room scene, which contains the sentence:

As for Dame Elizabeth, ſhe was in the ſtill-room brewing a caudle poſſit of grewel, for which a nice [i.e. neat, clean] maiden was grating ginger.

And an 1861 novel entitled My daughter Marjorie: 17th centuary, also stylised so as to resemble something published in the 1600s, describes an idealised young woman thustly:

She hath a ſweet voice, and toucheth the virginals with much ſkill, and is very apt in the ſtill room. She affirmeth there will be a superabundance of marygolds for curing in the fall, which is well.

References in nonfiction

Non-fictional writing also describes the making of perfumes and medicines in still-rooms as a 16th-, 17th-, or very early 18th-century thing. An 1812 description of “an Elizabethan country house” describes distilling in still rooms as a decidedly outdated habit for gentlewomen:

Among the rooms on that floor was one called the still-room, an apartment where the ladies of old much amused themselves in distilling waters and cordials, as well for the use of themselves and of their poor neighbours, as for several purposes of cookery.

Cassell’s Domestic Dictionary, published c. 1850, defines the term thusly:

Still-room.— The still-room in the old sense does not now exist. In the reign of Queen Anne [1702-1714] it was quite a common institution for an English lady to have what was called her still-room, in which were distilled perfumes, such as rose and lavender water, and cordials intended to be used medicinally for the benefit of the family, or to be distributed charitably amongst the poor. Even at the present time, in some large establishments, the still-room is to be found, though very different in the arrangement of its work to that of old times. In modern still-rooms the tea and coffee are sometimes made that are needed for the use of the family.

In The merrie days of England; sketches of the olden time we find a quote from Macaulay describing the lifestyle of country ladies and gentlemen in the 17th century:

The ladies of the houſe, whoſe buſineſs it had commonly been to cook the repaſt, retired as foon as the diſhes had been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. [...] [The country gentleman's] wife and daughter were in taſte and acquirements below a houſekeeper or a ſtill-room maid of the preſent day. They ſtitched and ſpun, brewed gooſeberry wine, cured marigolds, and made the cruſt for the veniſon paſt.

What does it all mean?

If still-rooms aren't used by ladies to distill things for medicinal or culinary purposes anymore, why is this practice so often referenced? Why is this particular usage of this particular room still present in the cultural consciousness, if you will, of the readers of 18th- and 19th-century England? Why is it iconic enough that it can be used to signal to a reader, "we're in the 16th or 17th century now"?

I think it comes down to a nostalgia about the (supposed) feminine behaviour of the past. This nostalgia was already present in the mid-18th century, and would continue until at least the mid-19th. To return to "The Chapter of Accidents":

Lord G. I [...] am far from wishing the chief accomplishments of Woodville's lady should be the making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder wine. Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women were never better than when those were the chief accomplishments. Cream cheeses, quotha! no, no, making cream faces [that is, giving birth] is an accomplishment which the belles of these days oftener excel in.

In Governor Harcourt's opinion, the ladies of "these days" (i.e. the 1750s) are too educated, too divorced from homely household duties, too uselessly fine, and perhaps too mannish.

Of course, any idea about European genteel femininity is also perforce an idea about race; proper "femininity" always entails and defines "whiteness." Gov. H. puns that women these days are producing white ("cream") children, and yet are no longer capable of performing the necessary tasks to feed their (white) children, or tend to the practical upkeep of their (white / European / civilised / appropriately domestic) homes. White gentlewomen must be constrained to domestic servitude because they are the ones who create and police the environment in which the white race is created, raised, and educated; theirs is the power to advance or degrade the white race.

On the flip side, degraded, improper, abusive, over-sexualised relations between the sexes are what supposedly mark out non-European cultures as uncivilised, lower / lesser, an anterior stage in the evolution of humanity, &c. White women have to do [insert whatever the present writer wants them to do], or else we all might as well be savages, and so on and so forth.

But to return to examples of the figure of "the still-room" indexing the idea of "feminine accomplishment of past centuries." The Edinburgh Review, no. 222, for 1859 contains an article entitled "Female Industry," which begins with a history of female labour, and moves to consider the question of what kind of work women (including working-class women) ought to be doing today. The author complains about the completeness of the change that had taken place over the past “three centuries,” such that genteel women could no longer cook:

[W]e have therefore every reason to believe that our wives and sisters would be no worse for understanding the business of the kitchen. […] Well! is the art to be lost? or will an effort be made to recover it ? Why is it not a branch of female industry now to give such instruction, instead of leaving those departments of knowledge a blank […]? It may not be necessary or desirable for young ladies to spend so many hours in the still-room, among conserves and quackeries, as the damsels of three centuries ago, when kitchen cookery was gross and wholesale; and it might be better that they should learn from their mothers how to order and superintend the administration of food; but if their mothers have not the requisite knowledge, skill and ideas, it would be a great blessing to have a professional instructress within reach.

For this author, there's something about the still-room habits of the Elizabethans that went too far: their medicines didn't actually work, their practices were not scientific or modern enough, women were in them for too many hours at a time, &c.; but there is something about them that we should be trying to recapture.

The nostalgia of The merrie days of England is, as the title implies, more straightforwardly positive. The book opens:

How pleaſant are the ideas which are associated with "the merrie days of England;" and how ſtrikingly do they contraſt with our experience of the preſent time! Turn aſide for a moment from the records of the miſdeeds of haughty Plantagenets; the deſolating wars of York and Lancafter; the terrible misfortunes of the Stuarts [...]; and even amid theſe darker ſcenes of our hiſtory, abundant evidence is afforded that England was in truth "a merrie England."

It's very unusual, by the way, to see a long s (ſ) this late (1857)! Unlike the novels described earlier, this work isn't literally trying to present itself as something that was printed in the 17th century; but we still see its nostalgia come through in its typography.

In short, I think "the still-room" is often a kind of synecdoche (a metaphor in which the part stands in for the whole) for "the accomplishments of genteel women of prior centuries." The author can put this metaphor to use in whatever argument about female accomplishment that they like. The figure of the still-room, then, is one through which opinions, anxieties, laments, and advice about modern femininity and modern women's behaviour may be expressed.

Floor plans

So much for what was done in a still-room, and what they symbolised. Where was this room?

Sometimes, a still-room is described as being a room among other rooms on the lower levels (below ground) of a house; on other estates, it is a detached building.

Attached

Palladio Londinensis; or, the London art of building (1755) gives, among its list "Of Architectonical Axioms and Analogies," the following advice:

That the Kitchen be ſpacious and light, and as remote from the Parlour as poſſible, and to be under Ground; as alſo the Pantry, Bake-Houſe, Still-Room, Buttery, Dairy, and Servants Offices in general.

The plans for a "Villa, designed for the Right Honourable Silver Oliver" in 1789, has the following rooms in the "Basement Floor":

a. Butler's room: b. Servants' chamber: c. Servants' chamber: d. Wine, Ale, and Beer cellars: e. Room for bruſhing clothes, &c.: f. Servants' Hall: g. Houſekeeper's room: h. Still room: i. Situation for the Kitchen, Scullery, Larder, &c.

Holkham Hall, in the 1750s, had a horse-powered "pump" (illustrated at top left) that would bring water up to fill cisterns on the roof, from which it could flow as needed to the "laundry and dairy in the south-east wing, the kitchen in the north-east wing and the stillroom along the east side of the main house."

Detached

This seems less common, but still-rooms might also be a in a separate building.

A 1797 notice for the auction of a "SUPERB and CAPITAL BRICK MANSION, called GIDEA HALL, fitted up with great Neatneſs and Elegance, compriſing all the neceſſary Apartments tor a large Family," contains the following description:

The DETACHED OFFICES conſiſt of a Brewhouſe and Waſh-houſe, Laundry, and Bed-Rooms over for Maid-Servants; a Larder, a Still-Room, a Dog-Kennel, a Dairy, and Boiling-houſe, an Ice-houſe, a Dove-Cote, good Stabling for 25 Horſes, and Standing for Six Carriages, all lofted over, with Saddle Rooms, and Bed-Rooms for Men-Servants; a Court-Yard paved, a Drying-Yard, a Fowl-Yard, with ſuitable Buildings […]

Windows?

All of the rooms in that first floor plan have windows, but not all of those in the second one do. Dickens's "The Schoolboy's Story" describes Jane (a "wardrobe woman" who "took care of the boxes"; a "very nice young woman," "neat and cheerful," "comfortable and kind," tends to the schoolboys emotionally—so we can connect this again to ideals of femininity) "look[ing] out of her still-room window." If things have to be dried and boiled in this room, it makes sense that it ought to be well-aired.

So can I write my Regency-era heroine distilling things in a still-room?

Sure, if you want to make a reference to the idealised femininity of past (i.e., pre-Regency) eras, or make the point that your heroine (or her household) is eccentric or retro.

If not, I might suggest: sewing, knitting, tambour, embroidery, netting, flower arranging, the study of botany (she might keep a little notebook in which to draw or paint botanical illustrations or press flowers), drawing, painting, or simply taking a walk.

#stillroom #history #Jane Austen #Regency romance #Regency era #Town and Country

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topazy · 23 days ago

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Tomorrow's promise

Paring: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Chapter: 5.01

You had gone through a mixture of emotions. Fear, anger, and an overwhelming sense of grief, but now you felt completely numb. The night the farm was overrun by walkers was the worst night of your life, up until now anyway. The pain of thinking you’d lost Jace to walkers or the fire was horrific, but having him physically ripped from your arms was unbearable.

Terminus isn’t what anyone thought it would be. The people here weren’t saviors; they were monsters.

An older woman called Mary led you into a large hall. Everyone was in higher spirits than before with the prospect of having somewhere safe to sleep and food in your belly. But just as Maggie explained to Mary that there were more of your people still out there, you started to sense something was wrong. Abraham thought the same, and when he started to reach for his gun, your group was surrounded by people pointing guns at you.

They took everything they could from you, including Jace. You screamed and fought as he was ripped from your arms, but it didn’t do any good.

“You guys hear that?” Maggie asks.

There is a voice echoing outside; Gareth was talking into a megaphone again, but you don’t pay any attention. Abraham squeezes your shoulder. “We will get him back. Even if it means killing every one of those sons of bitches.”

You nod your head and wipe your fallen tears away, knowing that he was right. You didn’t doubt a single person locked in the metal storage container with you wouldn’t kill to get him back. Hell, even Eugene would do something.

Something heavy hits off the top of the roof, someone thumping their fist possibly. “Back away from the doors now!”

Doing as he says, you all back away from the door. “We need to be ready,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a new burst of energy fused by rage. “If it’s one of them, go for their eyes and then their weapon.”

“We take out as many of them as we can,” the redhead adds.

A few seconds go by, then the door opens, with the place being so dark the sudden light burns your eyes. While your vision still adjusts, Glenn steps forward. “Rick?”

I couldn’t be…

“Rick? Rick!” Seeing your brother standing before you covered in dirt and blood is almost overwhelming. You leap forward and throw your arms around him. “You look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”

“Almost,” his voice is gruff. He kisses you on the forehead, “You’re here, you’re here.”

Noticing Carl, you pull him into the hug, knowing he was safe was a massive relief. You smile and nod at Michonne, who was being embraced by Maggie. Rick steps back and stares at Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene suspiciously.

“It’s okay; they’re our friends. They saved us.”

“Then they’re our friends too,” Daryl steps out of the shadows.

He was alive. Your silent prayers had been answered, so stunned by his sudden appearance, you struggle to find any words.

“Hey, look at me.” Daryl steps forward and tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him through teary eyes. “I thought I’d lost you,” his voice starts to crack. “Where’s the kid?”

“They took him. These assholes took him from me.”

“The good news is we know he’s in that building,” Rosita looks through one of the small cracks in the wall. “We just need to be ready.”

—

You presume only an hour or two had passed since it was still daylight, but while you tried to make makeshift weapons with what little material was in the container, a smoke grenade was thrown inside.

It was impossible to see, and the smoke caught in the back of your throat, making it hard to breathe. The door opened, and amidst the confusion, it was easy for your people to be dragged outside one by one. Someone takes a tight grip of your arm, pulling you towards them, then throws a sack over your head.

Your hands have been tied together by rope, and you are currently being led somewhere inside the main building.

—

“Mommy!”

Your chest physically hurts when you hear Jace crying. “Take me to him, please; he’ll stop crying if I hold him.”

The two women talking just ignore you and continue their conversation. At least with them preoccupied, there was less chance of them noticing that you almost had the ropes off your wrist.

“A stranded woman with a baby? Good work,” a blonde woman chirps. “Perfect way to bring others here.”

Repulsed you at scowling them but say nothing. Just as you manage to free your left hand, there is a loud explosion close by, and the building shakes.

“What the fuck was that?” The blonde tries to talk to someone through the radio, but only static comes through. “Stay here; I’m going to see what’s going on.”

Once the blonde leaves, you slowly approach the other woman from behind and pull the shard of wood you’d sharpened earlier from your back pocket and stab her in the neck with it. When her body falls to the ground, you take her weapons, then check the hall to see if it is clear and start running in the direction the crying is coming from.

#the walking dead #tomorrow’s promise #daryl dixon/you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead rewrite #the walking dead fanfic #tomorrow’s promise 5.01

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winxanity-ii · 5 months ago

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⌜I Love, Robot | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | containment breach⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As you settled back into the captain's bridge, the crackling voice of Tyler suddenly broke through on the intercom, his words garbled and frantic. "It is a form of shutdown. Andy, the door. Fuck! He is not authorized to open the door," you could barely make out the urgency in his voice, signaling something had gone terribly wrong.

Navarro rushed over to the communication panel, her expression tense. "What's going on?" she demanded, her voice sharp with concern.

From the intercom, Tyler's voice emerged clearer this time, his frustration palpable. "We're locked in the cryo-chamber. Someone triggered a lockdown, and Andy can't override it—it needs higher clearance."

Bjorn's sneering tone followed, laced with disdain. "The piece of trash can restart the ship but can't open the fucking door to a different room?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a snarly comment. "Why would they even think Andy had the credentials for that? It's not like he's been programmed with full admin rights," you muttered, the irony of their reliance yet dismissal of Andy not lost on you.

Rain's voice then pleaded through the intercom, her tone desperate. "Y/N, can you do anything to help?"

For a moment, a wicked thought flashed through your mind: to leave the two men locked inside since, after all, Andy was just a machine and could survive without food or water. But your better instincts prevailed.

Grumbling, you grabbed your satchel filled with small tools and your tablet, capable of jailbreaking many machines and codes.

As you stood, Rain's hopeful voice carried over from the men's frustration, "Y/N can probably get them out."

Navarro, however, sounded skeptical as she joined you in preparing to leave. "I'm not sure. Honestly, if Andy can't open the door, she probably can't either. He is a Weyland-Yutani synth. We're just intruders."

Rain, undeterred, insisted, "Still, she can try..."

With a resigned sigh, you followed Navarro and Rain through the airlock onto the Romulus, leaving Kay behind on the hauler.

As you stepped through the airlock, your mind was a tumult of conflicting emotions, yet determined to resolve the situation, not just for Andy's sake but to prove that when it came to family—biological or constructed—you don't abandon them.

The station was in shambles, with evidence of damage everywhere you looked. Panels hung off the walls, sparks occasionally erupting from exposed wires.

The dim lighting gave the corridor an eerie, flickering ambiance, casting long shadows that twisted and turned as you moved.

Nearby, a large hole in the floor appeared to have been corroded by some acidic substance. The air was heavy, filled with the sharp, metallic scent of ionized air, mingling with the acrid tang of the acid.

But what caught your attention most was the damaged synthetic lying against the wall; its casing cracked open, revealing a maze of wires and circuits.

You, Navarro, and Rain rushed toward the cryo-chamber, the sounds of struggle growing louder with each step. When you arrived, you found Bjorn and Tyler trying to open the cryo-storage, their movements swift and determined.

Hooking up your tablet to the chamber door's control panel, you began to frantically input commands, trying to override the lockdown.

Your fingers flew across the screen, but each attempt was met with a denial.

Navarro, peering over your shoulder before turning to Rain, asking, "Do you have any ideas?"

"Not yet," the girl replied, her voice tinged with frustration.

Then, in a flash of inspiration, Rain turned and sprinted toward the damaged synthetic. She pushed on its port, extracting a small disc—a module that might hold the key to ending the lockdown. She quickly moved to install the extracted module into Andy, hoping it would grant him the necessary clearance.

Navarro, puzzled and anxious, called out, "What are you doing?"

"If the module works, it can transfer its authorization to Andy so he can open the door."

Meanwhile, Bjorn, still pulling at the locked door in frustration, yelled back to Rain, "It's stuck!" He then rushed to the back of the chamber to grab something to bang on the door with, his patience worn thin.

Andy, observing Bjorn's actions, cautioned, "Maybe we shouldn't touch anything, it might—"

Bjorn snapped back as he returned, wielding a piece of metal, "Shut the hell up, it's hot in here."

As you watched through the glass, a sense of unease settled in your stomach despite understanding the necessity of the module swap.

You watched as Rain retrieved the disk from the damaged synthetic before rushing over to the cryo-storage door, passing the small disk to Tyler through the narrow slot in the door. "Here. This is from the synthetics. Try putting it in Andy's module," she instructed urgently, her voice tinged with hope.

Tyler, with hurried movements, pressed down on Andy's port to insert the disk. The moment the disk clicked into place, Andy's expression contorted in discomfort. "I-It hurts me terribly," he articulated, his voice strained as if the insertion of the disk caused him physical pain.

"Just hang on, Andy," Tyler murmured, his brow furrowed in concern before turning towards the door.

Bjorn, anxious to leave the overheating room, paced back and forth. "Now let's just get out," he muttered impatiently. But as he moved, he felt something wet brush across his foot in the water accumulating from the melting ice in the cryochamber. "What was that?" he exclaimed, looking down with a mixture of disgust and alarm.

"Stay straight," Tyler advised ready to leave.

Suddenly, Andy paused, his face and hands beginning to twitch unnervingly. "T-Tyler?" he called out, his voice echoing with a mix of confusion and distress.

Tyler, who had been checking the perimeter for more emerging threats, spun around upon hearing Andy's strained voice. "Andy... Shit. Did I do something wrong?" he asked, panic rising in his voice as he saw Andy frozen in place.

The stark red emergency lights casting an ominous glow over his synthetic face, his expression a mix of pain and malfunction. It mirrored the tension gripping the room—every line of his features etched with the struggle of the conflicting commands ripping through his circuitry.

From behind the safety of the glass, you watched, your heart pounding with worry. "He's just rebooting. It takes a few minutes," you called out, trying to reassure them despite the dread filling your own chest. The image of Andy's strained face haunted you, reflecting the tension and uncertainty of the moment.

Tyler's voice echoed with concern as Bjorn's frustration manifested in a sudden splash of water, kicking up debris and sending ripples through the chamber. "What are you doing? Bjorn! Stop that shit."

"There is something in the water," Bjorn replied, his voice tight with tension.

"What is it?" Tyler demanded, scanning the murky depths.

"No idea, but it's in the water." Just as Bjorn spoke, something small and swift darted through the water, leaping onto Andy and knocking him down with surprising force. "What the hell was that!?" Bjorn yelled, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Andy!" you shouted from behind the glass, panic seizing your voice. "Bjorn, help him!'

Andy, still recovering from his reboot, slowly came back online. His systems stabilized just as Bjorn, cursing under his breath, helped him to his feet. Meanwhile, Tyler fought off the few swift, shadowy things swirling in the water.

"Come on, come on, come on! Hurry, Andy!" you urged as Andy, now regaining his functionality, touched the interface. The doors slid open just in time, allowing the trio to stumble out, escaping the watery trap.

"Come on, Bjorn! Tyler!" Navarro called out, rushing alongside you as all five of you made a desperate run for it.

Just as you all escaped, one of the creatures, however, was quick and managed to escape just as the cryo-chamber door slammed shut behind you, locking dozens of the other creatures behind it.

Your heart raced as you all sprinted towards the safety of the lab.

The sharp, muffled scream that followed turned your blood cold. Whipping your head around, the sight that greeted you halted your breath—a creature, like something out of a nightmare, had latched onto Navarro's face.

Andy stood slightly in front of you as if trying to shield you from the unfolding horror. You peeked over his shoulder, your hands trembling, as Navarro thrashed on the ground. Rain could only stand next to you in horror as everything unfolded.

Tyler and Bjorn were quick to react, their hands desperately trying to pry the creature off, but its grip was like iron.

The creature's tail was tightly wrapped around Navarro's neck, making every attempt to remove it perilous.

Tyler's voice was tense as he shouted instructions, trying to coordinate their efforts without causing further harm to Navarro. "Pull it! Pull it that way!"

"Fuck! I-I'm trying!" Bjorn's curses filled the air, his usual bravado drowned out by urgency and fear.

The creature's resilience was horrifying; it seemed to tighten its grip in response to their attempts.

The sight of Navarro, struggling and suffocating under the creature's hold, was almost too much to bear. Andy's presence was a small comfort, his large frame providing a physical barrier between you and the chaos.

The sight was unbearable—the creature's tail coiled like a vice around Navarro's neck, cutting off her air.

"Keep pulling! We have to get it off her!" Tyler barked, his voice strained with desperation. Bjorn, face set in grim determination, renewed his efforts, his hands slipping against the slick, sinewy body of the creature.

You knew if they didn't act fast, she wouldn't make it.

"Lift her up!" you commanded, stepping forward, your voice cutting through the chaos. "We need to get her to the main lab, now!"

Bjorn and Tyler exchanged a quick, frantic glance before complying. Bjorn, with a grunt of effort, scooped Navarro up, supporting her head and shoulders, while Tyler grabbed her legs.

Together, they moved quickly but carefully, carrying her down the narrow corridor toward the main science lab.

You ran ahead, clearing a path through the debris, heart pounding in your chest, every second stretching into an eternity.

Once inside the lab, they laid Navarro on the floor, her body convulsing slightly under the creature's weight. The lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows across the room, as if even the station itself was unsettled by the scene unfolding within its walls.

Tyler and Bjorn immediately resumed their attempts to remove the creature, but with every pull, the tail only seemed to tighten around Navarro's neck, her face growing paler, her breaths more ragged.

You could feel the panic rising in your chest as Navarro's breaths grew shorter and more desperate under the tight grip of the creature.

Rain's voice was frantic, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. "It's suffocating her! Stop! It's suffocating her!"

You could hear the panic in her voice, mirroring the fear coursing through your own veins. "Stop, Bjorn! Stop, goddammit! It's about to kill her!" you shouted, your voice a desperate plea.

But Andy's voice cut through the din, calm and devoid of emotion, sending a chill down your spine. "I don't think that's what the creature is doing."

Both you and Rain snapped your heads toward him, taken aback by the sudden change in his tone. It was as if something in him had shifted—his voice sounded colder, more detached, almost clinical. "Andy?" Rain asked, a note of confusion and fear in her voice.

Andy didn't look up. His eyes were fixed on Navarro and the creature, observing with an unnerving intensity. "The rhythmic pulse of the creature's abdomen is in time with her breathing," he noted, squatting down to get a closer look. "This suggests it's providing her with oxygen to keep her alive, though the reason remains unknown."

Realizing something was wrong Rain blinked, her fear turning into bewilderment. "What the—Andy, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Andy blinked, tilting his head to the side, his expression blank. "I'm an N-D-255 Weyland-Yutani synth with mining and guard functions. You called me 'Andy.' That is not my name."

You cursed under your breath, frustration boiling over. "That fucking module," you muttered, running a hand through your hair and gripping it in exasperation.

You knew the module would have altered him, but this… this was something else entirely.

Rain moved forward, reaching out to remove the module from Andy's neck, but before she could make contact, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising force. "Your name is Andy," she insisted, her voice firm, trying to remind him of who he was—or who he used to be.

Andy hummed, seemingly oblivious to her plea. He looked down at his hands and arms, turning them slowly as if seeing them for the first time. "The new module has upgraded both my powers and my AI," he explained with an unsettling calmness. "I am now in the process of repairing my motor system. A much-needed upgrade."

Bjorn, panting heavily from his efforts to remove the creature, shot a glare at Andy. "That's it, I'm roasting this shit," he growled, reaching for his weapon, ready to burn the creature off Navarro.

But before he could act, Andy's voice sliced through the room like a blade, cold and commanding. "No!"

Everyone jumped, startled by the sudden sharpness in his tone. For a moment, the room fell into a tense silence, everyone's eyes on Andy. "The current will cause its tail muscle to break her neck," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion but carrying an unmistakable weight of authority.

Bjorn, his frustration boiling over, snapped back, "What the hell do you want us to do, huh? What?"

Tyler, more composed but equally desperate, asked, "Do you know how we can help her?"

Andy remained silent for a moment, his eyes scanning the creature with a clinical detachment. "My databases are unchanged. I don't know what the creature is or how it can be removed." His gaze shifted to the damaged synthetic lying on the ground nearby. "But there is possibly someone in the room who does."

Following Andy's line of sight, Rain's eyes widened in realization. She turned to Tyler, her voice urgent. "Move that synthetic up onto the table! If we can reactivate it, maybe it can help us understand what we're dealing with."

Tyler nodded, and with Bjorn's help, they quickly lifted the mangled machine onto the lab table. Rain wasted no time.

You watched as she hooked the synthetic onto the motherboard computer behind it, your heart still racing, hoping desperately that this long shot might give them the answers they needed.

The hum of the machines filled the tense silence of the lab, their lights flickering as they whirred back to life. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and suffocating, as the weight of Navarro’s fate pressing down on all of you.

Finally, the synthetic sputtered to life, its head jerking slightly as if waking from a long slumber. His eyes flickered open, blinking slowly, filled with a vacant, eerie emptiness as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

His face and uniform were in a state of disarray, covered in grime and torn in places, revealing parts of his damaged, synthetic frame beneath. His shirt was soaked with a strange liquid—likely a mix of synthetic fluids and other substances—creating a sticky, uneven coating over his torso.

His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his limbs twitching sporadically as if they struggled to respond to his internal commands. His left arm, twisted and partially mangled, hung at an unnatural angle, further highlighting the extent of his deterioration.

A large portion of his chest was missing, exposing the internal machinery and wiring, now sparking intermittently with blue and white lights.

He seemed to be fighting against his failing systems, his face contorted in an expression that might have been pain, confusion, or both.

"Must… secure… substance Z-01," he muttered, his voice halting and mechanical, filled with a strange urgency. "Highest priority. Must… complete the mission." His eyes were wide, his gaze unfocused as he repeated the words, almost like a mantra, its programming overriding its awareness, his programming seemingly overriding his awareness of his own damaged condition.

As you observed him, it became clear that the synthetic—Officer Rook, according to his nameplate—was barely functional—a ghost of his former self, struggling against both his failing systems and the urgency of his directive.

Andy stepped forward. "It pains me to say, but you have failed your mission."

Rook turned his head sharply, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What? No, I…" His voice faltered, the words trailing off into a hollow silence, as if he was trying to process this new information.

You moved closer to Andy, your heart racing, a mix of fear and urgency driving your actions. "How can we help her?"

Officer Rook slowly turned to face you, his gaze steady but distant he looked up from Navarro's twitching form. "You must not help her. You must escape. Hurry away," he said, his tone eerily calm, as if stating an obvious fact.

Bjorn, still holding on to a sliver of hope, shook his head defiantly. "Nah, no. We are not leaving her," he said, his voice hard and resolute.

Rook's expression remained unchanged, his voice mechanical and emotionless. "So show mercy and kill her. Otherwise, you will all die."

Rain turned to Andy, her face a mix of confusion and horror. "What does he mean?"

Andy looked at Rook, his synthetic eyes unblinking. "What does it do to her?"

Rook's head tilted slightly, as if trying to recall something from deep within his memory banks. "The parasitoid implants a Plagiarus praepotens in her. There, it will absorb her DNA and grow out of her," he explained, the words clinical, devoid of empathy.

Andy pressed on, his voice almost a whisper. "What will grow out of her?"

Rook's gaze shifted slightly, his voice now carrying a weight of grim certainty. "Xenomorph XX121. One of our ships came into contact with the specimen here two decades ago. Only one of the USS Nostromo's crew survived and blew the creature out of the airlock. We've been looking for it ever since. The xenomorph was brought on board, presumed dead. But lack of oxygen and food has no real meaning for this perfect organism. But nothing is immortal. Obviously. It razed the station until our surviving soldiers shot it and triggered its swan song."

You glanced around the room, your eyes catching on the large hole in the wall, the metal corroded and eaten away. "Acid blood?" you asked quietly, piecing together the horrors you'd read about in old reports and the devastation around you.

Rook nodded, confirming your fears. "Sulfuric and hydrochloric acid. I sealed the station, but too late."

Bjorn's patience snapped, his face contorted in anger and fear. "We are very happy with your ship! Now get to the fucking point on how to help my damn sister!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the lab, filled with desperation.

Rook turned his gaze back to Bjorn, his expression as cold and mechanical as ever. "There's no saving her," he said bluntly. "Just save yourselves while you still have time."

Tyler's eyes were wide with desperation, refusing to accept the cold truth presented by Rook. "There must be a way," he insisted. His gaze shifted to you and then back to the androids, seeking answers where there seemed to be none.

Bjorn's frustration boiled over, his movements erratic as he turned sharply to face both Rook and Andy. "No! There's gotta be a way! I'm not leaving without my sister!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You two are fucking androids, figure it out!"

"Calm down, Bjorn," Tyler urged, trying to steady his own nerves even as his hands shook. "But he's right—there's got to be something we can do…"

Your mind raced, scanning the lab for anything that could help. As you paced around, your foot accidentally knocked into a knocked-over canister.

You glanced down and saw the label: cryofuel. The very thing that had been the reason for prolonging the original mission.

A spark of hope ignited in your mind. "What if we use the cryofuel to freeze the root of its tail?" you suggested, the idea spilling out in a rush. "Then it might stop suffocating her."

Rook paused, his head tilting slightly as if considering the idea. "It is a possibility."

Without wasting a second, you grabbed the canister and moved quickly to Navarro. Tyler and Bjorn helped hold her still as you carefully applied a controlled spray of cryofuel at the base of the creature’s tail, aiming to freeze the root without harming Navarro.

The creature shuddered violently, its grip loosening slightly. "Now!" you shouted.

Tyler and Bjorn pulled at the same time, and with a sickening squelch, the facehugger was dislodged, falling to the ground with a thud.

Rain immediately recoiled, her voice a sharp cry of fear. "Get it away!" Tyler was quick to dispose of the creature in the large hole.

Bjorn pulled Navarro into his arms, his breath coming in quick, panicked bursts as he held her close. "It's gone. I have you," he whispered, trying to soothe her as she panted and looked around, disoriented and scared.

Rook, however, remained unshaken, his gaze fixed on Navarro. "I'm not so sure about that."

A ripple of confusion spread through the group, but Andy's expression grew serious, catching onto Rook’s meaning. "What are the odds?"

Rook's reply was matter-of-fact, as though stating the weather. "60/40 against your friend."

Rain's face twisted with confusion and fear. "The odds for what? Andy, what's he's talking about?" she demanded.

Rook's blank gaze shifted towards her, his voice coldly factual. "For the creature to finish its mission, of course."

A cold dread settled over the group. As Rain, Bjorn, Tyler, and you crowded around Navarro, checking on her condition and trying to offer comfort, you noticed Andy speaking quietly with Rook out of the corner of your eye.

Something about their exchange caught your attention—an urgency, a quiet intensity in their otherwise emotionless faces.

You broke away from the group, moving closer to hear their conversation. Just as you approached, you caught Rook’s final words to Andy, his tone unusually commanding. "...You must help them. You must help them."

The statement hung in the air, filling you with a mix of confusion and dread.

As you all headed back to the Corbelan, the events of the past few minutes weighed heavily on everyone, each step echoing with uncertainty and fear.

Andy's normally calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a focused intensity that sent a chill down your spine. His directives, altered by Rook's module, seemed to drive him toward a single, unyielding conclusion.

When the group reached the airlock leading to the hauler, you noticed Andy pause, his eyes fixed on Navarro. His posture stiffened, and his gaze was unnervingly blank, as if processing a difficult decision.

You gently touched his arm to get his attention. "Andy? What's wrong? Do you know what's happening?" you asked softly, your voice laced with concern.

Andy stared at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before turning his gaze back to Navarro. "We can't take her back to the ship," he declared firmly, stepping forward to block the exit to the airlock connecting to the hauler.

Bjorn's reaction is immediate. Fear and frustration boiling over, he grabbed a large stun baton from the nearby equipment rack. "You deranged pig!" he shouted, rage filling his eyes as he prepared to charge at Andy.

You rushed between them, raising your hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, calm down!" you pleaded, your voice steady despite the rising panic. "I'm sure he's got a reason. Let's see what he has to say!"

Bjorn looked at you, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions—hurt, anger, desperation. His arm dropped slightly, but his voice was still laced with bitterness. "Y/N…" he muttered, but the hurt quickly morphed back into anger. "Fuck off! I'm not keeping my sister here! You can stay behind with your fucking boy toy all you want," he spat, his voice dripping with venom as he turned to help Navarro up.

Together, they shuffled toward the door, but Andy quickly stepped between them and the exit again, his movements deliberate and unyielding. "You must understand that there are certain choices that must be made," he said, his tone calm yet firm. "And I'm afraid you all won't make the right one if I don't step in."

Bjorn's face twisted into a feral grin, his patience gone. "I warned you—" he growled, suddenly swinging the stun baton with brutal force.

The highest voltage coursed through Andy, causing him to convulse violently before being flung several feet away, crashing against the metal wall with a heavy thud.

"No!" you screamed, rushing over to Andy with Rain right behind you. "Andy!" Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached his side, your hands fumbling for the Reboot Key, desperate to bring him back online.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Bjorn pulled Navarro through the airlock and onto the hauler. "Let's get away. Come on, come on. Come on, Tyler," he urged, his voice tight with urgency as he dragged Navarro toward the controls.

Tyler hesitated, his eyes flickering between the leaving Bjorn and Navarro, and Rain, who was still kneeling beside you next to Andy. His face was torn with indecision, his loyalty divided. "We can't leave her," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze lingering longingly on Rain.

You could feel the weight of his choice in that moment, the pain of what it would mean to leave Rain behind.

Unfortunately, despite your efforts, Bjorn and Navarro reached the ship first.

You heard the dull thud of the airlock sealing shut, trapping you, Tyler, Rain, and Andy on the station. The cold, metallic echo reverberated through the corridor, a stark reminder of your current predicament.

Andy twitched violently from the voltage, his systems struggling to stabilize. His voice, distorted and shaky, broke the tense silence. "F-Forgive me. I have always been nothing but a burden to you. Today I can finally help you. Don't see me as a child anymore." As he finished speaking, he looked directly into your eyes, a strange mix of determination and sadness in his expression.

Then, just as quickly, his body stiffened, freezing in place as the reboot process took over.

"A-Andy?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the station around you. The fear of losing him gnawed at your insides, but you couldn't afford to panic—not now.

On the other side of the airlock, Bjorn watched the scene unfolding with a deep scowl. His face was set in a mixture of anger and sadness, his mind clearly made up. "Navarro, disconnect the ship!" he barked, his voice echoing in the enclosed space.

The overhead system chimed in, a calm but firm voice announcing, "Disconnection initiated. Please escape the airlock."

You glanced up, seeing the airlock doors sliding shut with a mechanical finality. Your heart pounded in your chest as you helped Andy to his feet, your mind racing for a way out of this.

"What the hell is he doing?" Tyler shouted, his voice tinged with frustration and confusion as he looked towards the sealed airlock.

Rain, her expression a mix of fear and resignation, answered quietly, "He thinks Andy will kill Navarro." Her eyes flickered with uncertainty as she tried to piece together Bjorn's reasoning.

Tyler turned his gaze toward Andy, who was still rebooting, his body rigid and his face expressionless. "What? Does he want it?" Tyler asked, trying to make sense of the chaotic situation.

Rain glanced back at Andy, who now stood upright, his eyes gazing intently at the side of your head as if lost in some internal process before he turned to face the airlock, his expression still unreadable. "I don't know," Rain whispered, her voice heavy with uncertainty.

Something deeper was at play, something all you needed to understand if any of you were going to make it out alive.

A/N: hey guys! i'm back with another update, but before i leave i want to be honest/frank. once again, i'm receiving messages/asks critiquing what i've written so far and though i'm thankful that my writing is garnering enough attetntion to even experince this, i just want to say that it's really kinda offputting that i'm being told that Andy shouldn't be written with the intent of romance. ima keep it short and cute because i could literally make an entire post about this (as a matter of fact i will do just that) but just understand that i will continue to create showcase Andy in the romantic light because he deserves it just as all the other cast does...

Tag List: @dreamsarenicer sadslasher13 ravenswife izzymae288 fairy-cores-world

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